I'll talk and you'll talk, are we going anywhere?

I've noticed how conversation is so fickle. One moment it's up, the next it's down. Conversation also isn't just words, it has a certain flow to it. At one point, in every conversation, there is a key line, that sets how the rest of this dialogue will continue. After that point, it may alter some, another important point might be plotted, but it's still all been spawned from the special hit. I wonder why I've just realized this, I wonder why I'm bothering to say this. I don't know, maybe this will help with this play I'm supposed to finish. Anyways, sitting here, on a failure of a morning, conversation would be pretty nice.

"And I’ve been in your dreams
When I can feel that your mine
But you’re drifting away"
{Crazy Love, Monsters Are Waiting}

Thnk god

Everybody-
Writer's block gone. Good thing too. I've been itching to let loose some energy on paper. Now I can stop fidgeting with my Camera instead, which usually results in this:




Good thing that's over.
-Yaba

Missed the 10

Christmas eve
is not for me
The smell of dark
of longing
Fills the air while I walk these streets
All dirt and snow
All smoke and brine
My feet step slight
While my breath is weak
I'm screaming inside of my head
I wish you were here
Today of all days
So we could laugh
About the dull face
Of the streets washed with dead spirits
But I guess you're not coming
It's not strange, just severe

A message from moi

I've got a writer's block. I mean, I guess that's what I'll call it. I can still type. I can still talk. But poems? Those have all basically died and gone to hell. It's driving me crazy. Starting september, I had this amazing rush of excitement from compulsive song writing. Now, I think the barrel of creativity is completely ending. I can't think of anything, in short. The only way I'm about able to type this is cos I'm careful to not delete anything. Or reread it. If I do, I'll probably get mildy frustrated, and then save this as a draft. I wonder how it will turn out. If this is freaking crazy weird, I'm sorry. Reginald Vincent (the man in my head) has gone on vacation, and I doubt he'll have any great works of art coming out soon. Maybe the snow slows things down, dampens spark, maybe? It would be a sad conclusion, but at the moment I don't feel like blaming anything else. Beh. Laura and leah, have all begun to write amazingly. Laura is just a better writer than me in general, which I accept. Leah, has started to do these freeverse blips. And, just to get that out there, I SUCK at freeverse. Can't do it. Might have used to, at some point, but whatever gene or talent thing that was is now gone. Leah's writing is beautifully simplistic, and shockingly honest. I can't believe how authentic it feels. Laura is just too good. Clever. Complete wit. I just talk. I dunno. Eh. Gah. Beh. Bye.

Maybe i'm unconscious

Tired.
I wonder why the night is dead
And all these sick thoughts in my head
Sink in and out of order
Changing style
I've never felt this way before
Like thinking is a reckless chore
So maybe I should fall asleep instead?

Tired,
goes the rabbit
Dead,
goes the mouse
Creak,
go the floorboards underneath
the house.

Meow,
goes the pussycat
Rawr,
said the monster
I'm hoping for good dreams tonight, or all of you will suffer.

"...All of you will suffer."

what does it say?

There was a girl from Springfeild who was
asked to the prom by a guy who really, really
hated her. He did it on a dare, and the girl was
unaware of it. She used all her money to buy
a dress and a flower for his jacket. The dress
was as white as a cloud in a dream and the
flower was a red rose. She waited on prom night
for him to pick her up. instead he and his friends
drove by over and over while she waited on the curb,
holding the rose in her hand. Her dress
billowed in the wind and sucked up all the dirt
from the tires as the boys called her a ferret
and honked so all the neighbors would see.
she couldn't take it and the next time they drove by
she jumped out in the front. She went crashing through
the windshield and her dress fanned out in the
impact, suffocating them all. The rose

was not

damaged.

life line

Lucas: lol

its been 20 mins

i cant live without talking to u for 20 mins

all my mind could muster

Heyoo Ms. Ladyface
Don't you look so fine
Hey there little lady face
Would you know the time?

Your eyes are made of copper
Your lips shine bright as dimes
Hey there Ms. Ladyface
I'd love you to be mine

Come over here, I'll kiss you
Dance on over, my love
Walk away, (and) I'll miss you
Cos you're the brightest star above

Heyoo Ms. Ladyface
Have you got a man?
I want your love so badly,
Dear, try to understand

I watch you every day and hour
Searching for the clues
Hoping that you'll notice me
Something you never do

Come over here, I'll kiss you
Dance on over, My love
Walk away, (and) I'll miss you
Cos your the brightest star above
Yes you're the brightest star above.

Squares

Square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square after square.
Do the faces change? Do we think or feel? Or are we trapped?

Something I found on my arm.

It was late, I was tired. All I remember is waking up to find this, scribbled in pen on my left arm.

When I stare out my window
And look at the rain I think
"Damn, what a forsaken snowstorm."

Yeah, no idea what I could have been doing. But I guess sleep is wonderful in that sort of way.

Elementary, my dear

I bring you this post from the joys of...guess what? Math class. You might be wondering at this moment, how can I post from a computer in the middle of math? Well, elementary my dear. Literally. Because it's the last day before Thanksgiving break, guess what? We're watching....School House Rock. Beautiful. I haven't seen this beloved thing in soooo fucking long. Remember the ol, "Three is a magic number"? Well yeah. That's what I get to be fed during this class. Joy.
There is some hope for my consciousness however, Eva recently got this awesome new apple laptop, and therefor has brought it to school any chance she's gotten. Plus, once hooked up to the school WiFi network, no matter how slow, I am able to bring this post to my caring public. The thing's got a sweet keypad too. It's heavenly. I myself feel blessed, just from typing upon it's keys.
Oh dang. "I Got Six" is coming on. Till then...

I got six
You got six
You got six
We've got eighteen!
{I Got Six, School House Rock}

I like cold.

I love the cold. This is the season where you get to were completely unconventional outfits, every inch covered by a mitten, hat, or scarf. For shopping lovers, a drastic change of season is an excuse for new wardrobes, closets pilled high with fuzzy boots and sweaters. Cold also inspires love, melts anxious fears. It's easier to huddle close to, touch, or hug people in cold. Nobody minds, nobody cares. No one is suspicious as to why you bother to hug them so much. It's all for the sake of warmth, they say. Drinks get better in cold. Hot drinks, to be specific. Who wants hot chocolate or cocoa in Summer by the pool? Uh, nobody! Cold is the very best season for it. During cold you can often become an artist, sculping simple snowangels in the earth or chipping away at ice. Cold is also the very time to become a Warrior. The colour scheme makes sneaking quite difficult, but most can enjoy the sport of head-on contact. Cold is the time for poetry. Robert Frost, anyone?

