Rituals.

I was going to make a post about the joys of the internet and how wonderful it was to have it back. But I just found an e-mail informing me that a very, very good and close friend died. And now I just don't feel like it.

I seem to have this tendency to fall for guys that are too good for me. I don't mean that they're better than me. I mean that they're "good." They don't swear or drink, they're religious and spiritual, and just all-around fanstastically wonderful people. People that, even if the attraction or interest was returned, I would never date. Because it wouldn't be fair. To them. To tempt them, ask of them, influence them into changing their morals and beliefs and principles. :sigh: It's terribly sad (depressing). Well, I'll get around to finding the one for me eventually.

So I've moved into my new apartment. And tonight is my last night at work. And since I don't have internet yet, it might be a while before I post again or before you can contact me. That's okay. Go ahead and e-mail or comment or whatever. I'll get to it eventually.

Ok, I realize you've had a rough past 24 hours. But I would like a little more recognition than a thumbs up. I mean, you could be agreeing with me or you could just be acknowledging the fact that you hear a noise your brain has distinguished as "talking" or for all I know, you're simply telling the guards to call off the lions because you've decided to let me live. Either way, an "ok" or "sure" would have been much more polite and appropriate. Oh but you've been up and blah, blah, blah. I really don't feel like rattling off your excuses. The point is, normal humans beings, when feeling less than vocal, social, or personable, FAKE IT! You're not the center of the world. (Kalysa is :) So you don't get to always just act the way you want. Would you do it at a job? Would you be allowed to be a bitch to customers? Not for long. So why don't you adopt that policy, even in limited occurrences, with others? As opposed to the "e

I realize this is hard to believe: But just because I'm not talking about something, doesn't mean I'm bottling it up inside. It's astounding, but I am actually enough of an adult that I can simply let go of things that aren't important. I was made that you didn't do the dishes. You did the dishes. I wasn't mad anymore. See how that works? If I mad about a problem, but then the problem is fixed, shouldn't that nullify the anger? I realize it doesn't with most people. But would have thought that after seeing me do so many loads of "angry dishes" you would have recognized that it doesn't take much for me to be over things. Because they're not important. And yes, I could bring them up. So you know what they are. BUT THEY'RE NOT IMPORTANT! There's no reason to inform you. And I hate creating conflict where there's nothing to gain. It's pointless and I hate doing things that have no point. It's along the same lines of

Thank you Drew. I've been missing it for some time. But now it has been found. And I am happy. The. Best. Site. Ever. http://www.4q.cc/chuck And because you deserve it. The Top Thirty. (naturally, in descending order. I hate when things are ruined because people put number one on the top.) The ones I like are in red. But read the whole list. Or Chuck Norris might kill you. 30. Chuck Norris likes to knit sweaters in his free time. And by "knit", I mean "kick", and by "sweaters", I mean "babies". 29. Chuck Norris' action figure has slept with more women then most men. 28. Chuck Norris owns the greatest Poker Face of all-time. It helped him win the 1983 World Series of Poker despite him holding just a Joker, a Get out of Jail Free monopoly card, a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades and a green #4 card from the game UNO. 27. It was once believed that Chuck Norris actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Chuck Norris himself to lu

So, and this is true: Ramen in the cups, with the vegetables, always tastes better than the stuff in the packages. I don't know why. It just does.

I made a Quiz for You on QuizYourFriends.com CLICK on the link below or PASTE it into your browser. http://www.quizyourfriends.com/yourquiz.php?quizname=051203022623-266430

You know what I absolutely love? When you arch backwards to crack your back. And you can feel every one of your vertebra pop along your spine. Oi. You get such a rush and your knees go weak. It's glorious.

So, I've decided that I will: A) After years of searching, find my perfect match and spend the rest of my life thinking it's too good to be true and become even more neurotic. B) Never find a person who I really love, and thus settle for someone I am comfortable living/sleeping with. And while both those options sound a bit depressing (to you) and it means a very unsuccessful dating life (for me), I'm quite alright with both. I might even be better with the second one.... Anyway. Just saying that.

Every time I pack, I always come across the same conundrum: How the hell did I do this last time? I mean, I have the same number of boxes. And the amount of materials, while grown somewhat, is not excessively larger than the previous packing occasion. But somehow, every time, I can never seem to manage to pack as efficiently as the time before. What the hell?

