Sunday, May 30, 2010

Random thoughts:


"What's the point in going 'round
when it's a straight line, baby
a straight line down?"

-The Format

Describing just how much I love this band is pretty much... ineffable.
I wish they were still together.


"Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs"

-Imogen Heap


I think that teenagers want to have problems.

"I cut."

"Oh, I have a drug problem."

"Well, I'm anorexic."

"Oh yeah? I'm bulimic."

You get what I'm saying? I'm not sure if it's an attention thing or what, but most people that "advertise" their problems probably don't have much of a problem to begin with. They don't understand how lucky they really are.


My baby.


"Great minds talk about ideas
Average minds talk about events
Poor minds talk about people"

-Elanor Roosevelt


[16 days. I have mixed feelings about this.]

The Format - "Oceans"


Thursday, May 27, 2010

Marry me?

These little fuckers are where it's at.

Hi, dirty fingernails.

Secret #3: My childhood name was bubbles.

13-year old indie boy? HOT.

[17 days]

Secret #4: Whenever I'm finishing a race, the beginning of "The Climb" pops into my head. Embarrassing.

Los Campesinos! - "Death to Los Campesinos!"

[I love this. Listen to it now.]


Sunday, May 23, 2010

People don't talk to me about religion as often as I wish they did.

Adults especially. It's too touchy a subject. I'm too young to know what I believe in.

But I want to talk about it. So I shall.

So, by default I'm Catholic. My mom was raised in a Catholic family, went to Catholic school for a few years with a bitter old nun as a teacher, and got married in a Catholic church-- all that jazz. My dad was a sort of low-key Christian, I guess. But when he married my mom he adapted accepted her religious beliefs/customs/practices without really being an avid Catholic himself. My little brother and I wound up being raised as little Christmas-celebrating, Easter egg-hunting, church-going Catholics without having the slightest clue about what it all meant. However, I did go to religious education class in elementary school every Tuesday. I don't remember much, though. It was kind of like...
"Blah blah... Jesus loves you!...blah, blah...time for a craft!" Then we usually made one of those pre-packaged DIY Christmas ornaments or something while we munched on popcorn.
I didn't understand much of it. I just accepted it as the way that things were. God was there. Jesus was there. And from what I could tell a lot of people seemed to like them.
In eighth grade, I had the joy of taking a grueling hour-long class each Monday night to prepare for my confirmation that I was to have the next November with the rest of the Catholic kids in my grade. We read from our bible and this crazy lady came in to talk to us about pre-marital sex occasionally and we rolled our eyes as our instructor warned us that we were going to hell if we didn't go to church every Sunday. We were preparing for an incredibly important sacrament of the Catholic religion. We were preparing for our statement of faith.
And we did all this why? Because we had to.
Not because we believed in God, the father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, through all that is seen and unseen. Not because we believed in one holy Catholic and apostolic church for the forgiveness of sins, for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Because we had to.
It's just been bothering me. I don't even know what I believe in yet, but about 14 years ago I was brought into the Catholic faith without my consent. A year and a half ago I made a statement of faith without really being sure. Being born into a religion is a little unfair, don't you think? You shouldn't have to try and believe in something because your parents do. Belief should come naturally.
I don't really like organized religions. It's just another way to separate people when what we should be doing is coming together.

So... tell me what you think.

Oh, and don't think I'm done writing about this yet. I find this to be a fascinating subject to explore. :]


My lips are chapped from my constant biting
My hands are weak from my constant cracking
My stomach is hungry from my lack of caring
I feel like I'm turning into a nervous wreck
Only 22 more days...


"Oh, how we celebrate the mediocrity"

Chiodos - "Two Birds Stoned at Once"

[I miss Craig...]


Wednesday, May 19, 2010

*A Conversation With Myself*

His birthday's tomorrow.

I don't think I'm going to say happy birthday to him.

I don't think I'm even going to look his way.

Wait, I should probably be the better person.

I've been the better person for far too long. I'm done with it.

Come on... be the better person...

I'd rather not. He avoided my gaze in the hallway today.

That's two people that would much rather not have the misfortune of seeing my face.

I suppose I'm right. I mean, who's a better person to trust than myself?

Imogen Heap - "Hide and Seek"

[I first heard this song on my Grammy nominees CD when I was in middle school. However, I quickly rejected the track after listening through only once or twice. I just didn't like it. I actually started liking into it recently, though. It just goes to show that something I totally dismissed 4 years ago could be appealing to me now... (or possibly the other way around)]


Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Can you keep up with my fingers?
It's a daring race
It tickles the senses
but mostly the taste

Can you intertwine our appendages?
Number 1 through number 10
My pulse reaches the tips
as my spine breaks and bends

Can you feel me bleeding?
I've been cut open deep
but only enough
for those inside to see


Sunday, May 16, 2010

Secret #1: If anyone I know personally ever found this blog, I would be so fucked.

Secret #2: My friends don't know me as well as they think they do. Silly people.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers - "Dani California"

[This was my most favorite song ever in middle school... I was quite the cool bean]


Wednesday, May 12, 2010



I AM: an artist

MY MEDIUMS INCLUDE (but are not limited to): the intake of mellifluous sounds (for the purpose of analyzation, dissection, etc.), keyboards, myself, sneakers, pillows, worksheet margins (for the purpose of hardcore doodling), human lips, public property, JPEGS, and paper.

... I have felt so much in the past few weeks.

But that's the problem. I've been bombarded with so many stupid things, I don't have a single one to focus on. If I don't have anything to focus on, then I have nothing. Nothing to think about. Nothing to write about. Nothing.

Sure, it would be cool to have my life as well-shaped or admittedly poorly-shaped as the protagonist of a story, but it never works that way.

Now I'm just being boring.


The Apples in Stereo - "Can You Feel It?"


Saturday, May 8, 2010

Bright lights illuminate my fingertips
and crawl down my neck
gray moths accumulate rapidly
and turn me to a wreck

Endeavors are invisible
but you are not


(sorry my posts have been so short lately...)

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Alright Kay, let's get something straight.

Repeat after me.

If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.
If he's hitting on you, it doesn't mean he likes you.

Got it?



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