Honnestly Innocent

snowflakes are falling

Fri, 18 May 2007 02:35:51 GMT

grown so attached to something that is gone i find myself disattached from everything now. not even restoring that addictive past may fill the hole that i find doveloping before me. When thinking back on every day i wonder if it was what i was suppose to be doing on this day, or if the road most travelled has passed me by completely. No more regretting though, its not about wishing just a wonderment that crosses over me like a gust of cold wind on a winter day, just that reminder of where I am, and the knowledge that summer may still be farther off. Is it easier to lose ones mind than to maintain a sanity that feels so fake, just give me time and I will slide down one side of the mountain, toppling down a cliff or walking down its slopes, but to get out i must walk through the cold either way. I will survive, the eternal question is, "will my mind?".

Drifting Madness

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 18:20:01 GMT

floating along getting by forgetting thoughts as they haunt my dreams.
I dreamt a dream of killing a man. He stole much from me in life, and in my dream he decided it wasn't enough so he took my house, as i came home he was laying in my bed making himself comfortable, so i took the liberty to show my feelings on his unwelcomed presence. I told him to leave, and resisted so i attempted to restrain him, but found myself overwhelmed like neverbefore, so i tried to beat him in the face, but found no satisfaction as his face refused to be pulped, as he smiled at me, I took a club and hit him with it morphing his smile into a laughter so cutting it hurt my head to be near this repulsive creature. I knew not what to do except grab a gun and aim it at him and shoot. I pictured it in my head with pleasure to imagine this foul loathsome creature falling to the floor with a hole in its head the size of a galaxy. As the gunshot went off I found myself stunned from the sound of it and saw his face, not of physical pain, but of morbid shock, as I fell to the floor with the gun still in my hand I realized just before I awoke that he had not been injured, but was stunned to find, just as I myself was, that the gun in my hand was pointed at my own skull.

Gotta get away

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 02:22:39 GMT

my shakes are bad today, decided not to go out into public for fear that i won't be able to stop my hand from giving my flaw away to the public eye. I hate not being in control. Been at home too long now, almost two weeks, and i can't leave for 4 more days. Wish I were running away sooner, its more fun, and invigerating. People stop to tell me how running solves nothing, but all i can think of is how much distance i can get from those conversations. I also hear that quiters never win, except when quitting smoking, than your a winner, and how not winning isn't the end of the world, but society looks down on college flunkies. I decided that advice is just a word, and anything that follows it is merely subjective and mostly grains of salt from those not so seasoned after all.

bleeding from the inside

Sat, 21 Apr 2007 07:19:11 GMT

listening to my friend who is sitting to tell me his women troubles and life problems, i find myself feeling lightheaded, and tasting a metallic flavor in my mouth. My stomach turns and tells me of a problem with my body. I run for a restroom and throw up blood into the toilet. Stomach acid and what looks like a water bottles worth of thick red blood. What do i do, should i go to the hospital, tell my friend im in trouble? I decided to excuse myself with a faint excuse of a bed time, and return to my home, where my bed is, and sleep until i have forgotten what is wrong with me. Now that im home, i decided that i should record these thoughts before i risk dieing before i wake. good night.

What time was it when...

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 22:22:52 GMT

My mind constantly races these days. I ponder on subjects that get me nowhere, i worry about things that leave me nervous, and I make for the future that i never plan to keep. A phrase always comes to me whenever I write, and I always type it out, and realize that I never can finish it, I find that I will type "What time was it when..." and i never know why, and when i get to "when" the thought vanishes every time and i end up deleting it, because it has always been that something that has been at the tip of the tounge, without forming more words i feel lost. maybe I am trying to tell myself something, or maybe there is a feeling i need to get across to my readers that i can never form. Sometimes i have tried making something up after that phrase that haunts me so, but it has never felt right, you be the judge from my past writings. Did the ending for it fit then?

It feels like a force of nature when i think of that phrase though, as if its always about to become mind blowing, oh well.