I've recently discovered (or would that be "admitted") That I'm an Art Supply Junkie.

I just got to watch my favorite Tom and Jerry ever. It's the one where they run around mixing a bunch of chemicals that make them super strong. But then it wears off and the other one makes/drinks it. And then back and forth, etc., etc. I LOVE that one.

I get the hiccups all the time because I've forgotten to breathe steadily.

(because in four minutes, I can leave and go to Subway. Yum)

(this is rather amusing.)

I think I'll just keep posting every five minutes or so until I can leave to go eat. Lame (and weird), I know. But I've got nothing better to do.

Sometimes I can't picture my life any other way that just how it is now. And frankly, that's a little depressing.

A steady rhythm Inhale Exhale Smoke-filled lungs Inhale Exhale A glorious epitaph Such a wonder opens before me Coffers of splendor A myriad of voids and endless worlds A hooker under a street lamp A gangster in a bank A gambler in a casino And the dead man in jail This air of mystery This fog of complexity Death in sticks Suicide in packs Choice limited by your issues Freedom hampered By coughs and the sense of smell But there is this moment And there is this space Where there is just space And nothing matters Because nothing exists And you can ignore the tar in your lungs And the smell on your clothes And hands And hair You can ignore the frostbitten fingers The shaking limbs The futility of a lighter in the wind Because in that one moment It’s not about what you did Or’ve done It’s about that moment And about the feeling Of knowing nothing at all matters It is a Zen garden With rocks and sand And Coy swimming about in empty circles It is a forest of solitude Of green And brown Of br

The echo of a heel That click On the tile floor The sound of a sound she’d never heard before The looks of lust Of fascination and desire The boast of confidence As she wore her new skin She could be anyone, Someone You had already known She could be a bird A plane She could be super For all the good it would do you to stare Squinting And scrunching Your brow Furrowed in thought Furrowed in perplexity A pair of glasses cannot truly hide Nor a pair of heels Nor leather skirt And pleats And blouse And bra And dab of lipstick But you cannot find What you’re not looking for If all you see is the illusion Then all you will have is delusion True, to see is to believe But lies are believed more easily than truth And our eyes can lie Our senses Scent can be masking The light tone of honey and silk The look can fool the eye The sound can fool the ear The skin, the touch The taste Powers combined, The mind is tricked with this slight of A professional’s hand Because science is astounding And mag

it sounds right. And if you don't know me really, really well, you might even believe it. But don't. Because while it is close and guesses many of my behaviors, it's messes up many of the reasons. Plus, it is incredibly generalized and fits almost anyone (modified slightly by your color choices). I mean, how suprised are you that after picking "black" as my first color, I'm labeled a loner who just wants people to love her? Karina took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Suffering from the effects of those things which a..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

How Evil Are You? Take it because I told you to.

I'm the type of person who supports others. And I've always thought that to do that, I'd have to be standing on solid ground. So I never worried about getting support for myself. But I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm standing on ice. And it's beginning to thaw.

http://news.yahoo.com/fc/us/rosa_parks

(like why my father had to die) A glorious creature Of strength and vitality Of youth and fertility Of wisdom And stupidity A pool A shallow A deep and thriving ecosystem Of wisdom Self-cohesive Self-sufficient Self-destructive Never let them see you sweat Or cry Or smoke and drink Never let them know You burnt it the first time You get on And off Better on your own Never let them believe in magical imps that Do their laundry Do their cooking Cleaning Baby tending Baby changing Never let them think… Just never let them think Remind them Players can be traded Or You can simply switch teams (It worked for your aunt) Ah, matron of my heart How your foolishness rings in my ears Like metal against the bars of your cell Like the telephone carrying your collect call Like the doorbell on the new house you bought your lawyer Because the thing you forgot to tell me The thing you forgot to mention is Always Get rid of The Gun.

Just because I'm not a bitch doesn't mean I can't kick the shit out of one.

I'm not a poet, I'm a novelist. I like to tell stories. They float around in my head and sometimes I think if I could just tell someone, if I could just get them out, then maybe I'd be okay again. But stories tell stories, no matter how much description and imagery I might include. However, sometimes imagery is all I want to say. That's why I write poetry. I just want to convey an image, not a message. So I'm sorry if I was overly defensive. But you wanted me to try and say something. And I just don't want to.

