Painting wishes...

Glancing to my right,

I sometimes wish I had a paintbrush behind my eyes.

Just so I could do the trick,

of creating artwork without anybody or anyone


noticing.

Of Course He Was an Insomniac.

"I am scared that I will die alone. For this, I buy goldfish."

-Ian Bassingthwaighte, Personal

Dusty and Close

Love is what happens when you forget a person exists.
Love is what you feel afterwards, when they are dead.
You don't miss them. That is not the right word. Simply,
they are absent and you are acutely aware of this fact.
Somehow, I feel that when you are absent from my life
I will feel it acutely.

-t.g

A Passing Thought

In complete truth,

The days continue their endless cycle of darkness. The trees aren't exactly doing anything anymore. They just seem to stand themselves still, watching me at every step I take. And during this, I assume the sun has little respect for me, for where I seem to be going. Boredom is something that never falls quickly, but is true until the last sliver of it has been defeated. As it is with annoyance, and muted frustration.
Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of growing morbid,
pupils black, hands to claws.
But as every new day dawns I seem to feel the beginning of something slightly nauseating, though you could call it dizzying, or as far as sickening.
With every hour, I feel myself getting older. Minutes transform into days, and days being years.
Every time the sun lays itself to sleep, a year has passed. And although it's not good, but I couldn't really call it unenjoyable, either.
After this, I am continuingly realizing that marking age feels strange. After all, sometimes I feel three, while others I'm more than twenty.
All I know is that it's all somewhat confusing, if I try to care very hard anyway.
Meh.

Nevermind.

Our true desire

I want you to beeee....

my pleasure puss

I wanna feeeel what it's like

...to be inside youuu!

Ab-soooo-lutely.

You're mine.

Um

Will is here. Sitting next to me.

He's silly.

The Day I Broke Your Heart

While I was transfixed at the man's eyes,
my fingers subconsciously slipped...
...and looking down, I saw the bloody, beating mess
of your soft fluttering little vessel,
torn to pieces by itself,
twisting inward,
breathing sideways.

It became a crooked accident in my watery eyes.

Bending down to pick it up,
my palms turned blue with desperate depression
trying to apologize for things done wrong.
So I could scoop you back up,
& kiss the bruises from cold concrete floors.

I Had Your Heart

When it shudders,
I feel it first.
When it cries,
I feel it first.

And lastly,

If I am lucky
when it does your signature chuckle,
I will be there
to hear it first.

I Held It

Outstretched,
my eyes followed the slow curve of your arm,
followed by the unraveling of your fingers.
In this time, at this hour,
the unusual fluid movements only caught my eyes by surprise.
While this beating, breathing muscle descended itself
took the fall
into my clever hand,
which welcomed it beyond it's warm barrier
and into the nerves.

There it was,
I held your heart.

As the day comes 'Round

You know what?
I absolutely am intoxicated by the look of night.
Infatuated with the blinking lights of cities,
in which lies over a bucketful of nobodies that I've never met.

These oh-so-called nobodies, driving in their cars,
reading their books in just-too-quiet libraries,
smokin' their dope on street corners...

Have never actually spoken to me, or looked me in the eye.
However, whenever I just stroll on by; I can't help but picture our conversation as if they already had stirred the courage to talk to me,
and we were already finding ourselves making new friends on the corner of the street.

"And how are you, miss?" They would begin,

"You're quite stunning, though your hair could use a trim,"

"I know, I know." I will reply

"Dear tell me sir, how'd ya get this black eye?"

"Oh sweet pea, that's something I can't say,
but it happened on the first of May."

[Later on...]

"Well, gosh, thanks for talkin', I 'preciate it much"

"No matter miss, you're a good friend,
and I wish you best of luck."

Lucky Me

i have faith in strangers. 

What The Leaf?

Ah, fall.

A...
time for trees to shed all their hate, guilt, and secret passions.

And Nobody Knows It Like Me

sequestered between the pine trees 

your eyes,

eyes they spin. 

like diamonds, no, 

like starfish

with unbelievable fins...

all&all, we twinkle...

C'mon

LAURA
(and some dear others)

NEED TO GET INTO ISLAND HEALTH AND FITNESS.

WE HAVE A HOT TUB.

and we'll break you're pretty neck.

YEAH.