I tell lies

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 06:56:53 GMT

When ever i talk to people who i have known for sometime, i see something in their eyes, disbelief. They know ilie, im a liar, i would lie my ass off. Its not the stories of my past though as most would believe, its my feelings. i keep the anger, and emotion, and hatred, and sadness caged, cause i don't wish to explain any of it to anyone.

why should i listen

Sat, 14 Apr 2007 02:00:56 GMT

i watch and listen to things around me, mostly just soaking it in and not spouting it back out like a regurgitating machine. People ask me to listen to actual monologues of their life as though it would make a difference from the other 99 percent of what i hear them say, its all meaningless, rarely do i hear something come out of a persons mouth that has some baring on me, my life, or society itself, so what is it to me to listen anyway, maybe its for advice they wish to recieve back, but that can't be, because people are stuborn and rarely listen to those they have listen to them, we take advice from those we respect, and those we respect are often not the same individuals that we ask to listen to our problems because we do not wish to lose that respect we imagine that they hold of us. So is their asolution to this, yes, stop asking others to listen, because we rarely actually understand where the other person is coming from, and if we even do have ome incling as to what their situation might be like due to past experiences of our own, we must all remember one thing, we don't all think alike, and something i might take for granted another person may feel is vital to their existence. Advice is not the answer, go pay for a shrink, they will tell you that the answer is in ourselves, they merely help us explore our answers until something comes from within to solve the dilema.

thanks for sitting on the couch.

Oh love, how you remind me...

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 07:24:09 GMT

The color reminds me of an amber running from the trees of maple, seeping out at an incredible rate as if time were sped up to accomodate the comparison and to apease the eyes. the essence is a sweet memory of the fields of oak and nature caressing the body nurturing it in the warm sun under the cool touch for 5 minutes in an april shower. To feel the liquid burn just slightly to remind me of life and the invigerating spunk of youth again lets me know that one more time, I will dance the familiar dance with that sweet bourbon. The different dressing it may have dons'nt change the feelings it gives me, be it an old fashion, or a mint julep, or even doubled on the rocks, it will always be a friend. Now if you will excuse me, i think their playing our song...

Blessings in disguise

Mon, 09 Apr 2007 05:28:14 GMT

Isn't it funny how whvingen a person takes you from completely happy to completely miserable that everyone else says that its ablessing in disguise, or how everything happens for a reason. We all think that we are meant for something, or maybe we are all meant for something to someone, whichever it is, neither matters to me when i have been stomped into the mud so please do not make this bitter taste of ass kicking out to be some tang of margaritta, doesn't matte how much liquir salt or sour mix, its still gonna taste like misery to me.

Ialways feel like the worst feeling of when something horrible happens to me is not the feeling itself, but the knowledge always deepseeded inside that keeps telling me, you will get past this, and you will learn from it. It almost feels like a part of me that feels so horrible knows that the feelings are kind of empty just having the knowledge that its a fleeting thing. I guess the flip side to that coin is the emo take on life, feeling like every moment has the world resting on each little outcome, oh i got mustard on my sandwhich, i ordered no mustard, wheres my razorblade!

i am wearing down inside these days, changing my outlook on life to protect my self, not that we don't all do it, i guess im just actively observing my ne self that reflects my surounding. i just realized that im kind of a wity mean son of a bitch.

guess its been a long time since i have been posting, mostly i have been living myself into poverty, enjoying the fleeting wealth of the poor and the journeys of the bohemians. no time to grab a drink like the present. heres a toast to time, enjoy the youth while it lasts our bodies are fragile.

Measuring stick

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 10:12:28 GMT

Maybe my standards are too high.