It's looking more and more like the end is coming. And I'm sorry for that. That I've put you through all this just to have nothing come to fruition. But not every mess can be cleaned up. Sometimes you just have to walk away and try for something better. Nothing's defined yet. There's time and chances and we'll hold our breath waiting to see if it will all crash down.

Why would you buy your child a toy called "Bratz" and then be surprised that it's also what they become? You people ("parents") are all idiots who shouldn't have children. Lacking common sense and morals but have the genetic disposition of a village idiot? THEN DON'T HAVE CHILDREN!!!!!

I realize that you have a busy schedule and life, far more so than mine. But I cleaned the entire apartment, then paid for and cooked an incredibly nice meal for four people. Complete with appetizer and wine. The least you could have done is more than one (small) load of dishes.

The Keys to Your Heart You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free. In love, you feel the most alive when things are straight-forward, and you're told that you're loved. You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring. You would be forced to break up with someone who was emotional, moody, and difficult to please. Your ideal relationship is comforting. You crave a relationship where you always feel warmth and love. Your risk of cheating is low. Even if you're tempted, you'd try hard not to do it. You think of marriage something you've always wanted... though you haven't really thought about it. In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily. What Are The Keys To Your Heart? You Are 50% Weird Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it! How Weird Are You? You scored as Disappear . Your death

The Cute Guy Sitting Nearby Pretty pink shirt Sitting next to me Pretty purple tie Sandwich eaten and thrown away Distress on your face Like you’ve forgotten something Like you’ve made a mistake Such short cropped hair Head in your hand Fiddling with you computer Hand over your mouth Scratching your neck So perplexed Keys and wallet On the table Out of sight Is it work? Or is it school? Fidget in your chair Making me fidget in mine Fascinating really Humans in general This effect you have Now you seem a little short I’m not too concerned Though I’d feel the same If you were a little too tall But you’re cute enough Seem nice enough To give you a chance Despite your height Or lack thereof It’s not in the look you know Common misconception It’s in the mannerisms Those catch my eyes Those make me spy (Sorry for the cheap rhyme) Brave pink shirt Dashing purple tie Blind Date Oh, how I would talk to you If I thought you would care If I thought you would look at me Instead of just seeing I f

Would you miss me when I was gone? With your shallow skin And your selfish soul Would you beg me to come home? With your empty rooms And you hollow walls Would you miss my presence? With your busy life And your lack of time I would stay if I thought I could survive. I would leave if I though I could survive. This world is heartless for you and me. No room to breathe. To move A tight little corner is all we are given Our lives spent staring at the same four walls. A box A refuge we wish to refuse So stable is the sand I have built my house upon Sticks and stones will all fall down When they have been pushed and pressed for so long Where is the love that I long for? The support that I seek No forgiveness for the weak No latitude for the strong Broken and alone But if I’ve never told you How could you ever know? And if you never saw it How could you ever see?

I don't want to be here.

When you're past the point of no return Which way do you go? Left or right No end in sight. The pain of the day is broken by sleep But sleep cannot solve And when you wake You're still lost. The misery of my position. The heartache of consideration. Flaws to admit. Mistakes to reveal. Swallowed by my sins. Forgiveness is a novelty of faith. Of which I have none. The fluid in my lungs will turn to ice My skin will burn Caught in a tornado of loss Buried in the sand What remnants can I cling to That will pull me through?

she will dance for you in this fairy tale hidden from the world hiding to the bone hanging by the throat bleeding from her eyes swallowed by the pride of another dying from the shame burning on her feet buried in the wind a flash of red a dash of spark locked eyes fascination and pain swaying hips captivated thoughts the beat she hears the beat you feel fire flickering between you so far away dancing alone ethereal skin bite your lip taste your tongue unfocused eyes elbows on knees head in hands sleeping while you're awake only way to dream slow it down one movement per lifetime puppet on its strings cut from her home left all alone shattered against the ground tears sting trace the lines of her face can't fake a smile can't bear to frown floating on the waves floating on her feet letters traced in air sewing lines that aren't there mark these words on her grave breaking free from the earth feet scatter dust as she dances alone

Would you like to know the most depressing thing in the world? We'd all like to think we're unique, the only ones who think the same way we do. But try getting a new screen name or e-mail address. And suddenly, you're not the only one. Think of the most obscure name you can think of. One that only means something to you. Oh, sorry. That's taken. Try one that has cultural significance and a meaning deeply imbedded in mythology. Nope. Taken. Oh, maybe just stick a number on the end of it. Gone. Unavailable. It's terribly depressing, isn't it? You're not unique. You're not special. Whatever you're thinking, someone else is too. And not only that, they thought of it first.

