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Haven't posted in a while but don't have anything to say. Sorry. Broke my computer. But it's fixed now. Obviously.

Well, Lata. (What? I told you I didn't have anything to say.)

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Cast the Bones

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I write words like spells. To pull me from my skin, to Slide To set each cell and capillary aflame as my soul bursts from its cell I listen to the music that will drown me. Like rushing tides that pull me beneath the caps and rolls of waves A crystal blue prison that will make me panic as I feel a darkness close around me Like winter to enfold me Like a night to claim me Like all the horrors you can imagine Like all that, but wonderful instead I think it’s wonderful. And I feel no shame in this. Only desperation when it goes and I cannot follow Only despair when I wake from haunting dreams and see the sun shining in my eyes To touch Heaven, to touch God My Heaven my God And then strip it away like flesh flayed from the skin Like a knife that cuts its tracks down my arm To feel fibers sever and muscle tear and nerves that scream Nerves that scream like I scream when my eyes open to this place Every moment of agony Every moment of it agony Books weigh like anchors on my feet To pull me t...
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Let all laws be agreed.

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From now on, or at least today, Wednesday is "You know what I hate?" day. So to start things off: You know what I hate? English majors. I know what you're thinking. "Aren't you an English major?" Yes, I am. But why do you think I put it off for 3 years? Because they suck. They are unbearably pretentious and the only form of life more useless that Communication majors and the only ones more annoying than Art majors. They all think (and by "all" I am excluding myself) they're going to write the next great novel. But what they fail to remember is that most people who become famous for art related issues only become famous after they're dead. Picasso. William Shakespeare. (he was, admittedly, popular in his day, but that was because he wrote plays people wanted to see, he wrote what was "hot." It wasn't until much past his time that he was honored and respected for creating "art.") There are more, obviously, but I would...
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If because of some strange...

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I am...I don't know. My head is...I don't know. There's a whole mess of I-don't-know running through my brain. The heater keeps turning on and I want to kill it. But I don't want to get up. That wasn't what I wanted to say. That wasn't the thing inside my head trying to get out. And yet it appeared anyway. I felt high last night, humming at the foot of my bed as I played a game, listening to a random mix of songs I'd already approved. Songs that have been running through my mind since my obsession with hearing them began some several weeks ago. The world felt nice around me. Quiet and dark. I felt alone. I felt that feeling when you ask to be left alone and people listen and comply without the implication that "are you upset about something?" or are being anti-social. Who could blame us, though? The social of the world sucks. How dare you shut down your mind? How dare you think the thoughts that are your own? Where was I going? Wh...
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