"slow motion."

http://jeremyharris.com

go to portfolios, and american asylums.
not sure how to direct link it.
those are pretty fantastic.

whoawhoawhoa.

i'm having a hard time feeling anything.
i'm in a serious depression but it's not real because it's not external but it's internal. it's a more or less severe thing where i want to lay in bed all day but i don't and i never feel relieved from dreaming but i'm dreaming. and i'll think of the most relentless most depraved way for me to find happiness and i find NOTHING. that's the kind of empty i'm on. and i'm worried that this isn't chemical imbalance but actual chemical disruption. one of those kids. i don't get it because i'm fine. it's been weeks since i've been alright. i feel like i'm beat. skin. i want to know she's there. i sleep and dream and write them down but it's of no console. it's stupid because i'm smarter than this. there's nothing worse than being smarter than what yo're being overcome by. divide yourself in two. i'm a walking civil war. i can laugh and you can watch me, and i'm moving and you can watch me. but there's a little bit more doing than might be done. i won't live to be old.

\////////

this is something new to me.

again, you're not listening.

some subject.

i read somewhere, i think it was the new york post or the daily news, that there was a man who was just recently arrested for dealing a half pound(?) bag of heroin for further distribution out of his girlfriend's town house apartment in new york city. it went on to talk about this man's history of drug use, and that at one point he was on a habit of fifteen uses a day of junk.

that's fierce.

it also mentioned that "heroin goes for about $10 to $20 on the street."
love the info.

12.000

it's growing to be 5am and i have work tomorrow and i don't care when i go in but if i am up i'll go on time but if i don't i'll get there when i can and they can call if they want but i'll be tending to things like self maintenance and a quantifying of worth. i've just had so much i've wanted to do and i'm finally unwinding after three straight full days there. the past 30+ hours of that store have been me. i've been that store. but.

i wanted to talk a little about this new job prospect but it makes me too nervous to put words to it. i'm not qualified for it, or excited about it, nor do i see myself in it for a long time and i assume this will pose a large problem considering it's going to be in an office with my father which could prove to be a whole new sort of chapter in and of itself. what i'm already hoping is that it doesn't work out but i have too much ethic to sabotage myself consciously.

i wanted to dedicate march to getting through all of my video games that i'd had sitting on my shelf but then all this work stuff started to happen all the way through. just nonstop. who could even breathe. i just beat god of war for psp tonight. such good things, just not enough of them. not really a complaint, though. size doesn't matter.

i need to stretch tantrically, and extend all of these compacted upper body units. this is one of the reasons i so badly want a high school desk when i finally finalize where i live.

i was going to mention something about it, but then stopped, but then thought about how stupid it is to NOT mention it. i checked out the new nine inch nails album's first disc and couldn't even formulate an opinion on it. for my definition and format, those weren't even songs. they were just musicians starting playing together on the same wavelength and then stopping. rahul sent me the rest of the discs which i am i am going to give an honest chance to. told rahul and brian the same deal. what i'd like is for one of those discs to be somewhere between sigur ros, explosions in the sky, and beside you in time with no drums, just electronics and lo-fi sounds. it's not going to happen, i don't think. but.

there's a book of artwork that comes with this new album which contains about 40 photographs taken by Phillip Graybill and Rob Sheridan which make me think they were taken for me. i don't know another way to put it beyond the fact that these are the places that i want to be to take on the largeness of the world and of the life. apparently, the only way to get this book is to buy the record package and i don't want to buy the record package. what i'd like is the book and i'd pay probably no more than $27 for it, unless it was bigger and(/slightly or) had words to accompany it. either way, these are perfect photos, the kind that i would want enlarged on glossy photo paper and framed in a new white apartment of mine. maybe numbered with silver pen.










ghosts.nin.com

blue gray hat, blue gray suit, swishing motion.

i'm currently unhappy at my job situation, and it's due to money and i never thought it would come down to that. i've never been into money. i'm not "into" it now. that's not what i'm saying. the thing is, i'm finally able to quantify the way that i've been stiffed this time around.

it started with another employee badgering me about my lack of video game knowledge and wholly different approach at retail, life, video games, entertainment, media, dress, etc. then the optionless calling on my days off. then the manager not showing up for a week. two weeks. now two months. that was all just things that you could complain about, but in a way you were doing your job as part of what you'd signed on to do.

but this time around, it's finally to the point where something is on paper that the hours that i've worked don't add up to the compensation i've received. numerically. i worked 50 hours each of these last two weeks. i got paid for 80 hours. that's twenty hours that i was in the store, that i wasn't at home, that i was keeping their store going that i won't get back or get compensated for.

see, they moved me to a salaried position without telling me. and it's not like i didn't have options here. they asked if i wanted coverage. but it's our store. i like the feeling of knowing everything that's going on in those walls. we had someone fill in yesterday, and it's just weird trying to explain a certain different way of doing things. it's not my thing. but i took on these extra hours and days thinking that i'd be getting overtime. and you know what, forget overtime, just PAY in general.

i'm scheduled to work 54 hours next week. i don't think that's going to happen. i'm out. i've gone on an interview and it went well, and i hope it went well enough to be taken on as an associate and begin to make money doing those things.

this was all useless to say and point out.
it's pouring.

ingargantuan.

i haven't had a lot to say in the past month.
the joy of life hasn't left me but i almost typed that it did.

i'm trying to evaluate what i want to do and how i want to do it. i like writing more than i can express through words, which i guess would be an ideal job in a sense. but i don't think i have the style or skill to get noticed to the extent of a remarkable or lived-on paycheck. at best, if at all, my words will be noticed by a niche crowd and enjoyed by a percentage of them. and i wonder if i'll even ever get there.

