I am dreading going back to school tommorrow. My last semester ever, and I'm scared of English class. I heard I lot of people failed, or got really low marks, and I always end up too poetic for standard essays. I am also worried about Writer's Craft, what if my teacher thinks I'm a bad writer? I've always defined myself as a writer, and that could just put me over the jagged edge of this glass cliff.At least its almost over. At least i'm nearly free. I can't wait for spring, so I can go still in the grass under an old tree, and forget my cares, do nothing but make daisy chains, and walk about barefoot.
I need peace sign earings!
Six Songs That Don't Help, But Just Tolerate The Stress:
1 The Songs That We Sing - Charlotte Gainsbourg
2 Bleed Like Me- Garbage
3 Godless- The Dandy Warhols
4 Carpetbaggers- Jenny Lewis
5Creepy Crawl- Be Your Own Pet
6 Lullaby-The Cure
So I've been Thinking- This is dangerous. You should really just run.
I am a mutant. We all are, really but sometimes I think I'm worse.
do blue eyes make you sadder? I've heard that.
Make you melancholic? Feel more of the world? I've heard it all.
But does it just give me an excuse for the way I feel? I'm just a normal girl who thinks too much. Who lets herself, loses herself to daydreams when i should be living. Will I regret this when I'm old? Will I feel like I've never actually lived my life?
I'm afraid.
I'm very afraid- It's like something about 'that Twilighty-show about that zone'
How far can casualty slip into our lives?
Can it slip beneath our sheets? Under our sinful skin?Inhabit Us?
Can we picnic under the dark stars and talk of chaos and corruption?
Can we act it out? Bring the glorified flesh to life?
Stand together at the top of the world, hold hands as it explodes, like in Fight Club?
Can we watch the world burn around us? Dreamland burns blue to those who see the world through heavy eyelashes and blue, blue eyes.
Why is that I can think so much? Who will I be when I reach the finish line, alone with no one to lean on?To catch me when I fall? When I come down from the treehouse? Swinging on a tarzan rope.
Why do I flit so easily from full and complete happiness, to the depths of sadness and crying on the basement floor? I am a million different people from one day to the next.
And most importantly, why can't I think for myself? Why do I ask so many questions? Who am I expecting will answer them for me?Will You?
Once I watched an episode of The Twilight Zone, where a woman who was ugly all her life, and just had surgery to make herself look normal, and pretty like everyone else. Then we see the bandages being removed, and hear that the surgery didn't work, and that she is still ugly. Then we see that the woman is actually beautiful, and everyon else has horribly deformed pig-faces. That's the best episode. it reassure me that maybe I'm not as strange, not as ugly or messed up as I think I am.
It's all about perception.
And what if everyone else is weird and insane, and I'm just the way I'm supposed to be? What if we were all meant to be obsessed, laughing children who cry and laugh for no reason, and cannot concentrate on anything, but my own writings. What if i'm the way we're supposed to be.
There is nothing that no one likes, no matter what it is, there is someone out there who considers it their favourite thing. We consider a movie a failure if only a few million people saw it. But there is nothing out there that doesn't effect someone. There is no life that doesn't touch another, every in dying, alone they warn others to live . To let the cares slip away. Let the handfuls of sand grasped in vain, fall back into the sea. And Liquefy, get lost like us.
What did we ever do without the internet?
When if you wanted to hear a song, see a movie, or know a random fact or date, you would actually have to get up and do stuff, actually have to read the paper, or crack a book. Now we just type a few words on google, and the world's at our fingertips. What has happened to us that people would rather type out responses to each other, and live our whole lives on Facebook or Msn, and be afraid to meet face to face.
I let my words, so distant from life speak for me. I hide behind my keyboard, stab forward with my purple pen, and I'm considered normal!
Every where I turn, I hear that the world is ending. theres corruption everywhere, and all we can think of resounds in conspiracy and doomsday theories.
And I wonder for all our ideas about the world ending, will we destory ourselves before it has a chance.
Save The Humans! The Real Endangered Species. Hunter S. Thompson was right. We are raising a generation of dancers, who are afraid of differing from the norms or following their own beat. We need to get out of line, find our own rhythm, and dance to our own drummer.
We're like the stupid girl in horror movies, who hides in the closet, or runs into the haunted house to get away from the Psycho-Killer (stalking Mainstreet USA).
We're just to stupid for our own good
jUst too stupid to live.
And can I by the Final Girl? Do I want to be, what with the state we're in?
And the Music crescendos, and the masks slip away and we are alone in the blood, on the stage in the spotlight. Alone with ourselves, with our mistakes, No where to run, to hide to leave ourselves.
But This is Opera!
"In opera, you die in act one,and then come back a ghost in act three!"- Blind Mag
It makes no sense. Just like life.
