Pisces

You’re the kind of fish who
inches toward the bait, then
away retreats at the shiver of a finger.
Nibbling at what you know will not attack you,
leaving the ocean unchanged as you slip through it,
you bind my eyes and restrict them to you.

You’re the kind of boy who,
when a friend sleeps over,
doesn’t turn off the lights or the television
because, you say, you’re too drunk to do either.
But in the way you hold your arms
I feel the fear you have of me.
Turn off the TV, and we’ll discuss how to destroy the world.
Turn off the lights, and I’ll invite you to my bed.

This is some kind of self-help I hope

This week, boys and girls, we're celebrating the Get Pissy and Reserved Festival! It's where I get pissy and reserved and feel really bad for everybody who has to deal with it! Bring your own juice box, and bring extra cigarettes for me!

I wrote this atop the parking garage at Loyola with a big yellow pad and a mechanical pencil at 5 a.m. having not slept.

---

So like, is this what happens every time my criminal lust fraudulently presents itself as love and gets caught and tried and found guilty and sentenced pretty bad?

I told my mother today—texted her, actually—that I do not believe I possess the ability to love, only that to chase. And I'm a fucking terrible predator. Maybe this is evolution by natural selection. The slow and tactless such as me do not have the enabling skills to survive and progenerate (or reproduce or whatever the fuck). And the inexplicably skilled get their prey and feast and are merry and fucking drunk.

But no.

I know that a subtle distinction occasionally reveals itself between what we consider a trophy and what we consider a boy. Others do not know this. Others seek what they know they can win and play a safe game. I don't mind challenge, but I certainly deny that the presence or lack of a challenge is a factor in my decision of whether or not to chase! I chase what I want, whether it be difficult or easy to obtain. So it happens that I've not yet made a successful hunt.

[Tiny. Scribbled in the margin.] what the fuck am i talking about

So then maybe the challenge level is a factor in my decision to follow or let pass? And perhaps I seek what is to difficult to get. Fuck it. Being on this roof is a bad idea. Being on this roof alone is a bad idea. Being anywhere alone is a bad idea, but in a similar way, being is a bad idea.

I'm not going to jump off today. I came up to watch the sun rise, and the idea of my mangled corpse five or six (I don't remember) stories below this piece of paper being discovered on the very October dawn I was so excited to welcome is just too ironic. I didn't come up here thinking like this, and only minutes ago did it come to mind. In the near future and until I feel worth something, I'll have to be more careful with where I allow myself to be.

The security guard just drove by where I was sitting. According to her, sitting in the parking garage is forbidden. I painfully resisted pointing out that I was technically sitting on the parking garage rather than in it. So I'm in a rocking chair outside the student center facing a statue of St. Ignatius What The Fuck Did He Do Loyola. By keeping people from hanging out in the parking garage, I guess they're keeping out the person who wants to jump down. I guess the person who wants to watch the sunrise can't. But I guess those two could be the same guy.

---

Nine hours later, this kind of scares the shit out of me. I dunno though, maybe I'm just saying that. I can't tell. Whatever, I'm impressed with my diction.

tumblr

http://mattarmato.tumblr.com

Patrick Hill wanted me to to keep Tumblr a secret. And I did for a few months. But I'm sorry, it's just too damn awesome to horde away from everyone. I post on Tumblr very frequently. I'm still gonna post on here when I have long, inspirational, essay-type stuff (or long uninteresting stuff). Basically, I'm gonna make my Blogger like a journal and my Tumblr like a scrapbook. That's the way it should be.

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Best Things A-Z part TWO

I did this in January-February of '08. I liked it. Here it is again, with different choices and a lousy attempt to make every entry alliterative.

A is for Anne-Louise.

Anne-Louise is the name of my white '99 Honda Passport. She's about to fall apart a bit, but I adore her. Admittedly, she's got a little vehicle arthritis, only allowing me to open from the passenger side. Although, that doesn't anger me. And the A/C doesn't work, but I can access air through the sunroof. And she ain't too atrocious at arriving at the destination I ask for. So A is for Anne-Louise.

B is for Bad, "Beat It," and "Billie Jean."

Ok, the letter B basically belongs to Michael Jackson. I can't decide if I want to bestow it upon Bad for "best Michael Jackson album" because it features "Bad," "Man in the Mirror," and "Smooth Criminal," or if I want to bring it to a tie between "Beat It" and "Billie Jean" for best Michael Jackson songs. No lie, Bad is the best MJ album, and the best MJ songs are "Smooth Criminal," "Beat It," and "Billie Jean." Believe it or not, I'm drawing a blank. Why bother? B is for Bad, "Beat It," and "Billie Jean."

