Okay, I can't believe I'm writing this shit at 12:30 in the fucking morning, minus one fucking finger. For those of you who know how to type using the home row keys, not having a middle finger to use is a fucking bitch! Anyway, I have lost the use of my right middle finger till about Christmas time, because I sliced the enter whole front portion of it off earlier today with the fucking paper cutter. I was cutting some tickets for the show for Tiffani, and I wasn't paying attention/talking to the secretary, and I sliced my finger nearly completely off. So now I officially don't have a full set of fingerprints anymore, neither can I type at a comfortable rate. And I have to agree that this is the climax for an already horrible week.
And to top it off, I have just discovered that A) one of the models is sick, B) one of the models is forgetting practice C) one of the models is harrassing others, D) one of them may not make the show due to prior obligations, and lastly, E) (how appropriate) has suffered a massive blow and is bleeding internally. Honestly, I don't know how my mother puts up with this shit. It's enough to drive a person completely and utterly insane.
Saturday 29 October 2005
Tuesday 25 October 2005
Here Comes a Mid-Season's Ratings Boost!
Oh god. That's simply all I can say is oh god. What in the hell is wrong with my life? Why does this shit just keep on happening? I swear, this shit keeps happening everyday. I just found out that my friend in high school had a crush on me that I never knew about, and I wanted to ask her out too. And that's a lost cause, and now she's living and dating an already dating couple, and the two of them has become the three of them, and it's mad weird. Then I find out she's bisexual, and it's just the start. Her mother's mad at her, and Kaitlin is losing her mind, moving out of her mom's house and all that. I hope she ends up okay. That's a big step. Too big. Anyway, I find out that I decided not to drop one of my hardest classes, just because I figure that I can tough it out since I've come this far. But either way, it's there, and I have to stick with it now.
Finally he came again tonight, and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't even bare to look at him, it hurt me so. Just thinking about what happened the week before was giving me the chills all over again. I don't even wanna think about that again. I'm just going to leave that alone, and go to bed.
Finally he came again tonight, and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't even bare to look at him, it hurt me so. Just thinking about what happened the week before was giving me the chills all over again. I don't even wanna think about that again. I'm just going to leave that alone, and go to bed.
Tuesday 11 October 2005
This Is How He Makes Me Feel.
I've just sat up and devised this poem because I was so previously upset with the last blog. For your viewing pleasure. It's called: The Deadliest Virus Known to Man.
It starts as a cell, as it enters the stream,
A brief passing thought, a hazy daydream.
No hint of suspicion, not even a breath,
Of evil intention, the cause of a death.
Upward it flows, as if it’s by choice,
For it is the reason, that I hear your voice.
Goodbye, you tells me, when you see that I’m dying,
You talk with your eyes, though I know they are lying,
You close up your mouth, as you speak with your heart,
Your soul, the technique, your lying an art.
That you paint with my tears, perfecting your stroke,
Using my fears, while it’s making me choke.
But you are no artist, a doctor instead,
And I have a fever, your hand on my head.
You listen real slow, with a moment to pause,
But you’ll never know, that you are the cause,
The root of my illness, my darkness, my plague,
That’s killing me slowly, and making me beg.
I tell you my problems, as it flows in your ear,
But you cannot listen, if you cannot hear.
Away from your voice, a hasty retreat,
And into the heart being very discreet,
The cell makes it home, on destruction it’s bent,
To multiply, full of malicious intent.
They stack on each other till tissues are made,
To block out your heart, make your character fade.
So you tell me goodbye, as you walk out the door,
And I open my mouth, to say something more.
But my throat’s a cocoon,
And as hard as I tried,
But you are the moon,
And my voice is the tide.
It rolls in and I laugh when I see your face,
It rolls out, and I’d die to have your embrace,
To them you are both their oyster, their pearl,
But to me you are simply the entire world,
All wrapped up in one, a beautiful mesh,
Encased in one body, just one suit of flesh,
All mine, this body would to but me belong,
A beautiful treasure, and my favorite song.
To sing, and to play, in all different keys,
A sexual orchestra of harmonies.
But a virus builds inside of you,
That makes you act the way you do.
And the cells that build inside of me,
Create a lock, but you’re the key.
But because we live two different lives,
Time cuts us like a rack of knives.
And slits my throat so I can’t speak,
And steals my strength, and makes me weak.
And as I lay here dying on the floor,
You don’t even know, and you close the door.
