| last updated twelve weeks ago |
[06 Sep 2007|11:11am] |
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the hippos |
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it's eleven eleven and i've already made my wish and my class doesn't start until twelve thirty and it doesn't take me over an hour to walk there. i've neglected livejournal and since i've already watched a movie, eaten breakfast, showered, and gotten dressed, i feel i should give a solid update.
my new school is ridiculously casual and i like it.
matt and i have been going out for over nine months now. it's his birthday next saturday and i don't know what to get him.
i am tired and my toronto house is always too hot and never has any food.
i am learning how to play d&d
i need a new job and i think i'm going to play videogames
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[11 Jun 2007|05:17pm] |
i am drowning in noise
that pulls at my hair.
another tree is stuck
to the buildings they are making,
and it is harder to breathe
than i would like.
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| i like prudence more than i like aj |
[04 Jun 2007|07:09pm] |
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ache-y |
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gorillaz |
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i miss everything but one day it will all be figured out. work is pulling me this way and that, and i never have enough time or effort to write my stories. i'm figuring out what i like, and what i can do.
i like the jerkoff who keeps me going.
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[20 Apr 2007|09:49pm] |
SHOS HSOSHSOS
I AM A TOOL FOR LEAVING MYSELF LOGGED IN
THE USUAL THE USUAL THE USUAL
SOMETHING LIKE NO DANCE FLOORS IN GERMANY THAT I DONT REMEMBER
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[13 Mar 2007|03:27pm] |
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warm and sunny |
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music |
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choking victim for the first time in ever |
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for my sister's birthday, i am compiling a list of the essential music and adding to her beginning collection.
what i need from you is, what is the one album that you heard and instantly fell in love with music?
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[28 Jan 2007|01:38am] |
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sweet |
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music |
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santana |
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TODAY was the official girls night of all the girls nights
( rhino and the tickbirds )
matt is coming in two days and a bit. i'm gonna miss everybody else, but i'm super pumped.
je t'aime!
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| MORE LIVEJOURNAL POSTS? |
[10 Dec 2006|03:46pm] |
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music |
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the mars volta |
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i went to the woods for the first time in a long time
the trees had left a deep covering of crunch and snaps and the snow left enough water to give the air the damp feeling. winter had the sharp spice to add to it, and the bridges were small and covered in leaves. collections of water had frozen over and the sun shone off of them too brightly to look at directly, and so i went skating. i forsook the path and held onto the naked trees and found new places that i never knew existed. one tree had everybody’s names carved into it and so would you like to come carve yours? there is this place, this hidden place that nobody knows about where i sat and watched the air float around my head. it’s hard to find and you have to bend over to climb into it, but the ponds around it shone and in some places showed the things it had swallowed up. what's more, the branches of the trees were like skin; all tangled and textured, having more character than the entire human race. parts of moss and special types of leaves and natural string clung to them. i sang songs while bits of plants and an early death filled my body but there were no bugs to watch and talk to. there was a feeling of safety and wariness hiding with me there, underneath of the sky and the trees that hid nothing else besides.
i couldn’t see any of the houses on any side and it was just the woods from there on until the end of the world.
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| public pictures and picture commentary! |
[28 Oct 2006|01:39am] |
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cold & content |
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the decemberists - california one youth and beauty brigade |
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today:
was friday
we made groups for the magazine project in writer's craft and i am quite content with mine - oliver and sean will work when i tell them too or else.
i went to the fp with lesh and took some pictures and saw some great bands.
edits on:
sean dedicated a song to lesh (and me but that is hardly important)
there was something else but it's def. gone now
( actual commentary this time )
tomorrow: toronto adventures and hellogoodbye/cute is what we aim for.
everybody give a hug and a smile and get to bed already!
