Manufactured insomnia

It's 4am and I'm writing body copy for Coz class tomorrow. I don't know when I'll get to sleep. Or if I'll be able to, due to unnatural amounts of caffeine seering through my veins. I feel like a failure on a daily basis. I'm told that's not a bad thing. But at this point, I'm going to have to disagree. How do you let your soul out when it's weighed down by layers of self doubt and insecurities? Where is the path to heaven? My compass is broken and I think I've sprained my ankle.

I suck at blogging

I've realized that this blog is pointless if it is to sit unused with two boring posts. So now there are three boring posts for your voyeuristic pleasure. Another thing I've realized is that I haven't really changed in my willingness to open up and share my thoughts and feelings with potential viewers which may or may not be complete strangers in cyberspace, I have enough trouble opening up to people I've known for the better part of a decade. This also undermines the purpose of these blogs. I suppose my point is this is quite possibly the worst blog ever, so please spend your time elsewhere, lest you have some masochistic fetish in reading very boring material.

From CBS's Rock INXS on national TV

Someone got fired for letting that one slip by.

Extracting brain juice.

I am constantly surrounded by an eclectic batch of creative people. I came to school to sit around, make jokes, and think of crazy ideas all day. And do a crapload of work, but that's besides the point. Seeing a film or reading a magazine is considered cultural research. There is no such thing as an impossible idea. Or running out of ideas. You won't survive if you do. Sometimes we play ping pong. Last night, we continuously murdered a stuffed rabbit for a short film. I am in heaven.