εμένα μου αρέσει που περπατάς στραβά

Συνηθισμένη, ψυχαναγκαστική ανασφάλεια μαζί με κάτι άλλο, μου χτυπάει την πόρτα (or more like, την γρατσουνάει με τα νύχια της). Έχω βαρεθεί τον εαυτό μου.. να έχω τα ίδια ηλίθια κόμπλεξ από την εποχή του σχολείου και απλά κάθε φορά να βλέπω χωρίς να μπορώ να πω ένα "σκασμός!" πώς δρουν αυτά σε όποιο setting βρίσκομαι. Ή να το λέω και να συνεχίζει αυτόματα η ίδια διαδικασία. Νισάφι! Ινάφ! Ξέρω τι πρέπει να κάνω.. να ανόιξω την πόρτα μες στα μούτρα της, και να της πω, ναι ρε γαμώτο, έχεις δίκιο, κανείς δεν με αγαπάει γι'αυτό που είμαι. Eπίσης, while you are at it, είναι επίσης αλήθεια ότι οι γυναίκες είναι ανταγωνισμός και οι άνδρες ποτέ δεν ενδιαφέρονται αρκετά. Αλλά αν ισχύουν και τα δύο ταυτόχρονα, why even bother competing? Άρα δεν το πιστεύεις. Ηρέμησες τώρα; Άντε, γιατί έχουμε και δουλειές (που λέει ο λόγος, γιατί τελείωσα). Ξαναέλα όμως όποτε θες να μου το θυμίσεις μην τυχόν και το ξεχάσω ποτέ. Μην παραλείψεις.

shellfish for breakfast

Physical attraction is cheap. Cheaper than those used movies nobody's ever heard of for sale in store baskets. It makes me feel so small, so cartoonish, when it's all there is. But, on the other hand, most everything is give and take.. You don't care if your tennis buddy appreciates your personality? Whatever, I am not up for it, and yes, I do think that the many! shitloads of! people who are have found a very intricate way of lying to themselves in order to sustain an ego structure dictated by.. whatever. And it's working for them, too.

Love on the other hand.. does it even exist? I am not sure it's not an even more intricate ploy of the ego to get what it wants. Maybe not. Maybe it's a yearning of the soul. A completely unreasonable certainty that, hey, this person, they have some part of me I didn't know I had lost, and I want it back, whatever it takes. And that, things may blow up, people may cry, and I do care, but not enough to never see you again.

You make me feel so blank. Thank you.

3 different pieces of the same puzzle

Air near my face from a cute little overpriced flowery device. I am waiting for the future, and I know you'll be there in 10, 15 minutes tops. But all I have is now, my head in my hands, lying down on the bed and feeling strange, like I'm about to float and it's so easy and so tragic at the same time, that all I will ever feel, is this. I got this feeling once when driving with my dad, when passing a bump in the road - we were sustained in the air for a second there, and I felt like, this, is everything. You can leave, but you can't, and that's terrible, because then you have to stay on the ground and die.


If there's an elephant in your room, do not expect me to want to go in there and get my bones crushed in the name of friendship. Not all goodbyes are the same. You cannot simply copy paste nostalgia and missing-you's every time somebody leaves, even if it's under the same scorching sun, at the same bench, in the same rotten forest in the black heart of the city. Some times, you just don't feel anything.

As I type this you're probably slicing the throats of defenseless tomatoes open and tossing cucumber peels down the drain. This is what society is doing to you, me, everybody. Molding us and hurting us against our will. Within this concept, even if we win, we lose. The only way to "win" is to refuse to play. If the only reason anybody's life is worth observing is because they're playing an exceptionally good or an exceptionally bad game, then all they will ever have is fools who laugh at them and monkeys who try to match them outwardly. And you call this, a life.

impasse of the soul

I wish life had an undo button. I wish I could go back at the time and place where all the daily crap could be brushed off as not relevant. I have no idea how other people can be happy with the way things are, I can't. I am bailing out.

Colorful dust falls from the sky, but I cannot touch it. And soon, I will not even want to touch it. I shot my own capacity for happiness in the stomach by being a people-pleasuring idiot, I want my fucking self to crawl into a hole and die.

People smell of sun lotion in a crowded bus to nowhere, my electronic devices hate me, and in a sense, who can blame them. They're trying to get away from me every way they can.

I always had the abstract idea, in my mind, that things will somehow turn out to be okay, that there's something for everyone, that there's always some way out, if you just think things through long enough and ask enough people for advice, stick around and try to make things right.

The truth is, there's no such thing as okay. Trying to fix one thing always ends up messing it up worse, or creating an unforeseen problem. Like I told my psychologist in October, life has some very stupid errors in the source code, debugging it is virtually impossible, and like I have recently realized, you can try and try and try and the misery will never go away.

