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I've been listening to this song NONSTOP. It's called "The Wonderful Future" by Our Lady Peace (Jordy is mentioned here for being the reason I'm into 'em) and is amazing. I discovered it existed about a week ago, and have listened to it dozens of times since. I listen to it a few times in a row before I sleep, throughout the day, several times in a row whenever I get in my car. I talk about it in blogs on the internet.

Also: I'm pretty much done with this semester at school. Summer's here, and now I can't even retain the excuse that my unemployment is related to school's workload. My life's been feeling incredibly monotonous lately. I'm frustrated with myself, my environment, and my belongings, and my acquaintances. Actually, this is the second time I'm typing up this blog update. The first time was erased when my laptop decided to shut itself off, as it's grown accustomed to not asking my permission to do so.

Basically: I need to get laid, and it's turning me into a cynical and cranky douche, which I don't like. But fucking random sluts is fail, and the decent women in my life seem to only come in few varieties:
- Sorry, I am in a relationship.
- Hey we're great friends and have been for a while.
- What's your roommate up to?
- False alarm, I'm a bitch.

What's this mean to you people? Nothing. In related news (related to me and my life, that is. Which is why you're here. To read about my life. Oh you're not? Well fuck off and die, plzkthx (jk, stay and respond so that I might be entertained by your comment)): I'll be lurking around the forums a lot more than I did previously. A LOT MORE. 100% lurk-to-post ratio for the next several months. Why? Because I feel like it. I'll still be here, just kinda backseating my participation.

This summer's plans include:
- Fitness
- Fun
- Frugality

... that's all I feel like writing. Maybe I'll update this later to include a poem for your perusal. Even though I know most of you will either ignore it, not get it, or post an old joke in a psuedo-facetious manner that's been done to death relating to it. See? That cynicism just creeps right in.

IRL Related things: I just left my car in the wrong lot for the entirety of the week and as a result owe parking services three $40 tickets. I'm fucking pissed. Normally I'm not that retarded about where I park my car, and certainly not in a way that gets me fucked REPEATEDLY in the asshole.
_________________________

Anyway: here's a couple poems I recently had to write for my poetry class. I think they both kind of suck, and the last one is unfinished because it really sucks. So I'm not posting the last one.

Forget about the rhyme, abandon it.
We ask you only consistently for
Meaning. Don't distract us; frighten cliché
Away. A metered iambic-of course!
How could we not have told you already?
It is as dead as Shakespeare is himself,
But he will revolve in his coffin if
You libelously use it. You got it?

I see you are the critics, so I will
Respond in kind as cynic. I think that
Your liberal art so fears conservative
Thinking you haven't noticed you've got some-
Thing don't need fixing. And rhyme to desist?
It's not nearly forced, 'cause I can't resist.

***This poem's written in blank verse and is closest to a Petrarchan sonnet, despite the fact that I have a rhyming couplet at the end.

It.

Eye color is determined genetically. Though there are only three genes re-
sponsible, there exists an immense variation between individual eye color.
Since youth I've found myself fascinated With this difference, although
with my consciousness. I grow older and it doesn't matter, we can shun
others equally aware as I stand the dull ones. Natural selection is with-
out in memory; they've instigated in us all, yet a feel for the importance
tension between all the aforementioned. of what our genes forgot seems
Some felt that others might be beneath them, absent. We're only aware
though I digress. Doesn't every branch stem 'cause of past generations
from the same trunk of the tree? Though shunned, fully understanding
isn't failure simply the prequel to their limitations and exploring results.
success? Humans are characterized by Our successes, our failures, and
needing to see to believe the why. our ability to visualize the differences
Yet faith is commonly the virtue, too. between them all set us apart. If
The glint in your eyes force my eye contact we only knew what it was,
and I find like brightness always intact. what precise differences we'd
abandoned those thousands of years ago, we might have a better idea of
where we were headed in the first place. I've an idea, but exclusion isn't

***This one is a little bit different. I was following the style of a poet I've found named Philip Nikolayev (I forget how it's spelled). His are much better than mine, and I attempted to make one that made sense when read all three ways (read the embedded sonnet, read the surrounding text, read the whole thing all at once) whereas his only make sense when read in the first two ways. Additionally: Newgrounds's formatting makes it so that the right margin doesn't line up perfectly, but you should know that it's supposed to.