I heard it's cold out
But her popsicle melts
She's in the bathroom
She pleasures herself.
{These Things, She Wants Revenge}

I'll sit beneath your window
Carving hearts out of soap
Flawless shards gather slowly
Swiss Army Art
Toothpick hopes

superman!

I've been noticing a lot of things lately. It's actually quite weird. I thought that crazy weekend parties were supposed to put you in a dizzy, sleep-until-you-rot state of head. When actually, I stayed up thinking about bridges. And poems. And how I can't write poems. And hobos. How I would like to be a hobo. And tongues. How tongues are bridges between two gates, two mouths. Then I started wondering why the hell I was thinking about tongues, and prolly sounding retarded. So I thought about Superman.
There seems to be a Superman in every occasion. And, believe it or not, overtime it's been heavily researched and found that Superman is a dumbass. Maybe not completely, but has a half that is. I bet that's the evil Superman. The pothead Superman. The dumbshit.

Cause look. There's the one guy that runs around town in underwear and spandex, using powers and luck to save his friends from doom. And everyone has BEEN that Superman time and time again. I have, you have, he has, she has. We call our friends to save them from boredom, we diet with friends so they can't get fat, we massage-therapy friends to make them feel happy.

Then there comes retard Superman. Running around in a hoodie and some pajama pants, smoking a joint and getting kicked out of houses. Retard Superman may still save people, on occasion, but only after getting them in the deep shit first. Like the other Superman, we have been this one too. I have, you have, he has, she has. We prank our friends and use up all their minutes leaving weird incoherent messages, we buy our dieting friends a buttload of donuts, we try to fix situations by lieing and jumping out windows, we swear at passing dogs, and burn our Grandmother's cookies.

All of these incidents done by retard Superman may be intentional or not, but are all equally, and undeniably, stupid. But hey, don't worry about which one you are. We're both. And it switches. Sometimes Super Superman flunks, while Retard Superman prevails. Life is a flipcoin. Eat it up.

"Everyone is a moon,
and has a dark side which he never shows
To anybody."

What is your problem?

I've just stumbled across a strange blog. Fallen, by SilverEssence or something. The blog is held up by a strange site called "Mystic Emotion" or mysticemotion.com. This whole blog is filled with blood dipped poetry and humor, embroidered by a flourish of over-exaggerated emotion and suffering. I honestly cannot tell if this is a very amuzing book, or just someone writing in a gothic blog. For this one, I'll title it gothic blog.
Gothic blogs, or livejournals are interesting to me. Usually well-written, but in the end, characteristically pointless. You write about your suffering, your pain, your emotions. I mean, you really try to bleed all the shit out into one prolific peice of emo. Just to tell everybody. But in the end, there is no matter. There is no change. You do not gain anything.
Maybe some people just need to talk.

Ittalics bore the paper
A catchfrase seen too much
It's not that nothing isn't worth it
But the statement was a crutch.

Twitchy the Bipolar toaster

Twitchy, the Bipolar toaster, has died. After at least a year of living in Yaba's kitchen, we began to see the symtoms.

Math is too long. Math is too annoying. I've been in a foggy funk all week, and now I have math. Ew.

twirls
throws up
and
runs away

Straight out of everything/How the nightmare has it

Dreaming to sleep
and
Sleeping to dream
The world's all in
My mind fell out
Straight out of everything

At least that''s how the nightmare has it

But I never knew
Who the people were
I never knew them well
Just faces in photographs
Not much story to tell

I couldn't believe just what I'd seen
Who knew that eyes could lie?
I swear, I hope I'm just dreaming
I'm still yours, as you're still mine.

At least that's how the nightmare has it

Dreaming to sleep
and
Waking to scream
The world's all in
My mind fell out
Straight out of everything.

Some might say I'm cynical.

I have came to the conclusion that people are too smart. Being humans. We're too smart. I mean, we've actually reached the unevitable point of smartness. The unreachable goal. But we made it. You know what it is? It's where we get SO smart, that we decide that we're done for being smart. Just plain done. Completely finished. So then, we get stupid. Incredibly stupid. There's is a point, where we get so sharp, that we're like, "You know what? No. Just no. Not cuttin' it for me. Computer science? Same sex rights? Naw, don't wanna talk 'bout THAT. Hey? What was that idea you had about rocks and sticks Jim? Oh yeah, rocks and sticks..." and I believe it's great. Totally hardcore. Awesome. I mean, seriously? When did things have to start making sense? That's just plain boring. Bring out the dancing tubas, the scarves. This isn't a country, this is ENTERTAINMENT, people!

'at least that's how the nightmare has it.'

Birds and broken chimes.

Teach me a lesson
I'd love to learn
My head's as empty as a shell
It's all filled with birds

I often like to dream I like to often dream
I often like to dream I dream often and I like it
I often like to dream I like to often dream
I often like to dream I dream often and I love it

The birds are red, the birds are blue
I'm part of this ocean, and so are you
This ocean we call thought
Is filled with birds
No time for space, no space for time
Just room for words, and broken chimes
Just room for words and broken chimes

Oh and I had loved you like you did too
I had loved you, sweet love too.
I had dreamed about the days
Where we'd just sit and think all day

I often like to dream I like to often dream
I often like to dream I dream often and I like it
I often like to scream I like to often scream
I often like to dream I dream often, and I like it
Yeah well I like it.

I loved you like I could
Held you tight in my hands
But you slipped through them
Fell out like sand
And sand isn't easy to pick up that well
I grabbed three grains before the wind came
And my heart fell
And my heart fell
And my heart fell
And my heart fell
And my heart fell
And my heart fell
And my heart fell
And my heart fell

The birds are red, the birds are blue
I'm part of this ocean, and so are you
This ocean we call thought
Is filled with birds
No time for space, no time for words
Just loving what I've lost, and losing what I've heard
(What I've heard.)

My sweetness is stupid.

Me:
i'm ever so saad

8:59 PM Gålen: ?

me: my stomach really hurts

9:00 PM Gålen: my tummy hurts too

9:01 PM me: let our tummies weep together

Take that, second step! TRUE friendship there! HA!

All my thoughts are witches

A ghostly mist hung in the air
Sailors, Pirates
I do declare
What a crazy night for me!
What a crazy night for we!
So wipe the sea spit off your lips
And paint your teeth pure green
Come on my darlings
Don't be late
For tonight, it's Halloween.

I'm Sorry.

