Traits of creative people:
1. wonder and be curious
2. be open to new experiences
3. see the familiar from an unfamiliar point of view
4. take advantage of accidental events
5. make one thing out of another by shifting its function
6. generalize from particulars in order to see broad applications
7. synthesize, integrate, find order in disorder
8. be in touch with one’s unconscious, yet be intensely conscious
9. be able to analyze and evaluate
10. know oneself, have the courage to be oneself in the face of opposition
11. be willing to take risks
12. be persistent: to work for long periods-perhaps years-in pursuit of a goal
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Why?
Because I saw a part of me in you,
I part of me that I wanted to
protect and understand.
Because I wanted to please you
in every way.
I wanted for (you) to be happy;
to not hurt anymore.
Because I wanted you to love me
completely,
and more.
Because it just didn't matter anymore.
Nothing really matters anymore.
Because I saw a part of me in you,
I part of me that I wanted to
protect and understand.
Because I wanted to please you
in every way.
I wanted for (you) to be happy;
to not hurt anymore.
Because I wanted you to love me
completely,
and more.
Because it just didn't matter anymore.
Nothing really matters anymore.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Caroline's Spine: Unreal
for Jon
I've come to feel when you're constantly changing roads
it's hard to know which way is right.
It gets a bit colder when you're down ten feet below
with no conclusions
no end in sight.
So I hold this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here on your own.
And I know you are
the only one who can make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
You beg and you borrow
like some ordinary soul.
There's nothing to see here tonight.
Until tomorrow,
after all your cameos,
there's nothing to see here.
And I know this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here.
And I know you are
the only one who will make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
Life is so unreal.
for Jon
I've come to feel when you're constantly changing roads
it's hard to know which way is right.
It gets a bit colder when you're down ten feet below
with no conclusions
no end in sight.
So I hold this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here on your own.
And I know you are
the only one who can make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
You beg and you borrow
like some ordinary soul.
There's nothing to see here tonight.
Until tomorrow,
after all your cameos,
there's nothing to see here.
And I know this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here.
And I know you are
the only one who will make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
Life is so unreal.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Static
Black as rum, white on top,
tan for you, in a double shot.
A hammer for a fly,
a fox on the sly.
Stop, drop and roll,
red handle, waiting for you to pull.
Steel guitar, dead baby in a cradle,
comfort ma; tell her a fable.
Click, click, clack, snap,
popcorn for a midnight snack.
Junie B. Jones has no home,
E.T. must call, but has no phone.
Lipstick on a collar, wine on a cuff,
heart-shaped box holds no more love.
Bermuda triangle, a honeymoon dream,
early morning coffee, milk the cow for cream.
Bullitts in the fire,
shoulda shot higher.
Shine from a diamond, dull as a knife,
sacrifice all that glitters, for the golden life.
By Kate Gubert
Black as rum, white on top,
tan for you, in a double shot.
A hammer for a fly,
a fox on the sly.
Stop, drop and roll,
red handle, waiting for you to pull.
Steel guitar, dead baby in a cradle,
comfort ma; tell her a fable.
Click, click, clack, snap,
popcorn for a midnight snack.
Junie B. Jones has no home,
E.T. must call, but has no phone.
Lipstick on a collar, wine on a cuff,
heart-shaped box holds no more love.
Bermuda triangle, a honeymoon dream,
early morning coffee, milk the cow for cream.
Bullitts in the fire,
shoulda shot higher.
Shine from a diamond, dull as a knife,
sacrifice all that glitters, for the golden life.
By Kate Gubert
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
Will my death be painless?
I wonder...
as I lie here in anguish,
twisting and writhing
in the most unexplainable emotional pain.
To believe that there will be no beginning.
Seduced by those eyes...
those piercing, honest eyes.
(Where did you learn to look at someone like that?)
And though I wish I could,
I know that I do not know what is behind those eyes.
I take solace in the knowledge that
I fell in love with your music first...
the lyrics that speak of my heart's desires
(though I am sure that I am not the only one.)
The vocals that never grow tiring,
that never cease to make me cry,
words that heal and break.
Yet I cannot stop listening.
And I cannot stop the thoughts of you,
the glance of your eyes and
the melody of your voice,
and how my words are not enough.
Is this the hope that will be lost?
lost before it has even begun?
To know that these pains mean nothing more than feelings,
that feelings are nothing more than emotion,
to somehow forget...
To know that your love will never be mine...
is my hurt.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Truth is...
I'm scared of making another hopeless attempt.
I'm afraid that I will fail, after investing all my strength.
I don't want an ending, so I will never begin.
Truth is...
I try not to be pessimistic,
and I can't be optimistic,
So I must be a realist, as it goes.
And I must be crazy too.
Truth is...
I can live without you.
I can do anything on my own,
But I really,
Really,
...
I'm scared of making another hopeless attempt.
I'm afraid that I will fail, after investing all my strength.
I don't want an ending, so I will never begin.
Truth is...
I try not to be pessimistic,
and I can't be optimistic,
So I must be a realist, as it goes.
And I must be crazy too.
Truth is...
I can live without you.
I can do anything on my own,
But I really,
Really,
...
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Maybe I should rephrase that... Who is John Galt to you?
I guess, do you really think of characters in books as real people or as representations of groups of people? people you know? you? depends on the book?
Who is your favorite character? why? are they representational of someone/something?
Or maybe it is just in the asking that our question is answered by a void of an answer. Maybe there is no John Galt to you. Maybe he does not mean anything to you. Just as asking why some people are the way they are. There is no answer that would be correct. Who are you, or I, to know who John Galt is. Even in a book where someone has created him, even she may not even know who he is entirely. Maybe it is best if we do not know. Maybe it is best if all we do is ask questions, even if we don't get answers.
To me, I know who he is even though I haven't finished the book (yet).
But I could (and will) just as easily ask: who is Tom Buchanan to you?
To me, he is careless, soul-less, bruteish, despicable, self-interested, and absolutly vital to the story (whether that story be the Great Gatsby or life).
I guess, do you really think of characters in books as real people or as representations of groups of people? people you know? you? depends on the book?
Who is your favorite character? why? are they representational of someone/something?