I am never happy. In fact, I am incapable of emotions outside the regret-guilt-resentment-anxiety-anger range. And I have no freaking idea what to do about it, nothing seems to work, not meditation, not talking it out, not positive thinking, not escapism, nothing. When I wake up in the mornings, I get this feeling that I am somehow loading myself, my past and my attitudes onto my brain, a split second after waking up. It's a strain, to go through the day with myself resting so heavily on my shoulders, I wish I could just get a new one. But even that wouldn't work.

Fuck off, and die

It's sweltering in Boston, and a dozen Tufts University coeds are out in shorts and tanks, attracting the usual stares. Only today the stares are for a different reason: the girls are huddled around a 750-pound machine that looks like a spaceship, long and wide with a bubble-shaped cockpit open to reveal a mass of pipes and wires. It's actually a solar car—one they've built from the ground up and hope to race next year. Suddenly sparks fly, and the girls jump back. They may be engineering whizzes, but they know a hazard when they see one. They call a teacher over to help solve the problem, as Alex McGourty, 21, gets ready to take the wheel. A junior with blond hair and freckles, she built her first car engine in high school: a biodiesel "veggie mobile" she ran on McDonald's fryer oil. McGourty revs out of the driveway, and almost immediately dislodges the car's chain. Campus police block off the street, and the baseball team, just returned from practice, lines up to watch. "Look out," a construction worker yells. "It's the Nerd Girls!"

The Nerd Girls may not look like your stereotypical pocket-protector-loving misfits—their adviser, Karen Panetta, has a thing for pink heels—but they're part of a growing breed of young women who are claiming the nerd label for themselves. In doing so, they're challenging the notion of what a geek should look like, either by intentionally sexing up their tech personas, or by simply finding no disconnect between their geeky pursuits and more traditionally girly interests such as fashion, makeup and high heels. In fact, calling them "nerd" is no insult at all—the Nerd Girls have T shirts emblazoned with the slogan. The crew includes Cristina Sanchez, a master's student in biomedical engineering (and a former cheerleader) who can talk for hours about aerodynamics. Caitrin Eaton, a freshman, asked her boyfriend for a soldering iron last Christmas. Juniors Courtney Mario and Perry Ross giggle when they talk about what fascinated them most about "No Country for Old Men": how did the assassin's air gun work?

These girl geeks aren't social misfits; their identities don't hinge on outsider status. They may love all things sci-tech, but first and foremost they are girls—and they've made that part of their appeal. They've modeled themselves after icons such as Tina Fey, whose character on "30 Rock" is a "Star Wars"-loving, tech obsessed, glasses-wearing geek, but who's garnered mainstream appeal and a few fashion-magazine covers. Or on actress Danica McKellar, who coauthored a math theorem, wrote a book for girls called "Math Doesn't Suck" and posed in a bikini for Stuff magazine. Or even Ellen Spertus, a Mills College professor and research scientist at Google—and the 2001 winner of the Silicon Valley "Sexiest Geek Alive" pageant.

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there's more, but no.

στα ελληνικά

Θα ήθελα πολύ να μπορώ να πετάξω τις σακούλες απτο μπαλκόνι μου κατευθείαν μέσα στον σκουπιδοντενεκέ. Το είχα δοκιμάσει μια φορά, αλλά μάλλον δεν γίνεται. Αυτό δε σημαίνει ότι είναι κακή ιδεα για flash παιχνιδάκι. You'd just have to get the physics right.

Απολογισμος της μερας: Τα ρούχα μου βγήκαν βιολετί γιατί τα σπάω, οι φακές ανθίζουν δίπλα στις κίτρινες καρέκλες, δεν υπάρχει ίχνος φαγητού στο ψυγείο (πάλι έκανα πλούσιο το κυλικείο στη σχολή, πρέπει σοβαρά να σκεφτώ την εκδοχή του σπιτικού σαντουιτς τυλιγμένο σε ασημόχαρτο) και το laptop σφυριζει μελαγχολικά πάνω στα έδρανα.

Θα ήθελα να μπορώ να νιώσω κάτι.

Lights!Camera!Action!

If there's people not speaking to you down the halls, it's because for once in your life, you didn't do what they wanted. Good.

Last few days have been hectic, in a good way. I still feel like a thousand noisy bees when I get out of bed, but it passes, and it means nothing. There's a choice you make early in the day when you open your eyes, and that is to either let the world drag you down, or let the world be in its atrocious shape, recognize you're responsible for at least part of the shit in it, and then! move on with your tangible waking life. See, your brain would rather have you fight off imaginary crap, but that doesn't mean you need to play along.
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I want to count columns backwards but my sudo attempt incident will be reported. I just hope they don't ban me before I can finish up my assignment and ship it them.

I also want to do something about the little hearts. You know, the ones fluttering in and out of sight, hovering above the houseplants, squishing themselves under the scribbled paper heaps, bouncing, always elusive, but never out of mind.

Well! We will see about that.