Pay me no mind, I'm just bad rant (really bad)

I don’t want to write it. I have to write some bio of myself for a Palma newsletter since I’m in the top 10% of the class and I don’t want to write it. All anyone ever wants to read in those things is how Palma formed the student into a young man with ambition and thirst for knowledge. How spiritual, moral, physical, intellectual growth is all owed to the school. I hardly have to write anything at all. People will fill in all the fucking blanks themselves. They’ll ooh and ahh at bullshit they wrote themselves, not me. Then people will forget it. No one will keep a copy except for anyone else’s family who has sons that have to write in. It’s a stupidly transient piece of shit. How impermanent it is is astonishing. How little anyone will remember it is just stupid. The parents want it written out and printed and maybe they’ll hang it up and feed their goddamn egos in one more way. I don’t want to write at all. It’s true that I haven’t been present and I never even want to be present in this house. The only times I ever am are times I hate and times when I need to. There’s never anytime when I want to and it really pays. The only reason I ever want to be present at all is because I have that need as a human to exist in an active manner. That existence is bullshit here, though. Everyone complains. I hate that the most. I hate how much everyone complains when we go out to church or wherever. I hate how everyone just has this insatiable need to prove themselves all the goddamn time, and I wouldn’t mind except that they’re all so fucking loud when they do it. It’s dumb whenever anyone argues in this stupid house. They butt heads about how the fucking refrigerator works. Of all the things to raise your voice about, they choose the dumbest. They get fucking butthurt and sore and start playing their guilt-trips whenever they feel the slightest part of losing, least dad does it. Maybe my problem is only him about how stupid arguments get here, but he does it loud enough and in a belligerent enough way that it makes everyone here stupid. It’s like he’s a goddamn troll by nature and everyone else just gets stupid by association. I’m being a bitch, too. All I have to do is write this goddamn thing and then be done with it. I think my problem is that I’ve already wanted to be done for such a fucking long time. It’s not so much that I hate flaunting. I share poems with anyone I think would appreciate them. The problem I have is that it feels like a waste of time to brag about shit I really haven’t invested in at all. I kinda hate the fact that I won the giant trophy. I like that it was for English, at least. That’s actually fun. I hate that it’s so grandiose, I guess. That I can’t do anything BUT flaunt it. I disliked that people I’ve never met kept on walking up and congratulating me. I think it made me nervous. Why did they feel that because I won some great trophy and everything that they can talk to me like I’d known them for years? I’m not explaining that right. I just hated that kind of attention. Why do I have such a problem with being recognized and praised as smart? I take it as an insult sometimes. I don’t know why I’ve always kind of cringed at being called smart. I think it’s because I add more to it than is there (like all crazy people). I feel like people calling me smart means that I can only regurgitate facts, write down things in a “pretty” way, and I don’t know. I hate the word for some reason. I remember when I was a little kid, I used to be obsessed with being smart. I think it changed a lot towards jr. high. I stopped wanting to be “smart” in the way people kept on using the word. It always applied to grades I didn’t care about. Dad used to yell if I didn’t get good grades. For some reason, my stupid psychology took the lesson as smart being undesirable. Maybe if I wasn’t smart, people would just leave me alone and stop yelling so goddamn much about “family obligation”. As if it was SO important to the family that I take part in some bullshit academic decathalon or get perfect straight A’s because a B+ was struggling in class and a B average would always end up a C unless I would actually try in the class (which I never was, apparently) and a C is an F. I’m being a bitch. I hate that I’m lazy and so pissy and I hate how aggravated I get with them. I hate how bored I have been with everything in the past five years and I hate how I’m still bored and I hate how there’s still two months ‘till I’m not so bored anymore. I need to get out and I need to write more, for myself at least. I need to stop biting my nails and I need to stop being such a bitch.

Barometer

Don't take me down now.
I feel nice with her, away.
Our eyes look drunk, sway,
Our bodies float
Slowly, like a boat.
The side has a blue stripe running along
With little scars of unpainted wood here and there.
The wind picked up, and so did the sea,
So now the boat swings, swaggers, drunk,
Like the eyes of two kids
Probably kissing a little too passionately.