What do I trully look for in a women that is not present in the offers i recieve? I doubt my requirements are too far out of bounds from any expected norm in society, but maybe it limits it to a percentage of the population that is far too difficult to seek. Intelligence, Ambition, Drive, Empathy, Appreciation of the finer things in life, and physically in shape even if just remotely. I thought about this the other day when i began questioning my longterm state of stag behavior. I even thought of how true the statement was of how loving, losing, is better than never loving. I did see the turh in it, the truth that absolute loneliness must be painful for those who never find anyone to care for them in that manner, but it aroused a different question in myself. Why do i have this ingrained belief that I must find this "missing half" of myself. Is this just as futal a drive as video gamers have of needing to overcome games? I must have some happiness in my own life, most of the things i desire in another are not things that I would expect of a person who is merely waiting for me to find them, for if they desire the same things in me. The search for another is merely another temptation one must willfully set aside in order to concentrate on ones self, then once one has done what they are able to in their own lifes, will they trully be prepared to admit that other into their own life without it becoming a relationship of emotionally dependent leaches...

i need a drink.

Read all about it!

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 08:57:15 GMT

calling all seekers, seekers of truth! The world is going to end, just praise along with the blind and mute. Called upon for spreading the good news, let the people rejoice of the ending of the world, were not going to live to regret, the after life is merely a myth. Extra, Extra, hear all about it, called upon to walk the earth for all eternity without purpose, man, reign coming to an end. let the people rejoice, its not a worry any longer.

screams into another fourth of july night.

Wed, 05 Jul 2006 07:00:33 GMT

im a starving artist without a talent waiting to be found by a pack of jackals.

Sure is time to close the gates to the evening well spent in a room full of strangers. Looks of discombobulation are exchanged with fleeting moments and memories of past times that never occured run through the mind. missed chances are merely close calls of great misfortunes. The forecastle of my mind is spilling over unto the stern with a massive amount of data being read by the wrong viewer and called upon out of text to misconstrue the true meanings. Last regrets and starting stages blend together too often for coincidence. I live for the moments when those who truelly understand me come in contact even for an instant, it fills my sinking heart with a joy long enough to almost forget the outage that was caused upon it.

Singing misfortunes are a mixed blessing when the sung in another language.

Don't listen to the tin man, he tells nothing but lies!

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 22:10:25 GMT

Call into play a deprived long overdue character
growing older, but still good as new
Turned from the game after several bad calls
lost face in the pool of endless bodies

cold tide washes away the burden of memory
title gone and name changing rapidly
the burden of the wind is but to change my surface
cold water runs over my face and clenses

there are no "oxygen absorbers" for life
to keep us from getting to far away from familiarity
go with the flow, let time rot away connections
change the tune and play along with the new thing

close my door, say goodbye, and don't expect another hello
don't expect it to be a last departing either
Truth be told, i never liked the world
I loved it for every discrepency and flaw

cold undertakings of harmless depts to society
no one owes me a thing, i expect the retribution regardless
Life is an untold story, until you tell it
so tell me all about your life, in one breath of a word.

Wed, 23 Nov 2005 09:39:56 GMT

The worlds full of lieing and im falling out of grace just losing face.

cheeting is a concept foreign to me, not from lack of practice, but lack of understanding as to why people care. If i can not find a stable ground of understanding of this dream of life then what hope do I have of grasping the meaning of living at all. Death is not the tragedy, living when you shouldn't is the tragedy. Those who knew me once are but strangers to who i am now, and i have no desire to reintroduce me to whoever the hell they have become. Complete misery is only the first step to salvation, the next is volentary death. So good holdiays to all, seeing as that time of year is back once again, and remember that if you walk around with anything less than a smile, people will see through the mask. Keep trucking and hope you sruvive long enough to die.

Masks

Mon, 21 Nov 2005 06:51:04 GMT

I recently realized that the odd feeling I have had as of late has been explained. I feel as if I am me roleplaying a human being. What an odd notion to almost be human.

Great lines get remembered, great stories are never forgotten.

Fri, 04 Nov 2005 06:34:31 GMT

Lifes cruel jokes plague me on a daily basis. Every morning i awaken from a feeling of happiness from a dream well spent, to remembering my own life in a blink of an eye, the thought, like a string, that held my grin is cut just as swiftly.
Mornings are not all too dificult after coping with the reality of my alarm clock, and it's snooze button four times. I am able to function enough to make an effort toward the beginings of a day. It is better not to think about what is in store and what must be accomplished, because I surely will not do the tasks at hand. I will either spend the day in school or at home until I work up enough guts to leave my house. I hate doing either, because being at school only reminds me of what I cannot make my mind complete in...