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| a town for the despondent. |
[03 Apr 2006|05:01pm] |
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the neverending white lights. |
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(this isn’t a perfect dystopia.)
the streets you waltz on are probably soaked through with invisible blood. only the invisible can see the invisible, and maybe you can see it all. every tragedy that ever hit every stone is still waiting there. the pillars of iron set up to make every strange face even stranger, they are secretly ultraviolet to the ghosts. this means ghost vision is dark spots and all over blue and purple. what is more important than the second half of the spectrum is those kids and their faces.
the queen of this town is suspicion. the mistrust that is ever present in everyday. negative self image around, everywhere. you probably cannot understand it, putting yourself through hell just to look like it. you are only a visitor. you see, the biggest attraction to anorexia nervosa is what you end up doing to yourself. for someone obsessed with self-destruction and mutilation, the fact that you are eating yourself alive, that the need for survival and nutrients is responsible for your own destruction, this fact is irresistible.
in this town, you are only safe if you don’t care. the kids who are out to rape and torture aren’t out for passive.
each wall and each lock and broken fence are only meant to keep the madness in. it is a broken city. after dark it is only the ultraviolet that shows up all the bruises under the eyes of the nocturnal. sundown brings out the girls who don’t stand there dolled up for the money. it is all a part in the plan of their destruction. the girls abuse their bodies with sex and drugs. this town is too down for rock and roll. really.
the kids who are ahead of the curve leave behind their disease and their broken homes. the ghosts that are still there keep every building occupied with memory. spread the poison. really.
whatever the opposite of euphoria is, you can’t name, but after two minutes of breathing dead air, you sure as hell can feel it. if hell was ever sure, that is, this was it.
the only religion is one about death and doom and it only exists to be desecrated. the perpetual smell of burning and the acrid smoke of everything is everywhere. it is the second biggest reason for red shot eyes.
this town has no moderate. inside, they are lethargy at it’s finest. put them out of doors where there is the smallest, remotest possibility of being caught out in sunlight, and they are lightspeed.
you are sure that in a place where everyone is their own worst nightmare, the dreams would get slightly repetitive. but. the constantly rotating pieces of DNA, the constantly mutating parts of our bodies, that what makes you you, and them them. it is what makes them who they are, figuratives aside. the differences are just different strains of the same disease. each one has endless possibilities. what kills us and controls us and what we cannot change. this place, all of those who touch the citystreets are stuck with negative strains and negative blood. negative, the double helixes are just the downward spiral. even if they are all different you are sure that more than one of them has realized this, and has tried to get it out of their blood. the willing destruction of the evil that is each million of miniature cities built on mitochondria and chromatin. the lives that are in their veins, you are certain that they have been spilled. the streetlights tell you that much.
time, in this place, is absolute. in other cities time is a constant killer. the stuff that ushers in decay. for the kids, the stuff that brings down mountains and civilizations and children is not quite enough. not quite quick enough, original enough. probably all the negatives do negative timing and they all revert before suiciding.
probably if they could negative everything else they would never have stepped past the ‘go away’ sign. probably right this second you realize that past that sign, the deoxyribose nucleic acid in your body has been getting subtraction signs put in front of them every time the cell clock goes off. it is probably enough gone so that the leukocytes are giving up and falling in. some kindof line of chaos. probably there is a blackening done and you start craving burning tar and nicotine and formaldehyde. definitely you are never getting out of here. the best choice you’ve got left is to become invisible. probably you were already halfway there if you ended up on these roads. either way, fading out is the quietest end. slow and drawn out but quiet and easy. probably everything will go from grey and dark to blue and purple. and your eyes will be the hollows that fill up with tears at the next footsteps on the ultraviolet streets.
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| FIGHT at the ford plant. |
[01 Apr 2006|01:48am] |
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the decemberists. |
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non-fiction.
