She said, "I know what it's like to be dead,"

I know what it's like to be dead too. And I didn't need acid to tell me.

I love the snippets of paragraphs, the first few sentences and a title, stuck on the page. No matter how many times I try to link the chain breaks. So it's up to my feeble mind to fill in the blanks, to finish what they're all trying to say. But it's okay. Because I do a good job. Because there's nothing unexpected said. Not that pertains to me, anyway. Everything's redundant and blackened and, when pressed against this backdrop of high school emotions, it's meaningless.

Everyone's so happy at the end of the movie, and I feel good. Then I remember that life doesn't end when the credits do. So I don't.

Sometimes I can't bear to listen to music; it speaks to me too plainly and my heart fills fit to burst. I could lie here my entire life with my eyes closed and the sunshine dripping in my window across my still form; if I could hear the music pounding in my ears I would still feel as if I had lived life for the glory, for the cheap thrills, for the religious awakenings. I wish I could, I truly wish I could. Music can break your heart as fully as a girl can, and it takes a lot less effort.

I think I'd love to live in a bathtub. It's taken me this long but I've finally realized that bathtubs are where I am most at ease. Dubliners is so much easier to understand with bubbles up to my chin and a nudist lifestyle adopted for an hour or two.

I Need You

Dear Pineapple in French,
I'm sort of proud of you. I say sort of because my pride basically comes from your words on the interwebz. I'm not really sure how you've changed in real life, but you're not with him. So I suppose you must have. So I am proud.
Sincerely,
Vibtorria

Dear Mary Jane,
I miss your tantalizing aroma and your sweet, enthralling charms. But I'm afraid the love affair we've had is over. Perhaps one day we will be reunited. I doubt it. Goodbye, forever. Don't forget me!
Always Yours,
Viktorria

Dear Sister,
You don't realize how beautiful you are. And that's so selfish of you. So stop it. You swine.
Love, love, love
Vikplorria

Dear Dolores,
I meant what I said.
Truly sincerely,
Margaret

Dear Irish Kid,
I miss the days when we were best friends. I don't want anything more. I honestly don't. It'd be too overplayed. And it wouldn't work now anyway. So be my best friend again. God knows I need one. You are the IK to my PM, I'm nothing without you.
Love,
Panda Man

Dear Female,
I understand why you do the things you do. I understand why everything is my fault. I understand that you want me to take responsibility. But I don't understand why you won't talk to me until it's come to this. You said you'd get me help. My problems didn't stop just because insurance didn't go through.
Good day,
Viktorria

Dear Knight in Shining Armor,
You continue to surprise me and to defy my expectations. I expected you to bore me, and instead you made me laugh. I expected to forget you, and instead I dwell on pointless memories. Choose a side: good or evil. Don't continue to hang on the balance with me.
Sincerely,
The Invisible One

Dear Moonshine,
If you are wondering why there is no real letter for you, it is because I have already said it all.
Love, for as long as I live,
Viktorria

Ya da, da, da, Ya da da da

Look at me, wearing my Junior Park Ranger vest I swooped on from my little brother, sitting on the computer at 4:40 am, next to my best friend and my other brother playing with Lincoln Logs. I love the debates they have, how everything is so real.

They demolished my awesome castle, what with its back courtyard opening up to the Swamp that Transcends Space and Time, and Batman and Spiderman posted at the front gate. Their shit better be real.

Time for some candid pictures. *sneaks on the webcamz*



SUCCESS!

I often wonder about the glorification of hippies in the sixties. I mean, what was it REALLY like? To be completely natural, just the way we were made; sweaty, hairy, drugged out kids who laughed, loved, and had fun doing absolutely nothing. They went wherever the wind took them, they believed in beauty and connected with things I can't know about. They were utterly disconnected from the world but completely in tune with the planet. What were their personal demons like? Were they all happy? Did they wish for something else? Were there internal hippie standards they felt the need to conform to? I wonder how the world saw them, how children grew up amongst them. I wonder if it's possible to become one again. I know how my generation sees them, but nothing is as it seems. There's always the ugly side no one talks about.

Final Thoughts:
-I swooped on this 'Final Thoughts' from Av'ry. Thanks!
-I need to work on my summer assignment. FML. I honestly have done next to no work. I annotated exactly three pages of Dubliners. THAT'S IT. Get a move on, beezy! >:O
-I'm going up to my grandparent's for the next few days. Hopefully getting out of this shit hole will help my outlook on life. After all, my outlook on life is me main compensatory factor. But I know the psychological pattern. It plays havoc with me drum skins. (If you get that reference, I'll love you. Unless it's you, Miranda. Because you would. You SO would.)
-Good norning, world!

disconnected thoughts

Does any of this really matter?
The words we choose to set down here, they're lost amongst the copy-and-paste generation. Anyone can be a philosopher, we're all religious oracles. We're all leaders of our own personal revolutions.