Staying at home is no better, awakaning unknowing of what I am suppose to do, or unwilling to do what I am needing to finish. Looking for a movie I numb my mind for a bit relaxing the frustration of thinking out a game plan. This does not work all of the time seeing as most movies have something that remind me of things that I need to get done, or things I don't want to remember. Realizing that I have watched the program the day before, or hate whatever it is im distracting myself with, i will find an excuse to leave to never never land where all of my friends are kids, and do nothing all day, in other words adults who are irresponsible like little children. I find myself turning down drugs, and passing on drinks, because I know it will only make me worse. I think of the homework that I have yet to do from 4 weeks ago, and all of it since, and think to myself that food is what i need, so I eat, even though I am still full. Thoughts get cloudy, and time passes by with a quickness, and the next time I step outdoors, its dark. I don't return phone calls because I don't feel like it, or because I forget all together. Smoking is all that satisfies me, and wanting is something that drives me through the next day. I am tapped out, burned out on the nector of life. I return home and already another 5 hours have passed, where does that time go, I have done nothing today. I watch a movie, and maybe two, talk to my dog about my day, and how I miss the past. I check my email to see how unnoticed I have gone in my time of mistaken hidding. sleep is a scar thought, because I am afraid of awakening the next day from a good dream, or suffering through the night with the nightmares that are hunting me, and those night terrors circling waiting for me to be even weeker. I am tired and somber, so the warm blanket will protect me from another cruel day, at least for my next three hours of sleep.

life is just one slow, painful death

Psycho Coffee Talk, with your host H.I.

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 07:18:31 GMT

Life lost, love forgotten, whats left to undo? See prizes waiting to be opened in every person I meet, wonder what it is they are looking for, and if that pursuit is for something tangable in another person, and if they will ever find it. Since love can not be measured, it is hard to know if we have the best we could ever have with one person. If love could be measured, i think we would be misserable though. Can't decide on what I am looking for, thought it was one thing for almost a year, and now, i am just realizing that infatuations can last even longer than that, so dismissing it was all that was needed after all. Is this loneliness, and will the other side of the fence only cause me to miss this feeling? Too soon to find out, maybe 10 years ill figure it out. Turn my attention towards a focused writting, not this dribble, but a talent I constantly forget to tend too. I wish the world would all stop and listen in admiration to at least one word I had to say, for than i would be happy to lay down and die. Long be the path when first travelled, but looking back, it always seem as if the time flew by.

Every women that has been apart of my life feels as only a bugsplat on the windshield of my life.

One liners do not make a good writer.

To "Another Day in Paradise"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 06:04:29 GMT

A sense of reality that split away from the norm. I left myself wondering through an endless cooridor of passageways from which I could find no answers. Told myself that getting a letter from that bitch called love would be a bad Idea, so I avoided it like the dickens, only to findmyself recieving a box addressed to me from a stranger im good friends with. The entire while I didn't realize but I still had a foot stuck in the heartshaped box of chocalates that i attempted to kick away when given to me by a stranger of a stranger. A one night stand who just didn't get it I guess, but who really thought that i was her salvation from her troubles, but as it turns out, those were all in her head, and coming to me would not get rid of herself. Called me up asking to come over, and had an excuse that was life threatening, so when asked, I said, "nope", and when asked for an explanation, i did the worst thing possible, I told her part of the truth, but not the rest, that I didn't want to see her. This feeling of anticipation riding up my spine like a wedgy in my ass, that feeling of pain, and the pleasure that comes when getting it out, its all to real for me to think about anymore. She might be there, turned to she would be, turned to she knows i will be. I would rather be the mystery to her once again, but that can not be, cause she has seen me without my mask, and just thought it to be another mask, of a stranger she refused to except as real. I am embarrased to be around her now, but wether she knows it or not, I do not know, and finding out will be the pulling of that wedgy out of my ass, I just hope no blood comes out of this situation. I hate being without her, but I can not tell her that, she is the person i don't want lies to get to, I want nothing but truth to fall upon her ears, and save her the pain of disbelief in what and who I really am, or maybe my fear is that she already knows me, I think that thought could drive me insane if i were talking with Sid right now. Life is a cruel joke, a build up of a climax to come that we do to ourselfs, those Great Expectations in life that only break down, and finally you realize that you had that feeling all along, but were to blind to realize it, until those goodnesses are gone from our lives, blinding us even further from recognizing it in the future, because they are never the same as what once was. I believe thoroughly that All I am is but another typing monkey in the infinite typing monkey theory. I can only hope that my works will consist of more than the letter S, or throwing my own dung at the type writer.