The Cruel Business

"Writers are ugly.
We do nasty things to people in novels, we watch them carefully, and then we twist them into the shapes that fit our purposes. They end up like reflections in Fairground mirrors.
Writing is a cruel business."

-Anna Davis, The Jewel Box

Little Shadow

I'm happy that this is all so neat & figured out. I'm happy that we weren't working. There's something beautiful in malfuncti0ns. In choppy spiteful comments, in a silent argument. It's kind of interesting that we all understand how it's there. We understand that she-doesn't-want-to-talk-to-he (or so forth), like a silent anti-magnetic force is pushing them apart in some stupid little way. So maybe I could call it awesome, I don't know.
And it's really not that I'm happy that this is happening, I'm just simply saying it's interesting that things like this (in fact) do happen, and nearly everybody understands.
When it comes down to it, I think of how summer is long, but time is short, and we're all us in the long run. I really can't be better than myself, can I?
Maybe not, but it makes me smile.

An old song, for you.

Pack up your bags
Put on your hats
Your coats
Your smile

It's time to leave, and we'll be gone a while

Grab your new keys
Your new love
Your old files

Discard the trash and it's time to depart

I'm not the choice of captains
So we'll be lost at sea
If I beat these clumsy waves
Will you come back to me?

I know that wishing is often silly
Nothing never does come true
But perhaps after I've had the ocean
I'll be equipped to then have you

Toss away your heart
Your clothes
Your smile

Jump into the water, we'll be gone a while

Grab hold of the seaweed
Grab hold of my hands

Why would we need feet if we're not on dry land?

Wait for the green to kill you
Wait for the lousy spark
Wait for my lips to find you
Dagger kisses leave their marks

If i'm a useless captain
Then we are stuck in sea
Love floating all around us
Seaweed up to our knees

August Revelations

You're only thinking.

I gotta be more chill. Drink limeade. Why? Cause nobody drinks lemonade anymore, stupid. Okay. Yah gotta stop wearing pants...Pants? Well shit, let's see those legs. Okay. Only thing you got. It's the only thing I got? Yeah shit, the only thing yah got. We've gotta talk. It's time to talk? Yes. No. About you? Me? Yes, you. No, him...Stop waking up so late, bums don't live. Then how am I? WHAT?! Alive? Because you're on your way, you're on your way. I don't wanna be there. Well son, it seems that you don't wanna be anywhere these days. An' there's nothing my chill ass can do to change that. Than why are you in my brain? Why are you in your head? It's time to LIVE! It's time to score the goal, get the girl. A girl? A guy...whatever you make of it. I'm no judge. Your friends on the other hand...Friends? What're you talking about? The short one, see?! The her? Yes, bitch. The her. And? And what, I jus' like mentioning her name, that's all. I see. Don't see me. Okay. Now what to do...about waiting, yes soldier!
SIR...AM I CRAZY?
no. you're only thinking.

Another summer fantasy.

"...you take care of the boat,
and I'll travel to the ends of this earth
...to bring you some fairy dust.
So pure and fine,
that it will blow away
if I do not encase it."

Where is the sun king?

In the throes of summer, summer hasn't been throeing me very hard at all.
Now I normally would never say this...Cause I'm stubborn about giving the illusion that I'm having more thrills than all of you: combined. But really, in all truth, that's probably not the case. Unless people are feeling like me, in this way that summer isn't so summer this year.
It's not like everything in all eternity sucks. No, that's not it at all. I think we've just had a shortage of happy, sunny days. Sunny days, complete with puffy clouds. Non of that "blue skied" bullshit.
So please, for all sake of humanity, could somebody scream to the sun that we want him back?
I'll bake cookies.

Intro

I'm starting to think. Starting to think that maybe my mind has had so many little mishaps. Mishaps where I'm not really thinking anything, and my conscious leaks out onto the floor. And, I'm thinking it could have something to do with long car rides. And during those particular car rides, doing nothing. Nothing at all.
But, when I have been thinking, I've been thinking about you.
You=you. Everyone that's sitting at their computer or other technological device. And reading this. Cause, that's pretty cool. And, (wow, another and) hi. I haven't been able to go on a useless ramble for awhile. Perhaps that's what I'll start to do now, in the throw of summer.

Creativity never tasted so good...on your tongue.

Sometimes, nobody cares anymore. And when nobody cares, isn't that the best?
You have no one to prove. Just everybody to beat.

