Ancient Myspace Blog Entry 2

I've been meaning to get all my writings in one place. Here is a myspace blog I wrote like 6 years ago. Holy shit.

Starbucks dating. Internet love.

Starbucks dating. Internet love. I vow to refrain from both. I am the phantom. the freshman. Not invited to the party. Alone. without a coat or jacket outside in the cold, southern californian, December fall. Looking in. I feel fine. My other Senior beer drinkin buddies are keeping it real. Stuffing freshmen in lockers where they belong. We keep it real. Dag. Another one has found love. We keep it real. Playing Halo. Staying up late till 4. Waking up on my buddy’s couch. EAting donuts, hotdogs, and slurpies. Shoot. She’s in love. not with me. well that’s a relief. and teh remaining 4 keep it real. WE KEEPS IT REAL. Dang. another one bites the dust. drunk with love. I don’t blame him. He seems pretty happy. and I am happy for him. shizah. another. our crew is vanishing, dissapating like misty vapor. Sparse, fading. Each day. We are few. we keeps it real.

I Am desperate Now. I am here for friend’s, networking, dating, and serious relationships. I enjoy playing halo, eating hotdogs, fighting freshman, long walks on the beach, and waking up on Jonesy’s fouton. I would love to meet you @ starbucks for a drink. a late’. I love you. Oh Geeeezz. I blew it. dang. I guess I will find some new friends. I wish I could spell out sobbing noices. sobb, sobb. sobb.

Ancient Myspace blog entry

Auto Response: to my close friend.

I don't really have time to respond to everyone who leaves me a comment that says, "Hey Mike! how have you been? What have you been up to?" Are you dead? If I were to respond to everyone, I wouldn't be up to anything.

So here is my auto Response to you, my good friend:

Recently I sold my soul to the Devil and have been working as a temp for different property management companies. I make copies and live in a file room. i forget about the pain by drinking lots of black coffee and striving towards my material success goals of owning a porshe and a trophy wife.

but on the weekends i let loose. as soon as i leave the office i rip off my white shirt, burn my tie and paint naked until till the wee hours of the night.

i wake up next to a bottle of absinthe and don't know why i am I covered in oil and surrounded by paintings of little, old chinese men doing calisthenics.

Monday morning I enter the office again in my slightly faded, blood stained, white shirt and tie. i tell no one of my experience and sit quietly in my cubicle as if it never happened. I occasionaly make small talk with folks like Barry the Accountant and ask how his kids are. The week is a blur until friday comes and without a word i walk down that same dark path, pulled toward it like it is some strange, slient addiction.

besides that, not much you know, just chillin'. how bout you? miss ya

Mike