Coffee Bean cancellations.

From the incoherency of the thoughts and ideas in my head to indecipherable run-on sentences in this almost single-subject diary. These are love letters and notes from my bashful and apprehensive throat. This is barely comprehensible. And sometimes there is no other way for anything to ever be explained. And sometimes maybe you don't want it to be. Wrap all this around your head like the way I'm wrapped around your finger.

Have fun tonight and paint our town red.
Oh... Happy birthday Steph. Again and again.

Praying for the best.

You can only hide behind "friends" and parties and excuses and the person you're pretending to be for so long. You are empty words, half truths, and half hearts. I am wasted breath and time. Attempting to prove I care leaves me exhausted, penniless, and unappreciated. If I've made any impact on your life, you certainly don't show it. Neverending prayers and hopes. I love you and you are my closest friend, but I am constantly on the brink of walking away.

Stop me.

Explosions in the sky.

The Glasshouse. One beautiful place filled with millions of beautiful sounds. My favorite place to be in the world, all in the humble art/fashion district of downtown Pomona. It's impressive how a venue as small as this can change your life, in so many different aspects, and in such a massive way, even if only for a few hours at a time. Show up distraught or stressed, and leave feeling... composed, untroubled. In years past, I've seen breath-taking performances by Chris Carabba, Jenny Lewis & the Watson Twins, Saves the Day, Rilo Kiley, Pretty Girls Make Graves, Jimmy Eat World, Death Cab for Cutie, Pedro the Lion, The Decemberists, among many, many others. In this week alone, on three different nights, I've seen Brandtson, Minus the Bear, and Explosions in the Sky(last night). It was the first time I've seen Explosions live, and it was one of my most memorable experiences. Ever. Even without lyrics, the musicians put so much emotion into what they were doing that there was no way that you wouldn't be able to feel it. Awesome and overwhelming. Pure.

Appleseed Cast plays November 21st and IT WILL BE CLASSIC. Come with.

A child of twenty-two.

after service today, I immediately left, and had lunch alone. just needed to kind of re-assess things and meditate on what I learned in sunday school and in the sermon. I decided on a few things and these are some of my goals: to truly know and understand what consistency and intimacy in my relationship with my Lord means. He deserves more time than I've ever given Him. to concentrate on school more until I get my business degree in december and socializing SO MUCH less. going/hanging out is NOT the same as fellowship and I think we all can get the two confused. being an encourager and testimony and prayer partner to those who need it. being bold enough to share the gospel to my coworkers. to be a better brother and friend. especially to you. this is my time to finally grow up, to mature, in more ways than one. I've about a year until I transition from college student to businessman(boy). here's to being a child of twenty-two.

"little boat, you're mine again." -- thank you, Jesus.

K. Alaia's trick, not treat.

i told you i missed you tonight.
and God, did i mean it.

you responded with "good!" and a mischievous grin.

always content with taking what i can get.
(living off splitsecond hugs and sincere smiles and all the sounds of you talking.)

Friday night at PCC.

the setting: friday night college group @ pcc.

tita cyn: ok class, we're going through the book "how now shall we live".
kris saliba: haha everytime I hear that, I think of "how now brown cow".
me: haha. how now brown cow shall we live? that's like the book people in india would read.
kris saliba: haha.

welcome to friday night.

"She's beautiful, but she don't mean a thing to me."

fall down enough, and getting up is what hurts. they say fools lose tomorrow, while longing for yesterday. wrap that around your hea(d/rt). watching "the science of sleep" tonight with lauren menor.

edit: the movie didn't live up to the hype, in my opinion. lauren menor went beyond it. i could get used to her rolling "r"'s and un-used to rolling eyes. but deep inside i know that i'd opt for your eyes -- doing anything. I'll keep losing tomorrows, with high hopes of spending a few today's with you. does that make ME a fool?

It's autumn. And I fall.

the trees are putting up a fight and I'm longing for fire colored leaves because its time for new beginnings. placing you in the scrapbooks of my life in my mind. polaroid eyelids. & i will grow old without you. tonight you are traveling through the atmosphere and into space, millions of miles away from today. past the sounds of small worlds the size of dark brown pupils exploding. past the brightest star I named for you when I was naive enough to dream. i.o.u.'s and gift wrapped galaxies wouldn't have nearly been enough to ever make you feel the same. assured the years have passed. chapter(s) closed. disregard all that I am and you are perfect now.

we both may be.

Serious Black.

Comments and messages are our sole forms of communication anymore. OR (We've come a long way, princess.)

And sometimes I'd have it no other way. I'm the king of over-analyzation and incorrect conclusions. forgive me. I type whatever's swirling in this head in the wee hours of the night/morning without any concern for consequences. but I was designed to break my own heart and my only real crime is this obsession with documenting it. it's all (not) mapped out. and I am still lost. exposed to this audience I call my conscience and maybe I should listen but I won't. sometimes I think I'm the only kid who reads this drivel; I honestly know better. ill keep a sharper mind in the weeks to come. (no promises). I instinctively typed "weaks". gah.

P.S. that last entry actually had more than that one sentence in it, btw.

The story of my li(f)e.

responses to "how are you doing" are always a matter of who's asking. just keep telling myself I'm over you. yet with each interaction, I'm left with every feeling you've ever given me and I don't know why. like how those eyes can hatch butterflies within my gut and trembling in my voice and how sing alongs with you make me want to smile 'til I die. you mentioned tonight how you've got weak knees. you haven't any idea. but he's got your attention and we all can tell. and these are the thoughts that render sleep an ineffable concept. I hate being so pathetic. sleep easy, sweetie. I'm wide awake.

forced shut eyes & perfection on my pillowcase.
you are still my dream girl. :-(

Sexy back.