Don't panic mymymy love, it's just the terrors of olga.

...And my body doesn't like you anymore. Whenever I see you, my arms will be like "AHHH!" and smack you across the face, while my mouth is like, "NOO! I AM SORRY MY LOVE!" Then my hips will lurch in your direction, with an impact that will cause you to fall to the ground...And the mouth says "NO! STOP!" yet you still fall "OH, FOUL PARTS!" My own feet will kick you, kick you, kick you blindly; and I will grow HORNS! From...from...from...[where should I grow horns?] my HEAD! Beating you senseless, senseless, senseless..."I AM SORRRYYY!"

[In the most innocent of ways.]

I love you

and this way we seem

to never get to sleep

For

[moonbeam hours]

There never was any fireworks, darling.

She spoke in jumbled sentences, pronouns.
The way her words threaded so loosely together, and frayed so easily apart.
But it was the best of separations.
Watching a bird fly, ten birds fly...
A cloud of flight, to ease the mind.

"Are you sleeping
Can you hear me
Do you know if I am by your side?
Does it matter
If you can hear me?
When the morning comes I'll be there by your side."

Yes, I love you too.

the silly boy that feels the need

to say he loves me

while our faces are stuffed with strawberries

and we're on the kitchen floor.

But I still adore him. In a way.

"I don't have dreams anymore."
-g.b.

Like lots and lots of PILLOWS.

Moving. It's all a useless jumble of boxes. When I grow up, I'm going to live in a lone little house with little furniture, and abundant space. None of it will necessarily be empty. Nope. I can fill it with whatever I'd like. Or fancy.

Before I go to sleep.

It's so nice to think and realize, that in this huge world of dark...
...someone is thinking of you,
too.

Which makes pretty words.

Lofty butterfly in half-hearted might. [Always incontent,]
Intuitive dove, soaring with flight. [She loves the constant.]

Lemons for atomic planets.

I loathe
how
we
speak
and float sideways

Pretending that
we still believe

in the power of
astronauts.

And yet,
there is no ship.
It took off long ago.
Without you.

Obnoxious rythmes, obnoxious time.

I guess it's time
to cast you to the sunshine

Let the righteous beast
swallow you whole

Maybe some other day
he'll suit up for your rescue

But for the bits of now

he has no soul.

W, you are...

A sugary feast for the senses.

Call me sappy, but...

I've always wanted to be kissed under a cherry tree.
I want to kiss under a tree.
A tree with flowers.

But really,
[i just feel so silly scribblin' all of this...]
it'd be nice.

Her old words, and her old jumbles.

we love
and live
in clouds
in hate
lost ways
will follow
and lead
astray.


(rhyme after rhyme after rhyme after rhyme.
what jumbles together, will jumble apart.
just like my finger to pen to paper
jjjjjumbleee *jumble*
jjjuumblleee....)

I and air. A bit third person.

Running her hands through her hair,
she violently breathes the air in. Sucking.
For the molecules must be crying and screaming.
Brutal, her moist lips show no mercy.
"you are mine now,"
like a bird claims to it's worm.
Before it is eaten.
And killed.

Thanks to my kitten, murderer.

Out in the yard,
birds were coming back
from the dead.

They were too slow to fly
lumbering towards their victims
chirping,

"braaaaaaaaaains..."

Hal.

I gracefully await the day where we will all be Hal. In a land of dominant assholes, closing in on Dave. The last sappy motherfucker.

Oh the obscurities of love.

"We should hunt for monsters."
he said in the
heat of night.

"But where would,"
she whispers,
"We go?"

She was the strangest one. In her day.

Adeline blinks once.
Adeline batts twice.
She has three toes
and holds four crickets.

(And ate her five yesterday mice.)

12:25 AM

There was just so much

"I LOVE YOU."

but not nearly enough room
for it to escape
and bounce off the walls...

Girl,

don't paint your eyebrows on.
I've been trying to write you a song
for nearly
17 days.

And it's getting awful late
so I must say,
just be a mighty ridiculous
today.

Pink-lighted mornings.

There's something about waking up to a familiar gracious pink light, or hearing the sounds of soft reggae. I suppose I could call it peaceful, if that's what you were expecting. Myself, I'm not really sure what I expect to call it. But, it is nice.
MmmMmmMmmM...I'm also sitting here thinking about pictures. I love pictures. Photos. Blahlalalalah. It's too damn bad that guys won't let you take good pictures of them. It's like they're all afraid of cameras. Oh well.