I believe I should stop talking. It's really not helping anybody. Don't worry, I'm not going to go all 'I hate myself' but I CAN be a real idiot sometimes. Like now. I suspect I'm being a bit of an idiot now. Whenever I get angry or upset, I can react in two ways: go intense, or the complete opposite, be passive aggressive. A little weird how things all work out. And I feel really bad for my friends. I truly do. Again, not saying I'm Satan, and why would they ever talk to me, but, you know, it must be hard to be friends with me. At times. It's hard to talk to people, period. And it never helps when you're arguing on chat, or IM. Nobody can hear the sound of your voice. You can't type fast enough. Words are hard to understand. Because online, everything is based on conversational words. You can't use your voice to show your feelings, happy or sad. No, what you've gotta now do is pray that the way you're wording this sentence can come across with the right additude. Sounds hard, right? For example: I'm honestly hoping that this post sounds relaxed, just a normal person explaining something. However, depending on the reader, it could sound as if I'm desperately ranting. And yeah.
Truth, I love my friends. They're all amazing in many, many ways. I just hate feeling so misunderstood when I'm having a conversation. I dunno, I don't always...but it just makes me feel stupid, shallow, and pretty damn acerbic. And, I hope they don't see me that way. I hope I don't come across as insane as I feel sometimes. I'm pretty intense, and I've got a fair share of emotions. I can be normal, relaxed, fun, laid-back. And I usually am, on the inside. Maybe they get that. They're all geniouses, after all.

Teeth.

Everybody's love seems to have a song.
Something that they both hum to each other,
Both enjoy, you know?
But something interesting I've realized in this past hour
A plug that's finally connected to my hub of a brain circut.
It's the simple truth that
I have no song.
And how that relates to teeth, I don't know. Mouths? Vampires? Whatever.

if paper had a face
would it smile or feel the same way
that you do when you've been replaced
by a machine or computer we make.

RAWR: The explaination.

I keep trying to shorten my posts into little simple beings, like air-tight stories or sentences that can be read and create a "WOAH" effect in someone's mind. But here's the thing, sometimes that is an easy task, other times it's hard. At the moment, I'm finding it pretty hard. You see, everytime I post I go, 'Alrightie, just finished my post for the night. Cool.' and then get all fidgity after reading it over. Cause that 'Alrightie' turns into a 'Shit, I'll come across the wrong way!' which upsets my pool of thought. (I've made it a pool, instead of a train. Kay? Chill.)
Truth be told, I don't want to delete my posts, especially when I have no reason too. They're perfect normal little bloches of idea ink that filter through my system; sometimes ending up on this page. A good handlefull of these posts are bloches that have only crossed my mind maybe once or twice, but I'm jotting down for the hell of it.
Coming across as intense is a thing I do often, every emotion excellarated to a point where you'll gasp for breath. But, in reality, I'm just chillin in my basement lair, typing gleefully away. Passive emotions of a misleading hand. I'm cursed.

Reading back

'A scattered array of french and math.'
Have been the remainders of poetry left on my wall
In the September time of MeYou.
What the fuck?
I do declare.

The taste of regret as it leaves your stomach
Coating your tongue with every noun
Watery eyes the only thing that makes sense now

No worries

If you could ask the question you wanted to, what would that be? Maybe a "Really, how ARE you?" "Did you see truly see Jesus, Charlie?" "Is that a man?" "Did you actually mean THAT?" "How long had it been?" "Did you ever wonder..." even "What colour is the sky to you?" perhaps a "Have you ever thought...?" or "Is it because you loved her, you could never love me?"

But once you knew a girl and you named her lover
Danced with her in kitchens through the greenest summer
But autumn came, she disappeared, you can't remember
Where she said she was going to

Ghost longs for Robot Heart.

I wish there was a place where the wind never stopped. Where grass always grew. Where people kept dying every second, and windows were always smashed. Covered in dirt, every house would be in a constant flux. People leaving, windows closing, doors slamming, talking, laughter, the smell of dinner, husband's returning, children sleeping. Where cars would spin. And honk. Where people actually went where they wanted to go. Conversation would happen across the border daily. "Oh how are you today, sir?"
"Good, and you?"
"Quiet well Henry..."

And so the day goes. Exchanging smiles in lines for coffee, a pleasant glance across a bar. I wanna live in a place like that. Things happen, life happens. And the best part, I'm involved. A piece of me gets to be put into this. I'm part of a circut, in a HUGE robot heart.

When everything is lonely, I can be my own best friend.
I'll grab a coffee and the paper
Have my own conversations.
With the sidewalks and the pigeons
And my window reflection.

Ideas!

I've begun to think, that mood swings might not be the best...not for phone, car, nor sea. Stick to your mood. Get a pill.

Purged a poem I swore was finished
Heaping lines half chewed unconscious
{Grace, Dear and the Headlights}

Queer

I had a dream
One night, one day
About my flesh wasting away
About the needles in my skin
I've never had a dream so grim
About my thoughts all gone to rest
About the silence in my chest
It was about
The many bugs
That now occupied my old dead lungs
That filled the sockets emptied of eyes
That ate the heart I had despised
The same morning
I awoke
My mind was blurry, clouded of smoke.
I'd never had a dream so grim...
And why the fuck was I a skeleton?

Rocks and Daggers

A song in my head. I propose this to be a life song. Ch-yeah.

The rocks
they will always hold in the sea
and erosion can't stop their being
oh no currents can defeat them
and I am thankful for the love
these rocks have always given

And although
this boat is steady now
one wave could pull me under
and I'll be stranded out at sea
and I will pray that those rocks
will be there for me

and the sun always shines down on your shoes
could be a blue blue christmas for you
'cos when the sun always shines down on your shoes
could be a blue blue christmas for you

I love the way that your hair is always neat
and your skirts fall below your knees
and your love is so pure and so clean

Oh, it comforts me (x4)

I love the way that you're always surprised
oh, to find truth in all my lies
'cos you trust me and ignore my disguise

Oh, it comforts me (x4)

But there's no need to play with my heart (x15)

Silly friends...

Written by Edyn and I. What a good way to spend a bus ride, just together, you and I.

You and me
A house in a tree
We will be together
For ever and ever
Cuz I love you
And we love we
Lasting happy happiness
You and me...!

Got your fill?

Blinking,
Breathing
Constantly
In Motion.

Dreams dripping,
tears flowing
It's the
black oil

of your soul.

Eyes of multi-colored
depth,
kalidescope soul.
Can you see me?

Only in my world,
can you know my
wordless thoughts.
Then I awake,
and I am
Silent.

Notes of blood,
Sounds of crimson
Music of my anguish.

Breaking hearts,
cracking minds
Getting lost
In the world's design.

I'm floating
on a cloud
of toxic smoke,
and breathing
the fumes
of your regret.

Rock-a-by baby
violently shake.
Being alone
is all that
it takes.

Written by Julia De Aragon.

