| | Current Music: | cowboy Junkies | | Current Location: | place | | Time: | 04:21 am | | Current Mood: | eh |
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| who the hell reads this? all the people i right these for don't usually. and anyone else who does probably woudln't want a lame entry. so i'll leave them a joke from dan hall
a pirate walks into a bar
the bartender says, hey you have a wheel on your crotch
the pirate says, yeah its driving me nuts!
ahhaha, at 4 in the morn that kills. | comments: 5 comments or Leave a comment   |
| up to now
watched about half of season 1 of Veronica Mars. good show by the writer of Cupid. plus Bell's great.
watched season 1 and half season 2 of Sports Night. good dialogue. Dan's the man. but i still hate dana with every fiber. jeremy's my boy and natalie's so adorable.
watched goddamn season 1 of 24. geez, i terri bauer is the most retired person ever under the sun. and poor kim. so dumb, so hot. season 2, much better to me.
finished all 15 episodes of the amazing and sadly canceled Cupid. at least jeremy piven lives thru ari gold. carry on entourage.
scrubs trucks on [good] while smallville continues to make me cry [bad] and Lost is running in circles [ok].
the Police song "De do do do, de da da da" is goddamn ridiculous.
what the hell is this?
on the other hand, Cowboy Junkies are excellent.
met an old someone today.
thought about another someone today.
missed some other someone today.
smiled about something i thought this one someone would say. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- Dylan Thomas | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | the 11th song - Lookin' Out My Backdoor | | Subject: | class on hiroshima | | Time: | 04:55 pm |
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| it's very sad and humbling to have a class on hiroshima, the bomb, and after effects.
first 10 songs played on random:
6 Underground Remix - Sneaker Pimps
River Below - Billy Talent
Sloop John B. - Beach Boys
Kill - Jimmy Eat World
Clint Eastwood - Gorillaz
Passion - Utada Hikaru
Orchestra - The Servant
Day Tripper - Beatles
Harry in Winter - Patrick Doyle
Angels and Girlfriends - Five For Fighting
got a call at 2:26 am from ashley telling me futurama was on and it was the episode i always mention when we talk about it. i missed the call, but listening to the message later it was still nice. it made me smile. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | American Girls - Counting Crows | | Subject: | ... | | Time: | 03:36 am |
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| women.
women.
women.
what's your deal women?
how come you don't make any sense? | | comments: Leave a comment |
| i always hate leaving mushy or sad stuff on here. I end up regretting ever posting such fluff.
I had a very nice break back home. and though i will not be back for a while, i can't help but hope for a sunnier future than i thought i was headed for.
things have changed and some things never will. we had a wonderful time and lots of memories.
by the time i see them all again, i hope i can look back over all i've learned and use it effectively. it's so hard to say goodbye this time.
yet knowing that it is not forever brings that sense of excitment that one gets on christmas or just after a first love's kiss.
when i see each of them again, i'd like to imagine we've never been apart. we were just a bit busy for a while. what with trying to grow up.
i already miss their laughs, from old roommates to new friends. i miss the awkward moments that end up as great stories later on.
i miss riding in their cars, listening to our music. singing along.
i miss him and her, and them. i miss them the moment we turn to leave.
so here's to then and here's to now. god bless ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who believe.
and for the rest, for all of us, i raise the parting glass.
"Oh all the comrades ere I had, they're sorry for my going away,
and all the sweethearts that ere I had , they’d wish me one more day to stay,
but since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not,
I'll gently rise and softly call, goodnight and joy be with you all." | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | Only The Good Die Young - Joel; There She Goes Again - La's | | Time: | 11:52 pm |
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| honestly it's gotten to the point where I just search page for my name on friends page and if i don't pop up i read nothing.
everyone does it.
i just assume everyone's okay unless they use my name, in which case i should know whether they're mad at me or not.
lucky, my name is not used in any of the angry things i've read. [wipe forehead]
though i know someone who hates me and i had to share 2 flights with her. it was very awkward. yet i feel i shouldn't be afraid of her b/c i'm the freak and the scary one.