When the world floats away.

Tue, 23 Aug 2005 07:02:02 GMT

My last anchor of my childhood is going to disappear shortly. The house I grew up in, will be divided and sold. I see the face of superman, and know that kryptonite never hurt him like he is hurt now. He looks me in the face with the eyes of an innocent child, that inconceivable look of innocence. My childhood hero, my superman, the most brilliant and kind man I knew, is but a mere shadow of a body of who he was, now disappearing more and more each day as his blood leaks in his head, and destroys more and more of his understanding, and we give him more and more of those opiates that dull the pain he must feel. Turning away dinner after dinner to end the suffering faster. I never actually conceived of what this type of dislocation might actually feel like, house after house I have lived in, this one was always there, with Superman looking over the land as the protector that I grew up knowing. He lays in a bed, unable to move, unable to communicate but a word here and there, and even then I suspect he is only guessing at what he is answering. I read him the books of his life, the ones with broken spines that he read to death, I am reading to him through the last of his life. The spoils of this war being the mess left behind to clean up, giving "The Man" forty seven percent of everything that superman has left to his children. Dealing with a house cleaning and picture dividing, and how to get every Knickknack to a home that will appreciate it. His dogs I thought of last, and the prospect of them going away from there home made me feel sadder than Me never having that home again. In the time I tried to have a family meal to forget about every moment of grief for a second, I ate Chinese, and my fortune tells me how I will inherit money soon. I hate chinese food, and will never open a fortune again. The road is bleak, and the prospect of my future has never looked so grimm.

Weebles, and Peebles, but not the god damn feebles

Fri, 19 Aug 2005 09:31:47 GMT

An undetermined amount of time without, has turned into an unknowing of with. How can one forget what it was that has been had before. Is it like the medical condition of loosing the section of your brain that stores memory, not only making you blind, but forgetting what it was ever like? I have turned it down, or turned it away, not knowing if it was the right time or day. When to re-enter the circle of being, of social completeness, its not my undoing not being in it, but it is rather sad without it. Am I not worthy, am i misunderstanding signals being given to me? Even if I did except some interpreted invitation, would it turn out to merely be a case if miscommunication? I am not certain if my reluctance is a point of sheer choice, or if it is more of a fear of rejection among my peers. People that I look to in time of understanding, look to me for answers, so peers are only an illusion that i am indulging rather heavily at this point. I won't take that chance first at this point in time, I will wait until those I seek, not only seek me, but run up to me and indulge in the illusion that is me. I hate to put it that way, but I feel as if so many masks have been worn in my life, that I have no true face left, and that it is merely a re-mixture of some two forms I have worn before, or maybe more.

I am going to seek out advice on this notion of church that I have been having lately. Not a religious search within my soul, or even a spiritual sense of need. I am wanting to know if church would be healthy for me as a social experience. I am not looking for god in any way, unless god has always been a sense of companionship, but then again, I have doubt that happiness is something that can be found in another, but only in ones self. Ranting and raving is becoming repetitive, but I guess that is sometimes the way to understand what I am most passionate about.