i don't think i make very much sense anywhere. i can't sell things because i don't want to be too pushy, i can't build things because i don't have the hands or the mind for it. i can't cook. i can't draw. i wish there was a way to take an accurate and updated aptitude test so it can plop me in the right place and i can continue walking onward and make enough for a meal or two a day, transportation, and a home. that'd be nice.

i often say that i wasted my life by not going to or continuing school. but i think that i might not need it sometimes, and i think that it's the only thing i need sometimes. i see people in paid positions doing things they're not so qualified or excited to do and it's all because they spent four years in classes getting approved for such a position. i think i need to harness some sort of potential that i have somewhere, and utilize it to the best of my ability and beyond and get recognition and compensation for it.

i've got an apartment in harlem that i can move into once i secure a job somewhere in the city/queens limits and i have an interview tomorrow morning at nine which i hope i can land at which point i will give my resignation in at gamestop which should get me a lot of scorn which makes me nervous. we'll see.

hopefully someday i'll be hip, too.

july, 2002

while trying to find the tracklisting for my last mix cd (11, not 12) i came upon this. it's not good, but it exists.

it's hard to be ashamed of someone else.

--

Everytime I walk through a dark room I can hear them. I can smell them. I can feel their eyes rolling across the length of my body. I don't know why I was the lucky one to be able to see these foul things. Why I was the pick of the litter. But I was born with it, and therefore I have to live with it. Everyday from now on, as far as I know. But I always have the hope that I can wakeup feeling free of this burden. Yet everyday for the past year, it has gotten progressively worse.

That first day was most likely the worst. I woke up feeling normal, until I looked out the window and saw it raining. It was that hard kind of rain. the kind that you think is going to dent the hood of your car. I was on my own at that point, so I made that comment outloud, although no one was there to hear it. What a great feeling that was. Living without wondering who or what is hearing what you say, or knowing what you think. I went into the bathroom to shower and shave and get ready for work. I stood over the sink looking at my sorry face and then smiled and laughed. Today was the day that I was going to be interviewed for my promotion. Fuck, I was nervous. I went into the shower, and washed every part of my body with my mind running through things which have absolutely nothing to do with anything. Like making up new lyrics for songs which already existed.

Have you ever slipped in the shower? Have you ever had the hopeless feeling of sailing across the tub and trying to grip for anything to stop you from falling, but the only thing you can touch are the wet, slippery walls, or toppling shower bottles. I hadn't fell in tub in years is the first thing i thought. Ouch was the next. I got up clumsily and as I was doing this i caught a glimpse of the blood running down into the drain. That's what I started to panic. I tried to wash the gaping wound above my eye brow as best I could, but it just kept bleeding. I turned off the shower and looked in the mirror.

Fuck. It was right above my eyebrow. I grabbed the washcloth and applied pressure. Why waste time? I started brushing my teeth. I went over the interview over and over in my head as I stared at myself in the mirror. In the mirror, I could see the closed bathroom door. Here I am, living alone, and I still close the door to my own bathroom. I rinsed, spit, and put the toothbrush back in its home, and then turned nonchalantly to go back to my bedroom.

What I saw as I looked up was about as tall as my father but twice as wide. And it stunk like death. I dropped the washcloth as a sting and a shiver went through my entire body. As the bloodied rag hit the ground, he... it was gone. It had been nothing short of a second, yet I knew I saw it, and I knew I smelled it. And apparently, so was the gash above my eyebrow. But the cloth was still bloody and my head still stung where the wound had once been. Not having done drugs throughout my entire life, I knew that this wasn't some sick flashback. This had happened.

as if the world was more than he could bear.

one of the best. 10/10.

and eyes.

this picture. no words.


more from 2007.

MY HILLARYISMOMJEANS.COM SUBMISSIONS:

...COMMENTED YOUR MYSPACE WITH A BROKEN .JPG
...CAN REALLY RELATE TO ZIGGY.
...CAN'T SYNC HER WIRELESS GUITAR.
...SAYS OKEY DOKE.
...HAS NO LOVE TO GIVE.

this is the woman.

stripper try-out photos.
not dirty. just women wanting to be beautiful.

with/without photography.

this would still be happening.



nature as photographed as nature.

i had something to say about ALL of these.

otis.

a 30 year man.

solid movie; 8/10

a man of great interest.

just ask.

there's nothing wrong with being lonely.

the old spill canvas album reminds me of her so much. and i guess the thing is i haven't seen a mind completely independent since the first time i heard her listening to this album on her own, completely. i remember how sexy i found her being entirely and silently overwhelmed by something i knew nothing about.

that was the kind of thing that completely intoxicated me. i can think of her at a distance, in silence, singing along, eyes closed, to a single line of the entire fifty five minutes.

she was downstairs. and i didn't even know this band.

i have nothing to claim to her. my mind is on a long, long leash. i love another time over. i'm a little mad. i have a trust issue that i ignore.

i want to run but i want to stay.
apply this to her and to me.

i sort of know she has a passion that she's having a hard time evaluating. putting into words or pictures or sounds. i was this way at 20. fucking 20. what in the world was i at 20? in a relationship that wasn't suited to my lifestyle, with certain friends that couldn't keep up, without a solidified dream/goal, and pre-anything, and pre-growth stage.

i don't think i'd seen anything i'd wanted to see that would really touch me. i thought i loved but didn't know what love was.

i was a youth and these things are going to happen. it took another half decade (maybe more) before i realized what it was and what i was. i still don't think i know what i want to be, but i know what i want to see and how i want to see it.

i'm old.
i ain't got time for a reinvention.

wee!

a gunner,