1987 Volvo 240 DL

5:36 AM
I just secretly smoked a cigarette in my back yard and hid the butt in the bottom of the trashcan. I am sixteen years old.
I got a crazy buzz of the aforementioned cigarette. I am sixteen years old.
So I'm not really planning on writing so much on this blog, but here I am. I figured I should write as much as possible at first though, seeing as I'm not really good at keeping anything going long-term. Except for three year long unhealthy dating relationships, which I'm sure you'll hear all about at some time.
I want to be terrifyingly honest when I write, so this could get really scary. Brace yourself.
I'm turning into quite the regular when it comes to being a manwhore. My dad called me a "makeout artist" a few days ago, that was interesting. I'm not in dire need of girl's attention, or maybe I am and I won't say it, but I think everyone's in dire need of attention when it really comes down to it. I don't think any honest person can truly be happy sleeping alone at night, and after much trial and error with no-strings cuddling ending in alot of confused bodies and breathing patterns, have decided it's time to settle down and get married.
I watched the show on MTV about sixteen year old pregnancies tonight, and something about pregnant, young girls really gets me. I want to impregnate.
There's just something about the tragedy and hopelessness of these girls that is powerful and striking. I cried (just like Joey Mcintyre) the first time I watched the show in a rented condo in Florida. I want to rescue these girls. I want to hold them still and tell that all boys aren't selfish, childish *ssholes, but let's be honest, I don't think anyone can say that with much resolve. Sincerity, just like every other human emotion, is all chemicals anyway.
I have a side tab opened to Thesaurus.com. I'm dying to seem studied and intelligent, but so are you, think about it.
I've been hearing alot of talk about maybe touring for music in the future, and it's making me wonder what I really want with my life. I used to be so comfortable with settling down and doing "the family thing". I'm an advertising major, but I've been slowly figuring out that I really don't know anything worth more than twelve dollars and hour. I am theoretically an "idea guy". I can't use photoshoppe, writing for newspapers is pulling teeth, I tried to paint yesterday and all I got was a rastafarian spin-art looking canvas covered in glitter I found in our Christmas decorations.
Idea guys with degrees are still just idea guys. And when idea guys run out of ideas, they have no worth, businessly speaking.
I have no job, I have no internship, and I have no ideas. I have one hundred and nine dollars to my name, not to mention a negative ten thousand give or take debt dollars from everyone's least favorite university (go cocks!), at least in Greenville.
I'm not sure if that bothers me or not. This is by no means a pity party, and if it was, you wouldn't be invited anyway. (Or if you were, you would've gotten a Facebook invite and RSVP'd ages ago.)
I'm not much of a writer when backed into a corner, and every good writer has to write themselves out of corners. That's how we know these guys weren't good writers. (And look how THEY ended up...)
http://www.brusselstribunal.org/Journalists.htm
My friend Daniel says I need a blog because I have alot of interesting things to say, but I doubt that (and if I didn't I'd be a tool shed.) But he also tells me all the girls think I'm so cute, and I'm in bed alone right now.
I wonder if the great writers/songwriters liked their songs? If I think my content is sh*t, does that mean it's sh*t, or does that mean I'm a genius? They say that Jeff Buckley could hardly finish recording his song because he was never satisfied with the end result, and I think we can all agree that that kid had "geen" (genius) written all over him. I mean, he drowned mysteriously in a river completely sober. You either have to be majestically brilliant or a bumbling fool to do that, and bumbling fools don't write songs like "Hallelujah". (I think his dad drowned in the same river, which is pleasantly poetic.)
Death is nothing to be afraid of, and I know everyone says that, but then our country turns around and shells out billions of dollars a year to keep our proverbial cameras rolling. No one's exactly "embracing" the after-life.
We weren't built to last. It's like a 1987 Volvo 240 DL with 200,000 miles. I loved the hell out of that baby, but there comes a day when the wheels stop rolling, it's the circle of life. We're like snowballs rolling down some fantastic cosmic hill, but when we reach the bottom, instead of allowing ourselves to melt we spend our every last effort trying to roll back up the hill. Snowballs weren't built to roll up hills. And there are billions of other metaphorical snowballs experiencing identical existences.
So I hope today is a wonderful day. Not a day to greet with cynisism. But honesty. We are young, we are vibrant, we are invincible. For at least the next twenty minutes.
Now go beat the hell out of your twenty minutes.
Austin Is (Definitely not) Dead (For at least the next twenty minutes.)