Good Morning, America

I have nothing to write. I'm tired and empty and sore. I'm going to just blather because I truly don't have anything of consequence. I'm stuck in the wastelands between sunny rainbows and volcanic hell, simply existing and watching. This song playing right now has no hook and just a vaguely repeating chord progression and this sung monologue. I love it. It's calm and matches my emotion perfectly.

"I guess it's because I'm trying to be what everybody wants me, which is exactly not me..."

It's floating towards sadness, my little emotionometer. I've decided to be symbolic and let the carnation on my desk to wilt and die and still keep it here.

I got a black jacket today. It's black courdoroy and it's ancient. It has these holes in the side and it's too big for me. But for some reason I'm really attracted to grungy clothes like that, so now it's my new favorite. I think it looks good on me, but I'm notoriously bad at judging that sort of thing. I don't know, I'm just going to wear it.
While we're on the narcissistic track, my hair actually fell into this really cool style without me prompting it today. Like, half of it fell over my forehead and the other was sort of swept back, and the sides didn't stick out like they usually do. My mom said it just looked sloppy, but it went so well with the jacket. So yeah. I thought I looked good for once. Really angsty and emotional. Yay for being a strange, far-too-self-aware teenager.

So. I traveled 300 miles today. I went from the Bay Area back to Paradise, which was being buffeted by a thunderstorm. Which was awesome. I had Carmina Burana playing on my iPod and my black jacket and my boar's tooth necklace and I stepped out of the car right as the wind picked up and I felt ultradramatic and powerful. It was cool. Then I realized I was getting soaked, along with my iPod, so I undignifiedly ran inside.

My room smells of sweat and dog and teenage boy. It really irks me. I think the carpet is absorbing everything. My carpet really scares me, actually. It's only a matter of time before it decides that absorbing smells is not satiating enough and it's just going to grab my feet and I'll be eaten alive. On that note, I don't really want to get up to get some water. Scary carpets, you see.

Regarding a bill in Canada legalizing gay marraige throughout the country:
"We will be influenced by our faith but we also have an obligation to take the widest perspective -- to recognize that one of the great strengths of Canada is its respect for the rights of each and every individual, to understand that we must not shrink from the need to reaffirm the rights and responsibilities of Canadians in an evolving society.

The second argument ventured by opponents of the bill is that government ought to hold a national referendum on this issue. I reject this - not out of a disregard for the view of the people, but because it offends the very purpose of the Charter.

The Charter was enshrined to ensure that the rights of minorities are not subjected, are never subjected, to the will of the majority. The rights of Canadians who belong to a minority group must always be protected by virtue of their status as citizens, regardless of their numbers. These rights must never be left vulnerable to the impulses of the majority.

We embrace freedom and equality in theory, Mr. Speaker. We must also embrace them in fact.

Third, some have counseled the government to extend to gays and lesbians the right to 'civil union.' This would give same-sex couples many of the rights of a wedded couple, but their relationships would not legally be considered marriage. In other words, they would be equal, but not quite as equal as the rest of Canadians.

Mr. Speaker, the courts have clearly and consistently ruled that this option would offend the equality provisions of the Charter. For instance, the British Columbia Court of Appeal stated that, and I quote: 'Marriage is the only road to true equality for same-sex couples. Any other form of recognition of same-sex relationships ...falls short of true equality.'" -Canadian Prime Minister Paul Martin

You think you can, but sometimes that is the problem...

To this world I am unimportant
Just because I have nothing to give.
So you call this your free country
Tell me why it costs so much to live
Tell me why.

This world can turn me down
But I won't turn away, oh no
I won't turn around.

All my work and endless measures
Never seen to get me very far
Walk a mile just to move an inch now
Even though I'm trying so damn hard
I'm trying so hard

This world can turn me down
But I won't turn away
And I won't duck and run
Cause I'm not built that way.
When everything is gone there is nothing left to fear.
The world cannot bring me down
No cause I am already here, oh no!

I am already here,
Down on my knees
I am already here
Oh, no, I am already here.
I must have told you a thousand times I am not running away.

-Duck and Run
3 Doors Down

It is time for me to change again. It's been almost a year. Something's going to happen. It will happen. What is it going to be? A crime, perhaps? Some social abnormality?
What do you want from me, people?
I don't care for you. In fact, I hate you. I don't need you, I don't need all this shit.
I'm tired of pretending to care, pretending to try to be nice. It's over, ok?
Maybe when I'm far away from all of you, I'll change my mind. But by that time, I'll be dead.
So fuck you all. I don't care anymore, I really don't.