A friend's basement, I am worthy

Sitting in a friend's house, buried deep in the burrow of Spencer, currently deciding upon movies to watch. Our current choices range from British movies, like Snatch, love movies, like Across The Universe, and random picks, like The Blair Witch Project. Hm...some time has passed. I think we have decided on Snatch. I hear this is about Brad Pitt topless-interesting. As if there isn't enough of that in the world. I believe, that someday in this world, a huge group of females will summon all of their estrogen, shooting magic power beams. Which in turn, will screw up the world's atmosphere, making all "hot" men's shirt rip off...permanently. What a great day for all un-attractive feminists of the world. :P
Yeah, so sorry that this post isn't very interesting, I'm just feeling a bit strange. Oh look, the movie is on, and someone just said it was very complex. Shit. Goodbye my loves.

Introspection at its best

I have to move within the structure of society. I cannot talk. I've got to think, and observe this world. It's a thing that people do less often, due to lack of attention. Well, if I've got no interests or real meaning worth sharing, I might as well blend in, smooth out. No longer a wrinkle in the population, I can sit. I can stand. Flip around some spoons, shoot smiles at coffee cups, even jaunt around oblivious. Because when nobody notices you, isn't that the best form of attention?

'In this life like weeds
You're the dirt I'll breathe.'
{Life Like Weeds, Modest Mouse}

A useless twitch for a writer

I want to say the things you want
I want to do the things you'd like
I want to love the things you love

But when you want the things you crave
You'll dig yourself
An easy grave
Where your personality will lay to rest
Took over by thumps inside your chest
A cavity that's not worth eating
You search for the secret meaning
In the want
In the tire
Running on your own desire
Of things you cannot have or need
Oh, What an ugly, disgusting deed.

Even the shadows can't save me

You know what's depressing?

Realizing you've done everything wrong.
Twice.

On a somber note, a lyric:
"I thought I love you and our love would be forever
How could I hit you, the only one who ever loved me?"
Said the man, said the man to his shadow
~Winter Windows, Sea Wolf.

If you could hide, would you crawl away with me?

The longer I sit here denying the fact that I don't have that much homework, if any, and that updating my blog is MUCH more effective than doing my schoolwork, the more romantic I feel. Ughmsss...romantic. That word is used to much, I know. It gets annoying after a while, and starts sounds a bit cheesy. I guess I'll say lovesick...Or even whimsical. Iunnooo...I keep finding that during my loud eighth period French class, I'm pouring over a piece of notebook paper, like, worshiping it, quickly and quietly scrawling out nonsensical lines. Are they lyrics? Not really sure. Am I writing poems? Maybe. It's mawkish.
Is my pen trying to tell me something? I would assume that it knows better of me, considering that I can be quite passive to myself.
Some syrupy thoughts: Could I steal you away? Would you hold me? We could sleep under trees? I'd have no home, for we'd live on buses...On the roof of my house we'd have a house for ourselves, you and me...Is sunlight a just for your face? Are photographs worthy? Why am I so tired? Why can't I stop laughing? I love you...What? Wait, no. Could time freeze...? NO. A long conversation in a strawberry feild, with you? Some music for me? No. We could share popcorn. No. I wonder if you like buses. I wonder if you like dark. I wonder if you like reading. Could we laugh? Nooooo. Am I crazy? Yes. But I love you...Do I love you? No. I'd love to crawl into a little hole, where we could eat chocolate and drink soup. Catching fireflies? NO. Noo, no, no. No. Stop mind. Stop head. You are not lovesick over anything. You're just silly. Silly. Silly-silly.
Silly. :P

Forever sucked, now here's to the future.

Darkness. It's getting darker earlier, I've began to notice. Today's schedule went somewhat like this:
Morning: Dark, cold, damp.
Mid morning: Chilling, somewhat cloudy.
Afternoon: Bright and alive
Mid Afternoon: Dulling down, quite cloudy.
Evening/Whatever you would call now: Wet, damp, cold.
A pattern. Except at the ending, it reversed. Oh, how entertaining. The good things about Fall however, happen to be that there are leaves, and they're colored. The main reason, I've decided. Last year I was too much in a funk to notice such beautiful things. I mean, looking back on it, I probably jumped into a leaf pile like once the whole year. It took until spring for my mood to clear, and then there ain't no fresh leaves.
This year, I'm hoping for the best, come this weekend if it's not so drippy, I shall become LEAF BEAST!

Cosmic hearts?
Who?
Oh naw,
Who gives a fuck.

Pedro the poison.

"The poison makes it's way through my body slowly..." A sound I often hear while walking down the street on a fall day. I say fall, and not autumn. The season Autumn, I find to be a REALLY stupid name. Fall, is the perfect pick on seasonal names. Because that's what Fall often is. Falling. Fallen. Ground. See? There are connections there. I mean, what the hell does Autumn connect with? Some annoying blonde I used to know in elementary school, yeah. Anything else worth my time, no. "...Into the pleasure centers of my brain..." I love fall. I have a deep passion for colored leaves, the brisk morning air. In fall, everything seems in balance, your school depression hasn't exactly quite sunk it's way in to your system, and there are leaves. Gorgeous leaves. I mean, who doesn't want that? So, go ahead, take summer, and here's your filthy spring. But as for me, I've got my fall. "...If you were here I would admit that I'm an asshole..." Walking up the path to my house, I think. I continue to wonder about all of the people in the world with doubt. Insecurity. I myself haven't gotten quite over mine, I question as I stare at the damp road and still trees, am I am asshole? Are you?
"...But now it's over, and I can't stay sober, though it isn't like I've tried." I've tried, and I'm safe. But who knows how soon until I'm nothing left but a jug with a couple of eyes. "...On the front porch, or on an airplane on vacation," So many places to go. "Or out for dinner in a nearby town..." We'd obviously have nothing to talk about. Only sitting there, twirling our lobster with forks. "...I was so proud, just to have you sitting with me," The funneh thing about love, is that you never tell anybody what you always want to. You never just up and say, 'I'm proud, fuck, I love you.' We keep everything all up, until this stack of unsaid sweet nothings we've created just tips over and smushes us. "But now it's over, and I can't stay sober. Pour and swallow, follow one drink with another..." Then what happens? Do you leave and start again, become an alchoholic, you're love the poison? "I'll keep on til you agree to come back over," You start believing they're everything. "...Or there are X's on my eyes." And if you're everything's gone, you die. Simple. The end, now a swift repeat. "Love is caught between the spoken and unspoken," somebody once told me. But, is this true? Or easily fake?

My old man always swore
That hell would have no flame.
Just a front row seat to watch
Your true love pack her things
And drive away.
{The Poison, Pedro The Lion.}

Monopoly, my dear?