Or maybe it is just in the asking that our question is answered by a void of an answer. Maybe there is no John Galt to you. Maybe he does not mean anything to you. Just as asking why some people are the way they are. There is no answer that would be correct. Who are you, or I, to know who John Galt is. Even in a book where someone has created him, even she may not even know who he is entirely. Maybe it is best if we do not know. Maybe it is best if all we do is ask questions, even if we don't get answers.
I think the best questions are those without answers.
Friday, September 14, 2007
I feel like posting something. I don't really know what to say because I don't have my journal in front of me. Isn't that sad? I cannot think about my own thoughts unless I can read them from a book. Well, for one thing, school is going well. Classes are fun. Biology is my favorite, but math is ok (just kinda feels like high school), Government and Politics is good for me (yea! I read The Nation The National Review and U.S. N&WR), and Art is really fun. We made mobiles yesterday from sticks and coathangers and wire and nuts and bolts and cardboard. I am thinking about walking downtown, except I don't really know if I want to walk through those neighborhoods to get to it, or if it is too long of a walk. Maybe I can figure out the bus schedule. Words of Wisdom for the day: Steak & Shake does not know how to make malts. Other mile markers on my calender: I am going to the Machine Shop and I am going to Chicago and I am going to Maine. Oh yeah! And I need more chocolate. Don't ever get put in Hruby. I am in the dorm for mentally unstable, gay, and antisocial persons. And those are only the ones I've met. The world is a scary place inside this little jail. I need chocolate. Wait, I already said that. Ok, we're on a mission for chocolate...
Who is John Galt?
Should I dye my hair black?
Who is John Galt?
Should I dye my hair black?
Friday, August 31, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
A Sad Child
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or a pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and ice cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favourite child.
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
and the flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.
-Margaret Atwood
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or a pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and ice cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favourite child.
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
and the flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.
-Margaret Atwood
Friday, August 03, 2007
I'm listening to Janet Dailey on tape. What is the world coming to? I'm sure I'll be committed any day now. They will lock me in a little room and feed me little white pills and ask me if I was deprived as a child.
I am also consumed by Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. Ooo, I might have another favorite author. Is it bad that my "to read" list grows more than my "read" list? I hope not. I hope I can read a lot this fall.
I'm so lucky to have a dorm room to myself. I will get posters that put a smile on my face and I will bring my useless green lamp and rent a fridge that will keep my Ben and Jerry's cold just long enough. I will stock up on Slim Fast wanna be diet stuff and post pictures all over to remind myself that I still have a friend.
Maybe they won't lock me up after all.
Maybe I can put on a mask long enough so that they will never know...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
i wonder if anyone really notices or are the ideas and fantasies in my consciousness are merely my own i wounder if anyone really knows that i love them or that i have the ability to love them but my own fear is the only thing that holds me back i wonder if i will ever be able to let go of this fear and let the world break my heart i wonder if i ever will fly to the top of the world or if i was never destined to do so i wonder if somehow i missed my opportunity the opportunity to die the opportunity to love the opportunity to be the kind of person worth love the person that i want to be and that i imagine everyone else wants me to be I SAW YOUR SOUL LAST NIGHT ILLUMINATED BY THE MOONLIGHT AND CAUGHT IN A WATER BOTTLE HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL WHEN YOU WERE SEEN IN SUCH A LOW PLACE DO YOU FEEL LIKE ME DO YOU WANT TO DIE BEFORE ME WOULD YOU LET ME LOVE YOU WOULD YOU MAKE ME DISAPPEAR
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Chris Isaak/ Frequency 54: Wicked Game
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I knew somebody like you.
No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,
I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you no,
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I... (This world is only gonna break your heart)
(This world is only gonna break your heart)
Nobody loves no one.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I knew somebody like you.
No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,
I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you no,
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I... (This world is only gonna break your heart)
(This world is only gonna break your heart)
Nobody loves no one.
It's sad how true this is; THIS WORLD WILL ONLY BREAK YOUR HEART.
I know I want to fall in love.
I know I don't want to fall in love.
Do I have control over that?
It' crazy what foolish people do.
It's amazing how many foolish people there are.
I know I want to fall in love.
I know I don't want to fall in love.
Do I have control over that?
It' crazy what foolish people do.
It's amazing how many foolish people there are.
Monday, July 02, 2007
UPO: Godless
I'm checking into leaving, yeah I'm folding
I'm tired of breaking down
And shaking this life around
I'm tired of praying, yeah I'm tired of trying myself
I'm tired of being taken all the way
And I don't need to be godless, but I am
I don't need my head keeping all my problems
And I don't need your hand of god, yeah
I don't need to say I'm godless
With nowhere to fall, yeah I'm all ready to fall
Day by day I'm like a paper puppet
And I'm stumbling 'round
I'm aching on my brain
And I'm in, big trouble, big trouble
I still gotta breathe, oh yeah
Like my shame this will all go down
God damned me that's for sure and I believe
I believe I don't belong here
And I don't need to get my head kicked in
And I don't need to be another lost soul
Who can't find home
And I don't need to get my face dragged down in the muddy water
And I don't need to say I'm godless anymore, yeah, not anymore
Still I'm gone
Still I'm on the run
Still I'm on the break of the edge
Still I'm, still I'm feeling dead
And I don't need to be godless, but I am
And I don't need to be another lost soul
Who can't find home
And I don't need your hand of god, yeah
And I don't need say I'm godless anymore, anymore yeah
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Wisdom
You spoke to me.
You spoke words reflecting the wisdom of your heart.
Your wisdom preached of good and fulsome aspirations.
I spread my cracked and feeble wings in a vain attempt at flight. The desire to flee the cage of promises veiled the dangers beyond. I walked from your inadequate words of comfort. I closed my eyes to your invisible existence. Your wisdom fell in fragments. They broke out of context as they fell to the concrete. Meaning abandoned them and heedance fled with me. I hesitated, before I stepped into the sky, wondering if I should turn to apologize. You were crying as you gathered the syllables and attempted to throw them after me. But I didn't look back.
Your words held no recompense for your imprecation.
Kate Caretto
You spoke to me.
You spoke words reflecting the wisdom of your heart.
Your wisdom preached of good and fulsome aspirations.
I spread my cracked and feeble wings in a vain attempt at flight. The desire to flee the cage of promises veiled the dangers beyond. I walked from your inadequate words of comfort. I closed my eyes to your invisible existence. Your wisdom fell in fragments. They broke out of context as they fell to the concrete. Meaning abandoned them and heedance fled with me. I hesitated, before I stepped into the sky, wondering if I should turn to apologize. You were crying as you gathered the syllables and attempted to throw them after me. But I didn't look back.
