I feel like: I've disappointed everyone, in order to calm myself. Is it because I can exert power in a passive-aggressive manner to hurt people in backwards ways without appearing hostile? No. That might have been it on another day. I don't want to hurt anyone, right now. I don't want to be near anyone. It would be okay for me to exist without consciousness for at least a little while. I feel like I've said something that I wanted to say that had the potential to offend. Maybe I did, but that's a different story.

After the gig, at Kris' house, we rested in the living room. Karen had put up a christmas tree, and was asking us if we thought it was wonderful. Without thinking, I droned on about the christmas tree. I went on about how its only functions were standing straight and being pretty. Understanding that, I said, I could stand next to it and be nothing. "That's beautiful!", said Karen. "I wonder what I just said", thought Andrew. I don't really remember now. Something like that. It's just easy, in the aftermath of the performance, to emulate a person with a pretend heart and pretend feelings. Even now I am numbed. I don't have the energy to dance around my own inconsistencies in an amusing self-deprecating style. I don't feel eyes on the back of my head, sitting here typing. Inert. Noble gas and all that. I could take your emotions and set them in my face, my neutral backround reflecting the correct image. Now would be a good time to shmooze with industry folks because I think I could lie precisely without flickering.

Ooh, it's tingly. My emotional centers aren't dead. They're just anaesthetized. I can sort of touch them, as though through a thick wall of unfamiliar flesh. What did Jhonen Vasquez say about melodramatic prose? Oh, here we are.

We think we can live away from what we hate, but are defined by those very things. It feeds upon us... sustained by our belief that we are doing something right. We think we are so great in our protests but we just become the bitter offspring of what we oppose. We become prisoners in our own cages. We begin to speak in badly constructed melodramatic prose!"

Poor Johnny. Tearing himself to shreds over the nature of conflict. It could be ironic, I guess, but only if it wasn't that way on purpose. duh. Anyway, he's right about the melodramatic prose. Why dress up your thoughts? Too flimsy to stand up without decoration? I hope that I've written the things down exactly as they came to me and without a lot of intermediary thought towards modification. That usually ends up making things sickeningly fruity and rococo.

Speaking of online people doing real things. Nancy "Firedrake" Taylor noticed that I was a broke, hungry urchin and decided to have mercy on my jobless body and send me chocolate chip cookies. I love it when people send me stuff in the mail. It makes me happier than a cat in a paper bag factory. Even things like caffeine laden drinks, when I'm trying to be crisp and clean.

Hurh. I have my itinerary and I have my tickets. I will be in Hawaii in ten days. If you want something from Hawaii, and you live sort of near me, go ahead and drop me a line. Unless you want a girl. ("Hi! Hello!") I don't have enough room in my carry-on. Wish I did.

This activity is no longer serving a purpose. Uplink terminated.