I'm going to destroy this life. School, friends, all of it. It's all coming to an end, and I don't care. I'm starting over, by myself. I'm walking away, alone. From this point on there will be no more faking.

It's over.

If you were all one person, I'd slap your collective face and walk away.

Chaos Theory

We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment,
We are choosing to be here right now. Hold on, stay inside
This holy reality, this holy experience.
Choosing to be here in

This body. This body holding me. Be my reminder here that I am not alone in
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal
All this pain is an illusion.

Alive, I

In this holy reality, in this holy experience. Choosing to be here in

This body. This body holding me. Be my reminder here that I am not alone in
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal
All this pain is an illusion.

Twirling round with this familiar parable.
Spinning, weaving round each new experience.
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate this chance to be alive and breathing.

This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality.
Embrace this moment.
Remember.
We are eternal.
All this pain is an illusion.

-Parabola, Tool


It's all coming back to me, like some sort of sickness or stressed scar tissue. The feeling of being alone, of being forgotten, and then a deeper feeling of not being known in the first place.
I isolate myself and then complain of being isolated; I grow unhappy and feed the sickness. I am my own worst enemy... I strike at myself and twist my own ideas into mockeries. There is nothing of which I can do that I can't also destroy completely. My best works and my most powerful ideas are rendered by my impotent hands as mere ghosts of ghosts. I don't see anything besides myself and I double back all my hatred of the world at myself. I can no longer look in a mirror or bear to hear my voice. I silence myself and alienate my friends. I don't know what I've become- the closest I can see of the world is my own twisted mind. A snake, eating its tail.
Can you fathom the emptiness you can feel in only one night, one hour or minute when all you can see is blackness inside and out, when the only sound is that of your mind screaming, when the only thing you feel is the fury and the rage and the pain towards yourself which is simply echoed back at you because you're already empty. Can you imagine a day where all you wanted was to cease and to be alone with yourself so you could fight yourself in peace and then the world steps in and you lash out in what appears to be adolescent fury but is something darker and deeper and you want to scream until your lungs shear and your corporeal body splits in half so that you can reach your soul and tear it out and smash it and kill it.

I don't want to die. That would be too easy. I simply want to find this ache, this clenched muscle of emotion, and destroy it. I don't want to cure it. I want to cauterize it and burn it out of existence. Because it's there, it's in my stomach and my mind and my back and neck and eyes, and it's eating me away like cancer. When I can go to sleep and not dream of pain, when I can see a crowd and not fall back and trip on my throat, when I can exist without watching my hands shake with anger, I will be able to let go. But until that moment, until that time, these memories haunt me with some sort of cold and calculated precision. They float back to me in a scythian procession, tearing my hands away and forcing me to see the echos of something I never knew existed and never could forget.


I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, fundamental differing,
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication.

I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame it doesn’t mean I don’t desire to
Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over.
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication.

The poetry that comes from the squaring off between,
And the circling is worth it.
Finding beauty in the dissonance.

There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away.
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I’ve done the the math enough to know the dangers of a second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication

Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any sense of compassion

Between supposed lovers
Between supposed lovers.

And I know the pieces fit.

-Schism, Tool

Valley of the Shadow of Death

Eternity stretched cold fingers from her grave
she felt the cold heat of the stars and the blue of the moon
reached past the Universe into a place where time is not real

Truth wandered alone
huddled in her shawl against the chill Siberian frost
she met God in the night snow and he offered warmth
and Truth was raped in the cold icy wastes

A boy types alone in the evergreen palaces
seeking keys and watering cans
and a way to let his dreams be free
Seeking Truth- and Eternity

The desolation of God's Sin stares across space
Locks gaze with Eternity and Truth shudders
Her father, Time, chases God to the ends of reality
and into the wastes of the mind

The boy pauses and looks up
the August Beings are locked in eternal combat
and he is the arena
Time and God, Sin to Eternity

He resumes typing
ignoring the battle fought in his psyche
he still thinks there's something to write
but the snowy isolation wraps around him

Truth sobs as God slays her father
Eternity is quenched by Sin's earthy palms
The boy pauses once again
and types

"From heaven to the end of Hell
past Time and God and the era of certainty
past sun-soaked wastelands and celestials
after all the battles have been fought and won
the Truth will set you free..."