You can't feel it in your blood. The DJ's playing something driving you out of your skull. (Day 162)

I just finished rereading Catcher in the Rye last night. I've honestly read this book at least once a year for...God, since I was 17.

It's funny, it was never part of the the required reading in High School or anything, and I've always had a love affair with reading. But for some reason, it took me so long to come across it. I constantly have to be reading, and of course I'd heard of the book, but it wasn't until the teacher I mentioned the other day, Ms. MacCaulley pressure me into reading it, did I. She said she always saw so much of me inside of the character of Holden.

I truly feel, unlike any other book, Catcher stands the test of time. Despite some of the lexicon being outdated (flitty/flit being an example, meaning homosexual, or called black kids "colored" or drunk "oiled up and just a lot of small nuances like that) as well as the difference in the price of our money (8 dollars being quite an extensive amount of money) the book is applicable to a certain sect of kids to this very day.

I think a lot of people could appreciate it, I know. I mean it continuously manages to sell hundreds of thousands of copies a year, and still manages to be quite controversial, but it continuously piques peoples interest. It's really fascinating to me. You have to have a heart and a healthy amount of imagination, and almost...I hesitate to say it, but purity to actually appreciate the art of a lost soul.

Lately I feel like I've been drowning. I've been pretty withdrawn, and so certain that I was going to fight tooth and nail to change who it is that I am, because I'm so sick of losing every battle. I'm so sick of trying, and getting so close to something I actually taste it, and then it's ripped away from me.

It's not that I feel I'm entitled or owed anything. I just wanted it to be my turn, for once, to be able to to hold something (or someone) and be able to have just that piece that's always eluded me, or has been missing...to have it.

I'm not a person that will open up about much. But for the first time in my life, I fought what felt wrong...and it felt so right. But like everything good, it came to a crashing halt.

Nothing in my life ever eases into extinction. It stops as abruptly as it starts, and to be honest...I've never once felt like it'd be wise to ever set up roots in anything. I know better.

I just do.

But for the past few months, I've just felt so empty and dead. I still do, to an extent, but...I just don't like what it is I'm becoming. But the struggle I have is...just because I don't like it, that I inherently hate it, doesn't give me enough of a reason to actually stop the transformation in its tracks. At what point do you bury those morals and dreams to keep on surviving? Not everyone is supposed to have that realm of security in their lives. Kind of like Holden said, "Life's a game alright. It's a game if you're on the side with all the hot shots."

But what about those of us who aren't? Well, we're just there to make the hot shots look even better, I guess. Which is fine.

But I'm so sick and tired. I'm sick of not knowing what steps I need to take to become a published author, I'm sick of sleeping with girls I don't have any connection with, and I'm sick of being told I need to do this and that.

I've been patient to the point it's actually unhealthy.

And all this while, I've backlogged frustration I have no clue on how to healthily let out. The person who means the most to me in my life, is the one I feel who's been the brunt of most of this devolution.

But at this point, I'm just wondering...man, what the fuck do I have to do? I would honestly just be forgotten, to fade off and that be that. But in the interim, I'm always that person that gets stranded at gas stations after botched beer runs, I'm the guy that doesn't even get that first chance, let alone a second.

What do I have to do to be worth something to those people in my life? This isn't a pity party, but me trying to make sense of it all. I don't want anything to ever be about me, there's more important things, but I guess I just want my moment as well. Even if it's alone, and no one is watching, just that moment.

But maybe it's always been my fault. I mean, not maybe. Most likely, 100% is. When I was a kid I spent more time reading than ever talking to anyone else. Even now. I don't know how to interact with people because I'm pretty boring, and I never have anything to say and my jokes actually go to the opposite effect. I don't think I've ever really made anyone laugh, which is fine.

I don't know. I'm just sick of being bitter and dead. I never wanted to be that person, but I guess sometimes you just have to grieve in your own way. I never deal with anything, I just push it to the side until eventually that overlaps and it floods, and the next thing I know...I have a broken hand and a near-shaved head.

There's a part in Catcher where Mr. Antolini is telling Holden that he's heading for a fall. And I must have read that part a million times, but at this stage in my life, how it's effected me...I just sat there, and without sounding too much like a pussy, I began to sort of cry. I began to cry, and wonder when the hell I was gonna be able to take that stick out of my ass, and just grow up.

I really have no clue.

-Until tomorrow.

You know you got a bad break, mama. (Day 161)

My stomach has been feeling weird all night.

The past few days have been really weird. Tomorrow I'll give a really good update, nice and long. Right now I just wanna drink. I already drank tonight, but now I'm going to go read.


-Until tomorrow

Said goodbye to my best friend, sometimes there's no one left to tell you the truth (Days 159 & 160)

When I was in high school, I had this teacher Ms. McCaulley. She was really unique in a lot of ways. The way she handled her students was something I never really saw in another teacher.

For instance, if one of them directly was defying her requests to be quiet, or something, she'd simply tell them to "shut the hell up", and just the initial shock, I guess, of a teacher swearing, especially at a student really did work.

Everyone really liked her. It had a lot to do with her casual attitude, and approach to teaching. Most teachers seem to talk above you in a monotonous tone, but she always seemed to search for something a little different.

