| badadadadadum. My comma usage is correct. Most of the time. |
[Feb. 9th, 2006|02:03 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Still Rachmaninov. Not Al Green though. | ] |
Music does something. It moves me
Out of the stolid state of depression.
Fuck poetry, it kills, the flow of expression, into finely tuned phrases. I too easily fall to comfort, but it doesn't suit me there, i seem to have no place. My place is on the front, is fighting the battle, the battle for whatever i believe in, if i could get that straight. But lately i don't seem to have the energy, lately i feel unrest.
I stayed home today, I didn't go to war, a life of peace is one of comfort, the only comfort in retreat.
These days it seems I'm fightin a war, a war for the survival of the solomon race, to be something satisfactory. Not just satisfactory, victorious. Trying to just be didn't seem to be enough, i had to be something. So now i have to decide what that is, and what is good, and what is right. Conversely what is bad and what is wrong is tugging at me at every corner, trying to solicit my attention.
(I like to sing these songs because I rip em like bongs)
I think i just need to chill, but i have anxiety for some reason.
Staving off depression should be easy, but it's a little hard when you're not just goin with the flow.
Fuck this shit, I'm out. |
|
|
| "I'm tired of bein alone" |
[Feb. 9th, 2006|01:58 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Rachmaninov, 3rd concerto. Al Green, "Let's Stay Together" | ] |
BOOOODUMMMMMMMM BOOOOOOOODUMMMMMMMMM BOOOOOODUUMMMMMMMMMNMNINMMNMNMNMNMNMNMNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNMMMMMNNNNNNMMMMMMNNNNNNMMMMMMMNNNNNNNMMMMMNNNNNNMMMMMMMNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMN.
Now there's a serious entry. |
|
|
| Meditations of an Acid head. |
[Dec. 8th, 2005|07:38 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  autistic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Fiona Apple | ] |
"Turn on, tune in and drop out"
It's like when you understand where you are, and you make yourself at home.
"Open up, walk in and swim"
And then there's those days that get me thinking, and it all just comes out. My self from my head, and i just want to get tangled up in the mountain of vines and scramble my way up and out. |
|
|
| Bianca. Binaca. Bouncy. Blanca. Bianc. |
[Nov. 18th, 2005|02:27 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Pale Blue Eyes; Candy Says - Velvet Underground | ] |
Hey. I've been trying to meet you....
Shit has gone down, and it's gone down the wrong road, and the road it's gone down isn't even the road we're going down anymore.
Sometimes you make me so happy
Sometimes you make me so sad,
But mostly, you just, make me mad.
Life is NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU DO, it's who you are. People aren't so much looking for a meaning in life as they are the feeling of being alive. How you get there is your choice. Only you don't so much have a choice, you have yourself, and yourself is all you need. It's not about making happiness, it's about finding happiness.
Two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl
Year after year.
What have we found, the same old fears,
Wish you were here.
I wrote you letters from San Francisco. Bianca, if you want me to leave your fishbowl, then i am leaving. And if i'm leaving i'm leaving completely. I can't sit and watch a life i've left move on.
And now, everything else in my life in as few words as possible:
Failing out of school, Acid is real cool, Count Bongulon has shattered, my roomie's brain was battered. Hampshire's fucking IT, Jess is cool as shit, Tripped face and called my brother, he acted like my mother. Sol is soul, he'll pass the bowl, the world is warm, i hug the trees, i'm on my knees in front of fate, and death won't wait so meditate, my walking stick is worn. |
|
|
| Drug Wars |
[Oct. 2nd, 2005|09:02 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  What is going on here | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Fiona Apple | ] |
Seeing bianca was the happiest thing to happen to me since i left home. I felt like myself again in a way i forgot i could. I really do love her.