I'd like to think, that this game of life...Is all a round of monopoly. Something simple and often silly, where you just get off by buying houses and property. All about cash or something, you know?
I mean, I guess that life would probably SUCK if it was a boardgame...Come to think of it. There'd be no music, no love, no art, no sex. Just buildings. Miles and miles of buildings. Hm, there'd also be money. Lots of money. No banks I'm guessing, just some guy that would live his life to be the banker of the world. Eh...He'd probably get shot within two hours. Yeah, maybe four. Then what would this sad circus world do? Get a new one? Spawn a new banker child? Ouch.
And to all of you that probably wonder about religion in this new life, don't fret, there'd be a God. Duh. There's always a God to everything. Or atleast, in American views, anyway. In this case, your beloved God would be the Monopoly Man. You know, the guy on the box? Yeah. Him. He is so godlike, running around in his little top hat and goatee, chuckling. The vary essence of holyness, if you ask me.

And I like you
While I'm with you
You're you and yes,
I'm me
That's how things go.

Flight for fire

well I'll feed this fire, feed it good i will
pull it up from low ground
stretching till it's high sky

Well we'll all laugh about laughter, then laugh some more
chuckling brings it up
take us soon cause we're all so silly

I began to fly and fly you did as I did too
I began to fly and fly you did as I will too
I began to fly and fly you did as I have too
I began to fly while fly you does as I've been too

I met a man so dumb he saw me
I met that man in dark
The man that met this man I call me,
spoke only of debauched remarks
He said
'I figure we're all messed up as messed up good'
'Noone to see, nothing to hide, silly cushions all below us, our lies beneath the ride"
Our rides
Our lies

I began to fly and fly you did as I did too
I began to fly and fly you did as I will too
I began to fly and fly you did as I have too
I began the flight while fly you does as I've been too.

well I'll feed this fire, feed it good i will
pull it up from low ground
these lies will surely kill

Stall the ink

I was going to post...about exhaustion...But I've got to much homework, and frankly...I'm too exhausted.

*insert normal poem here*

Doing handstands in New York City

Today was a boring day. Even though the my morning started out just fine, I found myself shlumped over a notebook in french class, reciting comforting love songs to myself in hopes of feeling better. Nothing really happened to me I guess, I just seemed to have caught a spell of thinking to much, then demoting my thoughts into a bad mood. That happens to me sometimes. Less this year than last year, though. Eighth grade has been pretty happy so far, and I'm looking forward to not spending a year half depressed all the time. Oh! Did I just give you my grade? Crap muffins, look like I just did! That can be bad news on the internet...whatever. I trust all of my readers. Just remember, Shhh!
I awoke this morning with the sweetest song in my head. 'Bruises, by Chairlift.' But, here's the thing, the song shifts. So if you're in a really happy mood that song will be your anthem; but if you happen to be sad, it's like a bittersweet limb that you cling too. In the morning, I was singing it in the dark room during Intro To Photography. Later, it was my chanting song throughout lunch, committee, and french.
Weirdly enough my bad mood left while listening to 'Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's.' Yes, it's an incredibly popular over-played song, but it makes me REALLY happy. So happy that I'm guilty over it. Using one headphone on Anneke's MP3, it spontaniously played and I almost felt every sad and unsure bone in me melt away. So now, once again, Bruises is the happy song it once was. Another one of my comfort songs. God, I love music.

'I tried to do handstands for you
I tried to do handstands for you
Everytime I fell on you yeah
Everytime I fell'
{Bruises, Chairlift}

And I will love you forever, until forever sucks.

Love, a silly thing. It's interesting, how caught up you can get. How obsessed we all become. Like, you think you know someone, until they get this bf and then you see them with heart eyes. I don't wanna say that the underside of a person comes out when they're in love, because I certainly know plenty of people who's insides aren't quite as decorative, sweet, and lush. But, I'm also not gunna say that love is the cheap beer that everybody tries, pukes out their mind, then awakens in the morning with no acute memory of the experience. That's sex. Love, however, I've found to be something completely different altogether. Like gummy-bears, soup, or chocolate. You can't quite put your finger on how it's so different, but yet it seems so unique compared to anything else in the world. Or universe. Or everything. Anything else in the everything. Huh...

Anything else in the everything
Was you and me with you
I'd love to say you are my everything
If anything's worth nothing else too.

Postponing the homework doing.

Hey I have a scanner! Ooooh, I love homework doodles...Crap, I should be doing homework. Dammit, fine I'll go do that...ugh.

Cracking that procrastination box.

In the beginning of this year, I made a goal for myself. It's was probably a pretty simple one, something that every other teen in the freaking world promises, but never fulfills. I told myself not to procrastinate. At all. Like, not to the extreme where I would go all self-mutilation on myself for not doing assignments set on their given day; but so that I could keep up with work, while not getting dragged down into the muddy pit of boredom monsters. That goal or dream held up for a good week. Because during that week, an arrow to distract my train of thought smacked the straight center of my responsibility castle. Something that distracts, also known as...(BUM BUM BUM!) getting back together with an ex. Or, getting together with anyone for that matter. And anybody that's actually of the human variety would understand that this is bound to be distracting. To some point. Well, I told myself it wouldn't be, and now I'm sitting here being like "SHIT FUCK MAAANNN I GOT WORKK!" on a quite sunday afternoon, missing a birthday party, and still wasting my time blogging. >.< Irony works in gorgeous, sparkling ways...

The pen was dropped
The paper winced
It's sharp tip had hit
A soft spot
In my essay.

Lazy eyes and dusty minds

Oh look, a leaf. Oh look, it's windy. Oh, now there are more leaves. Cool. Wow, they're moving. Huh, I wouldn't expect leaves to do that. Interesting. Hm, it's sunny. Hm, I'm walking. Hm, I think that group of mellacenious people are my friends. Yay friends. They're laughing. I wonder what they could be laughing about. Tony? What is Tony doing over there? Maria, my dear secret love. Her shirt is see through. I like that bra. I should get a bra like that. Note that. Gaelen, it's dear Gaelen! His hair is making many colors. It looked like I could only see the red before, but now I'm realizing that it's mostly blue from this angle. Rainbow-hair, best idea ever. Note that. Archie, sweet Archie. Hah! I pulled his hood over his head...Woah, he has really blue eyes. Freckles. Lots of freckles and blue eyes. Archie would be a fun drawing to color. Oh, I'm being hugged. By Tenor. I love Tenor. Hm, I like hugs. HIS eyes are gray. Amazing. Naturally gray eyes. Hm. A bit glassy, in a sense. I would never be able to paint that. Where did Stasi and Leah go? What? Oh, behind the board. I wonder what they could be doing. Huh, that's annoying. I'd like to hang with them. Oh look, Leaves. More leaves. And wind. Hugs? Yay. Hm, Love. Note that.

Wouldn't life be so much more easier if thoughts were actually like that? Sharp and acute, simple and straightforward. What an easy dream.

