I

I hope Apple gets bored one day and decides to unleash the mother of all lawsuits upon all ten thousand little dumbass companies that named themselves single-word-that's-a-lowecase-i-and-then-a-common-word. I don't care about defending Apple's honor, I don't own a single Apple product, I don't tend to use their software, I just think it's so egregiously fucking lazy to be like "hey, Apple made iPhones and iPads and iTunes and they're popular, so I think I'm going to name my uninspired bluetooth speaker the iSpeaker or my goddamn beach towel the iTowel or this dump I took the iPile".

Apple doesn't need any more money or power, but people creating brand identities for their products sure as hell need an actual incentive to do something more than take the zeitgeist's most recent "got milk?" and swap in a different noun.

I recently turned 27. I've been on the ether since I was 20. Other than the core of who I am, there's little resemblance.

I miss so many people. Even the ones that hurt me beyond repair. I often dream of reuniting with them, all is forgiven, forgotten touches are remembered through physical reminders. I wake up so sad that those reunions didn't happen and never will. I've got to stop dragging the past around like a matching set of luggage. I don't know how, yet, but I'm working on it.

used to be a deep blue... miss being that.

Man? Squirrel? Bear? What part of I is angry? Alone? Hopeful?

can not see what I is.

I'm just doing this for the order of thoughtwords.

I wake up too early to be the next Bukowski.

My heart beats too well for me to be Lerner.

I burn bright enough to write, but block the words from my head with an upturned bottle of liquid forgetting or tiny, compressed, powdering carelessness.

I lust after everything sooner or later. I am a covetous creature. This should help, but it seems to stand in my way.

I am convinced of my inherent damage. This should also help.

I'm a lazyass and I don't want to work. This seems prime writing motivation.

I've let myself be lonely and heartbroken two dozen times in eight years, but pining seems more important, most days.

I can be your liar, I can be your bearer of bad news.

i hate starting sentences with I. but yet i do it so often.

i was reading the first entry that came up, the medium mauve color. she said she was raised in indiana, and still lived here.

so am i. i just figured i'd get that out. and this brings me to why am i.

i am an eighteen year old caucasian female. i believe in life and love and the world i live in.

i hate religion. most of it.

i love the feeling of holding a warm hand in mine.

there's so much more to life.

but i like to think. it's only the simple things that just pop into my mind.

those really matter.

the rest is negligible.

I? Me? What? Define? Okay.

I'm a twenty year old caucasian female. I have a name but it's not coming out here. Six letters in the first name, three in the second, six in the third. Very boring, slightly rhyming name.

I was born in Indiana. I've always lived here. I've spent a total of five weeks elsewhere, as far as trips where I stayed multiple nights. Two in California, one in South Carolina, One in Tennessee at Bonnaroo, and one in Denver.

I'm indecisive, so there's no point in my listing opinions and such, because I have trouble forming them, and they ones I do have, that seem an inherent part of what I am, evolve constantly.

I do like music. Lots of it. No point in listing that either. Reading is also a kickass pastime. My original and still favorite pastime is curling up or leaning back or lying down, or standing in line or sitting and eating.

I like talking with people who are interesting. Boring people are.. boring.

Also, I thought my color was purple. And I thought mauve was red.

I is for Insatiable

me

The world got easier to understand when I realized that any one thing, myself included, was both an inextricable subsystem of a larger thing, and the conglomeration of its own cooperating subsystems. I cannot come to an exclusive conclusion regarding what "I" actually am. "I" am a beating heart, a layer of shedding skin, and a single hair on the back of my right index finger that's slightly thicker than the others, like an eyelash or something. "I" am the person with a driver's license and criminal record typing his thoughts into a website. "I" am a Western generation raised on out-of-control consumerism, technology, and viral pop culture. "I" am humanity's desire to express anguish, passion, and inspiration, to bring people closer together and make existence more bearable. "I" am the latest iteration of a self-sustaining biochemical pattern, composed of billions of genetically unique forms of life trapped within the atmosphere of a small planet. "I" am causality, probability, and uncertainty. I can be analyzed down to Boolean components. "I" am nothing. Now this brings to mind a much more important question. What are you?

i'm an individual who feels the same as anyone else on this world