But on the flip side, i got really high, on top of some illness, and threw up, and got really sick, and came home in the middle of a big family dinner, and made some kind of disgrace, collapsed on my bed. I woke up this morning to my dad standing in my room, over my bed, after which he immediately commenced delivering a speech warning me about being a drug addict. I was thirsty as balls, because i had thrown up last night, so i went downstairs to the kitchen, where my mom immediately commenced delivering a speech warning me about being a drug addict. Am I a drug addict? Woe is me. I don't do cocaine. |
|
|
| I was just looking for my mug |
[Sep. 28th, 2005|09:05 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | A Mix CD for Bianca | ] |
I am,
Doing nothing
All day long
And oh does it feel
Shitty.
I was gonna pick up a raquet
And play with my balls
But i was just playing with myself.
I was gonna take a needle
And feed the vampires
But I was just bleeding.
I don't really know
where do we go from here,
But i quit asking long ago.
I walked through the woods
Conquering my fear, and a
wise man told me to just go;
But my legs won't walk
And i can't move but slow.
So i scoured the brambly ground
Making a path as wide as a sound
And there stood all on its own
A stick with which i was destined to meet.
The wood, alive, breathing it's breath
Fits into my hands, warmly, like i know it should
I'm walking a path that leads to my death.
At the end of the wood, you will find a fence
with a hole. Like Alice chasing white rabbits
I clamber through, let the end commence
Wind your way through and find..the fiery pits.
I was burnt by the fire, and cut by the gate.
But i walked on through to meet my fate
And there stood it, waiting in tranquility
A giant, smiling it's inviting smile at me,
Waiting just beyond the shadows.
Darkness falls with weight
And it will crush the day
The day that slips away
Into a hole in the fence,
Where I have gone, and I
Won't come back. |
|
|
| Half of the time we're gone and we don't where...and we don't know here |
[Sep. 25th, 2005|01:50 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  Lose the smile, pedofile. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | S-money and G-funk, The Shins | ] |
Here is my song for the asking...
Baby, I don't know what i'm doing, anymore. We left summer far behind these woods we're in, and i think i lost you somewhere, and i don't where, and i don't know here.
Fucking come on and break the door down, i'm ready...
There's something in the way, of me and everybody else. I walk around all day looking like i'm spaced out, because i'm wandering in some other dimension, and there's only me in there.
Every day is an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines...
My nose is congested and i'm lying in bed at 2:30 in the afternoon. I didn't get home til 4 again last night, I was watching Kids. But when i say i didn't get home til 4 oclock, i don't mean to suggest i was out having a wild and crazy time...all night I was getting stoned, just in different places, with different people, none of whom mean much to me. But maybe you don't understand, i'm having fun, and doing great things, but it all seems something insignificant to what i really want. Fuck these palestinian fucks, i'm tired of pretending i'm game, yeah, it's cool, i think you're the man, but that's because i think you're THE MAN, that is fuck you, and your chicken-fucking friends, because you can't stop telling me stories about your friends fucking animals because they're too horny to contain themselves. Get a grip, on your dick, with your fucking hand, not with a fucking chicken, and how did you feel when the fucking chicken died on your horny asshole of a friend's diseased manhood. That shit is disgusting, and that shit on your dick is a message from god.
And when i say i was watching Kids, well, you know how that movie goes.
Tonight i'll sing my songs again, i'll play the game, and pretend; but all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity like emptiness and harmony, I need someone to comfort me...
The man with the smooth saxaphone plays a note and i croon, my spirit swoons, keep it coming mr. magical, and i'll keep coming back to see the fire burning. It doesn't burn in me anymore, but let me stand next to your fire, i'll take a hit, and knock me into dreaming, where dreams hold no laws against me. I need someone here, someone to mean enough to me, and i don't care for anybody here. The only one i care about lies sleeping in her bed, dying of the same disease that's killing me, and when she calls, i watch her dying, and there isn't anything i can do about it, and that's far, far too much. And i can never finish my sentences because the ends get lost in me as i start to.
Turn me back into the pet i was when we met, I was happier then, with no mind set...
I'll come home in 5 days, and please, pet me like you used to, when you played with my hair, even though all my hair is gone now. And don't hold back, even though we're way back there, and no-one's turned the light on. And don't leave me by the window baby, let me through the front door, i still love you.
Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall, never should have called, but my head's to the wall and i'm lonely...
I called you in the morning that day, but i didn't tell you what had happened. You said you dreamed about it, so somehow, you were still in my head. I just hope that you're still there. And I hope you don't leave. |
|
|
| smoking pot will shorten your attention span. I like cheese. |
[Sep. 18th, 2005|02:34 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  hung over | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Damien Rice; [edit: Manu Chao] | ] |
you wanna get boned, you wanna get stoned...
So college is incredible, but lately, well, let me end this sentence. Yesterday i was sitting on my bed and playing my guitar, listening to Beck (Mutations), and this feeling overwhelmed me, this feeling, or fear, that in some short time i'm going to end up here just like i used to be at home, in fall, sitting around the house, alone, not doing anything of use, not being social and friendly, definitely not being happy, soy un pierdador, so why don't you kill me, seasonal depression, a mouse around the house, hiding in a hole, lying on his back, in the corner of his moldy wall, staring at the ceiling, if there is in fact a ceiling, like a cat, tied to a stick, that's driven into frozen winter shit.
Volcano melt me down...
On another note, i've stopped hooking up with this girl here, and that seems to be working well. On another note, i was too insane on drugs i don't even understand last night to comprehend what bianca was telling me on the phone, but i just remembered, and i'm a little bit annoyed now. But i think in the midst of all that drug last night, i understood that if anything, the one thing that will keep me with bianca is that no matter what the circumstance is, or how long it's been since i've seen her, i always want her to be happy, and i am always happy talking to her, in some small way at least. I guess that's corny, but it's kind of profound to me, and sentiments are only corny if they're not sincere. And now, i have heartburn.
GOD, what did i TAKE last night?!?!? I was walking around, out of my mind, talking to everybody i met, feeling so much love.
I'm not a miracle, and you're not a saint, just another soldier, on a road to nowhere...
Yo dude, i got that feeling, you know, that feeeling. Like you don't want to do anything. But doing nothing, just isn't satisfying.
[Edit]
I told you once, i told you twice, the merry blues...
Mathieu sat upright in his bed.
"My mind will be turned off today," he said as he tried to coax himself back into sweet slumbers.
Me gusta la manana, me gusta tu. Me gusta marijuana, me gusta tu...
I'm just trying to forget here, just trying to clear my mind, so at least nothing, since not something, can be clear. I can't take these clouds, they're grey and overbearing. In the dark mornings of winter i wake up to myself, and my body returns to me, so much weightier than dreams. There's a cold breeze a-blowing. |
|
|
| The Penile Colony - a short story by Franz Kafka |
[Sep. 13th, 2005|02:27 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Phish - The Divided Sky | ] |
Error
Must provide entry text
Shit, that does seem to be the problem these days.
Socrates believed that one should only practice philosophy in a setting of live dialogue. I spent two minutes organizing that sentence, and now i have nothing to say about it. And now i can't bring myself to delete it. Socrates also aimed not to postulate any theories of his own, and yet he is the embodiment of philosophy as a way of life.
I'm thinking i have to try and determine, seriously, what wisdom is, right now, before i can hope to grow in any right direction. Any ideas?
What is a man? Why does he seem to be more reticent than the youth? Does one learn most from oneself or from others? Does one learn anything from others? What is the value of a theory, if any? Does a theory indicate any more understanding of the world than a question? Do we need to draw conclusions, or is it enough to merely posit what we know? I am losing myself here, i forgot where my train of thought was going.
I suppose that's enough for now. |
|
|
| baby's got the bends., i know |
[Sep. 10th, 2005|12:11 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  i am in love (!) | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Radiohead - The Bends | ] |
Where do we go from here
where do we go from here?
It's hard to sit down and write hardcore when I have a roomate, because i never really feel alone. That's a bit disquieting. I wonder if that suggests noisiness.
Don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry.
I miss the other part of myself. It's proving hard to find. But on the other hand, there a few places i can start looking.