I'll just have to do it in secret then.

Oh, him.

What he mistook for purples, were all peculiar blues.

Isaac.

Here's I sits.
Oh yes, here's I sits.
I sits awaiting the rainfall bliss.
The blisses of rain, the rains fall bliss.
Oh how I could wish,
I's give the rains a kish.

Take it from me.

I've always known I'd be a bank robber.





































So judge all you want, ladies and gentlemen.
































































Because you never did become an Astronaut.

Bits, bits, and eteteras.

"No time is ever enough time,"
he says.

"Perhaps..." She began, her lips parting to let out a harmless sigh
"I do like having you in my mind." She breathes
then inhales the stale morning dew
clutching to the grass,

just a,
a little too early.

And a little too late.

As you are so delicious.

Tracing the lines from collarbone to cheek, she smiles.
What a wicked array of teeth,
what a crooked way to grin.
Or, as some would say,
her eyes flickered with the deepest of intentions.
Swirling around her irises, playing around her pupils.

-

The fall of hands follows the
constant running
of fingers.

Over the curves that he
had kissed
and adorned
with the light whispers and gasps
punctuating every rhythm and flip
of his heart.

-

{There is something to said about words.
The collaboration of which they are put together.
The pencil of which they are drawn apart.}

-

She leads graphite into lines,
only to recollect the redness of his
tongue to lips.

-

Hands to hips,
he draws the feel of her skin
in his empty head.
(His lonely fingertips.)

-

Light stains pillows and clothes,
skin unwavering,
a fire of shadows. And a list of wants.

To A

Someday you are going to fall in love.
And then you'll see,

you'll just see.

Oh A...

Sigh.

Love.
Would you hate the sun,
for kissing it's blossoming flower?
Would you hate the blind man,
for smiling at the scent of the rain?
Would you hate the buttercups,
feeling so fondly of your chin?
And lastly,
would you hate she, i, me.
For saying I believe,
and loving?

love.

"and you will love your crooked neighbor,
with all your crooked heart."


-a. y.

A small confession.

The number of hours
I have spent
Counting the tiles
And tracing your name


Is far,
far too many.

Her again.

She stares at the window.

Watching the rain.
It falls.
It falls.
Learning to write with periods,
she's trying.
Learning to make more sense,
she's thinking.
She wonders.
How many daffodils can fit in your head?
How many buttercups can show the sun?
and dear,
why am I thinking of flowers?
She screams to herself.
Or utters.

And in truth,
she never really was so sure.

There she goes, quoting her thoughts.

"As i refuse to write missing poems.
they make me miss you more,

and far too much."

Sosomuch.

Me.

She likes the smell of stale air.
It reminds her of herself.

She likes the look of periods.
And cut short,
little,
sentences.
The long ones bask out for muchtoomanyforevers,
and then,
then,
then...

Although it's not expected,
she can't but help
to find her self
writing,
scribbling,
plotting,
these muchtoomanyforevers.
All filled with ridiculous commas.
Commas.
Another thing she hates.

Perhaps she writes long, so that she,
can cast herself in their own lengthy shadows.
So that she can become important.

She likes the look of mirrors.
They remind her of herself.

To...(aldkfad)

I love words.



Write me some pretty words.

-y.

For R...

"I sit up so the tears fall easier,"

She lied down
letting acidic sadness
bore through her eyes
and leak acidic holes
into her sad skull.


Again,


"I sat up so the tears would fall easier..."

-y.

Moonbeam notes...

White

gray

and yellow.

So many numbers.
A field of numbers.
Nothing I will ever calculate.
Ever care for.
And so I lose myself again,
Kissing this very sky,
full of

white

gray

and yellow...

Somewhere between the trees.

the moon is out for kill
tonight.
kill tonight,
kill tonight.
for she wants to end your
very life.
life, life, life.
the sun went the wrong way again
forgot to
buy the milk again
so the moon is out to kill
tonight
oh,

Ay Ay Ay.

As they once were flutterbys.

Somewheres

Somewhere,
there is a (somewhat) tall girl pretending she's a (somewhat) small girl,
pacing her way through the (somewhat) cold rain and (somewhat) muddied streets,
in a (somewhat) giant purple rain coat. She thinks about how...