It's a very big disappointment to realize that some of the best intellectual discussions/arguments have all come from the mouth of a moron. Terribly sad. And it's not like I'm mad. It's not really that big of a deal, other than it means they're a jerk too. I'm just shaking my head, that's all. And reclassifying. Night.

Today was a good day for wearing long sleeves. However, it was bad day for wearing sandals and/or walking to the UC to mail a package. Lots of wet rain. Not big globs that make a loud noise and are irritating because you always get hit on the head with them. But rather sheets of long, skinny drops that completely drench everything and for whatever scientific reason, take twice as long to dry.

While I am sometimes bummed that I don't have a guy in my life, as I would really like the companionship, I no longer mind. Because, while there are many, many guys I find good-looking, and even a few I'm attracted to, it is rare (and lately rather unusual) that I find someone I'm actually interested in. But I don't mind. Because I realize that I look for very specific qualities in men. And no, I'm not looking for Mr. Perfect, just a few specific qualities that need to be there. The details of the package are more or less unimportant, but the product has to match certain criteria. And as of yet I have found very few of these people that match the requirements. Any of them. Let alone more than one. One guy came close (and I think you probably know who you are. Unless you're one of my friends, in which case you know who I'm talking about), but in the end, it just didn't work. There were problems, on both sides (though more on his :razzberry:), and it wasn&

I might be a little bummed that they chose to use Wally West instead of Barry Allen. But the Justice League cartoon has done so well with the character that I don't even care anymore. The Flash Rocks. (Wonder Woman still sucks though)

I hurt the people around me, don't I?

It's one of my favorite sites. And I know I have the courage. But I can't seem to narrow the list. And I would just say them. And I'm not afraid of the results. But rather, I know. No matter how many times I explained it. You wouldn't get it. And more importantly. Who would care? Who would even bother to listen? I don't think I would listen if someone told me. So why should you? We all have better things to do.

I feel. Hollow. Like an abandoned puppy who’s been left home alone all day.

You are tracks so unwashable. A reminder of so much pain. But for your existence, I have only myself to blame. Why must you scream so loud the world can hear? Are secrets not secrets? Betrayed by my heart. My fingers. Dancing with the music my ears have heard. Shutting the door in my face. Not letting me return until you are done. Here. Read this now. The next issue in our damning publication. We will tell your secrets. We will stalk your steps. Bidding our time until you make a mistake. Your mocking is more vicious than I thought myself capable of. Your malicious intent to share the truth. My truth. For me and me alone. Mine to chose when it's shared. If it's shared. You think I can't hear you laughing? Always in my head. Circling in the background. Through forgotten hallways. Echoing off the walls. You're just waiting for me to move. You want me to come looking for you. So that when I am gone you can step out again. But I won't. You can't make me. With your bi

I had something I was going to say. But it said too much. And I deleted it.

I got a story for you Girl Scouts. Once upon a time there was a magical land where it never rained. The End.

I think that I get myself into a lot of situations where I am friends with people simply because we work with, or near, each other. And I discover that when I try to be friends with them, in these situations, I tend to try too hard and make mistakes. It is then that I discover, by their reactions, that we aren’t really friends at all. And I tend to really like these people. But the conclusion always seems to be that they don’t really care about me at all. I think that many of these people, the moment they no longer see me or are no longer required to interact, I pass from their thoughts. Generally, I do not mind that I have few friends, for I’d like to think it is quality over quantity. But when someone I want to be my friend, or consider my friend, isn’t: it is times like that: I feel terribly lonely.