I think I just want to be rescued, I have rescued so many other people in my lifetime, and I don't remember ever being rescued myself.

its 5:30 in the morning, and i have yet to fall asleep.
I will try again, before the sun sings the song of today.

A smaller Pyramid, of a rectangular shape.

Mon, 15 Aug 2005 09:26:57 GMT

Colors crash with blinding speed, and the sounds turn milk to butter inside of my stomach. Can't cry, even when I try. Heard the voice of death yesterday, and found it revolting that everyone else that heard the same voice was rejoiced in the echoing of that dreadful sound. Death sounded too young to be the reaper, and unwise beyond my years. Feet hurt from a painful blister, of walking to the steps of deaths door, sobs of sadness, mixed with glees of reunions around me filled the air. Decided to toast to the dead with a stick of death itself, not only for the memory of times past, but for the irony of bringing myself closer to the same point that I dread. Kind and curtious, I felt confusion, as to what I would say to the center of attention. Do I mourn, or smile, do I cry, or console. None felt right, so I blankly looked, and frowned, then hugged. Memories are an awful weapon controlled by a dreadful teacher. Sinking down onto grass trampled by hundreds of heartaches, I smoked my cigerette, and wondered if the cure to my own ailment, would be to attend a church, or if that would be disrespectful, not being in the belief of god myself. Before I left that day, I went to a stone of gold, and kissed it, for it was her birthday. Troubled memories will stay with each and every one of us, but dwelling on them, only turns a person on oneself and destroys another buetiful mind.

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 09:14:29 GMT

time is a game that plays with our head, making us think that there is a place to be, and a designated duration in which to accomplish something. I think that the persistance of memory is my favorite art piece when refering to time, along with a million other people out there, but my reasons are not the same as a million other people. I see the time of the age melting away, losing grip, slipping untill we have no consept anymore of how much time really exists any longer. I am refering to the duration of us, we are dieing, not on a planetary scale of killing the earth even, but on an individual basis, we are giving up one by one closer and closer to a decreesing population. Why would I care to point that out if i have previously written my opinions on mass population controls then you may ask and wonder, because I am not for the eradication of the creativity of man, or the inspiration of nature upon reacting to our infinite ideas of how to fight it.

Take my life, but you take my freedom, take my wife, and ill move to sweden.

Random thought, that is all. I have inspired other people to start writing the anonymous journals online, not saying i invented the chicken sandwhich or anything, just saying. Does that impact have a positive or negative effect on those people around me, or the ones who may read those journals of crazy thoughts, or mine for that matter.

I think of failure as not having tried.
a poor man on the streets is not a failure. a failure is to not truely be who you are, maybe not in society, or what not, but somewhere, even within yourself, you have to contain a box of reality to you, even if your reality is not mine, it makes us sane and different.

killing a man would not set a man free, i learned that from manson's mistakes.

Cruel thoughts towards people that think i love them prevail in my psyche, and its not that i don't love them, but its that i am of a cruel nature, and i think i am getting darker by the day. I am not one to inflict physical harm, but much worse is to inflict psychological harm, any one reading this is safe from my wrath, I have inparticular dishes of revenge I am keeping in the freezer getting ready to serve. i want my legacy on this world to not be another human being produced from the fruit of my loines, i want my legacy to be something more influential, something more direct, and indirect at the same time, one person has the possibility of becoming a president, and changing history, but i don't want to risk that president coming from my little swimmers. I am ready to burst out with a fountain of useless but influential knowledge, hoping to change a reader and make them not love thine enemy, but to empathize with them. It is harder to understand than it is to hate. People are more likely to shoot a burglar in the dark than to turn on the lite and see their son home from college making coffee. I think that the cruelty in our world stems not from a fear of failure of society, but a fear of failure of divinity.

kill not, hurt not, covet not, steal not, these contradicting terms of human rules make us a race of zombies who sit at home, eat, work, and wait for the next day to work. Let us be free of these divine bonds that shackle us from a social working system.

if you read all of that, i think you are crazier than me, hope you read the next one too.

Public intoxication is in the eyes of the beer goggles.