Somewhere,
there is a (very) tall boy in a (very) yellow sweatshirt,
seeing the world through his (very) dulling glasses and fixing his (very) unruly lion hair.
Looking out a (very) wet bus window, where he (very) wishes he wasn't.

Somewhere,
there is a (strange) small girl, who believes she's a (strange) tall girl,
counting the sounds of her (strange) steps as she trudges the (strange) steep concrete road
leading it's way to her (strange) little half-done house.
Awaiting a (strange) fevered call from a loved one, a love
seeing (strange) shadow ghosts.

Somewhere,
there is a lonely (little) pair of galoshes,
sitting on a (little) stand in a store,
admiring the pretty (little) high heels,
perhaps wishing that a tall girl in need of (little) galoshes would have cared enough,
to make a (little) purchase.

Somewhere,
there is a pathetic (clumsy) tuesday that has been very wet.
This (clumsy) tuesday doesn't want to be a stupid tuesday.
In (clumsy) truth, it wishes it was wednesday.
So that everyone and everybody,
could stop complaining of it's (clumsy) rain and just
live a little. It thinks about how...

Somewhere,
there is (love.)

Adeline Olivia.

"It's like rain,"

She,

had said.
Had whispered.
Had thought.
Her concave gaze was fixed towards the sky,
as her alabaster feet stood solidly on the ground.

Surveying the muddied earth, she parted her lips
To catch,
to catch a breath of muddied air.
A sweet scent found it's way through her passage,
and curling in on itself,
filled her withered lungs with it's own sweet purfumes.

"Now that's the way me lady likes it..."

her voice cracked and growled,
while she let her insides
screw themselves silly.

Then,

twisting her crooked frame
and fixing her crooked hair,
she curved her lips to unveil
a pattering
of crooked teeth.

"...how the stars all wish they were me..."

she spoke,
with absolute love,
and absolute longing,
to absolutely no one
in particular.

As,

that was the day her voice seemed to scare
the prettiest of birds away.
By the beating of yellow wings and the peck of orange beaks,
an endless cloud of flight was made.

Away,

and away,

and away.

"Oh,"

"how I've always,"

"...loved rain."

Adeline croons to her stars.

"And oh,"

"how I've wished,"

"...it was I."

Es-cap-ay.

In this space,

this whirlwind,

this planet.

In this space,

this city,

this building.

In this house,

this bedroom,

this bed.

Between this moonlight,

this window,

these sheets.

You can't escape your own heartbeat.


As if it's like I'd try.

Victor.

He notices your step
And follows where you lead

He lives alone
No house or home

And repents for his bad deeds.

(The faithful story of Victor,
the (self hate) shadow monster.)

Underwater fantasies

I fell asleep with mermaids
In the ocean swell
In the corners of their seaweed castle
Soft kelp beds served me well

Next to three pretty fish
I fell in love with one.
Salty eyes and sugar lips
Whose morals lay untouched...

(Yet)

I can't swim myself
So I can't save myself

My dreams revolve around her seas
And hers about my land
When I won't swim and she can't walk
Nature never understands

The night the sky was melting
When I fell in love with thee
These mermaids they were fighting
Fighting over me

(Yet)

I can't swim myself
So I can't save myself.

"For I have lost, I cannot stay.
While you're the price I must pay."

Face first in salty spray
A scar cross her head, had she
This lovely heart I could have saved
When I only thought of me.

BAM.

i is aqua girl.

fear me.

now.

French.

He has or she has.
Or are there any...oh no they're all singular
MICHELLE?
if it doesn't have an LE on
the end it's masculine.
So lets see
and this word SYMPATHIC
you don't have to add any because
SYMPATHIC already an E
Yarra how are you going to finish this?
MADAME SIMON, let's see she has some
interesting neighbors.
We're talking about ALICE...she
is American and she has some girlfriends...
*giggles*
Girls who are friends.

Raw

And walking, he lead her through a blizzard of characters.

She was aware of him and he was aware of her.
And being so aware of him
she was consequently aware of his awareness of her, making her aware of herself.
Aware of each other, aware of themselves.
Always there, not being able to put it into words.

She can't put him into words.

Another way to say...

