I got me a Whore Head

I drink too much caffeine free coke, want to see too many zombie movies, and listen to too much Matthew Good.

The end result?


Jesus, I'll miss these days.

stone soup

the strongest of breezes can’t be felt here. my brain is muuuuuuuush.

this week hasn’t even been a roller coaster. even the steepest of those have some sort of slope. mine, however, was a beautiful undefined DROP. i don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, switching out of my current class into some perhapshell i might not be able to handle. one month after class starts. “but I wont slack offfffffffffffffffffffffffpff, like last year.” the news was brilliant a few days prior, I was joyous more so because i convinced steadfast Nicholson rather than for the actual 'victory.' but the blunt of it has hit me hard today. i still don’t know my potential. it’s the pride that shoots me down, yet keeps me alive.

i wouldn’t know potential if it cha-cha-ed naked in front of me.


i hate being human. we’re morons when it comes to death and dying. "don't leave me here, i need you, i can't exist without you, if you go, you might make me sad!" meanwhile, they're hooked to unrecognizable machines, placebos to you, who think they're thankful to be alive and living normally. the smiles you see aren't expressions of happiness, relief. they're of regret for knowing you.


i get feverish from stress. wtf.

our world balances out disgustingly. you have the unfortunate cleft-lipped babies, whose caretakers can’t afford the correction, the wealthy public, who feel pity for the big, sad eyes of those unfortunate souls TIME displays on special thick advertising paper, which is equivalent to a good 7 pages of magazine paper, and the advertisers for help, who leave blanks for $25 min, up to $500. of course, any donation is necessary, so a lonnnnnnnnnnng space is left for “your donation is appreciated. thank you.”


$______________________________________


"your ignorance is appreciated. thank you."

Nocturne

Interesting, all of this is. Different from summer, most definetely. Boredom replaced by: Interesting, all of this is. I admit, I am enjoying these new faces, these new voices, these new places. New situations are what make life interesting and perhaps even worth living. The question posed is central to all of philosophy, and its answer lies within all of us. Let me work it, put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it. Repeated, backwards, twice. I haven't listened to that in a long time. Interesting (take note, this is the third time I have used this word), how after a while even that which you once enjoyed grows tiring to the senses. Boredom could make one live forever (Catch-22?). I hope, at least for the time I spend writing this, that I don't live forever. You will recieve a telegram, maybe many years from now, maybe tomorrow, that will read: "MYLES PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY." I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that. After all, I have been told that these may be the best years of my life. I certainly wouldn't want to waste them dead, especially without getting my license. In a different world, a young boy sitting on an endless beach with an endless orange sea knows that he made the right choice. I hope he enjoys the many long hours of procreation ahead of him.

buthehadaids!

Life Between the Lines

Between the lines we wait in, beneath the asphalt marked by them, behind the things we say, there lies freedom.

School is tiring, but worth-while. Work is fulfilling, but even more exhausting. My life has changed in many ways. A new job, new classes, new people; a new way of living?

I've always begrudgingly liked autumn. The fall. Things close up shop and wait for the new beginning; but the fall remains important. The paths we take, the ways we fall, indicate where we will stand up again.

So I honor the passing of every leaf like a hero, and walk amongst them casting a shadow, and a quick glance towards the future.

in me you trust

A long-distance phone call changed my day. week. life. Too shocked to move, too stunned to comprehend, I couldn’t think rationally. I don’t think anything’s ever been as traumatizing an experience as this, yet the tone of what I’m saying doesn’t sound that bad. well, it was hell in such a dose, I couldn’t be angry. not enough time to work up any of that before the tears came.

even now, as I write, they keep flowing. I’ve sat and stared out my window for an eternity, trying to understand just what happened. it seems so unreal; one minute he was walking in the park, the next, the wailing and flashing red lights of his escort to the hospital upset the tiny town, half a world away.

I won’t get bitter about the doctors, or the fact that they still can’t pinpoint the exact cause of this. I don’t care about what the hell they diagnose; if it’s not positive, screw it. i don’t care for anything else but his health.

I was never much of a phone person. phones were just a way to get sounds across. but even with the static-y connection and the soft volume that accompanied calling overseas, I couldn’t hold myself any longer. I cried, long and hard, as he told me to respect and love my parents. I cried, bitter and anguished, as he told me to pursue my studies and make him proud. I cried, cried my heart out until I felt him aching in his voice at the sound of mine, as he told me to never give up my love for music, because his love was hearing me play.

I stayed in my room, staring out the window until darkness crept upon this side of the world, and I could no longer distinguish the leaves on the trees. I didn’t know what to think, still don’t know what I’m thinking. my heart is weeping, and it is not only of sadness, but of a bitterness, a longing to see him, a longing that now rests in pain. I have no power over anything over there, but i know that he won’t leave me.