The foundation for a bohemian revolution: freedom, beauty, truth, and love. I'd gladly trade them all for happiness.

Perhaps it's the Thespian in me, in my kind, that creates such dramatic situations. Emotion is lost through terrible miscommunications, and the loss of emotion translates directly into the loss of importance, the loss of reality.

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to travel back in time dressed in the height of today's fashion? That in and of itself would be a tremendously influential thing to do; one wouldn't even have to speak to turn a town on its head. After all, ankles are outrageously and unspeakably scandalous to some time periods.

There are a lot of instances in which I can go both ways. Like, sleeping. Or my sexuality. What about the word bisexual, anyway? Just the thought of it sends shivers of revulsion down my spine. Bisexual is nothing more than a term used to describe a young teenage girl seeking attention, trying to draw it to her "wounded soul". I suppose it could very well be a young teenage boy. If you want to get technical.

Don't sweat the small things.

If you say you've forgiven them, forgive them. Forgive yourself above all else, because if you don't no one else will.

If you get the chance to stay up for well over 24 hours, do it. You might be surprised what the Internet holds in way of entertainment.

Recognize the fact that you are not different to the world. To the world, you are just a clone with unoriginal ideas, thoughts, concepts, words, and looks. The trick is to find someone who is not the world to see you for what you are. It only takes one.

Love. For once in your life, love. Love wholly and unnecessarily, ridiculously and naively and cliche-ly. Love like you know you won't get hurt. But only once. At least once.

I got swooped!

Dominic wants to know why things are changing to Hindu....

ANYWAY!

I love you, missed you and everything else

.....yeah. Have fun with your spock doll!<3

I love you,
elisa


oh, inset that creepy image of that man in a wig that's searching your profile here

Hey, Elisa

Dearest, you mean the world to me. Thank you for my birthday present, a limited edition Mr. Spock collectible Ken. (Yeah, as in Barbie's Ken.) Thank you for the wedding ring, and for putting up with my body paining me. Thank you for being there, for hopping fences, for finishing my sentences and completing my life. Thank you for laughing just as ridiculously as I do. It makes me feel so much less alone.

I love you!

So what if they know?

That simple phrase, so at odds with what was said. It's hard to hear you, what with all the smoke.

The fire's always been there,
smoldering,
waiting,
biding its time.

Once the fire starts growing it's almost impossible to stop.

Nightmares

I miss them.

The waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, seized by illogical fear.
Finding comfort in numbers, in the flicker of the television screen and the sleeping forms of family.

I miss the dawning realization that it isn't real, and talking yourself into falling back asleep.

I miss the sweaty palms, the beating heart, the shaking hands, the panic and the courage that arises from it. I miss the knife wielding murderess coming after me to finish the job of destroying my family, blood spattered and insane, deadly and crazed.

I should watch scary movies and see if they return.

Elisa Heather

she's back! she's back, she's back, she's back, she's back!

Even watching Ninja Warrior together makes me the happiest I've been all summer, stomachache and all. Fuck you, Aunt Flo!

Happiness, happiness, peace, love, serenity, happiness, eventual normality.

I love you, Lucy <3

ps: if you are a Harry Potter fan, or are ready for some really, really shitty fanfiction, copy and paste: http://myimmortalrehost.webs.com/chapters122.htm

5:53 am

I love my fishies! ^-^ *scroll down to become enlightened*

I got really brown today. But it's faded away. How mysterious.

I found this picture on Photobucket today.


I wonder if he's happy.

It's time for something new. That phrase could mean the world.

3, 4, 3

"Everyone has 20/20 hindsight."

~!@#$%^&*()_+

Just for a moment, I'd like to touch upon the subject of words.

Words, Words, Words. So say something. Say anything. It's hard for me to find them sometimes. I imagine it's hard for everyone at one point or another. But you know. You get through it. You swallow your stutters and think and finally spit out what you were trying to say, much to the dismay of yourself and probably others. Words can be sharp, and swiftly sting, much like a ninja star. Words can be quiet, softly spoken but unexpectedly powerful, like an infamous one-inch punch. Words can be loud, nonsensical and meaningless, much like a karate yell.

Ninja star, one-inch punch, karate yell. Words kick some ass.

Then there are the words that defy genres in that they are individual to every one. For instance, one might think there are several hidden references to a particular love interest embedded in this very blog. Consequently, there will be undertones of love that you will pick up on, for better or for worse. On the other hand, one might pick up some wholly nonexistent malevolent threads in these words, and therefore this whole thing will reek of dislike and petty hatred. It's all individualized, my, my.

~!@#$%^&*()_+

It's the simple things; late night games of Marry, Murder, Screw; burning incense; watching porn with a plot; laughing and sounding like a bunch of dying animals; lighting up and taking pride in our homemade pieces; it's the little things that I miss the most.