I'm on livejournal now. Do any of you have accounts there so that I could add you?

i always thought Pokemòn was a little bit sick. It's like dog fighting or something. Am I the only one whoever thought this?
Yeah, probably I guess.

I have been strongly depressed lately, but the visions interrupting me have become stranger and more vivid.

I looked out the window of my bus this morning and saw it had become night. The full moon rolled rapidly across the black sky, stars spilled out from behind it as it passed. The stars floated gently down to the earth and my focus was directed towards a particular. One of its five corners poked into the brown soil and white ribbons burst forth from its other corners, spilling across the land and creeping underneath a door (it had become just one single ribbon) and entering a bedroom, curling around the doorknob then sneaking up behind a woman and wrapping itself around her shoulders as she stood next to her bed.

I've unfortunately gotten mixed in with something quite debilitating.
But exhilarating...
I wonder how I'll get out of this mess. I wonder if I'll get out at all.

Sitting here, I feel useless and out of place. Like a puzzle piece that got tossed onto a checkerboard. I don't belong here and the sullen attitudes of the people around me remind me of that.
I wear a black peacoat that's buttoned up the front and an emerald pettycoat frills out from beneath. Black chucks with green laces and clovers in my hair. I am sad, melancholy embraces my spirit. I feel as though cold arms are wrapped around me, and apathy seeps from them like morning mist, being soaked up through my skin.

Friday morning my school embarked on a field trip to see The Passion of the Christ. My friend and I watched them clamber onto a sorry looking yellow school bus and roll away. Deciding we'd rather ditch than watch an hour and a half of brutally realistic violence, we snuck into her volvo Charlie's Angels style and dashed away like a streak of 25 year old sputtering lightning.

We arrived at Boomer's, a highly sophisticated place to spend your hookie Friday afternoons, and I puffed a cigar thoughtfully as I watched my friend scramble over bushes and jump into a drained artificial pond to snatch up a neon green golf club and two golf balls-one a deep blue and the other a safety vest orange. She waved the golf club in her left hand as triumphantly as you might wave a first place soccer trophy, and I grinned uncertainly, giving her a thumbs up. She struggled to get back out of the empty pond, which was now much more difficult with her hands full and its upward slant. I offered her a cigar. It was a sympathy cigar. However, she simply stared at me in irritation and continued her climb back up (which was now on all fours, I might add). Don't worry, she made it.

Upon the sudden downpour of rain our game of golf ended suddenly. But it was not the end of our day, no, more delights were to come. We bumped into a lovely Sicilian friend of ours as we ran into the arcade and out of the rain; he was bouncing like a highly coordinated crack addict to the game Dance Dance Revolution. He gave us tokens, because man is he a great guy. And we ended up winning thirty two sparkle bracelets and two sets of vampire fangs, how about that.

I met a boy named Keiko who was entirely beautiful; he had dark eyes and a streak of grease across his cheek (he was a mechanic). A red rag hung out of his back pocket and he held a wrench loosely in his hand.

I got accused of vandalizing two boys' cars (although I hadn't done it) and tasted the most delicious chocolate cake in my life. It was more than one flavor-you took a bite and it was chocolate, cinnamon, coffee, all at once.

The night ended strangely.

My dog is gone-it's strange. I had him my whole life, even back when before I was in school, when I was just a little girl and I didn't cut or lie about terrible things and now he's gone. It is not so difficult to deal with as it was with my puppy because we knew it was coming-he was very old. But it just feels so strange because it was like he had just become a part of my life, like a stubborn habit or something. I'll miss him. I will.

I sit now in black and red checkered stockings and a weatherman waves his arms and blathers away on the television screen in front of me. They're never right. I don't listen. In fact, I tell him to be quiet and look around for my tv remote before I remember I don't have one.

Night creeps into my soul now. So.

Good night.

"Every time I look at you I don't understand, why you let the things you do get so out of hand..." Judas continues to sing his song incessantly in my head and I cannot get him out.

It grows closer and closer every day that passes to the last night, the last hours we had. It consumes me now. I need to break free; I can feel it inside me. Soon enough I'll be doing something I regret, it is an endless cycle and I can feel it nearing its peak.

Poll #3123: Gay Marriage
Open to: all, results viewable to: all

Do you support same sex marriage?

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Yes
8 (80.0%)

No
2 (20.0%)

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I sit here with my knee up and my chin resting upon it. I stare at the screen and think about all the things I want to say but they slither around inside me and can't be said. At least they can't be said by me, I cannot ever find the gorgeous words that a writer can find. Instead my emotions and feelings and memories and soul squirm uncomfortably within me where they are all crammed without a way out.
There are some things I want to say but can't, because they are so true that if I said them I would be very naked in front of you, and I don't like that. Such things that I would say and then I would have nothing else to keep to myself, so I would be slightly deflated and uninspired because there would be no secrets to me anymore. Not that I am mysterious, but for a distance to be kept I must not be completely known or understood. While I talk to you a part of me stands at a distance with my head bowed and my arms wrapped around me; a part of me will always be foreign, a girl in a sari and sad smile, perhaps.

