Hello world. Lonely World. I am waiting for some pictures to attach to an email, so I decided to write. This is my favorite pastime. This is what I live for, if anything. This is my passion.

The Family Values Tour was awesome. Peter got his eye messed up (and I mean messed up) in the mosh pit, but he's doing better and neither of us got high or drunk or arrested so it was all pretty un-regrettable. I know Korn was the headliner, but we didn't stay for their whole performance. They aren't that great (no offence to any Korn fans) and Peter's eye was really starting to hurt. Tator Salad and his sister and a bunch of cool people were there. I was surprised to see TS, but I'm glad I did. He is so funny when he's tipsy. Stone Sour rocked, as did Flyleaf and they can rest assured that the concert did increase CD sales, cause I just bought both.

School is the shizniz; that's about all there. I must say, though, that I really don't like getting less than 100%. It's not that I have technically failed, but I have still failed to make the full score. There is still room for improvement.
I could use a lot of help in that whole "improving thyself" realm.

I didn't eat dinner tonight. I take the stand of calling awareness to world hunger. So be aware. Be hungry.

My Baby is going to get special treatment before winter. I really would like her doors to stay closed while driving through Rochester and, hell, if she would start on most mornings that would be spiffy. How about a plate that says "blk bull?" I think it's a keeper. I have also come up with the best story for why she has a dent in every body panel- "We was sendin down this deal in the hood. We were all tryin to pack up and chill off when all these thugs came just came a'runnin all at us. We was tryin to bust outta there and went heavy on the throttle. Well, a few gangstas got caught up and went "thud" and so that's where the damage came from. We was hittin gangstas in the hood."

Ex Libris is my new muse. I am in awe at some of the artists and their work. They have become my heroes. Goodbye Superman, these mortals can write! I really must pursue my dreams. When I do I feel so much more me. At least there is a me somewhere.

I really hate myself when I can not take the leap of faith to throw myself out in the world and not give a care what people think. I'm always so caught up with what people think that I just know I am, and have been, missing out on life options that may have taken me down a better road. Am I being too vague? I'm sorry. I'm just afraid of what you'll say...

This is a shout out to Riley, Steve, and Jeff (if that's what your name is).
This is a shout out to my homeslice.

Chow.

The Exies: Ugly

Are you ugly?
A liar like me?
A user, a lost soul?
Someone you don’t know
Money it’s no cure
A Sickness so pure
Are you like me?
Are you ugly?

We are dirt, we are alone
You know we're far from sober!
We are fake, we are afraid
You know it’s far from over
We are dirt we are alone
You know we're far from sober!
Look closer, are you like me?
Are you ugly?

Turn a blind eye
Why do I deny?
Medicate me
So I die Happy
A strain of cancer
Chokes the answers
Are you like me?
A liar like me?

I don’t care, you don’t care
I’m bitter, you’re angry.
You don’t care, I don’t care
You love you, just like me
I blame you, you blame me
I’m bitter, you’re angry.
You don’t care, I don’t care
You love you, like me

Are you Ugly?
Are you Ugly?
Are you Ugly?

Fuck that Shit.

Every time I think I'm over him, I think of him again.
Every time I think we're getting along, I go and screw things up again.
Every time I think it's ok, they go and make me jealous again.
Every time I think I'm gonna quit, I end up giving in and doing it again.
Every time.
Every time.
Every time.
Please bury me.

Deadsy: Brand New Love

The desperate eyes that close, maybe it goes away.
Please rest tomorrow,and bring a satisfied day.
The restless urge of love that's worth, the burning for.
Surely it's that one comforting, love to give you more.
And this thought can be that begins, the brand new tangled web you're spinning.
Anyone can be your brand new love.
Any time the force can be broken, to tear your bitter world to be open.
Anyone can be your brand new love.
You won't be the first.
Your twisted change is normal...gossip, dirt.
Whisper to the nodding head, thrilled you fell apart instead of them.
But they will,'cause any hope for love can be killed.
If you need a different face, it's definite time to destroy this place.
Follow what you feel, you alone will decide what's real.
Anyone can be your brand new love.


Tell me a happy story, please. Anyone. If you will hold me tonight and tell me it's all going to be ok, I will be yours. Call me 'baby girl' and run your lips along my neck. Tell me I am precious. Make me feel... I don't care like what, I just want to feel. To be alive. To love. To be loved. Whisper sweet nothings in my ear and wrap your arms around me. Make my spine tingle and my eyelids close. Can you do this? Can you be my everything? If you can not, will you please tell me. Don't lie to me. Don't build up trust that you will later break down.

My gripe is not with lovers of the truth but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safty of a lie.

-Vida Winter
The Thirteenth Tale
Diane Setterfield

surcease \SUR-sees; sur-SEES\, noun:
Cessation; stop; end.

One of his clearest remembrances from childhood was the feeling that swept over him when, on a Saturday morning, the sun had sequestered itself behind a cascade of clouds and rain, thick, relentless walls of rain, came pounding down with no promise of surcease, black greasy rain that eradicated all hopes of an outdoor day. -- Stanley Bing, Lloyd: What Happened When flights are delayed and the airport concourse looks like the subway at rush hour, children crawling among luggage a nd lines winding to pay phones, anxious travelers yearn for surcease. -- Betsy Wade, "Airline Clubs: Worth the Cost?", New York Times, August 24, 1997