November 6, 2009

Winston’s party starts in half an hour. Facebook keeps notifying me of everyone’s RSVPs. Apparently a rooftop harlem band show attracts indie kids like moths to a flame. What the fuck doesn’t attract indie kids like moths to a flame? Maybe it’s just always opposite day for them. Maybe you just have to try your hardest to be just like everyone else in order to really be original. I guess I just don’t know how I feel about it all. I’m not going to the party. I decided to stay in and write a poem to a boy I don’t technically know. It sounds like a stupid decision but it isn’t; because I’m tired of being drunk and high and always doing things to make other people think I’m some cool kid. I’m sure Winston’s band is good but tonight I’m content with Pharrell on my Lastfm. Whatever, I suppose the coolest kids are just N.E.R.Ds anyway. I don’t really know how to focus myself right now. I’ve been having issues with this all day long. I’ve been pretty bored all day long. I just took some pictures for Michelle. She gave me a shirt she made in her screen-printing class and asked me to take pictures in it for her. Ten minutes into my art project my mother started yelling from the living room and I got angry and threw the camera at the wall. The shutter won’t close now. The eye is open. My third eye won’t close. I can’t ever seem to get my brain to shut up. I’m so tired of the white noise. Maybe it’s time to turn the volume up on Pharrell….yup.