Got a taste [mouthful] of my musings this week.

It's been tough trying so consciously to be less conscious. And the worst realization is that it's my own criticism that puts me at fault [plus the fucking sound guy who seems to elevate lecturing me as his moral contribution to the save-the-millennials initiative.]

I'm not perfect, I'm not wrong, I'm not bad, but am I anything really?

Another thing. I've pretty much been living in my own head this summer fantasizing about charismatic interactions with the inside world. So much so that I often am a spewing cluster of lackluster stories, unrounded sentiments, repetitive vocabulary, conversational queue jumps, awkward silences, a volume knob turned slightly too low, and a volume knob turned slightly too high when I do exercise my fantasies in the real world.

​Oh God I'm a walking paradox.

▪Daydreaming about dropping out▪
▪When someone tried to impersonate your dad on fb▪
▪When your mom talks about divorcing your dad and it's ok▪
▪When you feel your dreams slipping away▪

In a quest to feel less shitty about my physicality because I'm realizing this has been [is] the most passionate endeavor I've harbored for the most transformative years of my adolescence and if I don't get past this now, I might never.

▪Try to absorb life's humiliations (Margy Rochlin about Nicole Holofcener's characters)▪
▪You can't get any further away before you start coming back (The Truman Show)▪
▪We accept the reality of the world with which we're presented (The Truman Show)▪
▪What's the point of winning if you can't help a friend who fell (paraphrased from Father John)▪

▪Salad days (Wordsmith)▪
​▪Seeing movies in LA...a lot of audience is here to get on the other side of the screen (Patton Oswalt)▪
▪When I am dreaming, I am a genius (Academy Originals | Here's to the Dreamers)▪
▪Here the clown (and the artist) acts as a jester with privileged permission to reveal our own ridiculousness-the extent to which performance and masquerade make up our own social beings and experiences (Cindy Sherman exhibit)▪

Swiveling in this anesthetic comfort. My fingers run through my hair, my fingers type, my fingers sway, my mind melts. And the only sensation left is the chill of a fading mint.

I remember when I was 9 and on the school bus and everyone was looking out the window because there was an airplane.
And being old enough to be skeptical but young enough to leak through the walls we built, for a split second we thought the airplane was suspended in air with no direction to go. Took only a moment for us to realize that it was because the airplane was headed north and we were headed south, kind of cancelling each other's movements in the other's perspective.
And amongst the chaos of memories that evade my recollection, this one I can't forget.
And it bothers me because I don't remember why I find comfort in a bowl of melting vanilla ice cream, I don't remember why I hate licking envelopes, I don't remember how I got the scar above my eye, I don't even remember the last time I cried, but 
​I remember when I was 9 and on the school bus and everyone was looking out the window because there was an airplane.
(narrator grows older)

Incoming Bruin junior and told my dad I'm going to pay for college so adding financial instability to my growing list of hypothetical insecurities

"Everything is going to be alright"

▪Spicy food is the best kind of masochism▪
▪Sounds like a good daydream (Blue Velvet)▪
▪Never waste your pain (Marlin)▪
▪Nothing quite as violent as the sight of a naked woman▪
▪Now is the envy of all the dead (World of Tomorrow)▪
▪​The sign may say no, but my heart says yes▪