'And don't be terse and don't be shy
Just hug my lips and say good lies
And know that I will be your bail bond'
{Insistor, Tapes 'n Tapes}

Mirror's Sharp As I Am Too

I'm putting up a song that I wrote about an hour ago, switching back to more of my previous style. I've been sorta switching around between lyrical styles that are more attractive to me...For most of August my writing took a sudden tilt toward a straightforward direction, not nearly as obscure as before. And I guess that in some ways that can be better, maybe a bit easier to pen, but after a while it gets boring, and I soon stop finding fun in toying with sentences.

In my heart there is a mirror,
Mirror’s sharp as I am too

In this chest I have your secrets
It’ll all blow open once this blood flows through

Rip open my hand
Crack down then start
Old empty pieces flailing
Damned uses of the heart
Damned uses of the heart
Yeah

Picking away at my system
Red swirling all around
Swirling all around
Swirling all around (us)

Because I’ve been thinking for a little two long now,
Waiting for a bell to ring, something’s quite wrong now

I’ve heard the birds
And I’ve heard their calls
But nothing seems to help while I’m stuck inside these walls
Stuck between the walls

Rip open my hand
Crack down then start
Old empty pieces flailing
Damned uses of the heart
Damned uses of that heart
Oh yeah now

Picking away at my system
Red swirling all around
Swirling all around
Swirling all around (us)

For in my heart there is a mirror
Mirror’s sharp as I am too

We’re all just scarred behind the laughter
It’ll all blow open once this blood flows through
(When the blood flows through)

Funneh enough, the song got started when I simply thought of 'inside my heart there is a mirror' and then was like, "Hey! That could be put to use!" and began writing in my August-style, a cute poem/song about love. After two paragraphs I realized, "Hey, lame." and began this. Completely un-edited version, I'm a bit happeh with myself. :)

ORGANICS! SUSTAINABILITY!

Words that could never be so empty...You know, there once was a time where 'Organic' and 'Sustainability' actually meant something. Now it's just like a hollow title people throw around in their speeches just to make themselves sound important. Everywhere you look, there's atleast three people practically screaming at you about organic-ness. No matter what the item even is. Organic tomatoes, organic squash, organic sushi, organic hair-dye, organic toothpaste, fuck man, organic tampons, and even organic condoms.
Yes, I am aware that most of you reading this think I'm just some angst-teen sounding angry and overly-cynical for my age, also probably being the biggest teen polluter and not-care-er of the earth. Well let me assure you, all of which is not true. Living in Ithaca, NY and going to the alternative school of LACS, I'm pretty damn conscious of my egological footprint on this planet. The only reason I bother to post this in a blog is simply because the way these words are tossed around mildly fascinates me. The word sustainability has been stuffed down my throat so many times by now that I'm honestly wondering what the REAL definition of it originally was.
Can words be fads? Is this whole let's-say-the-word-organic-and-sustainability-constantly-instead-of-finding-other-things-because-it-makes-us-sound-hot-and-eco only a thing of the year? Will this, dare I say...Pass? Or, are we all citizens of ithaca doomed to a life of health food and compost lectures? Lord save us all.

All townsmen gasped
Some hung their heads
Their beloved had died
All showered in red

The quick and the lonely, The lonely and the quick.

You've gotta think fast, otherwise everything will pass you by. And if you don't know this by now, then I'm ashamed. We get this messages everywhere. Like when the wind blows and it talks in sweet undertones, when the leaves crackle and you hear there melodies. Or, just when you fucking miss the T-cat bus to downtown because you decided to leave three minutes too late. Yeah, the universe can be that blunt at times.
Anyways, things are just finally picking up after being in a slow pace this past week. It's funneh because I thought that I had all of this stuff to do, when I ended up finding myself at home, bored. So the days lugged by slowly, until before I know it I've got teachers calling me about what kids are in what class, and I've got to get my act together by finding an icebreaker game for Orientation tomorrow. Rawrgh, waking up early and showing around six graders. Nice.
So after doing all of this, I've been a little artistically active by finally opening up yet another Deviantart account. I had about two before this one, but both died. All night I've been setting that up, whilst being caught in the middle of my friend's guy issues.
Gotta be quick, quick...Can't be lonely, lonely...

Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Jack jumped over the candlestick
But he missed
Dieing in wax.

Lies and ladybugs

When I was younger, about six or seven, I remember wishing on my first star. A long time ago I shared a room with my little brother, who's a rough two years younger than I. And even though I told him what to do all the time, as we had our far share of fights, he was like my little default of a best friend. So before we fell asleep every night, I remember having these half-whispered giggly conversations with him, getting yelled at, then dropping unconscious. Well anyways, one night he happened to fall asleep sooner than me, and for some reason I couldn't get to bed.
Staring out the window, I eventually spotted a single star in the sky. For some reason, even though I'm sure that I had seen stars before that day, I had never remembered the rule about wishing on them. I don't know, maybe the Disney movies hadn't quite penetrated my skull just yet. Seeing this star, I literally freaked and felt soooooo proud that I found one. I wished. Except here's the funneh part, I didn't just make one wish. I guess that I had somehow figured that a star comes only once in a blue moon or something, and that I should make as many wishes as possible because I didn't know how long it would be until I saw another one.
So I continued to stay up for another hour, (which felt like the whole night had gone by to me) just making wishes on this one dull star.
And, I don't exactly remember what I wished for, but I'm pretty sure none of it came true. That might be super-negative or emo, but it's true. Wishes on stars don't come true. I mean, if you wish on a star that you'll wake up tomorrow and brush your teeth, then yeah, duh. However, stars have never really worked for me. Maybe that one night of hyped up wishes from a 7-year-old wasted all of my chances forever more, but who knows. If I wanna wish on something, I wish on ladybugs. Yeah, that's right, I go for ladybugs. Try it, it'll come true, for anything red and spotted is bound to be magical.

Messily stacked apon this shelf
All the thoughts
I shudda kept to myself

Horror of the purblind picayune pectoral.