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 08:16:26 GMT

Im so tired of just roaming around wondering what to do. Finality is not a solution because it does not exsist. I am envious of people who are to stupid to realize there own worthlessness. Intelligence tests are a joke, and Potential is like fly paper, once you lear about it, you are stuck to it forever. Short of faking mental handicapps. I am ready for something drastic to occure in my life, and yet hesitent of initiating anything beyond the norm. Life is confusing, it leads to doors of wonders and hopes, and then if you pass through them, there are more doors, but we all know these things already, that no goal set for yourself will be the last goal, unsatisfaction comes with every accomplishment. If I choose not to attempt anything, then I never become unsatisfied with an outcome produced by my trying. Why even consider women objects anymore, they only consider me an object, and not one to sleep with. Its not that Im giving up, its that I am considering the fact that my past attempts were not even trying.

a rich man cries when his company gets crushed, a poor man doesn't cry when he gets fired, but the poor man worked the same amount of time for the company who didn't care for him, the rich man got his company crushed by the IRS for evading taxes. the poor man got another job, the rich man got 3-5.

what is happiness.

Fri, 12 Aug 2005 05:48:02 GMT

Felt the urge for destruction and toil, and had two conspiraters who were caught in my wake. We jumped into an automobile that was a toy of mine, drove it through a field in no time. Not one to go offroading, but felt the urge to destroy something naturally buetiful. As we spun and flew, We decided to turn and go backwards too.

I went so fast spinning around and around, shooting grass everywhere, with too much sound. Then we stopped and smelled a smoke, for I thought it was the E-break that I had choked. Got back in, and drove some more, flying over hills at 44. went so fast in reverse, and then spun around almost 430 degrees. When we stopped, the car was dead, and I smelled a rot like the car had bleed. We noticed a flash from under the hood, and jumped out for it caught like an angry mood.

Out in the middle of a field, a road leading out no bigger than a tiny car, there had been no point in calling a fire truck that would not fit to douse the flames that torched the car. So we watched in Aww, and knew it was bad, but revelled in the buety of something so sad. I wanted a camera, then I realized, I never removed my keys from the egnition to my suprize. No point any longer, they were toast, and the long walk home would suck the most.

The Story of "The Car" will always live, but its final resting place is moved to a remote area where I dragged it with a tractor. I may post pictures of its current corpse. but It will never live up to its previous legacy.

My final thoughts on the subject of destroying something natural, I had intended it just to be grass in my field, and after destroying a man made manufactured assembly line automobile, I only feel more depraved, and only sucked into the depression of being human more and more.

Wed, 10 Aug 2005 21:38:41 GMT

Life is no mystery, it is a riddle, and riddles are not always ment to be gotten, mysteries are.
writing in the dark during the day time adds no dissillusions to my mood as to how I feel, I know who I am and what I feel, need not rain, nor shine, nore exteriour motives to exentuate my feelings on any matter.
I am me
Want as taste of something diffirent, yet feel displeasure at the thought of suffering others "distractions" in life. Have not worries, not no more though, just a wonder as to why so alone. Surounded by people who say they care, and care so deeply for those I dare, but care not for those thought to be close and care less for those who I empathize most. took too much of the posion that they said would make me small, and almost to small to see at all. no one notices when I smile, they only notice that I can not jump with glee. WHo cares for me, who dares to see, what is buetiful inside of me, nothing.

I am almost gone, just a little left, to smile and say, good bye, don't fret, I'll drink my bottle, of posion to be, smaller than you could imagine, and disapear into something you wont see.

long to ride to ocean blue and sing a song with the walrus about oyster stew. Ever tried to commit that tabboo ride they dare not talk about loud, most mention it to one or another, but not a crowd, they hope to be saved, and not sucked under, but the true passangers, always wish to ride, and get pulled under.

under I'll go, but not today, for fortune told me that id surface again for another wave. the waves crash again, just as they always do, never giving way to anything new, but one day ill plunder under that ocean of blue, and my mermaid who will rescue me, will be on a date with you.