There's something amazing about singing outside. A crisper, cleaner sensation.
I am dull knife made sharp once again.
Some kind of nostalgia has resurfaced, and I think I've uncovered something.
It's that,
I haven't done this in a while.
Curse the creepy girl on my street, walking with me. She breaks the barrier of empty and crowded, making it much too many. I can't have that many people around.
My shadow gracing the tips of my feet.
It, and I.

That's how the good times be.

Ashamed.

I saw an old woman in a blue coat.
I wanted to give her a huge hug.

My thoughts laughed and,

I didn't.


(what a great story for my 100th post.)

Ode to Fish.

I miss sushi.
I'm really sorry I'm bothering to post about this. But I really, truly do.
It's been probably my biggest craving of the month...besides him, anyway.
Wrapped seaweed.
Rice.
Blubbery meat.
Translation? Heavenly.

Deathly Snow Muses.

Snow can be deceiving. When it stays for too long, you beg change.
Dandelions.
Ice cream with asphalt chocolate chips. When at a glance, origin is unknown. You tell its story, and it is what you wish.
White death is only apple blossoms...
Or a million shards of glass.

Numbers and letters.

16.

The number of times 'I love you' was said.

5.

The number of times our names were said.

_

So many exclamation marks that I can't even count.

Nowhere doesn't help my mind.

Conversing of two.

"Oh, do not worry. A great man shall come your way."

"I'd eat them, most likely."

*Laughs*

"Except you..."

"...I don't think I'd eat you..."

You bet.

I have shadows

Do you have shadows?

They sit there while I'm sleeping
They watch while I'm awake

Forever lingers

Well yah I'm sure.

Would you have a care or fear
If I locked the door?
If I close these blinds behind me
If I chained the nearest gate
If the phone was out the window

Perhaps if it was getting late?

Would you watch in hate or worry
Would you let me shut you in
Flick the lights
Hugging your lips

Give your little heart a spin?

We had mentioned this before...

Is it strange...

If I notice

The scent of vanilla...

Buried in your skin?

A glorious comparison.

In Love:
When I'm with you, I'm thinking of you. When I'm thinking of you, I'm at peace.
-a

In Nothing:
When I'm not looking, you aren't there. When I'm not thinking about you, you don't exist.
-l

Two faces. Two mouths. Two completely different minds.

Just, people.

Cloudy days seem to bring out my curiousity for others I don't know.
Like the little eight year old crying on her front steps.
Like the old man that sits by college town bagels every morning, smiling.

Like the creepy girl I walk home with, who talks to herself when she thinks I can't hear.

Do I really know who is walking down the street?
A completely different person. Another life.
With other stories that they've gone through
Grief and love that I've never really known,

Because I won't talk to them.
Because I don't want another awkward interaction.

Because they're just a stranger. I'm not expected to know them all that well.
Yet,
It's still so satisfying pretending I do.

'Your eyes they turn,
turn me into
phantoms'

Postage & Mailmen

I wish people still sent letters.
I'm not so sure why this idea has it's appeal,
all I know is that I want it true.

...I wonder if I should send myself letters,
if the postman would L E T me
send myself letters,
Or if I should just write to him....

Perhaps I like writing things.
Or maybe,
I'd just like to be sent some words,
some feeling,
sometime or other.

Off My Chest.

At one point in my life, I was obsessed with writing letters that I knew I would never send.

When I was little, I only pretended to have imaginary friends. Even though I never believed that they existed. They always were created on the swings when noone was next to me. I could never bring myself to talk to them. So, I was lonely.

I've owned and read Shakespeare for enjoyment.

If you asked me my biggest secret,
I couldn't tell you.

Subway trains are the best trains.
The musuem of natural history SUCKS.

I kiss the walls of my room on occasion.

Biting my nails is my biggest habit. Even if I'm not anxiety ridden.

Something I've heard:
love is friendship set on fire.

I don't believe in favourite colours.
I also have to type a u after every o.

I'm so braver than you would think.
Because i'm a coward.

"Clouds and Butterflies" is written on my mirror in black lipstick.

I'll lie and say I've committed tons of sins.
I'll lie and say that
This is a confession.

I love flannel.

I never know how much someone means, until I see them smile a lot.

I've written more songs about you (or with you in mind) than I can count on one hand.

