Last Post

This post, for all intents and purposes, is going to be my last from London. Tonight is our school's farewell party (raging on from 5:30 to 7:30...I hope I can stay up), and then the place is closed for the weekend, meaning no free internet unless I want to smell like mcShit and sit in McDonalds to use it, and then we pack up and jet out of here on Monday morn.

What a long, strange journey it's been! *you can't see me but I'm wearing a cheesy, condescending smile*

In all seriousness it's been a really good experience for me, and I'm quite interested to see how I come out of it when I'm placed back into real situations that I'm familiar with. It's way too early to tell what I'm going to get out of having been in London for four months, but I'm hoping it's something, because it's so goddamn expensive (thanks to the 'rents, I promise that someday when I'm a billionaire you will get your own seaside mansion and will be set for life).

But as it stands now, I'm looking forward to coming home. I still think of it as home even though I haven't quite lived there in a while. It's a good feeling to know that you're still wanted there, still have a place to sleep and people who care about you, even if at the same time you're itching to break away and start your own life (and by "you" I mean "me"). This is part of a phase that just about everyone has to go through, the awkward transition years (take 2, since I already went through puberty, which was bad enough), but instead of being depressed about it and feeling dreadfully alone, which is absurd, methinks I shall embrace this youthful progression into early adulthood. See how mature I am? See Mom? Look. You're not even looking.

Anyway, there'll be ample time to reflect during the two 6-8 hour plane rides home, and these last few days are exclusively for packing, partying, and saying goodbye. So I'll be boogyin' down til the break of...7:30 tonight, and then it's on to the rest of my life, which, so far, looks pretty good.

Peace,

Adam

Sorry I Forgot About You

Crap, recently I've lost the time or motivation to write any blogs about what I'm doing, what fictional people are doing, or otherwise. However, I did recently visit Paris so it's not all bad. I mean, not for me. You were probably sitting in front of your lonely computer screen refreshing this page begging for some new material to get you through your pathetic excuse for a life. I'm ashamed that those are the only people that read my blog. Ashamed of you.

This is my last week in London and it's a little hard to believe that in 7 days I'll be back home, complaining about having nothing to do and wishing I was somewhere else. I can't wait. I'm one 10-page paper and an absurdly expensive meal of fish and chips away from being done with the fastest four months of my life (besides the ones in early childhood that I don't remember), and I'm sure I'll want to reflect about it and shit sometime soon but right now I've got some more important things to get to so I'll get back to that later.

Until that gorgeously written reflection, I bid ye adieu.

December Descends

For some reason I can't get the blog not to underline everything I write in blue, so do forgive me***edit***it doesn't show up when I post it so you can't see it. But I still felt the need to include it here, to document history. 

This post is to commemorate the entire month of November, during which I succeeded in not shaving my face (or my back (just kidding, I don't shave my back (because I don't have to))) for the duration. Yes, dedicated blog reader, you surely remember the sexy photobooth picture of myself I posted on Halloween*, and here is an equally sexy but more bearded photobooth picture of myself on December 1st, hours before I got an expensive haircut and hot shave at a local barbershop of some repute. It was a long and prosperous month but I must say it is nice to be comfortably within the loins of winter, and close to heading back home for a few weeks before I have the unique opportunity of seeing my Hollywood pipe dreams fizzle and die firsthand. I've been waiting for that moment for years. Until then, stay strong, blog reader, and I'll be back in your strong arms once again, and you'll cradle me just like the old times and tell me everything will be alright, even if you're not really sure yourself.

* see post from October 31st

Surrealism--Alive and Well and Living in My Brain

Baseball propellor orange tree feeds into rhubarb quiche plunges behind plastered walls reminiscent of dusk brandied in silent festering squalor smelling oregano faintly through one's petrified nostrils of promiscuous rotundness beaching whales that fly haplessly off through orange clouds of dewdrop beauty, caressing the sunholes of magnificent light coarsely on its way through the heavens.

Strained Relationship

Happy Thanksgiving, America. I hope you're doing alright without me...no nevermind, I don't care how you are, 'cause like, whatever, we had some good times but things are different now you know, like, we can't just pretend like this never happened, we can't just go back to the way everything used to be. Damnit America, I thought you'd understand, I thought we connected, that we had something special. Maybe we do, maybe...we just need to explore our options, see the world before settling down for good. I get you, I know what you're thinking, I know how hard this is, for both of us. Don't underestimate me, 'cause I'm capable of some powerful shit, you know? I know you know. Anyway, I do miss you today, but as painful as it is, I must carry on. You should do the same America...and you know what? No hard feelings.

Winter Reminiscing

Lost in thought in the middle of the park on a wintery evening, equipped with nothing but a large overcoat and a haphazardly prepared salami and cheddar sandwich, Lucy took the time to ponder how splendid being a young girl had been. She daydreamed of the love of her life, the handsome man who had sat across from her in her physics class eighteen years ago, who went by the name of Allibaster Goonhauss. How they had cuddled together on the playgrounds between classes, taking shelter from the blustery December winds in the plastic tunnel overlooking the private pond, where Madame Vrabel tended to the geese that flocked there year round. Now, munching her sandwich with a lonely expression on her face reddened by the cold, she decided to find him again, wherever he was, thinking she would be quite pleased to see his lively face again, regardless of how the years had treated it. Sadly Allibaster Goonhauss was currently serving a life sentence in prison with no possibility for parole.

Amsterdam: Chapter 1, Last Part

I longed to know what he was thinking about even though it was probably nothing. Eddie was a person who didn’t like to be bothered with extraneous thought unless it was undeniably necessary. The only problem with this theory is that I could never really know, never fully dive within his mind to witness firsthand whether or not he was thinking with the same complexity that I was now. That’s the problem with being me, I thought, is that I can never be anyone else. I’d always thought of myself as overly perceptive, catching idiosyncrasies of peoples’ characteristics that they themselves were not even aware of, processing ideas and jokes and ideologies faster and more thoroughly than most people knew; I thought I was a great thinker. At least compared to Eddie. And most of my friends. And Jessica. And Napoleon too, probably. Actually, probably not Napoleon. Dude was smart. But I would never know for certain because I couldn’t slip into Eddie’s brain to see if he thought the same way, that he was more complex than everyone else, and that he picked up on things he thought no one else did. I wondered if he thought the same way about me the way I felt about him. I wondered how I would be described in his work of semiautobiographical fiction, if he were writing one. Which he probably wasn’t. Eddie didn’t like writing at all, and hated arithmetic even more.

“What are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking that I will never be able to fully know what it is that you think about.”
“Fuck man,” but that was all he could get out before the three guys we had been waiting for barreled upstairs and saw Eddie and I in the corner, him still smoking his cigarette, me still slurping up my vanilla milkshake.