And as predicted, I LOVED it. I knew I would. I told people when they asked me if I'd seen it. I would say "no." They would answer "oh it's really good." I'd answer "I know. I know I'll like it, I just haven't gotten the chance to see it." They showed it on campus. So I even got to see it for free. And also as predicted, Miho (the sword-chick) was my favorite. But Kevin was also really freakin' sweet. And he real was a freak, since he was a cannibal. It was nasty. But I'm sorry, his little sneaky, jumpy, martial arts stufff.... Awesome. Really Awesome. So I think I'd have to say Miho, Kevin, then a tie between Dwight and Marv. Looking forward to the sequel. Okay, now, some music recommendations: "Nobody Move, Nobody Gets Hurt" by We Are Scientists. "Tom's Diner" by Suzanne Vega/DNA I rediscovered Fefe Dobson, so her. And finally "Muscle Museum", "Dark Shines", and "Megalomani

It doesn't seem like much. But what it means is that of 2432 words, in one chapter, including the chapter's title, 36 of them are the word "normal." And it probably still doesn't seem like much. But it is. If my book was 1 million words long, nearly 15,000 of them would be just the word "normal." Kind of repetitive. But neat. If you bothered to read the story I posted a few days ago.

but keep in mind my justification. I think I might want children.... If for no other reason than to make sure they're raised correctly, with equal gender opportunities, no parental stereotyping and the proper sexual education and awareness. Not that I wouldn't love them too. Because I would. I really would love them. I'm just not sure I want them. But I might like to try. I don't know. I'm at a weird age, caught between 21 and 22. (little joke) But, the future is the future. We'll see what happens. (oh, and I still want to adopt rather than have my "own")

So, the Den served stuffed mushrooms and seafood casserole. They tasted okay, but I'm still not sure if I'll survive............

A lot of people are ordering pizza. The Hungry Howie's guy has been here twice. Why does he keep talking to me? He's weird, and I suspect he's gay, and I hate when people are on the job and insist on making small talk with the customers/strangers/people around them.

Chapter One: My Not-so-normal Normal Day:      My name is John Smith.      I swear.      I’m not changing it for the sake of amenity (though it would be a good choice), it is actually my name.      My father’s last name is Smith. His first name is Iron (he changed it in the 60s while traveling the continent with a Renaissance festival and never bothered to change it back), so it appears to make some sense. But appearances can be deceiving.      My mother’s name is Erica, so hers is normal, especially considering it used to be Mary D’Toa.      Hand to God.      But you can see why she’d change it. After I was born and my father wanted to name me Black, my mother put her foot down. She changed her name to just “Mary” and moved the three of us to the suburbs.      And while I was barely a year old at the time, I still have dreams about sleeping on a pile of straw with the sounds of horses around me.      But my history is the least important part about me. Mostly because after Iron, Mary,

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

And it begins. Each day a wall. Each step towards the edge. I am struggling. I cannot keep my eyes open. I cannot win this war again. One chance to prove the point. Our burning desire to become. Other than our own. Other than the ones before. Unanswered question. Unfinished truths. Understand the burden. Unwaver in your insecurity. Unaccepting of the horrors of your eyes. Yearning to break through. Your desire to survive. Your desire to live. Your suppression. You pound us with obsession. You need to be silent, volumes in my mind.

John Leguizamo is joining the cast of ER I'm very happy.

It's so hard deciding what to post sometimes. I've reread a bunch of the posts and it suddenly doesn't surprise me why no one reads this. To be quite frank, I often have nothing good to say. There are many cases where's it's just pointless prattling. I get the subtle feeling that it degrades my intelligence. A friend of mine told me I should write more poetry. A good suggestion. Except that writing poetry is very hard for me. I know, the shock. unbelievable that writing, in any way, could be difficult for me. But honestly, half the time I don't even like poetry. I've started feeling better about it, though, since discovering some poetry I liked. I hate the childish, rhyming ones. I don't mind poems that rhyme, I've written some myself. But poetry for me is often like music. I know whether I'll like it or not by the first couple lines. And I hate when lyrics are forced. Like when lines are there because someone thinks they have to be, because it&#

I have to go to work. It's a good thing.

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head? And does he sing to you incessantly from the place between your bed and wall? Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes? Looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you. Does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched and does he cry through broken sentences like “I love you far too much?” Does he lay awake listening to your breath? Worried that you smoke too many cigarettes? Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor?For every speck of tile there are a thousand more that you won't ever see but most hold inside yourself eternally. I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death. In every city, memories would whisper “Here is where you rest.” I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees and I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” I kissed a girl with a broken j

Whenever I watch Episode 4 (of Season 2) of Farscape, I get a craving for crackers. (understandable if you've seen the episode.)

