a website for myself&no one in particular.

the jitters in my mind the sea swell fuckin' jitters gaping in my mind like an open wound , i would read for knowledge or truth or fuck all carefully but i will read it for the absolute jittering shivering scream in my brain to understand tho i am too busy being frantic too, no truth fuck truth, what the HELL is it anyway to get hung up on--i'm not a murderer you say i'm wrong ans want to find a reason a fault a fissure but all i want is this feeling to passover and then mayber i might have a reason and use for ideas that don't change the world but maybe maybe change myself, cut it out! delete! delete! this is the face that no one else understands and you're not talking to me and i'm not really talking to anyone ever so why the long drawl to tommorrow, faking thisMAD ASSERTION that there is something that makes the Sky make sense and not just changing colors and sometimes so blue it kills you with its dead quietness..,i hear the sirens in streets in don't see but streets that haven't changed. i can't be sure they haven't changed but there was no-thing that i can imagine that makes anything different and i wake up to find that nothing has changed and i smirk like a smurf? BIG suprise muth'fucka!@!DFADFas dfja;ksfdhas df

dfd

big fuckin' suprise.

walking home from the subway station late in the night, thinking this could be 5 yrs ago the way it feels--i could be coming back from a poetry slam i didn't tell my parents about or the park in chinatown where i never told them i hung out, the entire world is made of this same dark blue depressing feeling, the streets deserted and rows and rows of house speckled with the dull flickering light of people watching television inside their living rooms, all these people, the whole neighborhood...the whole..

Coming closer and closer to my house, not wanting to go home, i know everything that is waiting for me inside my house hasn't changed and in a moment i'll be part of it again, suked into the same dank smell of , the clutter that gets cleaned but never manages to go away and my mom bitching about every little thing since i could remember. Nothing's changed at all, and the hope i once had of my life changing, getting completely better as i got older is dead. Coming home late one night this summer nothing's changed at all and i wonder what the hell i should do with myself.

i pulled a gerard manley hopkins.rationality tells me it was a stupid self-destructive thing to do, something that i'd regret later, but doing it i felt a sense control over my life, as if it was one of the only true choices i ever had, and even though i know is was an illusory and fleeting high,i threw out all that shit anyway.

In my poems i was talking to no one, talking into a past that was already gone meanwhile everything seems to be repeating itself.

Broken records and fallen religion/regard for the art.

Keeping it meant preserving a heavy burden i never wanted, staring into a blackness in me I've acknowledged a long time ago but didn't want to obsess over everyday.

Where is there to go?

Changing my plans for the future all the time. Caught between just keeping myself mindlessly busy and occupied to living la vida empty: ambition for a future breaking down social ceilings and my lower class chink upbringing with the new Money, knowing that i'm asking for is something i don't really want and sickened by it, wake up hourse voiced in the moring sickened but gotta live gotta eat, shit and work or else become just another low-class loser beat by an exploitive system, watching t.v in his parent's house in Sheapshead Bay, Brooklyn.

That's the reality I see freaking me out, that i'm certain of. that i feel.\

i change my plans, i try to rational and clear headed about it but most of the time i'm too despondent to keep with ambitious yet ultimately unforfilling goals, or to accept something that might keep me poor because i've been poor all my life and i know it sucks, or spiritual shit, or a medium, target market life to settle for because its been to hard for me getting here and if it doesn't hold meaning for me, i will not hold out long.

The future i see for myself is bleak. Rain, rain, rain. It was raining usually alot and strong for awhile now it is so hot outside, the rushes you in quick jets.

I'm thinking of going out far out into it far far far to find a truth i am skeptical even exists...b/c its not here typin' this shit.

2 weeks ago i ordered the Wall St. journal and now they are all piling outside the front door unread. .

"I loved all without distinguishing the sky from the earth but felt both just as glorius and equal in the respect that they existed and therefore part of a world that was beautiful. But realization, the seperation between the grass and the earth it grows in, the puzzle of shadows wrought in corners lost from light, it beckons you, growing louder with years sucession to a point where innocence is but a memory, gone and faded blurry. You see with new eyes and can only look back reciting in your brain a painful elegy, of how you onced played in a sandbox with brimming cheer, but now, can only grasp and feel in the dark for a green light that you once saw, shining from across a silver bay of mooncast light--that drew your gaze and caught it a moment's reflection."

Adam Ng, 1999

i stopped writing becos everything i wrote was fuckin' depressing.lookin back it was obvious that I wasn't trying to be understood as much as i wanted to be, that i was tired of the pretense of saying something on paper even as i was writing the words down.

I would write about the same shit over and over again, and sometimes even expect what few friends i had to read it. i would write about my boring circumscribed life which has managed to feel the same small way ever since junior high. Even tho in my head i hated what i wrote because if i let myself i could see plainly i could see in what who i am, and this disease-like sadness that has become my personality. \\

the truth is, i won't tell anyone. \\I have been heartbroken ever since elementary school, and year after year my luck repeats itself like some bad joke a comedian keeps telling at some stupid dinner party.i don't tell my friends becos i don't want to burden people with problems they can't help me with.

i don't talk about the really depressing shit because it change things and you always have to see your friends tommorrow, hang out, eat together, because the truth is ugly sometimes and irrevocably exposes the pretenses in your life so that you can't go on pretending and fakin' how everything's alright anymore.

Nixon was here...

not a mistake, this is about a a fat

Taiwanese baker--why i decided to spend my time ripping the song and capturing pictures of this half way decent movie is b/c even tho

it wasn't all that good of a movie i think there was something really honest about the situations, it was Pathetic maybe you should watch it sometime or just enjoy the soundtrach play it over fifty million times in yur head until it brings you down and makes you want to turn off that button that simple button in herad and stop thinking about life means and all that rot.