Stupid. Completely lethargic. Fucking stupid. I'm stupid, this is stupid. Asinine, bovine, and foolish. No matter how many beautiful sounding words you stick in it's place, it will always remain the same. Stupid. Plain witless. Fruck.
So yeah, I'm feeling like a torpid piece of shit right now, as to the fact that I just saw an ex at the commons. Don't get the story wrong, it's not like those idiotic stories where boy breaks girl's heart and now she hates seeing him because of her own insecurities. No, absolutely not. And, it's not like he was some big asshole of all time, you know, always making me feel like shit or something, and now seeing him is hell on earth. That's way off. You couldn't have the story any more wrong.
You see, being unique, I have to have the most trifling tale of all time, the type that when you read about it in a book or something, you always end up hating the main character, which in this case would be me; and you spend the whole fucking time you're reading the book just bitching about her in your head. Like, a commentary on this main character's choices would go like this:
"Ugh, what the hell, this girl is a total screwup. I mean, she has this guy that's amazing, and she's finally got hold of him, then lets it all go all because of some summer night in july. Jeezus, why do I READ books like these anyway? It's all so overrated and cliched, that bitch got what she deserves."
Seriously. You would say that. Trust me, even if you don't spend hours doing book commentaries in your head, I'm absolutely sure that's the main reaction collected from fans.
Anyway, I mess up in love. A lot. So after I had gotten together with a guy that I had desired for some time, It was like god had finally paid me for all of the wonderful deeds I'd done. Or had thought about doing in the time spaced between now, and whenever I die. So this guy is unbelievably cool. The type of person where you'll say "Damn, they're awesome, that'd never happen." Plus, he's frucking sweet. Just really great, not so stupid like other bfs, and idk, good to me? I actually have no idea how to say that without sounding fake, but yeah. Eventually, I went and questioned a bunch of things, feeling that it was probably a little shallower than I'd like it to be. Adding up with all of this other summer stuff, I broke up with him. During the pursuit of all this, I only had the same feelings he probably suffered thrown back my way, being a kick in the arse.
Here's another thing: school's starting soon, and I'm trying to come up with how to act and say where this bridge has not been burned and he's on my mind. Can duck tape fix a broken heart?

I feel amazing
Utterly devine
I’ve found that life
Without a heart
Is a life truly refined.

Crisp to clear

My mood is functioning much like the song Parasites, by Ugly Casanova. You start in on a solid strumming chord, crisp in it's clarity, hooking you on. Next these chanting voices tune in, vividly telling you that you're mind's been taken over, meanwhile, an enchanting and somewhat haunting horn spins around behind it. But my mind seems to be manipulating the curling cycle and shifting notes drifting on an upward curve, then diving lower into a mellow-to-almost-silence riff, melodically tugging me along, almost in a sleep. Summed up, it's a vibrant mixture of nostalgia, melancholy, soft exuberance, contentment, electric-energy, and vexation.
Out of all these, where'd the vexation come from you might ask? Well, as I was typing up this post, I had a pleasant phone conversation with my Mother. Love the leaves, love the music, and...love my Mom.

'It was hot and time was sticking to my skin.
We're all the punch line to a joke that they won't let us in on.'
{Parasites, Ugly Casanova}

Song for all of you

Here's a something that I wrote...Originally supposed to be a song, which you can see with that repeating, but it's in a stranger style than I tend to lean towards. A bit more poetic, and not as "Vague" or "Cryptic" as Laura would say. In my opinion, my songs can be mildly cryptic, but not straight-out vague. It's not my fault if she doesn't fully understand what I pen to paper. Heh, I'm being silly. Anyways, here's the Song/Poem, enjoy everybody.

He paused
Running over the cracked thoughts in his mind
Screaming out to the silence
His heart in a bind.

‘There’s no hope for me!’
Rang out over the sighs
Struggling to break free

I’ve been tired of lies
I’ve been tired of lies

Conclusions made
Emotions wrapped in neat bundles
Heart stored, and saved
‘This will be quite a tumble’
I’m sure to succeed, from doing this deed.

I’ve been tired (of lies)
I’ve been tired (of lies)

Stepping up to duty
He must break her heart
Something light and delicate
Forever they’ll part

Open lips
Blur stained speech
Observe her eyes
She’s growing weak
She’s growing weak…

Taped with sighs, and awkward hug
Glass tears rolled down cheeks
His eyes pools of sorrow
Her trails angry streams

Both soon reached
The chin of an ending
And both took that hazardous leap
That drop.

He was tired of lies
Tired of lies
Tired of lies
Tired of lies.

No more neverminds

Alright, I WAS planning to have a really awesome post tonight about the spontaneous expedition that I bravely ventured on today. I was gonna have some pictures, some descriptions, a few embellishments of literature, all prolly carefully put away in this pocket of knowledge that proves to the stupid just how amazing I am. Or can be. But instead my mind is feeling a little screwed out of it's bowl lately, and all of my words keep coming out as dripping nonsense, eventually making disgusting puddles on the carpeted floors.
Maybe it's just me, and I'm hoping it's not, but every now and then my mind will turn into this bucket of soup, and I start to get more poetic than usual. Well, I'm guessing in normal conversations anyways. And, maybe it's not that bad or whatever, but sometimes it can really suck when you're with a group of overly-peppy girls, perhaps a guy, and instead of something funny, cute, and normal to say...I sorta vomit up this supposed-to-be insightful, jointed phrase of speech. Either that or I'll still talk pretty normal, but it will be a bit romantic, definitely metaphorical, and somewhat lyrical.
Doesn't sound so bad to you? Well hey, for me, things like that are embarrassing. I mean, I'm not ashamed that I tend to write stuff like that, but some of the friends that don't know me so well won't think of me as the kind of person to say that sorta thing. Or go mushy on them. So, I guess when I word-vomit up these sentences, it's unexpected, and sounds dumb. Making the person I'm talking to be like, "What?" which results in me going, "Nevermind." Do you have any IDEA how many times I've said 'Nevermind' in my lifetime? In this year alone? A hell of a lot. But hey, It's all mumbling to anybody else anyway. And, then again, what would be a life without things unsaid?
I guess that as long as we mumble we're bound to survive.

I don't care where you're going
As long as you think I think
I know everything.

We're the ones that do it all

I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills,
I love the flowers, I love the daffodils,
I love the fireside when all the lights are dim.

Boom-de-ada, boom-de-ada, ...

We're the ones that do it all.

Pie, plaid, and the unevitable monsters.

Pie = Making dutch apple pie in the middle of the night, or, into the early morning.

Info - After doing absolutely nothing and everything at the same time, we realized that it would be a while until Laura's mother was completely unconscious. Planning to go skinny dipping, (or, as I would like to call it, chunky dumping,) in her rich ass neighbor's pond, we needed to wait. Suddenly remembering that one of our goals of the evening was to make pie, we summoned all of our hidden culinary skillz.

1. Pie making started at 3:10 (AM)
   
2. Apple guts finished && sweet at 3 something (AM)
   
3. Discovered that pie crust takes 50 minutes to defrost, all grumbled angrily
   
4. Somewhere wedged in between 3:50 and 4:30, I fell into blissful sleep on Laura's lap from pie exhaustion.
   
5. 4:30, happily inserted apple guts into it's pasty skin. Time for the oven. :)
   
6. Somewhere between 4:45 and 5:22, slipped into a cat nap while companions talked about faces. Or people. Or lines. Or whatever the hell they were talking about.
   
7. 5:33, ATE PIE!
   

Plaid = Plaid undergarments bring much confidence.