! An Ant!!! In MY ROOM! MUST KILL IT. (death by marijuana).
I woke up this morning, and needed someone to kiss. |
|
|
| my class notes so far |
[Sep. 7th, 2005|03:06 pm] |
Solomon Heifets
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
() ()
( HHHHH )
MMMMMM
MMMMM
MMM
MMM
- Pasta Man! X-) |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2005|07:52 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | bouncy! (no) | ] |
| [ | music |
| | beck () mutations | ] |
i enjoy the feel of grass beneath my feet, but the lady doesn't think it's healthy for me to eat food in my feet, she says i must get shoes! Fie on your antiquated shoe-ful ways, i embrace my shoelessness.
There's been no shortage of weed in my few days here, but everyone seems to be looking for some green meanies to get medieval with. And my last lighter is now shot.
My magic hat said that i have the power to blossom, AND flower. So i'm goinig to turn into a raging homosexual here, huh? I guess there's that influence.
On that note, i managed to find time to masturbate today. The hour or two that left me to myself reared its ugly goomba head atop a stout erection, and i seized it.
Seize the day! They don't speak latin here. They don't even speak english, they just kinda slur out hippy speak. Professors, i mean. They're crazy. And i haven't done a thing today, a thing of use, that is, but i don't feel bad about it, at all.
I guess it's these new wonderful gypsy massachussetts stoners i'm hanging out with here, they're bringing down my motivation, and i am wallowing in it. :_) -the side of my face lying flattened on the pillow.
For the first time in this whole wicked coming and going travesty of a tapestry wound up in bizness i haven't had time to enter any kind of time-consuming live journal entries. I am slipping out of whoredom. But reading jitterbug perfume again, and deeply getting satisfaction out of it.
Oh mutations is in my mind, and in my itunes. I oughtta go to that party across the dealio. There is a lizard! ...
but first, i must smoke a bowl :-) |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2005|01:57 am] |
good night, good night
sleepy time
good night.
It's dark out tonight
It's dark in tonight
A dark night, is a night, is a good night. |
|
|
| subhas ahss ahss ahss |
[Sep. 2nd, 2005|06:59 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  introverted. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Dark Star Crashing | ] |
yo, college is...strange.
Smoking my joint-look-a-like stogie, i bail my journey to "the office of central registration", and opt for the hippie-ish looking kid smoking a camel on the wall. He hardly asked my name before he asked me if i had a bowl. So into the cornfield we go, we spit packs on my pipe, and after a bit of a buzz and a cigarette hunt, he goes away, whatever.
I feel...out of place. I know i should be really social right now, i'm missing opportunities to go nuts. Maybe if i just get really freaking high. But that means i have to find some weed. I think, i need to get really fucking high. Immediately. Or else.
This girl, just came in to my room. I bet she wants to sleep with me. I have to get out of the mentality that every girl who is nice to me secretly wants to sleep with me. It's never true. It's ridiculous. I don't even know where i got this assumption from. But i'm living on a hall of almost all girls, and they are all being nice to me. Maybe they're into group sex. Hall bonding, anyone?
And i wish bianca were here. I've been starting to believe that i can't just feel like myself, relaxed, and have fun anymore without her around, or at least, living in the same town as i. As me? As I.
I have a bottle of wine with me, well, most of a bottle, and i bet it's really nasty, but if i want to have a good time, i might just take a piss, drink that freakin bottle (i haven't eaten all day), and go wandering the halls.
Bowly blowy.
E4 is supposed to be a party, i'm tempted to head up there right now. Mr. looking for a bowl lives on that floor, i think. Fuck, i want college to be fun, right now, right now, right, now. Gah. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Sep. 2nd, 2005|12:23 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  i am | ] |
| [ | music |
| | One of those days - Pink Floyd | ] |
It's a hard walk. Saying goodbye is the hardest feeling in the world. The walk home is lighter, as i burn another cigarette. I only hope i can handle it for a little while by repressing my emotions, and maybe tomorrow, i'll make some new friends, and i'll be ok. And i will see her again. In only a month, and we've done that before. It will be ok. I will see her again. Saying goodbye is hard, but it's not goodbye, it's just see you later. |
|
|
| ohhh no |
[Sep. 1st, 2005|08:06 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Buddha Lounge, vol. 2 | ] |
i'm leavvvin, i'm leavvvin, for collllege, TOMORROW.