"You mighta heard i run with a dangerous crowd, we ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud.
we might be laughing a bit too loud, ah but that never hurt no one."
so for you command searching: evan, waldron, layne, ashley, allison, josh, dan, beckers, jill, kizzy, ms cooper, caitlin, kuhnsey, don vu, kpax, qbert, emers, jonkid, megan coke, reiser, abbi, george, joey, handi-cock, trujillo, chels, jeritt, rishi, tracie, baccash, nimnims, leland, ethan, ross, z, kayla, sarah, danni, let's see um...vike, angry eck girl who has black hair and hates us, zilla, this barb person, 2 or 3 other girls who's names were probably said once and in loud noises, that dude down stairs, zorro, TOM bowers!, john bowers the dude who lost my script, upid layne's friends who are so much smarter and cooler than us, phelan, caveman, schuster, cramer, brennan, evan ha twice, you too layne, matt reeves, ali miller, mes parents, becker's parents, jill's parents, no not your parents, pontiac, allison piehl? that chick abbi and waldron were talking about.
all this brings my mind to a lot of funny things about who's liked who, who's currently hating/loving/liking someone else, who's forgotten the existence of another, old problems, current problems, and yes, the future problems. analogies about a person and nicknames for all of eckerd's people. foolish pursuits, long lost friends. much head shaking, "why'd i say that? do that?" and lots of wondering what women are thinking.
time stands still for no one. especially when today is tomorrow's yesterday. | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | China Grove - Doobie Brothers | | Subject: | sat. and st pats | | Time: | 12:20 am |
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| the suits, Valentines is both fun and genius.
sat nite was great fun.
this friday's the st pats get together.
so irish drinking songs and drinking.
dancing and jigging.
clovers? maybe. | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| the entry following this is very sad. It's another chapter in the life of a character.
that's what i write when i listen to moonlight sonata.
keep warm tonight. i hear it's cold outside... | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Ch. 3 “Hi”
It started to rain. The drops hit his face and ran down his chin. Soon his hair was damp and the pavement under his shoes slapped with the force of mass on puddles. His eyes kept level with the road ahead, his hands hanging a bit at his sides.
He started to hum under his breath, a quiet lyric. His memory drifted back to another day, another late hour. He was riding shotgun in his best friend’s car, the window was down and there was laughter on the breeze. The car was full in the back seat, a few squeezing on laps and overflowing into the front. Yet he heard nothing but a lyric. The same lyric had plagued him for a while. Ever since…
That night they ran a red light. They almost got pulled over; a cop drew out of his parking space and followed for a few blocks. They each held their breath, letting the carbon dioxide build until their lungs burst. Devin kept his hands firming on the steering wheel, his palms wet and sliding, but stiff. They lost the cop on a side street and everyone laughed for the next few blocks. He remembered smiling too, with them then, caught in their shared moment, their foxhole intensity. Their near miss.
Three weeks later, two of them got in a wreak. Pretty bad one too. One died while the driver lived with nasty scar on her back and neck. The driver cried, everyone cried for hours. A moment in a life, a blink, and one of them had drifted away, gone. Some cried for weeks. He didn’t, couldn’t. He just felt nothing. He felt so empty. They had lost something after the incident and in time each would come to carry it with them. For some it would be in the way they drove from then on. For others, it’d be in the way they talked about the past. But for him, it was in his laugh, his very smile. His eyes had lost the flint to create the spark there.
One was gone, blinked away like a tear in the rain.
And the rain pattered on, the drops hitting his face and running down his chin. They ran past his cheeks where they met more drops, mingling and falling together. The pavement slapped under him, and as he left them behind, the puddles collected themselves, pictures and faces floating among them.
His mind rained memories, and they gathered on every curb.
He hummed a quiet tune, a lyric that had haunted him for years.
Ever since… | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | give we you funny, your amusing, your weird, your intersting high school stories or ideas. ancedotes, jokes. plus anything anything you've learned in high school that was useless or something everyone's read in english class. something, anything high school! | | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | "Ask DNA" | | Subject: | old joke | | Time: | 04:52 pm |
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| here's an old joke. it's between beck and i, about jill getting a new fish. i was upset that a fair would give out more than one fish for a prize, thus you win several fish, not only that but they'd have to keep up with all these fish. and who needs that many fish!? anyway, beck told me to replace all the "fish" words with "tits" so that i would think the whole thing was much better, instead of a crazy freakin' thing where people win 4 fish at fairs. so i copyed the talk, and replaced "fish" with "tits", b/c winning that many fish was not right. honestly...4 fish?
License2Krill: k so, jill decided that if she could win a tit she would take it home and learn to love it
License2Krill: b/c that is how she got Chuck
License2Krill: and she has not wanted to replace him
License2Krill: like, Katy and Jonny took her to a tit place and told her to pick out whichever one she wanted and they'd buy it
License2Krill: that was like...a week or so ago and she said no
License2Krill: so it was kind of a big deal at the fair
License2Krill: well, she didn't win
License2Krill: BUT
License2Krill: rose's friend kristen won 4 tits (b/c there are 10 chances)
License2Krill: so she gave jill one of them
BebopVee23: whoa whoa whoa whoa the fuck whoa
BebopVee23: 4 tits?