Anyway, What d'y'all think?

This French Roast coffee is delicious.

MTL meet was awesome.

I am the best ever.

Ha ha, this one I'm kinda fucking proud of. I think it's exactly the kind of retarded description poetry people'd enjoy.

I guess I'll lead this with the premise surrounding this thing. I was asked to write a poem in some sort of regular meter and form, since I've been interested in writing a sestina for a while now, I figured I would make this assignment it.

Anyway, I decided I wanted to finish off the remaining alcohol I had in preparation for a weekend off-campus and having Spring Break this upcoming weekend also. So a bunch of people were in my room playing cards, all acquaintances or friends of mine, and there just happened to be six of them besides me. I figured, "What the hell, sestinas are challenging enough, I can't think of anything to write about... why don't I just get a word from each of these six and I'll try to write a poem with those."

So, here it is, aptly titled, "I fucking win."

My buddy Chuck, "Lumpenproletariat,"
As if the use makes him intelligent.
My room-mate suggests simply, "blueberry."
Y'know? Collected in hefty buckets,
Only to be had in a sumptuous
amount? Raffaella says, "capricious!"

instantly, using the same capricious-
like thought that 'lumpenproletariat'
had lacked. Elmira tells me, "sumptuous,
and show me later." She's intelligent
of a sestina's challenge. And buckets?
Rosanne, I'm glad this goes with blueberry

because using these words with blueberry
in the mix eases my first capricious,
drunken decision to work. Thank buckets.
Am I a Lumpenproletariat
man? Lowest class? So unintelligent
I think a degree ensures sumptuous

living conditions later? Sumptuous,
like a remembered, ripe Maine blueberry
I enjoyed years ago. Intelligent,
it is, if you succeed with capricious
decisions. Lumpenproletariat
are not excluded here, though the buckets

they fill, blueberry-carrying buckets,
inspire interest as to the sumptuous
character lumpenproletariat
workers picking the August blueberry
crop possess. I would cherish capricious
decisions they made, the intelligent

stories; as only the intelligent,
woebegone man has--and by the buckets.
Finished vodka; another capricious
thirsty Thursday. Building a sumptuous
memory to savor with blueberry
years amid lumpenproletariat--

yes, lumpenproletariat--buckets
that have intelligent and sumptuous
blueberries of an Evan: capricious.

I don't entirely know why I'm going to insist on sharing these with you guys. I don't get many responses and the ratio of worthwhile to not is in favor of saving myself the effort.

Anyway, here's the poem mentioned two news posts ago:
(By palming the mind you've fingered the senses)
Hold That Thought

Opposability is the crux of our touch.
. . Though its digital duplicity allows also to feel
. . . . . The real.

Indexing eyes verify, but, despite physical ability,
. . Now, to hold the pen, a picture's worth: (I've heard)
. . . . . 1.0 x 10^3 a word.

Middle-man hears the word on the street and so he brokers
. . Opinion. Listen, even a bold-faced lie holds a grain of the true.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "Fuck you."

Ring on your finger displays personal taste in your two
. . Favorite people, traditionally. If you know yourself well,
. . . . . Your choice can tell.

Pinky thinks he links me to my word. Maybe so, though I
. . Swear it correct that my tongue tastes a muffled yell
. . . . . Without smell.

Five, for thee, too, won
. . Nothing.

The periods are there just to preserve spacing. The assignment was to write a poem in which the five sense are used.

Just finished it, and it's due in an hour. Took me about two hours to write, I'm sure you all think it sucks, so tell me extensively WHY it sucks. Give good reasons.

It's interesting, I think, to recall past dreams;
remember that link between prompted introspection
and interpretation. Blinking, as all that seems
is referenced in ink and paper's bright reflection.

Thwarted thoughts take, though thinking through this thereafter
tells what to make of latent self's conscious connection.
For sentiency's sake slumber's allowed to deter,
before you're awake, a sudden bodily action.

Never before and never again have I known
a place more contradictory; where your control deems
itself in or without at once. Only one's own
omens ought ourselves offer others. Those shut eye-gleams

are hardest to detect against shut eyes' cover.
Brilliancy does reflect well, internally, as shown
by endless subject selection and just after
memory teminates collection I am alone.