Why? Because I haven’t proved myself yet. he has to stay longer, to watch me win my battles, stand my ground, and succeed in my studies. he has to stay longer, to see me win violin competitions, which will undoubtedly brighten up his wrinkled face. he has to see me get into college, and feel proud because the first grandchild he held made it to the real world. he simply can’t leave, and he knows it too.


I love you, grandfather. I always have, always will. Just watch, this won’t be your time, I won’t allow it – you must still see me prove my worth to you.

places for breathing

so it begins. i have stopped caring. i have stopped freaking out over assignments. i have stopped briging things home when i'm supposed to. i have, however, begun to leave everything until the last possible minute. i have also begun running on three hours of sleep, and drinking chai in the mornings to wake up. i have started losing important things, and my dresser is returning to it's normal state of 'file cabinet.' even though i have a file cabinet.

school is back.

in an attempt to upgrade me 'from emo to awesome,' grace has my computer chock full of her cds. muchly appreciated, since i love all of it. the magnetic fields = godlike. one bad thing, tho. my computer has so much shit on it now, it's slow as all hell. so, i don't know what to do. i listen to all of the songs, and chose the ones that i love the least [which is very tough], and delete them. crappy.

my eyes burn. i don't think that's healthy at all. i'm almost out of visine, which can't be a good thing. it feels like i've been crying for days. which i haven't. because i've been having awesome days lately. aside from today in which: my christmas lights broke, i awoke against my will at 8.45, i got yelled at a few times, i realized that i left my paycheck at work, i have to write a depressing paper about a guy i don't like too much, i could'nt go out because of said paper, and i feel like i wasted my weekend. that and i keep throwing up. faaaantastic.

pierce my lebret - 1.if i use a hoop, it can go over my lip. 2.i can shoot people with liquid out of the hole when i feel so inclined. 3.i like it.
don't pierce my lebret - 1.i'm a wuss 2.swelling 3. infection
verdict???

i wish i had an evil twin,
C.

Road to the West

School is bad. At this point, alrady I cannot wait for summer, or at least a break. When I first walked in through the parking lot and I saw my peers I
I realized I could do without seeing all these people. We are sent to school partly so that we can learn what is socially acceptable and how to interact with other people. We've learned that already, and if we haven't, we never will.
English makes me nervous. I can't help while I am sitting in class but to feel that I don't belong. My friends reassure me, but unfortunately, I can't weight their opinions more than Barky's. "I'm worried about your writing, but I do like you." Thanks a trillion. No one has ever had a problem with my writing before last year I think. And Mr. Adams never told me that I didn't belong in honors. Then again,
Anyway, I'll try and tough it out. It would be so easy to drop. To get a fresh start, to leave behind all my experiences. I am running low on pride. Already, I find myself looking at the clock, the same in every classroom, wishing the hours of my life away one by one.

=D

and so we start to fall.

new year, fresh slate, time to start off a year with a power-kick to the balls - same cliche stuff you hear from guantez in her confidence-'boosting' speeches. i've got two years left to run in this hellhole and i'll never look back. phs as an academic institution isn't as bad as all of us make it sound, daresay, i like education, i like learning, i just don't like how we learn. and the people with whom you learn with. but then, you can't ever find an academic crowd you'll never get sick of, nor can you opt to hit the books by your own will; we just don't work like that. there's no happy medium, i believe.

aristotle:learning::ants:sugar

you don't need it, but you want it.

The End, Boys of Summer, California Dreaming, Empty Cans.

Scientists, after many years of rigorous testing, have recently discovered that high school students in their senior year suffer from extreme levels of nostalgia which increase as the year continues. Such students are often quoted as saying such things as "Oh my god, this is our last first day." These students are advised to start stamp collections or something. Debbie Skywalker, Luke's lesser known sister, actually suffered from this same condition of increased nostalgia, and she was actually killed in her X-Wing during the explosion that destroyed the Death Star, as she floated around it thinking what a great old battle station it had been. Unlike her, Luke moved onto bigger and better battle stations. A handy tool for parents and teachers to have during what can be a difficult year is a crowbar. These lifesavers can be used to pry students from anything they may suddenly develop feelings for during the year. A tip to buyers; Dutch Guard sells excellent Titanium Crowbars for 40 dollars, a superb deal considering the high quality of the product. Due to their titanium composition, Dutch Guard crowbars are 40% lighter than steel, but 15 times stronger than aluminum. This crowbar is also non-magnetized and will never rust or degrade in any way. To purchase this fine product, check out Dutch Guard's convenient and easy to use website at www.DutchGuard.com.