A word I like:
Crooked

I'd rather lose my sight than lose my hearing. It would be the single toughest choice I'd make.

I write your name in random places.

Painting my nails doesn't make me feel "pretty." And if I paint my toenails, they have to be some kind of red.

I've tried about 5 times to write a serious book.
I never finished.

I'm a geek.

I don't know how to air guitar.

I would rather DIE than live in the same place, being the same person, my whole entire life.

My umbrellas were always named Ashely.

Your eyelashes fascinate me. I love them.

I illustrate what happens to me in my head sometimes.

My face looks strange to me in the mirror.

I've wanted/planned to be famous since age 4.

I love the idea of a lie.

I've always hated cupcakes.

I actually love soap.

Something I'm afraid of:
Writing initials tooclosetogether.

I drew pictures of people in love during pre-school.

Sometimes I like to make-believe that I'm a different person, living a different life, going to a different place.

I'm too embarrassed to dance in front of myself.

I've looked up "How to Teleport" online.
I've looked up a lot of things online.

I still can't figure out how to fold paper bags.

I cry every time someone sings "you are my sunshine," and I don't have a clue why.

I love a good trainwreck.

I never believed in heaven or hell.

Before other things, I used to dream of being a ballerina when I grew up.

Swedish Techno = love.

It's amazing how well I can sing "somewhere over the rainbow." My mother used to sing it to me every night, just so I could have gumdrop dreams.

E.T. scared the motherfucking shit out of me.

Some would say I have a lot of best friends, but I question the closeness of them.

I've tried to be anorexic. That's when I discovered I liked food too much.

Inventing in your head is a wonderful thing. I'd usually be kept up for hours at night, inventing characters and lives and stories. My words were often invented.

He wasn't worth my time.

I have started to notice my love for things miniature. The best dreams are when I wake up, and everything looks small. I go about the world being either a giant out of place, or a mouse in a giant world.

If I had a most-used key on the computer, it would be the spacebar...
typinglikethisannoysthehelloutofme.

If I had a favorite key on the computer, it would be the ? or / key.
Maybe that's because I love question marks.

In first grade I confided in my friend that I thought I was a human mishap. She stopped talking to me so much.

Collarbones are amazing.

I love blueberries. They remind me of all the times I went to Cass Park, and how hot and scratchy the pool pavement was. I always swam by myself, for some odd reason. Swimming was a solitary activity. And to this day, it's weird when I swim with people.

Every now and then, I suspect that my friends all hate me.

Tongues are weird things.

When I was little, I heard ghosts. Or, it could have just been my imagination.

Have you ever gotten the feeling that you're mind could have been erased without you even knowing it? Because you wouldn't know exactly what you don't already know. I get that all the time.

Lions.

"Can lions hug?"

"Lions can hug
but it may crush u,
with all that weight."

"Can they smile?"

"Duhhhh..."

"Can they laugh?"

"Well,
I don't think they can do that...
Maybe they laugh when they roar!"

"Can lions be afraid?"

"Yus."

"Can lions yawn?"

"Yes,
lions can yawn."

"Can lions stretch?"

"Yup."

"Can they cry?"

"Yus,
if they can get sad enough."

"How sad?"

"Verrrry sad...
super duper sad"

"Can they sleep?"

"Of course silly!"

"Can they dream?"

"Yes."

"Can lions hide?"

"Yyyyuuup"

"Do lions die?"

"Sadly yes."

"Can they keep secrets?"

"I think they can..."

"But you're not sure?"

"I am not sure."

"Can lions fly?"

"Noo
they shud tho!"

"Can lions love?"

"Yus."

"How can you tell?"

"I

just

K N O W."

I, murderer, confess.

What happened to all the simple
Thieves?

Liars?

Killers?

Murderers?

Witches?

Wizards?

Villains?
Now we're stuck with all these complex
Beggers.

Pleaders.

Prayers.

Singers.

Lovers.

Huggers.

Victims.
Too many victims. Not enough Villains. Who is the source for the crime? What am I, a selfish murderer, to do?

'I set fire to things, I set fire to things
I'll set fire to you,
I'll set fire to me.'
{We Will Meet, Pale Young Gentlemen}

Pocket findings.

asleep in perfect blue b u i l d i n g s

beside the green apple sea

gonna get me a little o b l i v i o n

try to keep myself away from me

~Omaha, Counting Crows