Your words held no recompense for your imprecation.
Kate Caretto
Friday, May 25, 2007
Red: Breathe Into Me
And this is how it feels when I ignore the words you spoke to me
And this is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you
And this is who I am when, when I don't know myself anymore
And this is what I choose when it's all left up to me
Breathe your life into me
I can feel you
I'm falling, falling faster
Breathe your life into me
I still need you
I'm falling, falling
Breathe into me
Breathe into me
And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge
And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground
And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain
And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away
And this is how it feels when I ignore the words you spoke to me
And this is where I lose myself when I keep running away from you
And this is who I am when, when I don't know myself anymore
And this is what I choose when it's all left up to me
Breathe your life into me
I can feel you
I'm falling, falling faster
Breathe your life into me
I still need you
I'm falling, falling
Breathe into me
Breathe into me
And this is how it looks when I am standing on the edge
And this is how I break apart when I finally hit the ground
And this is how it hurts when I pretend I don't feel any pain
And this is how I disappear when I throw myself away
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
This kind of thinking (could do us in)
There must be something special about people who like blue ink. Are we blue in our moods too? Are we more philosophical? Educated? Intuitive? Or are we merely in denial of our human tendency towards black ink? And about those people who use gel pens, and pens of different colors. What about those multicolored pens that have receded to the dusty racks in souvenir shops? I have pity, also, for the forgotten pencil. It really does stick around longer in the ending. It can be erased at will; conformed to the changing mind of the artist. Oh, and paintbrushes, for those painters. But I will continue to ignore the fact that painters exist. They can do what I can not-to draw an emotion and a feeling and a world and convey it perfectly-or imperfectly-on a flat surface. I bow to you, dear artists of the colors and shapes. I am infidel to you, as one who can only form the same letters and words and sentences over and over again. I work in vain. This could do me in.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Straylight Run: Existentialism on...
By Kate Gubert
"When the sun came up, we were sleeping in,
sunk inside of blankets, sprawled across the bed."
When the sun came up, you were sleeping with your arm flung across my sunken belly. I was cold and kept awake by the stench of vomit.
"And we were dreaming. There are moments when I know it. And the world revolves around us."
The dream somehow escaped me; and knowledge and feeling rose from me as an essence from my being. I revolved around you and hid my bruises.
"And we're keeping it, keeping it all going.. this delicate balance. Vulnerable. All knowing."
Somewhere between when I pushed you away and when I called you back you misunderstood my apology. You tore down the walls of my Almighty and sucked my remains through a straw.
"(Sing like you think no one's listening.)"
You opened the curtains and let the light of a thousand eyes burn through my parched skin. You laughed at my appearance...and went back to sleep.
"We're glad for what we've got.
Done with what we've lost.
Our whole lives laid out right in front of..."
You were satisfied with what you had taken from me: what I offered to you. Another soft drop on your lips as I looked at you; so sad and delicate.
"Sing me anything."
By Kate Gubert
"When the sun came up, we were sleeping in,
sunk inside of blankets, sprawled across the bed."
When the sun came up, you were sleeping with your arm flung across my sunken belly. I was cold and kept awake by the stench of vomit.
"And we were dreaming. There are moments when I know it. And the world revolves around us."
The dream somehow escaped me; and knowledge and feeling rose from me as an essence from my being. I revolved around you and hid my bruises.
"And we're keeping it, keeping it all going.. this delicate balance. Vulnerable. All knowing."
Somewhere between when I pushed you away and when I called you back you misunderstood my apology. You tore down the walls of my Almighty and sucked my remains through a straw.
"(Sing like you think no one's listening.)"
You opened the curtains and let the light of a thousand eyes burn through my parched skin. You laughed at my appearance...and went back to sleep.
"We're glad for what we've got.
Done with what we've lost.
Our whole lives laid out right in front of..."
You were satisfied with what you had taken from me: what I offered to you. Another soft drop on your lips as I looked at you; so sad and delicate.
"Sing me anything."
Sunday, April 29, 2007
The Evolution of Pain
I want to show you.
I wanted to have you see me
exposed and without disclaimers.
I wanted you to understand,
to look at me with pellucid eyes;
offering your protection.
I wanted to explain my imperfections:
this one- anger
this one-fear
this one-abandon.
I wanted you to tell me
it was ok to be angry,
that you could calm my fear,
that you would never leave,
but you were already gone.
I never had the chance to show you-
this one I call pain.
by: Kate Gubert
I want to show you.
I wanted to have you see me
exposed and without disclaimers.
I wanted you to understand,
to look at me with pellucid eyes;
offering your protection.
I wanted to explain my imperfections:
this one- anger
this one-fear
this one-abandon.
I wanted you to tell me
it was ok to be angry,
that you could calm my fear,
that you would never leave,
but you were already gone.
I never had the chance to show you-
this one I call pain.
by: Kate Gubert
Monday, April 23, 2007
Earshot: Someone
And if you could make up
For every single time you lied
I'd probably whisper this
Hello, goodbye
And so it begins again
Harder each and every time
I start to reminisce
I never seem to ever find
[chorus]
Someone I can trust
Someone I believe
Someone who will never try
To bring me to my knees
Someday I will find again
Someone just like me
Someone who will take the time
In understanding me
And if I could make up
For every single tear you cried
I'd probably never miss
Your hand in mine
I never could understand
Mistakes I repeat again
I've been through this so many times
I never seem to ever find
And I've stopped searching
To take my time
And to really clear my head
And I believe it was meant to be
And I feel it's time to go
And if you could make up
For every single time you lied
I'd probably whisper this
I never seem to ever find
And if you could make up
For every single time you lied
I'd probably whisper this
Hello, goodbye
And so it begins again
Harder each and every time
I start to reminisce
I never seem to ever find
[chorus]
Someone I can trust
Someone I believe
Someone who will never try
To bring me to my knees
Someday I will find again
Someone just like me
Someone who will take the time
In understanding me
And if I could make up
For every single tear you cried
I'd probably never miss
Your hand in mine
I never could understand
Mistakes I repeat again
I've been through this so many times
I never seem to ever find
And I've stopped searching
To take my time
And to really clear my head
And I believe it was meant to be
And I feel it's time to go
And if you could make up
For every single time you lied
I'd probably whisper this
I never seem to ever find
Friday, March 30, 2007
Well hello out there to everyone who is not listening...
