night of the demons

great movie.

i've been home. things have been going well. too much family time and not enough girlfriend time. the usual complaints about home.

things may be looking up for me in the near future, though.

the semester is almost over, which means my ass is swamped in work. it also means, however, that i am getting closer to being home for winter break.

my plans for winter break include:

• wearing a jumpsuit
• drinking
• drinking while wearing a jumpsuit

that's all.

in the meantime, though. i will be paying for all the weekends i spent having fun.

i will be trapped inside my room, typing furiously, and crying.

the only way to help me is to ignore me.

luckily, i've been feeling unusually motivated to do things lately.

this comes at a strange time, when there is very little to do.

otherwise, i am well.

EDIT: i have no money

i also changed my layout again. drastically this time. i really want to attract new readers, but then again. i never post anything meaningful here.

"i love beafleef. it is the most sporadically updating website with no content!"

-leefer

well, maybe next time i will have some revelations for you.

EDIT: no i won't.

night

-John Thomas Diener

ibuprofen

it's like air to me.

here's a tweet that i decided is now a poem.

talk

don't try and tell me about beauty

i've looked in the 3's and the streets and

i've looked at the bottom of a bottle

happy 400 tweets

now, die.

it's not great, but i like reading it.

i've going home tomorrow after a long fucking weekend.

went to boston, blacked out, came back.

been sleeping off that mistake for two days now.

i feel like shit and my throats sore but i got no cigarettes.

shame.

i'll be picking up my beloved on thanksgiving at 2 AM in new haven.

she could have gotten another ride, but then what would i be doing at 2 AM?

nothing.

besides, long car rides back from new haven are good for the soul.

i've heard.

listening to READY TO DIE over and fucking over again.

i literally cannot get enough.

i want to get enough. i cannot.

i've been writing this bullshit for about an hour now. fuck sleeping, i think i'm going home now.

no problem with that, is there?

just

turn off your speakers and turn up the nature sounds

less lamps and more moonlight

your fingers will pull my heartstrings

and the music will be terrible.

don't wear that mask, ok?

can you hyperlink from an epitaph?

-John Thomas Diener

53

i'm going back to my older style of blogging. it works better because it mirrors the way i think.

i don't think with capital letters. do you?

so, to re-cap this weekend, i did things that i couldn't afford, and helped my dad celebrate turning 53 years old.

i'm not sure what you do when you turn 53, but i think it includes drinking at noon and then having your son drive you to your mother's house for free food. i mean, i would do that.

seeing my dad today has really brighten my outlook on the next 20 years.

it seems bleak that i was worried about turning 20, but i think it's really harrowing. once you are 20, you are "in your 20s." and every day wasted is a day wasted in "your 20s."

i don't know.

if my dad can have a good time at 53, i think that i'll be fine.

that's all.

also, david lynch directed a PS2 commercial back in the day.

how about that?

is it better than the PS3 ads with gamers giving blood to nazis?

yes. it is.

-John Thomas Diener

fvrsh

Well, folks. I've been very sick.

It's been very unforgiving.

My class attendance is at a all time low, and I need to start picking up the pieces soon, because before you know it, It'll be the end of the semester. And then I'll be fucked.

But enough about THAT. This weekend will be very eventful.

Maybe Headgun show/Providence(?) trip Friday night.

Brownbird @ The Whitney Crib/Cuddling in a smelly basement with my beloved on Saturday.

Hard drugs/Painful moments on Sunday.

There you go. Everyone wish me the best of luck, and if you want to get in on this fuckery, lemme know via txt or email.

Chio!

-John Thomas Diener

experimental jet set, trash and no star

This is going to be a REAL short one.

4 in the morning.

Think I got swine flu.

Listening to Sonic Youth (yes, i know.)

Going to bed.

Going to attempt class tomorrow.

Crying.

I need more friends who are cats.

Some of them will talk like Tim Curry.

I require the solace of shadows and the dark of night. Sunshine is my destroyer.

-John Thomas Diener

It took me a long time to get here

It's been a really fucking long time since my last post, leefers. My last few posts have started like that, and I really owe you a apology. Actually, no, I don't. Either way, I will try and be more current. I'm here listening to the new "ice princess" album and drinking English tea with milk. It's soothing, even for 3 in the morning. This post will be painfully long.

Well, first off, I am in economic crisis. I'd like to believe I can survive without any income, but it's impossible. Really. Impossible. I applied for some jobs on and off campus today, and one of them seems really promising. The position is simply described as "Assistant Delivery." I want to work at a warehouse. At night.

I'm waiting for OpenOffice to finish downloading so I can make an attempt to salvage a Shakespeare essay. It will be the reason that I'll be up all night tonight. If you are reading this and it's still November 6th before 9 AM, please send me a message. I'll need it. Fortunately, I have my lovely flatmate to keep me company while we type furiously.

I'm committed to cleaning up the looks of this blog. Grammar, spelling, layout, etc.

I'm headed off to Brooklyn tomorrow to see my girlfriend. She's great. The Long Island Expressway is not. I'll have some company for the ride, though, so not all is lost. This will sound cheesy, but, I'll say it anyway. I can't wait to see her.

I may quit smoking. Not sure if I really care enough to.

Been trying to read some more lately. The Road and some Robert Pinsky.

It is getting very late, and I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.

So I will leave you with that, Leefers.

Goodnight, and good luck.

-John Thomas Diener