"I hide behind these books I read while scribbling my poetry. Like art could save a wretch like me with some ideal ideology that no one could hope to achieve and I am never real, it's just a sketch of me and everything I've made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time."

Uh-pdates.

listen to Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" when you decide you want to start living.

shows coming up: dashboard w/ brand new in san diego. the elected at the glass house. deathcab for cutie w/ jenny lewis and the watson twins at bren events. yay times ten.

I need to watch The Last Kiss and the Science of Sleep. come with.

I still heart guitar hero.

ed templeton's next art exhibit is going to be the bee's knees and I can't wait.

no p!atd w/ what's her face. dc and bn alone instead. :-)

its funny, but I kinda miss matt frazier. haha. fun kid.
and lauren menor, even though I worked with her today.

I finally passed super mario bros 3 w/ no cheats. yay.

new store = <333.

liz m. is a sight for sore eyes. & she's got personality to die for. (small crushes and nervous smiles and speeding hearts and sweating bullets aimed at myself.) swoon.

speaking of sore eyes, I am now required to wear a contact lens. yes, just one. weak. :-(

new brand new record on 112106. lifechangerforsure.

this iPod's on shuffle and every other song is either by bright eyes or saves the day or cursive or minus the bear and I don't mind. :-) times ten.

less writing more living. end.

& all i see are misspelled, poorly written paragraphs of self-acclamation.

a patron saint of liars and fakes. I read and hear words from some "good" and "upstanding" individual while all I observe is some poor attention-starved kid trying incredibly hard to stand out with no avail. get a life. you're just wasting precious time PRETENDING to be someone you're not when you could be using this time to actually BE that someone. maybe if you did, THEN people would see a literal change for the better instead of hating your guts so much like the way they do now. walk the walk and stop screaming the talk because all it'll get you are high expectations that you won't ever (even pretend to) meet.

keep telling yourself and the world that you're "cured".
you are the worst case of denial ever witnessed.

You'd make a great secret if I could keep you but we all spill our guts.

a click on the receiving end, and you're off. off doing the very things I hate you doing. with the very people I hate you to be around. and all I want is for you to be good. be good. pleasepleaseplease. I wish you could see how much I care. or sometimes I wish I meant more to you than that devil on your shoulder you choose to listen to. but all I am is a dreamer with your well-being in mind. and all you are is a nightmare with "better" things to do. I'm all out of things to say to you. at the very least, that damn dancefloor must've looked a hell of a lot better with you on it, all dressed in your Sunday best.

"be sure to open up your eyes."
this quote goes out to you.

or quite possibly myself.

Pluto is not a planet.

and I'm surprised that this one still is. this place is so messed up, it isn't deserving. I am so tired of everything around me. like just when you think you've got it all figured out, "it all" begins falling apart. vicious cycle. sift through my pile of "never again's". noticing that some aren't. just hopes. & your card's come up again. I guess its that time of year. girls like you remind me of how infantile and naïve I can be. you're beautiful. but the sparkle in your eyes diminishes more and more each time I interact with you. noticable only to me. you are indecisive and incredibly difficult. you long for something that sure as hell isn't me. sometimes I don't even know why I try so damn hard when you treat me the exact opposite of how I treat you. attempting time after time to bring out the best in you just brings out the worst in me. I'm exhausted and feeling terrible by the end of each day spent with you. wishing you'd take compliments without the usual "i know" eyeroll. sometimes I wonder if anybody thinks about you as much as I do. tonight was horrible for the both of us but with every moment and with all sincerity, I hope you're feeling okay. does that make me sweet or an idiot? i don't really do things for the sole purpose of feeling appreciated, but if you did, it sure would make my day.

p.s. myspace is a joke.

Drix in search of self.

and insomnia ensues. I truly abhor this feeling of h-elp/ope -lessness. but I suppose these interminable nights leave me time to continue (un)productive hobbies such as this. this is my playroom therapy. this tiny keyboard is my "ms. a." this is my escape from the smallness that I feel. I can be as big as I want and these keys let me act how I want. welcome to thursday night(mare).

this is only decipherable to one girl.

You dont do it on purpose but you make me shake.

Cantgiveupthedream. (she will destroy me.)

what's the opposite of amnesia? because that's what I have. because sometimes I can't find my way around my memories. always having to take different routes. and I think you were the best one. its like it was never really going anywhere, with innumerable breakdowns but really, it made for the best trip. I'm completely out of place (everyw)here. and at the same time not. its like it always was. I am always on the verge of love or giving up. or that's at least what I've convinced myself of today -- tomorrow it will be something else. I've got aluminum foil on my bedroom windows to block the heat and sun. but at night, it blocks out any amazing views of the moon and stars. I long to marvel at the pulchritude of your smile and eyes and being, but I don't want to get burned. and I think I'm all sorts of crazy. maybe I'll just go to sleep and wake up ten years old in a shabby house in valinda.

because how could any of this be real.

This phone will be the death of me.

think myself to pieces. and writing too fast to keep up. make up for true blues and dead reds. that doesn't even make sense. but nothing ever does anymore it seems. rhymes and (no) reasons. just like random poems via text messages at three in the morning. I can't wait until autumn and winter. visible breath and brilliant burning colors of the leaves are somehow associated with feeling okay to me. and just as easily as you can run home from problems, you can run home TO them. journal writing counts. its funny/terrible how its kind of what I'm known for now. and all this time, I've wanted to be so much more. this may be all (the friend) I have.

written while seated on a bench at the Orange County Museum of Art. "happy places" and melancholy thoughts.