I am tired and stressed and only halfway through the day. I do have a good book to read; The Thirteenth Tale. I have forgotten who the author is, but I like her book all the same. Cds are trying to copy at this moment and, although I hate our home computer, I am writing this now because I am helpless to do anything else and I can not access my blog at school. I got a 100 on my research paper! I am so excited that I am telling everyone. I stayed up till 5:30 am Monday morning to finish that stupid thing. Very interesting stuff though; I enjoyed it very much. I am officially an adult. Seems hard to believe huh? How does it happen that we enter the world of responsibility and decisions and independence overnight? I guess it's now supposed to be that way in theory, just in government. And we all know the driving force and logic of our government.. or we think we do. I have found two of my philosophical theories in the notes from my religion class. I have wondered these things before, but not actually known that they exist outside my own steel trap, or much less in a world religion. First, the idea that everything we see, everything we experience, every distinction we perceive in our "reality" is merely maya, or illusion. I have often entertained the idea, on cold lonely, unfortunately memorable days, that this is all just a dream. Apparently Hindu belief is in this concept. I think that I like my romanticized version better. Buddhists believe that suffering is a way of life, and that all suffering results from desire. Therefore, you must not desire. I have a similar concoction in my head that we should not love, for all love eventually leads to pain. A very unavoidable thing it seems; love. I can very easily refrain from starting a new connection of love, but extinguishing the old is hard. People are easier than things, though. Quite possibly from the American lens of materialism that clouds my perception. I love my car more than I think I should. I know that I am setting myself up for heartbreak, but think about it- People can change, but you never know exactly why or how or a way to bring the old person back. Eventually, you can identify a cause for change in a vehicle, and with the right amount of capitol, it can be repaired. Ahhh, but Nirvana sounds like such a wonderful state to become.
...I have drawn a blank...
...I want to repeat ellipses forever...
...There is a relentless clutching in my chest...
I am tired and stressed and only halfway through the day. I do have a good book to read; The Thirteenth Tale. I have forgotten who the author is, but I like her book all the same. Cds are trying to copy at this moment and, although I hate our home computer, I am writing this now because I am helpless to do anything else and I can not access my blog at school. I got a 100 on my research paper! I am so excited that I am telling everyone. I stayed up till 5:30 am Monday morning to finish that stupid thing. Very interesting stuff though; I enjoyed it very much. I am officially an adult. Seems hard to believe huh? How does it happen that we enter the world of responsibility and decisions and independence overnight? I guess it's now supposed to be that way in theory, just in government. And we all know the driving force and logic of our government.. or we think we do. I have found two of my philosophical theories in the notes from my religion class. I have wondered these things before, but not actually known that they exist outside my own steel trap, or much less in a world religion. First, the idea that everything we see, everything we experience, every distinction we perceive in our "reality" is merely maya, or illusion. I have often entertained the idea, on cold lonely, unfortunately memorable days, that this is all just a dream. Apparently Hindu belief is in this concept. I think that I like my romanticized version better. Buddhists believe that suffering is a way of life, and that all suffering results from desire. Therefore, you must not desire. I have a similar concoction in my head that we should not love, for all love eventually leads to pain. A very unavoidable thing it seems; love. I can very easily refrain from starting a new connection of love, but extinguishing the old is hard. People are easier than things, though. Quite possibly from the American lens of materialism that clouds my perception. I love my car more than I think I should. I know that I am setting myself up for heartbreak, but think about it- People can change, but you never know exactly why or how or a way to bring the old person back. Eventually, you can identify a cause for change in a vehicle, and with the right amount of capitol, it can be repaired. Ahhh, but Nirvana sounds like such a wonderful state to become.
...I have drawn a blank...
...I want to repeat ellipses forever...
...There is a relentless clutching in my chest...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Hurt: House Carpenter
Our mistake was the love we made
I didn't deliberate
But I never meant you wrong
No I didn't mean it
If you've ever lost a loved one
I pray for you, I really do
If you've ever lost a loved one
I pray for you...
'Cause there s a sad and lonely comfort
In the hollow of your eyes
But don't you let it take you over
'Cause it will eat you up inside
I heard you're married to a house carpenter
And your love will never be mine...
If you're not breathing why am I
Left alone in this ship
If you're not breathing
Why am I left alone?
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But don't you let it take me under
'Cause it will eat me up inside
I'm sure you're married to your house carpenter
And your love will never be mine ...
All the pain and the way it was
All of the shame and the hate, because
I was in love with the way it was
All that I do I do for you
If you're not breathing
Why am I? left alone in this shit.
If you're not breathing
Why am I left alone?
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But won't let it take me over
'Cause it will eat me up inside
I'm sure you're buried with your house carpenter
And your face I'll never see no more
Your face I'll never see no more
Your face
Your face
Your face
Your face...
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But I won't let it take me under
'Cause it will eat me up inside
Yeah I heard your married to a house carpenter
And your love will never me mine
No, your love will never be mine...
(I love you so much...)
Our mistake was the love we made
I didn't deliberate
But I never meant you wrong
No I didn't mean it
If you've ever lost a loved one
I pray for you, I really do
If you've ever lost a loved one
I pray for you...
'Cause there s a sad and lonely comfort
In the hollow of your eyes
But don't you let it take you over
'Cause it will eat you up inside
I heard you're married to a house carpenter
And your love will never be mine...
If you're not breathing why am I
Left alone in this ship
If you're not breathing
Why am I left alone?
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But don't you let it take me under
'Cause it will eat me up inside
I'm sure you're married to your house carpenter
And your love will never be mine ...
All the pain and the way it was
All of the shame and the hate, because
I was in love with the way it was
All that I do I do for you
If you're not breathing
Why am I? left alone in this shit.
If you're not breathing
Why am I left alone?
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But won't let it take me over
'Cause it will eat me up inside
I'm sure you're buried with your house carpenter
And your face I'll never see no more
Your face I'll never see no more
Your face
Your face
Your face
Your face...
