inreaction

so it be finals week. lookin forward to (as someone that’s nickname is bj puts it) “shaking my tailfeather with everyone.”

anyways i felt like updating but as usual i’m teetering on this edge–between saying nice things about life and just ripping into some people. we’ll choose option b for today. i decided that some people just crave attention and don’t even notice when they’ve scripted a tale that they can’t even follow after the fourth chapter of their sprawling deception.

but it’s not even lies. it’s how these people live a lie. how they want people to pity them for their pathetic workload. i’ve taken advanced classes and i can tell you that you shouldn’t pity anyone who takes them. it’s not even that much work. i’m sick of people stressing out like mad and pretending like they don’t. or constantly complaining and coming to school as if they’re trying to look tired, so people will fawn over their “dedication” and “perfection.” perfection would sound like shutting the hell up and actually doing your work instead of calling your loser friends for ten hours and then making everyone believe you never procrastinate. save your sunshine for the darkness, you’re overexposing yourself this way.

it’s how people crave popularity–and condemn it at the same time. it’s how people join activities or clubs to make themselves feel important. guess what? you’re not important. not any more than the girl who eats her lunch alone everyday because you’re too busy playing grabass with people who you think will a) improve your “future,” or b) make you feel or look “cooler” just because everyone called you ugle in middleschool.

it’s how these people base their morality on the happenstance nature of circumstance. i’m sick of hearing someone talk about how they’ll never drink and people who drink are dumb when they’re with me or evan or someone who doesn’t drink, and fawning over how “fun it must be” with someone who does drink. or how some people talk about sex like anyone will ever touch them. or how some people talk about college like they didn’t suck up for all the grades they got, like they actually learned anything. or how some people don’t talk about scholarships or applications because they think someone is going to copy them or beat them (chances are, these people will be beaten anyway). the best is the people who will ask you what your grade is and then say that they “don’t feel it’s necessary to share scores.” f.a.b.i’m sick of spineless fools who surrender to the easy talking of people’s lack of conscience–i’m sick of the people whose lives are symmetrical around any standard of morality.

anyways. that’s enough [abl] for today.

in other news, i’m looking forward to ignoring half the people in our group for formal and truly enjoying my time with the other half (most notably someone who’s nickname is bj). and i grew bored so i wrote a few lines for everyone that i could think of as being somewhat imporant to me. if you want yours just ask. but don’t tell me you don’t agree. :) some are nice and some are less nice. but all of them are how i truly feel.

i’d still like it if each of you who read (haha as in, one person?) would write me somethign before we graduate. it can be a vent, a laugh, long or a gas. just do it please.

depeche mode – precious

Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God what have we done to You?

We always try to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have put You through…

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we’d manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

Angels with silver wings
Shouldn’t know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you

If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it’s your eyes He’s seeing through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we’d manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I pray you learn to trust
Have faith in both of us
And keep room in your hearts for two

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we’d manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

i want to listen to the type of newscast that was cracky black and white–smoke fumes were the only accompanyment to the stern face of the ever sharp anchor. i want perfection to be a size fourteen–a president to walk in crowds despite warnings. i want us to go down to the levy with our chevies and drink whiskey and rye and lament that this will be the day that we die. i want to forget these techonoligical mysteries and return to our biological truths. i want to live before seatbelts and witness the birth of the toaster and the tv dinner.

i want to revel in reverb-ridden rock melodies and see the outrage that was caused by an undulating pelvis on a boy named elvis. i wanna see dick clarke before he looked like scrooge; i wanna grow my hair in a lennon fashion. i want to dance in the style of a twist and yell in the form of a shouT. i want pearl necklaces and grand spectacles.

maybe i want to return to a period i never could belong to. i would want to face injustice and open racists if i was to relive the past. but i feel as though that openness would be more comforting than the passive aggressive fake nice of today. i’d rather have someone call me anything than fake the like while liking the hate. piece of cake. let’s bake. rhyme.

the problem with everything modern is the faulty pretense on which we base how we are ::better:: or [faster] or more rugged. or more equal.

i’d like to watch mccarthyism and know what it’s like to fear foreignors. i saw a bumper sticky that said ” i support the troops by boycotting the liberal news media “… are you kidding me? you support the troops by ignoring the fact that they’re dying? you support anything by not watching the news? “i support the troops by pretending the world doesn’t exist.” give me a break.


anyways. freakn write me. write me anything. write , me. write you.

i’m done for now.

a story from early this year.


I’m in an odd state. I don’t know why. I need this. It’s odd.

I’m going to tell you a story. The story of a boy. But there need not be pity attached or expected, as that is not the purpose. The purpose is for the story to tell itself.

There was a boy (say Jacob, jake when with his friends). Jake lived perhaps the blandest and least adversified of lives, complicated by technology and mirrored by those of his peers. But mirrors can have cracks, (or flecks). Some of these flecks became indelible as Jacob grew—they became obvious to his eyes only as he wondered about why and how.

I don’t know much about Jake, but I would imagine that at some point he wanted to think about his circumstance, his little place in the little world, made smaller by high speed and low sensibility. He met a girl probably. She might have thought she loved him for the world. Perhaps you could say she died young. Perhaps you could say Jake helped her die, perhaps you could say he killed her every day, every time they shared their personal space.

But that isn’t of importance. Little was of importance to Jake. He had grown accustomed to a life of (some would say) loafing, after growing tired of a life of constant pondering. He wandered because he grew tired of wondering. He laughed because he grew frustrated with not being able to cry. And he saw a film that affected him, although not too drastically, in the way a sits transfixed in front of a reflective pane of glass.

But that film shouldn’t really be overplayed. After all, it’s just acting. And acting…it’s the after all. He liked to run phrases into frenetic tunnels that no one could come out of, that he enjoyed losing himself in, if only to prove that there is always a light somewhere. Once in awhile, he thought he was on to some truth, but his loafing always seemed to take precedent over his truth triumphing presidents.

He enjoyed lyrics and sounds of all sorts. He wrote letters. He wrote. And he never knew why or how or even when sometimes, but he wrote. He scrawled and he scripted unsavory words. When he started, he chose choice words like “love” and “respect.” That quickly faded. His pen seemed more pessimistic than his mind the opposite, so he gave in and just wrote and listened. The point was that his phrases began to sound melancholy, using death as figuratively and cliché, possibly.

His life was so easy. Is so easy. He’s growing up though, and he’s failing and flailing responsibility. He’s completely sure that everyone is aware and knows it. He’s even disgusted by those who don’t. But little irks him in the way his own thought does. He knows that these thoughts are dismissible, if even permissible.

Haha. He wished he could convey emotion. He fails though. It’s okay of course. Jacob knows.

Well. At least he has his pen pal to tell him that he’s wasting his words.

Anyway, it’s taylor’s turn.




btw. this is just for fun–posting these. its not indicative of my current mood, unless if i say it is. which i’m not. at this point. thanks.