electronic impulses from brain to fingers; directed? sometimes. random? always.
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Chinkie for life.
NorCal for life.
Bruin for life.
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Friday, September 28, 2001
and I might as well say for now that I've had a creative epiphany; a serious realization and discovery that is so bold and strong that I can't shake my mind off it. I see the world even more differently than before. in a way, its like I can see how something would look frozen in black and white, or in a snapshot of blurry color, or in the shadows of something else; and I'm seeing beyond what i really see. There is meaning behind every image. deep.. yes.
i have new places to make peace with myself. and to take pictures and capture a moment of still life. how nice.
doobin @ 3:43 AM
such focused anger, i haven't had that in many a long while. dissipated, however. with good reason. my heirloom was located, but the other items remain at large. a harder task this poses because they're so normal looking: grey shirts with "UCLA" screen printed on them. so common. damn! i'll have to jack some more next time then. what with the nonexistent security. i'll find a way to work it.
Jan Driver is the fucking bomb. Pronounced "Yahn".
tech and funky house to the extreme, like the Don Glaude of Europe. good shit. funny how we found him 6 months after the mix was released, after we first got it. i can groove to this.
doobin @ 3:38 AM
having the greatest days as of late and what do i have to post now?
the fact that there are some shady fuckers in this building, on this campus. assholes. flamers. bastard cocksuckers. little pussy bitches. little trick hoes that i would carve a new chest cavity into if i find them. sketchy motherfuckers that I will smoke on instant sight.
I've been noticing some shit gone from my room, cleverly in the midst of my chaotic messes, but noticeable to be realized. Somehow one just gets these gut feelings that something is amiss. and things were. and now the shitwhores have gone and stolen one half of my heirloom. my fucking legacy. my goddam treasure. and I have no way to ease the utter anger I have burning within me.
just 24 hours ago, the fires of creativity and imaginative power took hold of me, inspired by poets and rhythmically sound intellectuals, followed by the display of my newfound interest, then by the abstract and fantastical concoctions of my psyche, being blurted out into an iry atmosphere, then by the visually stimulating characteristics of light and dark. What followed was the thunder and crash of a creative force unknown to me, but familiar all the same. it drove me to places I had never stopped to see, never stopped to see beyond the exterior -- in short form, i am now a photographer.
and now, they have been doused. by this undisclosed resent for what people stand by in order to just walk into an unoccupied room and loot its possessions with intent to repeat the offense.
fuck you, whoever you are. FUCK YOU. i wish i find you and find your house and blow in when youre fucking raping some bitch you got drunk because thats how shady you are and have the 5O on your sorry ass while I grab my two shirts and my fucking pants. my fucking DAD's pants you pitiful excuse for a fucking person. I was on my way to a good night, but thanks to you, I'm not resting until you never have another good one.
doobin @ 2:14 AM
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