With a sad and lonely comfort
Of the hollow in your eyes
But I won't let it take me under
'Cause it will eat me up inside
Yeah I heard your married to a house carpenter
And your love will never me mine
No, your love will never be mine...
(I love you so much...)
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
The snow is beautiful! And I am so glad that the temperature no longer feels like -10F. I suppose I will go out soon and shovel snow. That's funny, isn't it? Going outside to get warm. It's pretty cold in this room.
I didn't go to school today. I wanted to, but my parents stressed the possibility of "getting in a wreck." My Dad sat with his Frango minty instant coffee, paper in hand, and told me about the dangers of the roads: they were covered in snow, with ice beneath, it was still snowing, and there was a possibility of freezing rain later. My Mom sat with her SuDoKu (that horrible little test rat game) and her coffee from Tim Horton's grounds and a French press and told me how half the students wouldn't be there anyway.
I hate missing school.
I hate it like I hate missing church. I feel like crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head until it is hard to breathe. My bed will be warm now after three hours and the sun will be shining in the window. But I want to do something to escape the time that should be spent in class.
I want to play Solitaire on the computer so I can say that I have no friends to play card games with. No one calling me because I turned my phone off while I had lacrimal fluid running down the sides of my nose and from the inside of my nose. I want to drink espresso every morning and not eat anything and become skinny and snotty and wasted. And stay drunk on Friday nights so I can repent on Saturday.
I feel like nothing I could do would make up a good alternative for missing class. I should have been sitting in the last row in the third chair in HL115 at 11:50 and the first chair of the third row in RAC220 at 1:15. Instead, the teachers are bending over steaming lunches in the cafeteria and laughing at the possible punishments for students who skip class because of frozen flakes of water. For students who are not dedicated; who do not stick to their word and come to class every day. It only meets two times a week, for heaven's sake. "You can't do better than that?"
I want control. I want to have the control to take my car out in the middle of a blizzard and run into a DTE pole and the control to make myself run six miles without stopping and the control to make my headaches come and go as I need them to. I want the control to eat frozen peas and cinnamon rolls with melted sugar for dinner and get on a plane to go to Georgia and take a road trip to Cali. I want to get A's on all my tests and wear designer jeans that fit me perfectly while I sit at Bravo and drink Bellinnis or stand in line at the Machine Shop to see Caroline's Spine or skank by teeny boppers into the Metropolis. I want to smoke Camel wides with Ben Blevins and walk away without telling him who I am. I want to walk away form a lot of people. But oh God, I want to hang on to them.
I didn't go to school today. I wanted to, but my parents stressed the possibility of "getting in a wreck." My Dad sat with his Frango minty instant coffee, paper in hand, and told me about the dangers of the roads: they were covered in snow, with ice beneath, it was still snowing, and there was a possibility of freezing rain later. My Mom sat with her SuDoKu (that horrible little test rat game) and her coffee from Tim Horton's grounds and a French press and told me how half the students wouldn't be there anyway.
I hate missing school.
I hate it like I hate missing church. I feel like crawling into bed and pulling the covers over my head until it is hard to breathe. My bed will be warm now after three hours and the sun will be shining in the window. But I want to do something to escape the time that should be spent in class.
I want to play Solitaire on the computer so I can say that I have no friends to play card games with. No one calling me because I turned my phone off while I had lacrimal fluid running down the sides of my nose and from the inside of my nose. I want to drink espresso every morning and not eat anything and become skinny and snotty and wasted. And stay drunk on Friday nights so I can repent on Saturday.
I feel like nothing I could do would make up a good alternative for missing class. I should have been sitting in the last row in the third chair in HL115 at 11:50 and the first chair of the third row in RAC220 at 1:15. Instead, the teachers are bending over steaming lunches in the cafeteria and laughing at the possible punishments for students who skip class because of frozen flakes of water. For students who are not dedicated; who do not stick to their word and come to class every day. It only meets two times a week, for heaven's sake. "You can't do better than that?"
I want control. I want to have the control to take my car out in the middle of a blizzard and run into a DTE pole and the control to make myself run six miles without stopping and the control to make my headaches come and go as I need them to. I want the control to eat frozen peas and cinnamon rolls with melted sugar for dinner and get on a plane to go to Georgia and take a road trip to Cali. I want to get A's on all my tests and wear designer jeans that fit me perfectly while I sit at Bravo and drink Bellinnis or stand in line at the Machine Shop to see Caroline's Spine or skank by teeny boppers into the Metropolis. I want to smoke Camel wides with Ben Blevins and walk away without telling him who I am. I want to walk away form a lot of people. But oh God, I want to hang on to them.
Friday, January 26, 2007
It was one final attempt, in the pouring rain, to keep her. To not let her walk away with tears on her cheeks. He took her trembling jaw in his hands.
"I love you," he started. "I think you are beautiful, gorgeous inside and out. I hate you because I want to be like you and I can't. I want to be closer to you and I know I have no right to be. I want to do so much for you and live my life purely for you. I think you are smart and funny. You are so humble... I'll never know how you can be like that. You're gentle, kind and understanding. You always give everything and everyone a fair shot, a fair chance. You've given me too many chances, and I can't believe I'm asking for one more."
Oh, sappy wonderfulness! I could write romance novels. Somehow this doesn't peak my interest.
"I love you," he started. "I think you are beautiful, gorgeous inside and out. I hate you because I want to be like you and I can't. I want to be closer to you and I know I have no right to be. I want to do so much for you and live my life purely for you. I think you are smart and funny. You are so humble... I'll never know how you can be like that. You're gentle, kind and understanding. You always give everything and everyone a fair shot, a fair chance. You've given me too many chances, and I can't believe I'm asking for one more."
Oh, sappy wonderfulness! I could write romance novels. Somehow this doesn't peak my interest.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
When we walked up the stairs and through the heavy white doors, down the carpeted hall to the low-ceilinged room, sat in the back row on temporary green chairs, and focused on the final frozen form of his father, it took a minute to notice that he had not followed.
The end now written;
laid down in stone.
Come by
by cumbersome ways.
Take me back
to where he broke
the glass he shattered
the bullets he spoke
the wrong that seemed to matter.
Put back the rifle
the black from which
no death wish ever returns.
Weave back the blood
to draining veins
replace the cries
and shouts
and silence
to lungs that breathe no more.
Lay little heads
back to bed
to rest and keep
their innocence.