today started out like a rainbow. mostly all over the place and misput concentration. school was just the chores to finish until the big bang. the ford plant, was having a celebration. fiftyseven. some kind of crappy celebration; the crowd was terrible and the bands almost worse. to be certain there are the redeeming qualities in every little thing. the crowd had the kids I loved and one and a half bands were good. plus this place is one of the most amazing places in the world. the group of us changed a bunch but essentially it was lesha drake and ryan and me. josh and Brendon came and went mostly. mostly. either way it doesn’t matter. this one band was probably better if you didn’t hear them. the stage performance was top rate though. for a certainty, all of them were trashed the way I used to get after ten minutes. it doesn’t matter. the lead, would just throw himself around with a reckless abandon and the incapability to feel no respect for his body and his band, it was amazing. the passion and the way inbetween songs he would get distracted by something. it wasn’t for the ‘family’ aspect, because this was a sex-driven performance and the comments and brutishness was just the style. there was this one kid, this girl who was brody dalle and nancy spungen all in one, this girl who was everything you wished you could be, was this one kid who you couldn’t take your eyes off of. she was probably more than half naked and looked beautiful doing it. smudged lipstick, bright red, and bottle blonde hair. darkened eyes and sexuality to die for. you are probably just the opposite and she sees you and giggles a ‘you are so adorable!’ and finishes with a hug. probably it would mean more if she’d remember it tomorrow. speaking of remembering it tomorrow, the lead of that visual band, he ended up sprawled between your legs. yeah, mumbling about apologies for lying on your shoes and looking up your skirt. times like this all you can do is stand and blush and be as awkward as is humanly possible. inbetween the shitty highschool bands, there was ice cold puddles and spring rolls. after ocean side view who was astonishingly good at the melodies and astonishingly bad vocally, or halfway through, tim ford grabs your hand as you are leaving and kindof won’t let go. he is probably drunk so it doesn’t matter much. fuck throwing his character into question, as long as he still does what he does, and he does, he does make me feel visible. it is mostly all that matters because noone else does that. squeezing through the narrow doorway past these kids who definitely didn’t belong, we made fun of them as we left. it was on the other side of the street, since our side was less dangerous. dave’s older brother can be heard top voice saying ‘I don’t want to fight okay, I don’t want to fight.’ and sure the antagonists were dressed as ‘gangsters’ but it is not really fair to label them that. it is fair, however, to label them drunk assholes looking for a fight. as if I needed more reasons not to drink or smoke.
we must have thought we were the hero kids. running in to save their friend. mostly your attention is caught up in the girl to your left who is freaking out and the kid in front who is mouthing off to every person and lightpost he can reach. turning around was a mistake. ryan on the ground, josh covered in blood. we have a broken nose and a probable concussion. the only things we can do are to team up with the kids who have the balls to stand up to these creeps. ‘yes, we are pussies. yes, we are bitches. no, we don’t want to fight. please, just go.’ and another kid is down. lesha and I were probably luckiest, no matter what they say. none of them would have ruined their cred by publicly hitting a girl. all up in their faces, ‘please leave’. half the peaceful kids of regular old fp are getting pumped up, pissed off. as if we were going to let them beat up on friends and best friends. most of these other kids are just audience members. threats, and police calls. police, fucking bullshit. they come up about twenty minutes after everything went down. the antagonists are circling the block, waiting for the number of people to die down, probably. the parental unit arrives, and mrs kellner has every reason to freak. kids covered in blood, falling faints and a daughter furious teary-eyed. caught up all in the middle of it, what were we thinking. we can’t have heroes against maybe knives and threats and kids who don’t know where to stop. I suppose it is kindof funny to watch how everyone is dealing with this. one kid is in hysterics. laughing and crying and getting so angry and upped. one kid is bleeding and near to faint. broken up, you can tell, just through looking. another kid is just freaked, and quiet. another one is fading in and out of conciousness and making the rest of them worry. me, I am mostly just overwhelmed, upset that I didn’t do more, upset that I didn’t stop it, upset that I just stood there until it clicked. mostly overwhelmed and caring enough to freak over everybody and their safety. mostly the kid in the front seat, the rest need medical attention. the biggest tragedy here is the potential loss of one of the most amazing places you’ll never see if this potential pulls up. the biggest tragedy is not all the blood and the shitty cops and, and the tears and the fears this is spreading, but what it will do tomorrow and how we will do, tomorrow. the effects these fucking drunk assholes are having when they can’t even string their defense mechanisms together. the tears that are down pretty much my best friends face. and they never touched her. they didn’t know they did this but they did this. and it was probably what they wanted. this is what we never wanted. this was a place that was immortal and beautiful and now forbidden. we’ll figure this all out somehow. a kid in an emergency room, fainting from loss of blood. his best friend with him, staying up long hours. it’s one forty four. a kid sitting there pleading with her mommy that this isn’t what we are. the violence and shitty music is not what we are. not the drugs, not the drink. it’s one forty six, and another kid is probably alone, passed out from a concussion he was too stubborn to get looked at. and one forty seven, me here coping with words. the best way I know how, I suppose.
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| belated. |
[26 Mar 2006|02:03pm] |
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atlantis. |
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the doors. |
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this is what waiting for laurel/avoiding minoan society brings up.
anything that wasn't salvagable got photoshopped up.