And light a smoke, so you can forget,
But to me, you are my cigarette.
And when we die, they’ll need an answer,
So to look at you, they’ll claim lung cancer.
But they don’t know that I died too,
Of the same disease, that also claimed you.
Looking down from up above,
I died of the cancer caused by love.
It starts as a cell, as it enters the stream,
A brief passing thought, a hazy daydream.
No hint of suspicion, not even a breath,
Of evil intention, the cause of a death.
Upward it flows, as if it’s by choice,
For it is the reason, that I hear your voice.
Goodbye, you tells me, when you see that I’m dying,
You talk with your eyes, though I know they are lying,
You close up your mouth, as you speak with your heart,
Your soul, the technique, your lying an art.
That you paint with my tears, perfecting your stroke,
Using my fears, while it’s making me choke.
But you are no artist, a doctor instead,
And I have a fever, your hand on my head.
You listen real slow, with a moment to pause,
But you’ll never know, that you are the cause,
The root of my illness, my darkness, my plague,
That’s killing me slowly, and making me beg.
I tell you my problems, as it flows in your ear,
But you cannot listen, if you cannot hear.
Away from your voice, a hasty retreat,
And into the heart being very discreet,
The cell makes it home, on destruction it’s bent,
To multiply, full of malicious intent.
They stack on each other till tissues are made,
To block out your heart, make your character fade.
So you tell me goodbye, as you walk out the door,
And I open my mouth, to say something more.
But my throat’s a cocoon,
And as hard as I tried,
But you are the moon,
And my voice is the tide.
It rolls in and I laugh when I see your face,
It rolls out, and I’d die to have your embrace,
To them you are both their oyster, their pearl,
But to me you are simply the entire world,
All wrapped up in one, a beautiful mesh,
Encased in one body, just one suit of flesh,
All mine, this body would to but me belong,
A beautiful treasure, and my favorite song.
To sing, and to play, in all different keys,
A sexual orchestra of harmonies.
But a virus builds inside of you,
That makes you act the way you do.
And the cells that build inside of me,
Create a lock, but you’re the key.
But because we live two different lives,
Time cuts us like a rack of knives.
And slits my throat so I can’t speak,
And steals my strength, and makes me weak.
And as I lay here dying on the floor,
You don’t even know, and you close the door.
And light a smoke, so you can forget,
But to me, you are my cigarette.
And when we die, they’ll need an answer,
So to look at you, they’ll claim lung cancer.
But they don’t know that I died too,
Of the same disease, that also claimed you.
Looking down from up above,
I died of the cancer caused by love.
It Starts as a Cell...And Kills You as Cancer
This hurts. There's nothing more than I can say about this excepts this hurts. I can't possibly understand why I happen to be hurting so much right now, it just doesn't make any sense. And the sad thing is, I know what would cure me. I know what would make me feel so much better and make the rest of my semester simply heaven. But I know that I can't do what I want. I know that I can't just go up to him and just say what I feel. Because if I do that, it will be the end. I simply cannot do what it says in my head that I must. But I'm not going to lie.
It's been like an ache. It's been like a dull, and painless ache a few weeks back when he agreed to do my show with me, and ever since then, its been growing. And no in fact, its worse than that. It's not an ache. It's a been a sharp stabbing pain ever since the day he told me that he cracked his ribs playing soccer. It's been stabbing me ever since, and ever since then I just cannot seem to rid him of my mind, and ever since now the feeling has just been growing, and growing ever since. It starts like a cell, a brainless feeling little cell that was the fruit of our meeting over the summer. And then it reproduced and multiplied into a friendship that was the cultivation of several hours of work and play through various different stages. Finally, it has metasised into something that I cannot even begin to describe. And the only thing I know in my mind is...I want him. And only him. He's the only thing that will cure what I'm feeling now.