-Kate Caretto
Thursday, November 23, 2006
I have about 10 minutes. I really should be studying, but oh well. I'll leave that for the Holiday. Just like everything else I should be doing like writing my aunt to tell her when spring break is to see if I can come down to see her. Like out walking in the cold air because I will be sitting on my butt all day. Like really working off that Lost Perfect 10 which I haven't even finished yet, but I'm still very hyper and talkative. I'm never talkative. Just look at my phone bill. Oh, wait. How about not. School has all of three weeks left. I am dissapointed with my last lab quiz. I am really going to fail my math final (who says that the third root of 100 is 3? Who does that?). But I digress. How can that happen? If you don't have a point in the first place, how can you digress? I don't know. I have about 30 Dictionary a Day emails in my inbox which I haven't had a chance to look at yet. Do they sink in if I just let them sit there? Do I really have to read them and copy them down in my little journal and let them seep into my everyday life? I guess so, considering I don't remember any of them. I should really get cracking on the ACT too. I can not wait to go back to Flint. Rochester people do not know how to drive. Or rather, I can not get used to how they drive. When those folks put on thier brakes, they mean it! The SHO convention will be a blast. Now to come up with 500+ dollars. Ha ha ha. How can I justify that when children are starving and being beaten and raped of everything they have? How can I justify my life as I lead it? How can I sit here and think about my next meal when mothers give thier lives to see their children chew a handful of grain? But my 10 minutes is up. I only hope to one day use it more wisely.... I only hope to see a starving child enjoy 10 minutes as much as I have enjoyed my life.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
I'm Sorry
I'm sorry.
I colored my hair last night
And left splatters of dye on the rug.
I made a mug of coffee this morning
And left the grounds in the drain.
I grabbed the last box of tissues
And you had to use your sleeve for tears.
I'm sorry.
I brushed my hair
And left the strands in the comb.
I forgot it was the weekend
And my alarm rang out at six a.m.
I lost the ambition to quit
And I took your Camel Wides.
I'm sorry.
I'm not sorry for
What I left behind.
I'm sorry for running away form your hopes.
I'm sorry for you walking into my room,
My bags were packed and gone,
My whereabouts posted unknown,
My stuffed animals gone from my bed,
And you were left to cry on the dirty carpet.
I'm sorry for the words left unspoken,
The signs un-noticed,
The hostility overpowering,
The ostensible affection.
I'm sorry.
-Kate Caretto
I'm sorry.
I colored my hair last night
And left splatters of dye on the rug.
I made a mug of coffee this morning
And left the grounds in the drain.
I grabbed the last box of tissues
And you had to use your sleeve for tears.
I'm sorry.
I brushed my hair
And left the strands in the comb.
I forgot it was the weekend
And my alarm rang out at six a.m.
I lost the ambition to quit
And I took your Camel Wides.
I'm sorry.
I'm not sorry for
What I left behind.
I'm sorry for running away form your hopes.
I'm sorry for you walking into my room,
My bags were packed and gone,
My whereabouts posted unknown,
My stuffed animals gone from my bed,
And you were left to cry on the dirty carpet.
I'm sorry for the words left unspoken,
The signs un-noticed,
The hostility overpowering,
The ostensible affection.
I'm sorry.
-Kate Caretto
Orgy: Blue Monday
How does it feel to treat me like you do?
When you've laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Tell me
How do I feel? tell me now
How do I feel
How does it feel?
How should I feel?
Tell me how does it feel?
To treat me like you do
Those who came before me
Lived through their vocations
From the past until completion
They'll turn away no more
And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me
Just how I should feel today
I see ship in the harbor
I can and shall obey
But if it wasn't for your misfortunes
I'd be a heavenly person today
And I thought I was mistaken
And I thought I heard you speak
Tell me now
How should I feel
Now I stand here waiting...
I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me how does it feel
when your heart grows cold
How does it feel?
How should I feel?
Tell me how does it feel?
To treat me like you do
How does it feel to treat me like you do?
When you've laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Tell me
How do I feel? tell me now
How do I feel
How does it feel?
How should I feel?
Tell me how does it feel?
To treat me like you do
Those who came before me
Lived through their vocations
From the past until completion
They'll turn away no more
And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me
Just how I should feel today
I see ship in the harbor
I can and shall obey
But if it wasn't for your misfortunes
I'd be a heavenly person today
And I thought I was mistaken
And I thought I heard you speak
Tell me now
How should I feel
Now I stand here waiting...
I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me how does it feel
when your heart grows cold
How does it feel?
How should I feel?
Tell me how does it feel?
To treat me like you do
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Hey all. Winter is here it seems. It feels like school and I am thrilled. I think that I want to stay at a college indefinitely. Starbucks, Borders, late night libraries, weekend sports celebrations with no interest in the actual game, hungover weekend days with family, quick breakfasts, quicker lunches, do-I-have-to dinners, I'll-call-you-backs. Yes, college is the life for me.
October saw a 15.8 second quarter mile for my baby. Not bad for nine years old and a hundred and ninety three thousand miles. I love my car.
I need more time to write. I think we should all campaign for longer weekends. There should be like a pre-weekend and then the actual weekend. Toronto should last longer too...
The Royal Agricultural Winter Fair, Toronto, ON, Canada.
This is one of my future essay subjects, among these to:
-How I need to change, how I can change the world
-My love for my car
-Get-into-vet-school essay
-I-could-use-a-scholarship essay
I'll try to work on those...
October saw a 15.8 second quarter mile for my baby. Not bad for nine years old and a hundred and ninety three thousand miles. I love my car.
I need more time to write. I think we should all campaign for longer weekends. There should be like a pre-weekend and then the actual weekend. Toronto should last longer too...
The Royal Agricultural Winter Fair, Toronto, ON, Canada.
This is one of my future essay subjects, among these to:
-How I need to change, how I can change the world
-My love for my car
-Get-into-vet-school essay
-I-could-use-a-scholarship essay
I'll try to work on those...
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Thing One, Conrad, Sally. Conrad, Sally, Thing One.
Thing Two, Conrad, Sally. Conrad, Sally, Thing Two.
Thing One, Thing Two. Thing Two, Thing One. Conrad, Sally. Sally, Conrad.
I am the Cat. Don't belittle me.
Ah, yes, of course.