Recently, I kissed a boy. There was, and don't be offended by this, no chemistry. No spark. No reason to keep kissing. But. And this will sound strange, but it seems that somehow the lack of chemistry with this boy has me thinking that there might be chemistry with others, or with the right one. It gave me hope. Very odd. As though the lack of something signifies that somewhere that "something" must exist. Like if there's a Point B, there has to be a Point A, or else why would you bother designating it "B," you'd just call it a point. Does that make any sense to you? Well, it makes sense to me so I suppose that is what matters. Also, do you think it's possible to have an obsessive-compulsive heart? I know it sounds ridiculous, but the last several times I've gone to donate plasma, my pulse has been too high. Now I'm not, consciously or subconsciously, nervous, so I think that, like me, my heart sometimes forgets what it's already done (li

------ It was a bitter summer day. The already brown grass was baking to a nice charcoal color. Inside the little white church, dozens of fans waved in dozens of hands but did little more than circulate the air in what was essentially an oven. The clapping of the choir made a dull smack as sweaty palms came together to glorify the deaths of gods. Every Sunday was the same in this never ending summer. Robed bodies swayed back and forth in time to a rusty organ, a swirl of color perfectly matched with the waving lines of air boiling off the dusty wooden floor. Hard benches creaked when a body shifted, squealed when one turned and resonated as children did their best to keep their bare thighs from melting to the poor peeling finish. In a world where cooking was big on meat and grease, there was far too much fat to be crammed into this one-roomed building. Sundresses were fixed in young boys minds as small squares of fabric wrapped far too tightly around sausage-like limbs and young Caleb

I'll post some of my writing later, probably tomorrow. I'm working on some stuff for one of my novels, plus I still have to figure out what I'm gonna post. In the meantime: If you want to buy me a present, this is what you can get: Dane Cook has a new CD called "Retaliation." It's new stuff (since I more or less have all his old stuff). Dane Cook is hot. And one of my favorite comedians. /

"Fuck Chuck Norris" I still laugh every time.

I changed some stuff. I moved The Quote of the Day. It used to be \/\/\/\/ at the bottom of the page. But I don't think anyone realized it. I often forgot and I'm the one who put it there. Then I moved it, a week or so ago, to the bottom of the quotes section. But I still didn't look at it. So I moved it above my profile. Now I'll actually read it. And speaking of my profile, I changed it. The current difference between my bedroom and my living room? 6 Degrees. Nice, huh? For some reason, I have been exceedingly tired this week. But on the plus side, I cleaned my room, sorted my papers, wrote Ringo a letter, and took care of some other stuff that was necessary. Tomorrow I need to donate plasma and call maintenance. Have a picture. And some artist recommendations. FeFe Dobson & Lacuna Coil. Maybe later this weekend I'll put up some of my writing. Maybe later this weekend I'll actually work on my writing.

This song makes me cry. It's sad and haunting and makes me feel hollow. It's one of my favorites. "Wild Is The Wind" by Cat Power Love me, love me Say you do Let me fly away with you We are creatures of the wind Wild as the wind Give me more than one caress Satisfy this hungriness We are creatures of the wind Wild as the wind You touch me I hear the sound of mandolins, baby You kiss me With your kiss my life begins Like a leaf clings to a tree Baby, please cling to me We are creatures of the wind Wild as the wind You touch me I hear the sound of mandolins And you kiss me With your kiss my life begins. Love me, love me Say you do Let me fly away with you

That "The Transporter" is written by the same guy who wrote "The Fifth Element"? (i.e. Luc Besson). Neat huh? Oh, and "The Transporter 2" is coming out soon, so make sure you go see it. You know, 'cause Jason Statham is Hot!

I LOVE the rain. It's just...so nice.

Nauseas in my dying skin.

Oh the burden we bear, being able to speak. Who would read this? Who would care? Meaningless trivialities cycled over and over. Spinning around to be spit out again. The inability to create originality every day sickens me. Who would feel sorry for me if I shared? I tell myself and even I can see the truth. I have only myself to blame. Circling the drain. Washed up. Washed out. Filthy in my disgust. Disgusted by my bravado. So personal I try to share. Without anyone knowing it is me. The mood swings. The mind screams. The empty echo of all I've been. The emptiness of my past is immeasurable since I still have nothing done. Nothing to measure with. Nothing to measure against. A failure in my own skin. No matter which direction you look in. Petty accomplishments. Pitiful acquisitions. Oh what fools mortals be. So alone and convinced it's okay. Months and Months. Days and Days. Years, even, when you think of my intentions. Who could ever feel sorrow? Who could ever truly care? Who