I did some introspecting the other day, about my awkward adolescence, and I should write some stuff down some time, probably. Is there a word for glamorizedly-bad memories? Far as I know, nostalgia refers strictly to pleasant ones, but I find that memory of either sort tends to villify, victimize, or raise pedestals. Anyway, this would be anti-nostalgia stuff, I think, brought on by this new MP3 player/camera/video camera device thingy my parents got for me for free through some extravagant credit card reward process. According to my melodramatic recollections, I spent much of my teenaged years in 'frumpy' T-shirts, hating my new school(s), polishing my fuck-off face, and listening to Incubus. Staying plugged into music was a way of walling out the world. It's taken me -- still is taking -- years to unbrick my mighty fortress of solitude. Remarkably, the act of walking with earphones in evoked genuine anxiety.
I wonder if I'll ever run out of bullshit to get over.
Though where the music is concerned, I had infallible taste even then, I must say.
Click for 1024 x 768. Team Excalibur. BANZAI! I was so sloppy with fixing the shadows/lighting, and processing the Round Table image, but it's okay bc Betsy's 2 seconds from raping Pete on his desk. That's entertainment.
incandescens postscripts her journal entries with really good poems and fiction quotes. I've gone back to the beginning of 2005 so far. If you like words, you'd probably enjoy checking her space out.