Thing Two would like to clarify that just because he wears the number two...
does not imply in any way that he's inferior to Thing One.
And all of the above.
He says you may feel free to call him Thing "A," if you like.
He will also accept Super Thing, Thing King, Kid Dynamite,
Chocolate Thun-Da... or Ben.
The Cat in the Hat
She folded his sweatshirt,
Neat and clean jus like
The lines between them.
She placed it in the box with
His Christmas present;
A time they never got to share.
He only saw the times when they were apart.
She took a forced breath,
And closed her eyes,
His face already fading in her memory,
His fragrance still an aegis to reality.
She printed his address from
Her birthday card, a
Memento from happier times,
Maybe the only one.
She mailed it out two weeks late.
Prolonging what was already gone.
She sent it out with every good feeling left,
And sealed it with silence,
Realizing too late that she had given him
What was left of her.
-Kate Caretto
Neat and clean jus like
The lines between them.
She placed it in the box with
His Christmas present;
A time they never got to share.
He only saw the times when they were apart.
She took a forced breath,
And closed her eyes,
His face already fading in her memory,
His fragrance still an aegis to reality.
She printed his address from
Her birthday card, a
Memento from happier times,
Maybe the only one.
She mailed it out two weeks late.
Prolonging what was already gone.
She sent it out with every good feeling left,
And sealed it with silence,
Realizing too late that she had given him
What was left of her.
-Kate Caretto
Saturday, October 07, 2006
D 12: How Come
[Eminem:] So I changed huh? You got a phone, pick it up, call me
How come we dont even talk no more
And you dont even call no more
We dont barely keep in touch at all
And I dont even feel the same love when we hug no more
And I heard it through the grape vine we even beefin now
After all the years we been down
Aint no way no how, this bullshit can't be true
We family and aint a damn thing changed, unless it's you
[Verse 1: Eminem]
So young, so full of life in vibrant side by side wherever you was ridin' i went
So close, almost on some bonnie and clyde shit
When ronnie died you weres right by my side with a sholder to cry on
Tissue to wipe my eyes, and a bucket to catch every tear i cried inside it
You even had the same type of childhood i did
Sometimes i just want to know why is it that you surcame to yours
And mine i survived it, you ran the streets, i 9 to 5'd it
We grew up, grew apart, as time went by us, then i blew up
To both yours and mine surprises
Now i feel the vibe i just cant describe it
As much as your pride tries to hide it
Your cold, you touch its like ice
In your eyes is the look of resenment
I can sense it, and i dont like it
[Verse 2: Kon Artis]
It was my dream at first to be on spittin a verse
On my own album with a deal but shit got worse
So i came out i woulda killed a nigga first
Before i let him disrespect me and check me over some worste
Some bitch that i wasnt with i would hit her then quit
But you would pull a talk with her and tell her she was the shit
I told you dont get involved in it, you was smokin the chron with her
Comin out of the bar with her stumblin half drunk
Like yall was husband and wife or somethin
But me catchin her fuckin other niggers musta hurt you pride or somethin
Cuz you wont fuck at the mouth with people like you wanted with me
When all i tried to do was show you that your bitch was shifty
And ever since the fans and all the shit that i produced
You actin like i aint you man and lyin like she can't be loose
But i am really you friend, i'm jus trying to tell you the truth
But dont hate the game or the player
Cuz the one that is changing is you
[Verse 3: Proof]
You're only at the top cuz my homie had to stop
Now we actin like i gotta live only for the block
Homies in the hood only she be on the tube
Only gossip on the porch get to speakin on who
Fools i used to rap with all expect magic
Like my finger get to snappin and *poof* it jus happen
But PROOF is jus actin out the party was stoned
Shady made it so my babys aint starvin at home
See the devil in you grin since the ghetto we been friends
Whenever real intelligence thats forever till the end
I be the hatred in your eyes and the satan in your lives
And wastin my times with these snakes in disguise
(how come) when you talk its with bitter is fight
And (how come) it's my fault for what you did with your life
And everytime i go to hear you and play you look away
We barely embrace, you can't even look me in my face.
[Eminem:] So I changed huh? You got a phone, pick it up, call me
How come we dont even talk no more
And you dont even call no more
We dont barely keep in touch at all
And I dont even feel the same love when we hug no more
And I heard it through the grape vine we even beefin now
After all the years we been down
Aint no way no how, this bullshit can't be true
We family and aint a damn thing changed, unless it's you
[Verse 1: Eminem]
So young, so full of life in vibrant side by side wherever you was ridin' i went
So close, almost on some bonnie and clyde shit
When ronnie died you weres right by my side with a sholder to cry on
Tissue to wipe my eyes, and a bucket to catch every tear i cried inside it
You even had the same type of childhood i did
Sometimes i just want to know why is it that you surcame to yours
And mine i survived it, you ran the streets, i 9 to 5'd it
We grew up, grew apart, as time went by us, then i blew up
To both yours and mine surprises
Now i feel the vibe i just cant describe it
As much as your pride tries to hide it
Your cold, you touch its like ice
In your eyes is the look of resenment
I can sense it, and i dont like it
[Verse 2: Kon Artis]
It was my dream at first to be on spittin a verse
On my own album with a deal but shit got worse
So i came out i woulda killed a nigga first
Before i let him disrespect me and check me over some worste
Some bitch that i wasnt with i would hit her then quit
But you would pull a talk with her and tell her she was the shit
I told you dont get involved in it, you was smokin the chron with her
Comin out of the bar with her stumblin half drunk
Like yall was husband and wife or somethin
But me catchin her fuckin other niggers musta hurt you pride or somethin
Cuz you wont fuck at the mouth with people like you wanted with me
When all i tried to do was show you that your bitch was shifty
And ever since the fans and all the shit that i produced
You actin like i aint you man and lyin like she can't be loose
But i am really you friend, i'm jus trying to tell you the truth
But dont hate the game or the player
Cuz the one that is changing is you
[Verse 3: Proof]
You're only at the top cuz my homie had to stop
Now we actin like i gotta live only for the block
Homies in the hood only she be on the tube
Only gossip on the porch get to speakin on who
Fools i used to rap with all expect magic
Like my finger get to snappin and *poof* it jus happen
But PROOF is jus actin out the party was stoned
Shady made it so my babys aint starvin at home
See the devil in you grin since the ghetto we been friends
Whenever real intelligence thats forever till the end
I be the hatred in your eyes and the satan in your lives
And wastin my times with these snakes in disguise
(how come) when you talk its with bitter is fight
And (how come) it's my fault for what you did with your life
And everytime i go to hear you and play you look away
We barely embrace, you can't even look me in my face.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
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 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.