N', n', n'i'm high. N'syinc. sync.
My room is going away, my room is going away, oh no... |
|
|
| The beginning of a symphony. |
[Sep. 1st, 2005|01:47 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | i get high. but not low. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Mozart 25th symphony | ] |
buhb buhb bub bub, bub buhb buhb bub bub, buh bub bub bub bub bubububub buh, buh bubububububububub buh. I'll leave it at that.
Was my bubbing off? leave me a comment, and then go masturbate quietly in the corner (go fuck yourself, but nicely, because i love you :-) )
Oh a night, a night, a fabulous night. I can't write much these days, there's too much to be upset about to be sad and silly in my livejournal, and at the same time it's too much to write about how frabjous things are in my livejournal. I just have to live it for this one last day ahead of me, and then college, and then i will splurge all over the computer screen in type-written babble. sndflskfbfudghiudajdKL:KASJIF/\. |
|
|
| Poison ivy on my FACE :-)sodifhhvusdjhkvjdy |
[Aug. 29th, 2005|09:53 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  itchy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Rachmaninovykins. 2nd concerto :-) | ] |
ok, so even though most of y'all didn't leave comments, i'm going to keep posting these things anyway, because, i like them, and, i want them in one place. And it's my livejournal.
So i can do whatever the fuck i want.
Muahahahaha
On another note, my parents found out i steal their wine, and they're acting like i stole vast sums of money from them. It's just a teenage right of passage.. You HAVE to steal alcohol from your parents. That's such a bad justification i want to cry, buti can't, because it itches.
"I said Goddamn!"
This is going to take a while. It's going to take longer than i hoped. A lot longer. Maybe it's time to give up.
"Why does he have to have a girlfriend? What does she have that i don't?"
I stared at the IM. She still likes him. I can't even call it that. She's still obsessed. And that's what i lose to, an obsession. It's dirty, it's cruel, I wanna go home. I want my mommy.
"Um....she has the ability to talk to him in person,"
"You raise a valid point"
Why am i still talking? Maybe she's just doing this to torture me, maybe she just wants to see how i react. Well, at least there's hope. But somewhere inside i always know there's not.
"I'm going to bed, i'm tired." I'm not taking this shit anymore, if she wants to see how i'm going to react, well, this is it.
"waiiiiit,"
"..."?
"you talked to him? Did he say anything about me?"
"you torture me. I'm going to sleep."
"oh come on, how many times have i stayed up for hours later than i wanted to cuz i was talking to you?"
Not many. Do you even give a shit? Or maybe you just don't realize....
"Yes, we spoke of you, kind of."
It's too late. I can't go to sleep now, not now, not knowing there's no hope. I need to be let down easier than this.
"This obsession is really going good for me right now, i mean, i can be obsessed with him but not have him, without him pursuing me. You don't get it. Then again, i don't really either"
"I LOVE you."
"hm?"
"I love you."
"that's not funny."
"No, it is, just not in a good way."
"I hope you're not serious...but i know you are"
"I don't know, am i? how serious could i possibly be, you fucking tell me."
It's not too late to actually have that conversation. Of course it didn't happen, i could never tell her, not again. She could never know now, a small part of me would die. The funny thing is, I've told her twice, and she still doesn't realize it. I mean i've TOLD her twice, and i actually have to tell her again. I guess i could sign back online and do it, but what would that accomplish? Startle the pants off her. Well, that's one way to get her pants off. Of course i didn't mean that, but whatever, sexual desire is supposed to go along with it anyway, right? Well it does, when i actually beleive I am. For as long as she stays cold and dark to me it's never real, and doubt can destroy our very consciousness, let alone I and thou.