C is for The Catcher in the Rye.

The Catcher in the Rye is the best book I've ever read for school. No competition. It caused me to completely change my perception of the cosmos. Can't begin to describe how carefully I chewed on that novel. Caufield can convey his thoughts like no character I've read before. And Salinger's crazy cool, too. So C is for The Catcher in the Rye.

Movie Pitch

In the conversation, I'm Matt, my friend Matt McCue is Matthew.

---

0:55Matt

so there's this house i hang out at sometimes. it's my friend danny's grandpa's house, and his grandpa doesn't live there anymore, so sometimes we hang here in the awesome room above the detached garage

and the actual house is this really creepy place, and the whole thing's a great setup for a horror movie because

00:55Matthew

skeleton key

00:56Matt

we usually just hang out in the awesome room, but every so often, the actual house beckons us in with its refrigerator and its air conditioning and dvd player and such

but always, always accompanied.

but one day, this one boy (me) is like to himself "i have the balls to go in there alone, i just want a glass of water, y'know?"

00:57Matthew

yeah

00:57Matt

and he goes in and realizes he can't find the light switch. so he opens the refrigerator to use the light and find the light switch.

but it's hard to find, so he like opens the fridge and goes to look for the lightswitch but only has enough time to look quickly then run back to the fridge before it closes

so he finally gets the lightswitch and he goes into the kitchen and pours a glas of water

he looks in the freezer while he's in there and when he closes the freezer the ghost is there, but he doesn't see it, but the audience gasps

and as he's leaving, he opens the refridgerator to find the door and a cut up, bloody body is there

00:59Matthew

and then he gets the water?

wow

good story

hahaha

01:00Matt

he screams, and then the body puts it self back together and molests shim/immerses him in darkness/eats him/whatever

01:00Matthew

your played by zac efron in this movie

01:01Matt

and the rest of the movie is the five other guys trying to figure out what happened to zac efron and slowly dying one by one

FWD:

I have not updated in a while. Mobile update time! Oliver was kickass. All for now.

May Update

I'm a big fan of how the last few weeks have gone. It's been nice hanging out with Michael, Danny, Martin, Aris, and all these other people I've only just met. Everything's easy with them. I'm just one of the guys, and I don't feel like they define me by my homosexuality anymore. They don't bitch and whine, they don't get mad at me for stupid shit, they don't get offended if I don't want to hang out. It's nice.

Get ready for this... I'm fucking tired of theatre. I'm supremely glad I didn't get in to any of the schools I auditioned for, because I would have signed an intent to enroll already and I'd end up going. Even though I'm tired of it. Psychology is a good major for me. I want to minor in anthropology and study how those fields apply to human origins. That's kind of specific for someone who hasn't even touched his freshman year, I know, but I'm allowing myself room to change my mind.

I want an iPhone.

I love Theresa Andersson, and I love my SuSu, and my SuSu got me an autographed copy of Theresa Andersson's "Hummingbird, Go!" for a graduation present.

I'm going to start a novel this summer. I'm not giving myself a deadline this time. Maybe that will help me finish it. Even if it's at age 57 that I finish it, it'll still get finished.

Oh yeah, and I graduated. I didn't get a pocket diploma. That's what I was most excited about.

Where's Fluffy?

That's Nick on the left. Nick is like me. He's nerdy and he's got a good sense of individuality. He also makes mix CDs for Tris. Mix CDs that she throws away. She doesn't throw them in canals, but she throws them away. There's this other girl Norah, though, who likes the CDs and can't comprehend how Tris could pass up such an obviously awesome guy like me—I mean... Nick.

Tris is like this super bitch who (whether she knows it or not) toys mercilessly with Nick's emotions. Nick totally wants her, and she wants him, too, to some degree. Maybe it's just that he's the person she's come to feel comfortable with or maybe she just thinks he's good looking. The bottom line is that Tris doesn't really give a rat's ass about him on any deeper level.

Anyway, Nick meets Norah, Norah pretends Nick is her boyfriend to look cool in front of Tris, and Tris gets jealous. Tris eventually realizes that she passed up a really great guy, but it's a little too late for her; Nick has already realized that Norah's a whole lot more kickass than Tris could ever be.