Friday, September 08, 2006
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?
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.
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.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
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.
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
The Thirteenth Tale
Diane Setterfield
surcease \SUR-sees; sur-SEES\, noun:
Cessation; stop; end.
|
Friday, August 25, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
Sayings that make me happy: (or at least smile a little:)
Oh snap! what the hell?
-Sweet Daddy
-Sweet Daddy
No, there's no lotion on the puppet's ass.
-Jeff Dunham
Only on Tuesdays.
-Cassie
Rip it!
-A. F.
You can't fix stupid.
-Ron White
It must be obvious day at camp stupid.
-??
North Pole. Fuck the South Pole!
-Peter
How about no, Scott.
-Cassie
Mater. Like Ta-Mater. Except without the 'Ta.'
-Mater (Larry the Cable Guy)
Happier than a tornader in a trailer park!
-Mater (Larry the Cable Guy)
Panuche.
-Pendelton
Dan, give me the damn turtle!
-Helen (Kate Hudson)
Scotland!
-Rachel, Kera, and Leslie
Dirt-Da-Dir!
-Pendelton
He shut my Stick in the door.
-Jose Jalepeno on a Stick!
You are here.
-Peanut
Aw hell, they can carpool.
-Walter
...
Dear Friends,
I am writing this while I still have a life and time to do stuff. I am apologizing for the future if I may not show any signs of life for a few weeks. I will be starting school (Chemistry and Math this semester) and still working part time and doing all the animal chores at home. My social life is officially over in one week.
Thank-you and sorry for any inconvenience.
Kate
I am writing this while I still have a life and time to do stuff. I am apologizing for the future if I may not show any signs of life for a few weeks. I will be starting school (Chemistry and Math this semester) and still working part time and doing all the animal chores at home. My social life is officially over in one week.
Thank-you and sorry for any inconvenience.
Kate
Monday, August 14, 2006
Cold: Wasted Years
There's a game life plays
makes you think you're everything they ever said you were
Like to take some time
Clear away everything I planned
Was it life I betrayed
for the shape that I'm in?
It's not hard to fail
it's not easy to win
did I drink too much?
could I disappear?
and there's nothing that's left but wasted years
There's nothing left but wasted years
If I could change my life
Be a simple kind of man
try to do the best I can
if I could see the signs
I'd derail every path I could now
I'm about to die
won't you clear away from me
give me strength to fly away
Was it life I betrayed
for the shape that I'm in?
It's not hard to fail
It's not easy to win
Did I drink too much?
Could I disappear?
There's nothing left but wasted years
There's nothing left but wasted years
Nothing but wasted years
There's a game life plays
makes you think you're everything they ever said you were
Like to take some time
Clear away everything I planned
Was it life I betrayed
for the shape that I'm in?
It's not hard to fail
it's not easy to win
did I drink too much?
could I disappear?
and there's nothing that's left but wasted years
There's nothing left but wasted years
If I could change my life
Be a simple kind of man
try to do the best I can
if I could see the signs
I'd derail every path I could now
I'm about to die
won't you clear away from me
give me strength to fly away
Was it life I betrayed
for the shape that I'm in?
It's not hard to fail
It's not easy to win
Did I drink too much?
Could I disappear?
There's nothing left but wasted years
There's nothing left but wasted years
Nothing but wasted years
Monday, August 07, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
"I want to be a writer! I want to be someone famous."
"But writers don't have two nickels to rub together."
"I don't care! I still want to be famous. Why does this world always have to go around on money?"
"Because both are an illusion. Just as love and heartbreak are illusions."
"Then why do illusions feel so strong? Or hurt so bad?"
"Life is an illusion. The pain you endure, the love you experience: none of it is real. Feelings are illusions."
"What is real? Please tell me there is something real."
"Happiness , my darling. Happiness is real because no one living can experience real honest happiness. It is not a part of life. You might say that life and happiness are opposites."
"Then what is the point to life? Would it not be smartest to end it now and move on to reality and happiness?"
"How wise of you to believe that after life is the reality. You have hope, and that is good. Some people may have believed that the reality has passed: but no. True happiness is yet to come. The point to life is to prove that you are worthy of happiness. You, and all of us, must prove that we have the desire and appreciation for happiness. We all are kept here until we have proved this, but your time can run out if you are not careful. We are all allowed a certain time to prove ourselves, and you must complete the task by your personal deadline."
"Then I beg of you, tell me what my task is."
"I can not do that. There is only one who can answer your questions. You must look to Him and trust in Him completely. This is how you prove yourself. There is only one way, and you must desire happiness."
"But I want to be a writer..."
"Listen to me," he took ahold of her frail shoulders,
"You must desire happiness."
"But writers don't have two nickels to rub together."
"I don't care! I still want to be famous. Why does this world always have to go around on money?"
"Because both are an illusion. Just as love and heartbreak are illusions."
"Then why do illusions feel so strong? Or hurt so bad?"
"Life is an illusion. The pain you endure, the love you experience: none of it is real. Feelings are illusions."
"What is real? Please tell me there is something real."
"Happiness , my darling. Happiness is real because no one living can experience real honest happiness. It is not a part of life. You might say that life and happiness are opposites."
"Then what is the point to life? Would it not be smartest to end it now and move on to reality and happiness?"
"How wise of you to believe that after life is the reality. You have hope, and that is good. Some people may have believed that the reality has passed: but no. True happiness is yet to come. The point to life is to prove that you are worthy of happiness. You, and all of us, must prove that we have the desire and appreciation for happiness. We all are kept here until we have proved this, but your time can run out if you are not careful. We are all allowed a certain time to prove ourselves, and you must complete the task by your personal deadline."
"Then I beg of you, tell me what my task is."
"I can not do that. There is only one who can answer your questions. You must look to Him and trust in Him completely. This is how you prove yourself. There is only one way, and you must desire happiness."
"But I want to be a writer..."
"Listen to me," he took ahold of her frail shoulders,
"You must desire happiness."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)