I don't even want to do anything. I just want to touch him. Just a handshake will suffice, but if I had my choice, I would just want to hold him. Just hold him until the sun came up and we had to break to go to class (which I would purposely miss even if it was a mid-term). I just want to hold him as I go to sleep. And it's now that I can fully understand why certain people like they can't go to sleep alone at night. Because at night, it's the worse. Its different in the daytime when everyone is moving about, and you can find things to keep your mind wondering and occupied and busy and unfocused on the things that can truly get you off track. But at night, that's the worse. When the night comes, and everyone's asleep, and the only luxury you have is the ability to think to yourself, and think about where you are, and what you're doing, and why you're not where you should be, and what you're doing wrong, and you think about everything that everyone's ever done to you, and why you feel like you should be further along, and you don't know what's wrong, and what you're doing wrong in the first place. But that's just the truth. I simply want him. In his simple simplicity, and nothing more. Just to hold him and feel his warmth underneath my fingertips, and just to lay my head down and listen to him breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, as I fall asleep happy and completely content. And I wouldn't care that we couldn't tell anyone. I don't care that the world doesn't approve, and I don't care that his parents and my parents don't agree, I don't care that his team would shun him and take him out, I don't care that his teachers don't find it acceptable, I don't even give a fuck about his roommates, and what they have to say on the subject. None of it matters. Fifteen years from now, it won't even matter. And in truth, fuck fifteen years from now. Give me the fucking now. That's all that matters. And that's the truth. And every night, just like so many others who smoke those damn cigarettes and kill themselves, I'll be dying by cancer too. But of a completely different kind.
Forgive me, E.
It's been like an ache. It's been like a dull, and painless ache a few weeks back when he agreed to do my show with me, and ever since then, its been growing. And no in fact, its worse than that. It's not an ache. It's a been a sharp stabbing pain ever since the day he told me that he cracked his ribs playing soccer. It's been stabbing me ever since, and ever since then I just cannot seem to rid him of my mind, and ever since now the feeling has just been growing, and growing ever since. It starts like a cell, a brainless feeling little cell that was the fruit of our meeting over the summer. And then it reproduced and multiplied into a friendship that was the cultivation of several hours of work and play through various different stages. Finally, it has metasised into something that I cannot even begin to describe. And the only thing I know in my mind is...I want him. And only him. He's the only thing that will cure what I'm feeling now.
I don't even want to do anything. I just want to touch him. Just a handshake will suffice, but if I had my choice, I would just want to hold him. Just hold him until the sun came up and we had to break to go to class (which I would purposely miss even if it was a mid-term). I just want to hold him as I go to sleep. And it's now that I can fully understand why certain people like they can't go to sleep alone at night. Because at night, it's the worse. Its different in the daytime when everyone is moving about, and you can find things to keep your mind wondering and occupied and busy and unfocused on the things that can truly get you off track. But at night, that's the worse. When the night comes, and everyone's asleep, and the only luxury you have is the ability to think to yourself, and think about where you are, and what you're doing, and why you're not where you should be, and what you're doing wrong, and you think about everything that everyone's ever done to you, and why you feel like you should be further along, and you don't know what's wrong, and what you're doing wrong in the first place. But that's just the truth. I simply want him. In his simple simplicity, and nothing more. Just to hold him and feel his warmth underneath my fingertips, and just to lay my head down and listen to him breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, as I fall asleep happy and completely content. And I wouldn't care that we couldn't tell anyone. I don't care that the world doesn't approve, and I don't care that his parents and my parents don't agree, I don't care that his team would shun him and take him out, I don't care that his teachers don't find it acceptable, I don't even give a fuck about his roommates, and what they have to say on the subject. None of it matters. Fifteen years from now, it won't even matter. And in truth, fuck fifteen years from now. Give me the fucking now. That's all that matters. And that's the truth. And every night, just like so many others who smoke those damn cigarettes and kill themselves, I'll be dying by cancer too. But of a completely different kind.
Forgive me, E.
Friday 7 October 2005
What Is This?
Okay so yesterday wasn't any good with all the rain and all, which I discovered was actually a tropical storm that was beating the hell out of all of us, and no one had any idea. Why? Because it's Pembroke of course. Like I'd really expect any other kind of answer to that. And now of course, the entire campus is flooded over with water and more water everywhere, because the brilliant draining system that was supposed to be oh so perfect is now clogged, creating a massive swell of water that serves as a makeshift lake in the middle of the parking lot from where I stay. But in the midst of this. I'm liking somebody! And...it's a guy! Wow. That's odd. But you know the more I think about it, the more it's not hard to accept. Now I'm going to be honest. He's not drop dead gorgeous say like the two twins, but I do think he's cute, and I love it when he laughs. He's very nice, and it's funny cause we just started talking in class and I think that I'd really like to get to know him. If maybe not for talking then for something other besides....lol. I can't believe I said that. But it's truthful. Why is it that everyone else always gets to have their fun?
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