( as ashes fall revisited )
oh lazy lazy html.
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| the cupid's chokehold video is out, shoot me. |
[06 Mar 2006|06:44pm] |
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good! |
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music |
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the beatles! |
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a night at the Oscars.
red carpets, ten thousand dollar couture cosmetics. months of preparation. pretty girls and pretty (or handsome) boys. they would probably like the brackets better. expensive afterparties and expensive fun. fly the ways across America, cross the border and pinpoint a small town with one neon street. head away, three lefts and maybe a right. find the run down downtown, the crooked streets and the crooked buildings. this one’s got green arrows and two storeys. blue smoke in fake streetlights. blazers in brown. the foundation of the universe. for seven dollars you get a number on your hand and entrance in. displays and old photographs. bright walls and wooden floors. star lights. kids and kind words. the best part is when the band takes too long to set up. then you have the entire city, destitute to prostitute. nobody but the kids walk the streets in the darklight. collapse. parking lots, alleyways and illegal art, in that order. music unplugged. coming back rosy cheeked to kids who smile and wave. the favorites. past a three legged couch and a hallway which is always dark. someone laced the walls with fairy dust. the ceiling might not have been out of this world but it was out of this century. classical. a stage, weak-kneed and lower than a foot. the black snake of wires and cords and the monoliths, stickers and black. smells like decay and smoke and excitement. sometimes so crowded it is intimacy with strangers. or empty enough for rubber ball games. orange-yellow light. singular. it catches sparkles and dust better, that’s why. here, everybody is pretty. including you. two collections of burnt and melted sand and a gateway to the city streets provide a constantly changing backdrop for your eyes to wander to. easter green. pale pastel. the quiet ghosts who drink courage. dancers and lovers all.
the music is mostly always easy on the ears. crafted to the ‘indie’ genre. lyrics sometimes mundane, mostly amazing. music to wander to, mind and body. this night was everything, the bands talented and worth seeing. worth screaming for. music to think to. try letting your mind go, your eyes unfocus. keep ears open and keep balance. keep your dignity. drift off. birds eye. the memories that flood in overwhelm. takes control of the twenty something muscles to make into a smile. dance. miss friends and make new ones. get fairy dust and music into your blood. love drug. best and most dangerous. somehow they go hand in hand like the couple that warms your heart if you’ve got another one beside you. there is this one kid, who doesn’t give a shit for anything but the local scene. the foundation of the universe. maybe not as subtle as the other kids, but he will push you and hit you and let you know you are still visible. there is this one time where you thought you would have gotten lost or carried away, and he leaves before you can claim the hug he promised you to make up for something mean you started in the first place. a body to get tangled up in. a kid to punch and blush against. someone to think about. a change of events and touched by lady luck’s smile. without cupid’s scorn. it takes a while to realize how fairy dust affects clocks and senses. by then you are already hooked. already condemned, already guilty and already in trouble you don’t give a fuck for. addiction, camaraderie, and all the other words we stole. fall in love, the nightlife. coordinated phone calls and car stalls. backwards. if it was put back a hundred years the building would be new and we’d all be proper at box socials. colour us individuals and stick us with carbon copies. give us voices and guitars and we come up with the foundation of the universe.
this place is as low as low can get. around in a factory town. retirement and misplaced energy, the ghosts thrived and bloomed like mist flowers. before it falls down and apart it will be loved and loved again. safe haven. leaving, the kids are either more subdued because it is past their bedtimes or they are excited because they have been into the fairy dust and drugs hiding in coats and walls. hugs are moreso less and less frequent, so each one is special. waves and yelling are a prerequisite. mandatory, you know. we are oceans of politeness.
there is more often than not a big kid party afterwards. you know this because you once had an invitation through association. next time. next time is always the best time. like that kid who leaned in and got the wrong idea from you and your mean comments. close your mouth next time. and your eyes. them too. leaving, the streets are more deserted and the lights are more florescent. the sides blur and your ears ring but it is all worth it. if you are doing something after, the number and maybe the one for a phone washes off in the shower. the makeup runs black but will be repainted before going to sleep. something about a world through a looking-glass. mirrors don’t matter much because nothing beats like that.
halfway across the world, people are getting little gold statues and thousands of dollars in one meal. people are dressed to kill and we are dressed to get dirty and have fun. maybe the same thing. the thing is though, the but, the thing is, we are the foundation of the universe.
they are missing out.