My beautiful Don Juan, with his almond shaped eyes that were always laughing. His smile was never fully completed, he'd look at you with a half finished grin as if he didn't have the time or energy to carry it all the way through. My beautiful Don Juan with his strong arms and quiet laughter -
my beautiful Don Juan got arrested.
My beautiful Don Juan turned out to be in love with a girl to the point of being slightly manic about it.
Just goes to show that beauty is not everything, I suppose.

I think one of the things that holds me back from God is the fact that I'm so passionate when it comes to passion. If there was any god whose fist I would be clenched in it would be Desire's. Crimson passion and black nights and Spanish music and dancing and laughter and letting go-a rush. A rush of so many things alive at once.

Why thank you inaudible.
And so here is my dog and I. Try to differentiate one from the other, eh. I don't know any other pup who has blue hair. Although Garth's dog in Wayne's World was pretty cool.

I am back. I missed you all and I missed my journal.
I made a lot of old entries private...it made me sad to read some of them. Memories can be so painful.
Things are different, things are the same, life is never changing.
I am writing a story with a friend of mine right now about the antichrist and messiah.
And I always feel when I write here on this journal that I must write to please people. I always forget two things, that one: not very many people read this and no one is really that interested in what I have to say and two: this is my journal, why do I feel I have to prove myself to others.
Is that three things? Why am I asking you, you probably didn't even read this far into this.
Ciao for now loves.

I'll tell you what I want.
Something beautiful. Something passionate, Spanish black hair with vibrant flowers tucked behind the ear and dancing passionate. I want him to recognize me, grin at me in that way the makes eyes crinkle. We'd understand unspoken things. He'd wrap his arms around me and keep me warm at night. I'd never get tired of looking into his eyes.
But.
I am alone. Utterly alone, like the plains in a western movie. I'm the tumbleweed rolling to nowhere. Every night I am cold and the stars down at me without emotion.

I sat in a church in Rio de Janeiro. You could hear people shouting to each other on the streets outside and the pastor preached in Portuguese several pews ahead of me. I reached into my back pocket for my red scarf and my hand wrapped around something thin and unyielding. It was a plastic fork. In one brash movement I had snapped it in half and raked the jagged edge across my forearm until blood seeped through my torn skin. The girl beside me glanced over, she leaned across and snatched the other half of the fork from my lap. Before I realized anything, blood was dripping onto her bare thigh from a gouge she had just made on her wrist, and she looked at me with slanted eyes that were dark and warm. With a smile she looked down at what she had done, then back at me as if to say she understood. A haze seemed to leave me and suddenly I could feel the sting of my fresh cuts and the cool air against my face. I felt in my back pocket and handed her my scarf silently; she took it with a nod and wrapped it around her wrist. She had slender fingers and gold bangles, and I never saw her after that.

Hey guys. I've been a crappy blurty journaler lately, I'm sorry. But I found this and thought it might interest some:
Top 10 Reasons Scars Aren't All Bad
10. They teach me how to be creative in storytelling.
(That's from the time a tiger got loose at the zoo and I wrestled it back into it's cage... :) )
9. They make the people who see them think.
(Even if it's for the wrong reasons)
8. I don't like wearing shorts or sleeveless shirts anyways.
7. They teach me to hold a secret.
6. They are great conversation starters if I ever DO want to talk to someone about this.
5. I can use them as props when I want to draw on myself.
(kind of a Rorshach mentallity, I guess)
4. They can *sometimes* deter me from self injuring too badly because I don't want any more of them, at least not where they're immediately visible.
3. They teach me to appreciate the "clean" skin I do have.
2. They're proof that I can heal; maybe if my body heals my spirit can, too.
1. They are a part of me.

And so I sat down with a cup of rasberry zinger, and began reading my friends' blurty entries. Suddenly, there was a dramatic splatter of scalding tea as my mug slipped out of my hands. I stared at my computer screen in horror as these words met my eyes: This is my last entry here.
No! Can it really be? Are you leaving me?
No fair, elephantitis!

Her fingers were cold and stiff, she tried to flex them but they felt like old, gummy rubber bands about to snap. It was the coldness of the morning, she knew it-but still, in her mind it seemed like one more thing that was trying to bring her down. Her senses had been dark lately, and she felt like something was coming, barreling itself down a path towards her, something grey and terrible. Her eyes were always open now, her body tense and ready to defend itself against attack. She didn't know what it was, she just knew that something was coming. Something she wouldn't be ready for.

I am sorry I have been so gone. I will update soon. In case anyone was worried. Just lie and make me feel good. Things have been crazy over here. Cia for now all my loves.

Sometimes I think I better update or else people will take me off their friends lists. Other times I think that I must comment on people's entries or else they'll take me off their friends lists.
It's blurty. Why do I have to worry about everything?

Inside she began to put back on her armor. It had begun to rust, she had not had to really use it for so long. But now when she closed her eyes and looked inside herself she could see that the doors had been re-opened and there it hung, where she had last left it. It was more dull and tired looking, but she had to wear it again. She was so vulnerable now, bare skin that could be pierced by anyone or anything. She felt naked and could picture herself tryng to hide behind her hands, moon pale skin and straight hair falling in threads over her bare shoulders. Eyes downcast and spirit weak, her frame slumped slightly as she the iron items were put on one by one. Outside, a pink blossom fell from the cherry tree. The wind picked it up and carried it away.