The details are not important here,
as long as setting was lacking fear.

... it's a poetry-based creative writing class. Go ahead, judge. Anyway, we were asked to write something in class yesterday that gives a strong sense of setting, and since my News Posts are pretty barren I figured I'd toss it up here for y'all's perusal. I'm skipping my Spanish class today since snow causes the campus to be closed until fifteen minutes before my class... but fuck that.

The beach near my house is divided. Parts are 'private,' though I've heard a shoreline can't truly be private property. On the far end of the second public third lies a sandy path into the woods. Looking left means viewing nearly unpassably rock-filled terrain to continue along the shore. Glancing right reveals a freshwater-fed pond with simultaneously marsh and bog-like properties. Herons are often found in that pond, though I'm not sure what fish they are feeding on. Those details are unimportant, as the deciduous and evergreens enlist the aid of a particularly thorny rose bush to shield the path's view.

I like it best at night, for despite the glare of Boston's visible skyline across miles of ocean, the air is clean enough for a well-defined Milky Way and all that entails. Nobody else is there at night, save guests in my charge and occasional drinking parties illegally starting fires to attract the police. It's a constant battle between residents and visitors, but as my lungs relax and the smoke mingles with the calm air a late August beach provides, the debate ends.

It is mine.

Predicted response: yawn boring. Yea whatever. I spent 10 minutes hand-writing it in class. Was setting invoked? Yes.

So I also had to write a poem in which we used five senses, but unfortunately it was torn out of my notebook that same day and handed in. So I guess I'll just post it in a later update.

Thoughts?

Well, I'm back at school and tomorrow's day one of the new semester. I'd forgotten half the classes I signed up for, but it made for a delightful surprise rediscovering that I'd built myself a pretty awesome schedule. One class on Monday, Wednesday, Friday equals win.

So, uh, I guess that's it. I LMAO at this comic.

A belated happy new year to you all. You, of course, specifically referring to the awesome people who bother to click my username for my own special brand of NG blogging. I'd ask what you did, but if I care enough I can just check out your blog posts on the subject. This is mine, fuckers.

I went drunk wandering into Boston. Many hilarious adventures abounded. Some highlights:

- Near brawl in the streets with some punk West Roxbury kids. Fight avoided due to disinterest in being arrested (mostly on the part of my friend with a future in law enforcement).

---- Segway to the above: 2 minutes later, a group of 5 uniformed officers walking around saw my friend tending to his bloodied ear (who we were restraining from going back to put those kids in line) asking for a description on the kids who did it. Yea, buddy, just look for the group of a dozen white kids wearing Red Sox hats in Boston. While you're at it, I've got a needle I need you to find in that haystack over there.

--------- Further segway, based on hay: friend approaching large group of most likely jailbait with, "Excuse me girls, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"What do gay horses eat?"
"What?" (giggles)
"HaaaaaAAAAAaaaay!" (tone is important here, it starts low on the 'a', ascends, and then descends back to original level. Basically, a three syllable one-syllable word).

- Apparently, I was within 50 feet or so of this girl I met at school. She and her group of friends were basically doing the exact same thing, and ended up in the exact same place to view the fireworks of the New Year. It's too bad we didn't notice each other, since she's pretty awesome and that would've made the night MUCH more awesome.

So yea, I've been on Winter Break now for two weeks. And since I'm enjoying a pretty consistent lack of job since getting back, I figure I might as well just stick out the rest and remain unemployed until I return to University. Only problem is that there's not much to do in this town when you lack income. You're too unwilling to spend money to have fun, so you just end up sitting around all day, playing video games, and trolling NG's forums. Doldrums.

Merry Christmas. I don't care what religion you are, who you worship, what you celebrate, who your family is, what your skin color is, or otherwise anything about you.

When I say, "Merry Christmas," I'm indicating that I hope you will have a great day on your own personal 25th of December. It's the day I hold special for having celebrated Christmas my entire life, and as such I hope that your merriment rivals mine on that day, for the spirit of Christmas is giving and I'm happy to share my joy.

So yea. May your drinks hit you swiftly, your women hit you softly, and your wreckless disregard for proper eating minimally impact your health. Cheers.