portentous........not this again.

stomache and head ache...
*plops to the ground.

*rubs belly

me and greg are going to get froyo for 7 days straight......................i think ill be tired of it.

i think i use this too much as a substitute...
uhm. uhm. uhm...

i dont want to stop blogging, but maybe i need to talk to some peeps first...straighten out my head and what.

maybe ill just blog when i really really want to...........

blah blah blahhhhhhh...

i think im slightly delirious from the froyo. so excuse me.


i read cory's note and nostalgia kicked in (FRICK)
so i dug these puppies up.

He's infatuated with her
She's in love with love
His feelings grow old and wither
The love she found was an empty illusion.
Lies are told—
Used as fuel to keep an artificial fire alive.
Thoughts swept under the rug
Each one
Lying to themselves and the other
But neither one is aware of it.
Her secrets kept quiet
His heart left unspoken
Two heavy hearts
Are born,
These paper roses.

What is happening?
Where does this lead?
When does this end?

Both are running—
One long race
Each jogging at their own pace
With a vague idea
And a definite destination
Each take separate paths
To achieve for their own.
She can't find a method
He can't find a reason
Hoping for something greater
Than their foundation was made for.
Deception and resentment
Was the acid
And the corroding element
In this complication

What does she say?
What does he want?
Where will it all go?
What's the purpose?
What's the reason?

A mere illusion
And a simple misconception of oneself.
Confused?
It is a complex conflict held together by a web of lies.

I dare them to love.
The true reality scoffs at the idea
But the Cloud 9 they're on urges them to say "Bring it on."



this is just sick. and not in a good way

This kid I know.
He writes a lot of notes.
And he first started out
Inspired by a broken spirit.
It's...uh... It's funny.
He sits in front of the computer
Even when he's tired.
It's funny that
He'll write
Because he's deeply inspired.

So he says:
My head is throbbing. My heart is yearning.
My heart is ice. My body is burning.
A shell without a cause, yet a soul with a reason—
Loyal and genuine but trapped in a shell of treason.
A word of truth in an essay of lies.
An agent undercover, behind enemy lines.

Oh, tell me will I ever escape?
I don't know which way to go
Which path do I take?
I am the clay
Waiting to take shape.

Do I understand this kid?

He goes on to say again:
My head is throbbing.
I want to throw up.
I can smell Korean BBQ for some reason.
But it's making me noxious.
Read my "poem" but don't
Take note of how I am doing.
I am going to sleep under my computer desk tonight.
I don't know why.
I feel like CRAP
Out of a bull's anus.
Fresh crap.
Maybe I'm just dehydrated.
No, I'm not.
Do I want to die?
Do I need a good cry?
I don't matter.
Do I matter?
She's "got bigger fish to fry"
Where do I come up with some of this stuff
Why do I say it.
Why do I publish notes.
This anxiety.
I feel really screwed up.
"F TUCKER"

Geez. I need to go destroy a city or something.
Rampage status.

yikes. this will haunt me.
i remember that day, though. i slept under my computer desk. haha
stupid, huh?
maybe ill do that tonight.

the worst thing is—i know it's bad for me...i just couldn't stop myself this time.
dang it.