When I saw this movie I had already been hurt a few times by my Tris. It was this movie that made me go, "Hey. I should really fucking find Norah." So I started to keep my eyes open for my Norah. Well, I found Norah, dated Norah, and broke up with Norah before I ever realized it was Norah. Fuck! I still had hopes that things would work out with Tris, and then Tris just hurt me yet again.

Okay, I'm tired of using movie names.

I hate that he lives in Slidell. Like a whole fucking bunch. And the time that it takes to drive there isn't what bothers me; it's that I can't pay for my own gas, and Mama (understandably) doesn't want to finance frequent trips to the north shore. I'm hoping the summer presents us with opportunities to hang out. I think he's possibly doing the St. Luke's show, and while I won't be, that conveniently puts him on my side of the lake pretty often. But then again, maybe it'd be best if we didn't spend time together at all this summer. He's moving to California come August. Ugh.

I've decided that I'm Romeo. That's not a good thing like people have come to think it is. Romeo has come to mean "suave romancer." Well, if you've actually read or seen the play, you know that he's nothing of the sort. He's a stupid, love-hungry, naive teenager who rapidly falls in and out of love. (See Falling Easy) [This is becoming quite unfocused, but I'd now like to briefly express how much I hate the way people typically glorify Romeo and Juliet's romance. People think it's this amazing love story of sacrifice and true, deep love. Okay, the kids knew each other for three days before they got married and killed themselves. The play's not about love; it's about stupidity. End off-topic rant.]

So to summarize:

• Tris can S my D. (Not in the literal way, we've both had enough of that. Not really in the figurative way either, though, I want to be friends with Tris. So forget that.)
  
• I get that Tris and I will never work.
• I know who Norah is now.
• I'm hoping something comes of this.

---

P.S. There's more to me than lovesickness. I fucking swear.

---why-------------did------
canal soot------leech onto---
a mix CD scratched by fear’s
-unclipped fingernails if---
---a faulty bloodpumper-----
------sweat the sweet--------
-------eye water to----------
--------compensate-----------
---------for the-------------
----------hands--------------
-----------hak---------------
------------e----------------
------------?---

We'll call this an experiment in imagism. You can thank William Carlos Williams for writing "The Red Wheelbarrow," Ryan Gallagher for having his sophomore English class read it, and an adorable little asshole for throwing the mix CD I made him into a canal. Cheers.

Things I want to say to Twitter but don't lest I annoy.

• You lucky, lucky little shit.
• I'm in the mood for an 'N Sync song. I drove myself insane wishing I could touch your face, but the truth remains: you're gone.
• @DylanCampbell Vooooooooodoo magic!
• I want a cigarette that makes me feeeeeeeeeel good but doesn't hurt my chest. Because they do that.
• I can quote Sara B, too!
• I'm pretty sure I affect you more than you me. In a different way, of course. And you're the one who makes it awkward, btw.
• Uuuuuuurgh I wish I knew who all is doing Oliver! I don't know if I want to do Summer Lyric or St. Luke's!!!
• I need to write this Civics thing. No, fuck my opinion on congressional term limits.
• City of Grasshoppers by Marc Bonis is a terrible book. It's that part that Orwell puked up after eating Animal Farm.
  
• I have an evil plaaaaaaaaaaan *sung*
• Yummm I love thunder.
• Still want a cigarette. I know where my mom hid them! Must resist. I like lungs.
• I don't like this house.
• I don't like my carpet. I will whenever I vacuum it. There are objects hiding in its tall woolies.
• I found Michael Moises on Twitter!
• Seriously, this book is terrible. I want to read my Hemingwaaaaaaaay.
• Talk to me.
• You keep running from your problemos, chico.
  
• I dressed like the hot math teacher today at the improv show. And he was theeeere and looking fine. Can't wait to graduate and give him my number.
• Have I mentioned I love rain?
• Have I mentioned I hate high school?
  

These are all the things I considered tweeting from 11:02 to 11:49. I didn't. But I wanted to.

This is why I don't mind seeing him so rarely.

yogacelebrity: fellatio is one of my favorite words.
yogacelebrity: another favorite is defenestration.

MarkArmato: ok

yogacelebrity: and another you wouldn't approve of, but it's a powerful, harsh sounding word that turns heads.

MarkArmato: ok what

yogacelebrity: starts with a 'c' end with an 'unt.'

MarkArmato: oh
MarkArmato: yeah
MarkArmato: that is one of my favorite words
MarkArmato: too
MarkArmato: sorry but it's my name for your mother
MarkArmato: ok forget i said that

yogacelebrity: you could've kept that to yourself.