I have no idea how it happened, but I wound up having her as a teacher every single year. She was an English and Creative Writing teacher. I'll be honest, I have no idea why I always seemed to get into her classes, especially because in order to be in her Accelerated Programs in English, you pretty much had to be this whiz or something. Yet sure enough, I'd have her yearly.

She really did help mold whatever the hell it is I do now, honestly. I don't write one thing without ever thinking about her, but I really wish I was still in contact with her because I'd be interested to see if she even remembers me, and if so if she even would think twice about anything I wrote.

She always seemed pretty much like one of those teachers you'd like to hang out with outside of school. I had three teachers like that, ever. Mr. Jaworski, who taught history, and Mr. London who also taught English.

London, I always wanted to play basketball with him. When I used to ditch classes, he'd be cool with sitting in on his class and being a makeshift teachers assistant. He always knew what the reason was for me being in his class, and he always used to laugh about it. But towards the end of Senior year he started to express concern. Not necessarily for the class, because it was some bullshit throw away class I didn't even need, but just that I could be so careless and apathetic towards doing something I should be and simply not doing it because I didn't want too, or something.

Jaworski, that guy was rad as hell. He really made me appreciate history in a whole new light. I've had a ton of history teachers, maybe no more than the usual student I guess, but like he really loved his job. You could tell it was his passion. All his kids were grown and all, so he was kind of older, but not like old-old, and he really carried it well. He had this awesome beard, and always gave out really fun assignments.

He would take smaller checks during the year so he would get paid during summer vacation. Every year he'd go to some place like Egypt or Italy for the History of it. Every single day I went to his class, he'd have some story to tell, and he was always firey and passionate about history. I loved going to his class. It was the only class I never was late too, not even once.

Teachers don't get enough credit for anything they do. Some are bullshit, yeah, but then you get a few that are completely awesome teacher who always puts forth this entire effort, but so often they get overlooked because for years you've had these jaded teachers who just don;t give a shit about their students, so the students just give up.

But I got lucky. It's unfortunate those teachers like that, they hardly get the due they are deserved. Bigger paychecks and adulation all around, stuff like that.

I think about it pretty often, honestly.

-Until tomorrow.

Down in south Oakland off east 14th it's raining, six a.m. on Sunday and the bums are praying (Day 158)

You ever get to the point where you realize, "Holy crap, I'm too old to be doing this still."

I came to that resolution last night while I was having a nice jog in the dark trying to avoid policia. Sometimes...that's just my life.

But during the course of the night, prior to my audition for Cops, we wound up at a party. A party on a Monday night...because that's what adults do.

And while the "party" wasn't exactly a barn burner, and I wasn't there for very long, I actually met people I hadn't even known had existed in this cramped, desolate and small town.

I grabbed a guitar, because all night I'd been in the mood to play. The next thing I know I'm introduced to some very fucking cool people with very fucking cool music tastes. I never meet anyone, especially in the area, who is legitimately into vinyl, the Misfits or the Clash.

I wish to God I had their information. Maybe I wouldn't sit here all the time hating my surroundings.

Get out and explore, I guess.

-Until tomorrow.

My beloved monster and me- Day 157 [Guest Update]

So, um, salutations! My name is Arleen and I'm quite a good friend of Aaron's. He was out with other festivities tonight so he asked me to do a guest update and here I am. He said specifically about my daughter, Alexandria, so I'm going to do my best to do her justice.

Mother's day was this past Sunday and to be totally honest, I didn't really expect anything. As cliche as that may sound, with the whole "oh wow kids you're my best present" bit being overused, my daughter is only 2 and I don't really expect her to understand the concept of why exactly I'm even around. Sometimes I even have a little bit of trouble understanding why I am around. Sometimes it's just downright chaotic and I'm unsure if I'll ever get the hang of this stuff. I'm so used to being carefree and, for a lack of a better word, rebellious. Now I'm telling this fun-sized human to do things I was doing not to long ago because they are dangerous. Makes me seem like I'm being a hypocrite...another thing I'll shy her away from.

Once in a while, I'll catch myself thinking "God dammit, why did I do this? I can't even take care of myself, how am I going to tell this person what to do?" Then all of the wreckless, selfish, absolutely juvenile thoughts blur my priorities and I get sucked up into this bullshit whirlpool of selfishness. Being extremely apathetic to the world around me, I search myself for some sort of quick release or a fast answer. The human mind is a really cruel joke sometimes... the way it lets you think really just throws you for a loop. I'll be wallowing in all of my self-pity and sadistic self-defeat... then a sticky hand will reach up and grip my index finger. My entire body jolts with shame... then self-discovery. That tiny little grip is suddenly telling me "That's too dangerous. You're being a hypocrite... let me help you shy away from this."

Everyone has their own path of life. Some think mine was premature and that I should have thought out mine a little clearer.. but then again they don't have the beautiful life I do. In the end, it'll always be her and I... and I couldn't be more proud of anything I've ever done.

I'll sing along with every emergency. (Day 156)

Another early morning post from a friends cell phone. As adamant as I am towards cell phones, I'm sort of beginning to wish I had one. Just for the sake of being able to kill boredom at any given moment by opening up this little computer and surfing at my leisure. It would make long car rides so much more bearable.

When I lived in Albany, they always had a cop siren or ambulhatLs something I always noticed.ays a helicopter But here there is alw with its search lights on. Several a ngiht. SometiTo my own....happy mothers day. Tu madre. I love you very, very, veru,very much.