(I feel sorry for the kids who miss out. the kids who think that the meaning of life is poison and themselves. the kids who have never had the shining eyes or the pumping heart I get to see every week. speaking of weak. there is this feeling of pulse in your veins. to the breaking point. taking loss of breath and pins all over. kindof defies description but we try our best. it is excitement and happiness and nerves in physical form. overwhelming and all encompassing. burst.
I feel sorry for the kids who don’t get bruises from passion. who don’t go silent for a week after a show. not really living, just in ignorance and waste. I feel sorry for the kids who are missing out.)
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| dear scene, i wish i was deaf. |
[27 Feb 2006|06:48pm] |
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cute is what we aim for. |
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narrated.
a story about a boy and a girl, except less typical.
a story about a boy who wants a friend, and a girl who doesn’t know he exists.
and we would let them introduce themselves, which they shall, but we are not so sure you are ready for them yet.
we should not say since she does not know it yet, but she is a compulsive liar. this means not on purpose.
and he is too, not on purpose. but he knows it, they are fakers both.
he can’t get along with anyone and he accepts this fateful fate. he would not cause them hurt or confusion and has just enough self-control and intelligence to know that he would do what he would not. perhaps most definitely should not.
now she, she has a clue. but only half of one. they are probably both sides of the same coin which flips ever constantly in the air, one recessed and the other depressed. at any rate, fast or slow, she lies just as much as the boy does. but it is not just to both f’s she does lie to herself. it is like that security blanket you make into a pillowcase so you can pretend it is gone only to sleep and cry on it. her security was her fantasy, and now she can misremember the past. it is ingenious, kindof like how she wanted to be infamous. they both loved that word, sidenoted.
as much as they existed in parallel universes, they were as opposite as they were alike. but maybe not in so many ways.
she would take anything anybo(d)y gave to her, and objectified herself for the attention she would die without.
he took what was offered and realized things better than she ever did. too nervous to make moves, he was the victim of drunk chicks everywhere.
they were both beautiful in a way that made you want to watch star wars.
and they couldn’t say no or throw things away. the only things they could get mad at was themselves. they were the other’s reflection in the world through the mirrors.
he hated mirrors.
she liked pretending she knew how other people saw her.
he was the recluse she wanted to be but didn’t have the balls to be.
he sat in dark rooms writing songs by touch.
she sat in candlelight and rewrote history.
they were the happy endings and sparkling eyes of the outcasts.
they were both invisible if left alone.
they hated being invisible.
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| a nothing entry. |
[07 Jan 2006|12:21am] |
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mood |
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 mischievous |
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music |
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the strokes. |
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my face just exploded with the awesome of the brothers grimm. totally typical in every way but i couldn't love it more.
is it bad that knowing that pete wentz feels as shitty as i do right now makes me feel just a bit better?
he's sick and i'm going through withdrawal but it's still the same gross feeling all around.
i've had a lot of things on my mind and i feel like getting them all out there so.
( i'm not that mean )
Just gimme a scene where the music is free
And the beer is not the life of the party
There's no need to shit talk or impress
'Cause honesty and emotion are not looked down upon
And every promise that's made and bragged
is meant if not kept
We'd do it all because we have to, not because we know why
Beyond a gender, race, and class, we could find what really holds us back
Let's make everybody sing
That they are the beginning and ending of everything
That we all are stronger than everything they taught us that we should fear
this is why i've quit brantford shows; i won't go to a place where the music is played as second to the beer. sick of it, got to tell you.
and i'm off to bed, a load gotten off my head.
not chest, that's broken you know.
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[17 Dec 2005|12:32pm] |
i promise i will stop udpating so much, but FIRST.
PLEASE VOTE.
who is the better monster?
SYDNE.
LAUREL.
go go go go go.
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[08 Dec 2005|11:06am] |
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friends forever really friends 'till someone better.
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| hold your head high heavy heart. |
[30 Nov 2005|08:32pm] |
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mood |
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new and pretty. |
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music |
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sublime. |
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bienvenue et mae govannen.
friends to the motherfuckin' only babydolls.
i don't care who you are, i don't like snoopers or anonymous comments. so comment to be added.
oh i love you too sweethearts.
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