I signed on and watched the names scroll down faster than i could follow. I didn't see her name, but i figured it was worth checking. Fool that i am, i will always be able to believe she signed off because i left, and maybe it's because.... I can't keep doing this to myself, it's outrageous. And the soul sat down quietly, and put it's hand back down. Beauty in its fleetingness is pain in the endurance of its absence. These false-poetic thoughts don't suit me, so go to sleep. Go to sleep. Goodnight. |
|
|
| get your knives out...for cutco. Or for killing me. In 58 years. |
[Aug. 27th, 2005|11:53 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | I am dying!!! | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Knives Out, Mutations. | ] |
According to our research, you'll be dead by
October 2063
at age 76
- probable cause -
cancer
YOU DIE: 76.3 years
AVERAGE MALE LIFE SPAN: 72.5 years
As you can plainly see, you have more health & vitality than the average man.
WHY YOU DIE?
56% cancer
24% car accident
13% overdose
5% drowning of the lungs
2% wounds
You have 21247.2 days left on this earth.
You've already lived 24% of your life.
Oh...and on that note, HAPPY BIRFDAY BANCA||!!!! |
|
|
| quiero un stick de cancer. |
[Aug. 25th, 2005|07:35 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | Yes. Bouncing = accomplished! | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Fiona's Adams Apple | ] |
Wow. I made myself call the pot dealer, and then the kid who owes me ten dollars. Shit i'm impressed with myself. !!!
In other news, i just went on a websearch and found myself my old blogger entries, from earlier this year. Fall and Winter, mostly, i think. Or maybe it was all winter. This was before i became a full on pot head. I think i may have even been sober while i wrote these. Though that wouldn't account for the constant mispelling in terms of adding "e" to the end of every word i wasn't sure of how to spell. I'll post one. Tell me if you all like it, and i'll post other good ones as well :-). They all kind of work together in a series. I was trying to put together some kind of large-scale thing.
I smiled.
It was the first time i had smiled in days, in weeks perhaps, and as with everything significant that happens in my life, I was smiling because of a girl, who was smiling back at me with all the knowledge of God between us.
It wasn't quite that exhilirating feeling, that bright eyed wonder that used to fill me, fly, but i was still enraptured, encaptured by her.
And that smile...that was everything said between us, everything we had to say about so much nothing that had happened. And that was all we said that morning.
"Are you coming to psyche?"
She had clearly been waiting for me, I thought. "Cute" would be the words if i could turn my thoughts to language. Whatever i was thinking, it was warm.
But i wasn't going to psyche.
"No"
I looked from him to her, to him again, knowing i had already made my decision, but trying to tell her somehow i was torn.
"Come to psyche. It'll be fun, c'mon"
Some other comments from the child standing next to me, and maybe she repeated what she said, it didn't matter, everything we needed to say, it had been spoken before i had even closed my mouth.
I'm not sure if it was cruel or kind, but she understood, and accepted my decision.
As she walked away i felt expendable. What i had once been sure of was now in doubt. I never said that it was love, or even like (?), but it was something, a feeling so powerful i knew that it was there and it was different. It was like something sitting in my stomache, something earthy, something soft but solid....something definitely there. But now, had I forsaken it? Is love lost as opposed to love fulfilled already written?
And yet, I try to tell myself, It is beautiful, and in its loss i feel it's beauty. It overpowers me, it makes me blissfull sadness, and i hold on to that for it's all i have of her, perhaps, and that's something worth holding on to. And if she never understands what she has won and lost, though i know she does, i can only wish she did, for her. But though she might, understanding is not enough, perhaps acknowledgement is maturity, and methinks maturity she lacks.
A love story like any other, and one worth telling - i'm not sure. But it's a start, it's something real, and if there's anything in my life it's that...to vanquish darkness, insecurity....but only for a while, it seems, and when they return, i will love them all the better, for to fall in love with someone is to fall in love with life, and any story must start, or end, or wind this way, if it's to be accepted, and life is to be real. |
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sheifets's journal