Info - After going to the mall and having a horrific sweatshirt scavenger hunt, whilst faithful companions looked at colored underpants, found love in humble plaid bra. It was astonishing. And, I'm sorry that I don't have an amazing timeline yet again, but all I do know is that it was sometime between 3:15 PM and EXACTLY 6 o'clock.

Unevitable Monsters = Well, there's no need explaining. There EVERYWHERE! Dun dun duunnnnn....
My monsters of today:

1. Men in plain orange shirts
   
2. Jeans with the absence of back pockets
   
3. Anything that has Hannah Montana's face on it
   
4. Erotic Axe from Target
   
5. Any living specimen within 2 feet of Zummies
   

'Outside, Inside,
This is the moon without a tide,
We'll build a fire in your eyes,
We'll build a fire when the cover's getting brighter,
Cold desire makes the moon without a tide'
{Gold Lion, Yeah Yeah Yeahs}

As we all grow withered

Such a blissful day...My mother's birthday, and for once I've stopped being a spoiled prick long enough to make her a nice gift. I decided to water color a semi-realistic based portrait of a young woman crying, (hope that doesn't send the wrong message) And along with that I carefully put together a playlist of 17 songs, all based on Indie/Alternative female singers. Yeah, my Mumma's music taste isn't too bad, both of my parents grew up listening to legends like The Who, Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Talking Heads, Smashing Pumpkins...etc. And even though my Mom also has a secret love for more female-pop related music, and my dad...well, he has a W I D E sense of music genres that he enjoys.^^
In fact, music-wise, I'm probably really lucky that I'm growing up with parents that actually aren't total dinkuses when it comes to rock. Even though my tastes tend to have branched off in different directions, I still find myself coming across bands that my dad has in his H U G E CD collection. For example, conversations have started to end up like this:
"Hey dad, have you heard of the Pixies?"
"Pixies? Yeah! I have a few of their albums"
"Oh really? Do you think I'd be able to put some on my iPod?"
"Yarra, you're not cool enough to be listening to the Pixies."
"Wa?"
"I mean, my coolest friends that are musicians all LOVE the Pixies. You're just not cool enough, sorry..."
"What the hell?" *Chuckles*
"Where'd you hear about the Pixies?"
"Well I've got some friends that listen to them, and I just stumbled across some awesome songs on the radio/Internet."
"Oh really? Like who?"
"Uh," *pauses, lists a few people* "...and Gaelen."
"Gaelen Bates? I've seen his haircut Yarra, he doesn't like the Pixies. Poser."
So anyways, every now and then I stumble upon conversations like this that make me, for a brief, shining nanosecond, think my parents could be cool. Then, they do something that makes me swiftly change my mind. :P

The curling of lips
Spin that frown into twists
Your grin no longer resembling sad crescent moons

Song for me?

Could this possibly mean...that love...is possible...for even the rusty-metal-beings, such as I? *GASP* Hope shines through...

Her kisses are metallic and her touch is firm but cold.
And I don't thinks she sleeps at night, but plugs into the wall.
And we have a great relationship,
based on things that can't be said.
And she has a great relationship with our television set.

And, yeah, I'm in love with an android, but so what?
Stranger things have happened,
stranger things have been loved.

The neighbors are an odd bunch and they're too inquisitive.
They don't like heavy metal,
or the type she shacks up with.
But I swore I'm done with humans
and I like to keep my word.
And she beeps for me every time it's time to go water the fern.

And, yeah, I'm in love with an android, but so what?
Stranger things have happened,
stranger things have been loved.

And, yeah, I'm in love with an android, but so what?
Stranger things have happened,
stranger things have been loved.

A robot love...for me?

Metaphors and purple ink

I've thought to many things, I've read to many things, I've seen to many things, I've heard, certainly, to many things. When will I stop? Is this a fault that I possess? Honestly, I'm starting to wonder. If I take a pill, trust my life in a little white capsule, will my brain go away? And right along with it, the hours and hours of swirling, frustratingly clustered thoughts that bounce around my pityingly empty shell of a skull? Will I stop making these extra-long sentences, packed to the brim of metaphors? What even IS a proper metaphor?
I imagine the original purpose of one to be beautiful, almost alive. Carefully placed together bit by bit in the simplest of phrases, which would often be found in the most graceful of poetry. Ah, those proud, clever little metaphors. They'd be read aloud in someone's parlor room, probably by a cute girl, lovesick and swooning over the letters she'd been sent. Or, some metaphors probably would be used in a play, by Shakespeare or something, giggling in joy every time they were belted out in rehearsals.
As for now? Well, it's almost sad to see what some metaphors have become of now. Now they're found in the stupidest of all commercials, usually about some prescription for prostate medication, or PMS problems. Please tell me, if you were a delicate little poetic metaphor, wouldn't you cry knowing that you were being used in a prostate commercial? Ah, dear things. I mean, I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've been scolded for using to many metaphors. "You're too vague!" my desperate friends shout. It's like, I gotten so many nicknames from Leah just because of my prose online. And, it's all really silly, I know. The fact that I'm even bothering to talk about this kind of stuff in a blog is WAY beyond me. These whole past few paragraphs have actually been a mixture of what sounds like bickering, but is really just my thoughts and ponders as I sit here, a little too bored. :P Sorry everybody.
Truth be told, I'm not really even sure what I'm supposed to write in this blog. It was originally for artistic/thoughtful purposes, you know, something like this. Except, here's the thing, I'm now starting to think that maybe I should just give up and stop posts like this, under the idea that some might start to think I'm insane. And, weirder as it is, I don't even know what to THINK about lately. My mind has been under the same cloud of thoughts for the past few weeks of August, usually focused on the same person. A guy, to be more precise. So, I guess it just feels strange that since he's not in my head anymore, I'm at a loss of what to think about.
Hm, well...Until my mind has restarted itself back into whatever it used to think about, I guess I'm stuck pondering about metaphors, and the rest of everything else, which I call purple ink.

As the ink spilled all over my tongue
My mouth to his lips
Black like poison
I'd won.

Escaping the world for grapes

One the light mist of icy sadness has fallen apon you in August, you realize just how much you really need to fucking go somewhere. Escape. So for now, I've decided to turn invisible, and drift myself on to Hammondsport, NY. Ah, an hour from home, the beautiful country side, and the heart of wine country. Wine? Yes, I said wine. What's made out of wine? Grapes. YES! GRAPES.
Leaving this message for all to read, don't expect to see me. For I intend to be lazily floating among the straight, refined rows of grapes, finding something or other. Or eating. Yeah, I guess you could say I'll do both. Expect pictures, oh dear blog of mine, because Keuka Lake can sure make some pretty pictures.

' The wind picked up, the fire spread.
The grapevine singing, left for dead.
The northern sky looked like the end of days, end of days.'
{Grapevine Fires, Death Cab For Cutie}