The Infinite Void

I really need some effective way of archiving ideas and such. SO many nice and clear ideas get lost way too often. Songs get thought up near completion in my head, but I don't have a good and consistent way of getting them down. Totally awesome revision ideas for Novel are being eaten up by forgetfulness. It's difficult to write things down as ideas because I get frustrated that way. They're not complete, so as soon as I put them on paper, they don't look anywhere near as attractive. I don't have a recorder, and recording things randomly on a street or something seems a bit pretentious, not to mention even more lo-fi than writing song ideas down. Now, a lot of times, I just have a super foggy memory. Things get remembered eventually or off of some random act, but for the most part, I take a magical shower and think of stuff that would be awesome, I dress and forget it all. Maybe I should stop getting dressed.
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Song I was listening to for this post. Pretty violins and gorgeous voice, yo

Saturday And Dream Girls

My ma and I went to JCPenny to buy stuff for my dad. 'Twasn't at all that exciting, but creativity saves a lot. It's funny how whenever I go looking at shoes, the ones I like the most are the super colorful Vans for girls. Now, I would never wear a pair (although I swear some of the designs could pass as unisex) but they're still just really nice looking. I saw this pair of Vans today that were awfully funny. The edges of the material were already frayed and the design was a bunch of multi-color peace signs on a black background. I don't know why I thought so, but I honestly think they were cute as hell. I thought about how immediately charmed I would be if I saw a girl my age wearing them. Attraction's funny like that. I thought about what a physically ideal girl would be, too. Maybe she'd be wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, too, and a thin and worn light purple sweatshirt with a bit of white on it. Maybe she'd have short but really wavy and wild hair, black or brown with a small barrette in her hair. Perhaps her face would be small with shining cheeks and bright eyes and thin lips. Would she be big hipped and flat-chested? Who knows what a girl has to have to make me skip two beats a look at her, really. Maybe what I really want is the tall and busty blonde model type. Well, maybe not that extreme... at all, but whatevs, whatevs. I could draw a perfect picture of what I think I want, have it come to lif,e and maybe she'd still not be it. A VAST majority of girls are awfully attractive, really, in different and super-subtle ways. Wearing purple and fun shoes helps, though.
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Neutral Milk Hotel-"Song Against Sex"
Super nice song by a pretty good band(/understatement).

Told you this thing would be annoying

You’re not what they want. You do a lot, but you’re not what they want. You put yourself out in places you wouldn’t normally be just to give yourself a better chance at what you want. You watch them across the room, watch their back, legs, but hardly ever their face, since they always face someone else. Most times, someone else they want, but not you. Hardly ever you.

You pine for them at night, day, whenever, but you never whisper words about it. You plan and fantasize, write stories in your head about telling them, write more stories about them telling you, but nothing ever gets published. You put those all in little closets in your head. Maybe your family will find those after you die, but no, probably not. They’ll be burned and buried by then.

You see them go through the same, ‘cept their feelings go requited, and your feelings go unrequited. You play like chess, move deliberately. Every word coming out of your mouth is precisely picked, planned. When you’re not flirting, you’re holding your breath, hoping things are responded to well and the way you want them. You never get to know, so you get home at night and lie in your bed while your heart and mind and soul all convulse and all chastise you for not being aggressive enough or outgoing, for saying stupid bullshit, and for ruining your chances forever.

Your stomach hurts.

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Just to lighten the mood, I'll suggest some lovely music for you. Off of LCD Soundsystem's newest album. Haven't really explored the guy, but this song's really nice. If you're feeling lazy, just skip to around 3 minutes.

Obligitory First

This is mah new blog. I guess the first thing I should do is apologize for it, for within this little corner of the internet, you'll find bad poetry that I wrote, bad prose that I wrote, bad reflections on my life that I wrote, and people in the comments lauding my writing for some strange reason.

Second order of business shall be an explanation of the title. One, it's the name of a song that I really like. Two, I really just like the sound of it. Three, by naming my blog "An Assassin", I hope to attract government probes looking for suspicious activity on the internet and thus increase the traffic my blog receives. You see, Big Bro is attracted to buzz words, so I'ma just take a minute to really get them interested in me. Let's see... bomb, Al-Qaeda, Los Zetas, truth, Area 51, cp, kidnap, president, pirate. There. Hey FBI dude! I dedicate this post to you especially <3<3>^-^)> <3<3

Third order of business: A promise to post something substantial tomorrow. This is for you, FBI