BebopVee23: 4 fucking tits?
BebopVee23: WHO NEEDS 4 TITs?
BebopVee23: TO WIN 4 TITs?
License2Krill: no one
BebopVee23: THAT'S A LOSS IN MY BOOK
License2Krill: but you know, they give you 10 balls for $1
BebopVee23: 4 tits
BebopVee23: jesus
License2Krill: and she made 4 of the shots
License2Krill: ANYWAY THE POINT IS
License2Krill: THAT JILL GOT A NEW TIT
BebopVee23: 4 fucking tits
BebopVee23: open your own aquarium
License2Krill: but then it died the same night
BebopVee23: jesus
BebopVee23: well it's okay
BebopVee23: cuz she has 3 FUCKING MORE!
BebopVee23: GOOD CRIS!
License2Krill: no jill doesn't have more
BebopVee23: 4 TITs
BebopVee23: jesus
License2Krill: kristen gave them away
License2Krill: robbie got one
License2Krill: kristen took the other two home to give away
BebopVee23: to sell
BebopVee23: in HER AQUARIUM PET SHOP!
BebopVee23: jesus.
BebopVee23: 4.
BebopVee23: tits
BebopVee23: who TAKES 4 TITs?
BebopVee23: wouldn't she just take 1?
BebopVee23: wouldn't they just give 1?
License2Krill: idk
License2Krill: that's really not the point
BebopVee23: who just gives away 4 FUCKING TITs???
License2Krill: i didn't mean to so preturb you
BebopVee23: Jesus
License2Krill: i mean, i hope it doesn't keep you awake tonight
BebopVee23: 4
BebopVee23: fooooooourrrrrrrrr tits
License2Krill: ohgod
BebopVee23: jesus
License2Krill: ok so fine, it was weird
License2Krill: but THE POINT
License2Krill: whatever
License2Krill: only stories w/ tits from now on
BebopVee23: omg f'ing god a car alarm ladies cuz i have 4 FUCKING TITs!
License2Krill: so it's not so confusing for you
BebopVee23: yeah
BebopVee23: now winning 4 TITS
BebopVee23: okay
BebopVee23: i get that
BebopVee23: but tit?
BebopVee23: really.
License2Krill: haha
License2Krill: alright just replace all the tit in the story w/ tits
License2Krill: you'll feel better
BebopVee23: whoa..........
License2Krill: except for the part where the one jill brought home died
License2Krill: i mean, that's sad no matter what it is
The fish to tit ratio is far too low.
fin. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| A Life Less Acute, by Bec
Bec was afraid of cheese. She wasn't ashamed to admit it either. She just never understood what could be so good about what were basically molds and bacteria solid. It was gross and also very scary.
So when she went to the Wisconsin State Fair you can imagine how many nightmares she would be faced with. Every booth, every inch, every face filled with cheese. She had nothing against milk or ice cream, so she joined her friends in getting a cup of strawberry milk and a bowl of chocolate ice cream. She smiled and laughed as they each tried to hang their spoons from their noses.
Then Jill tried to give her some string cheese.
Bec jumped up, leaping back like it was a cockroach. Jill shrugged and peeled off strands to slurp down. Bec threw up all over her shoes.
After she had cleaned up in the terrible and mentally scarring world of State fair restrooms, she told her friends she wanted to leave early. They said goodbye, and Bec headed toward the exit.
She looked as people all around her were enjoying their cheeses. She felt the bile welling up again, so she quickened her pace.
Suddenly she ran right into a fence, falling face first into a cow stall. Bec pulled her muddy and wet self up. She was miserable. She felt like crying. Then there in front of her stood a very small and very pretty brown calf. Its mother was nowhere around and Bec found that she was all-alone, the crowds behind too busy to notice. She reached out slowly and patted the calf's soft head. She smiled through the mud and even laughed.
Later at home when she ate with her family, she refused the steak on her plate.
Instead she had a tall glass of milk and a plain slice of bread with a little bit of cheese on it.
A Life Less Acute, by Jil
Jil enjoyed her Snack-Pack chocolate pudding cups more than anything. Once her friend offered to take her to the movies and pay for her ticket, her popcorn, even those crappy little nachos they serve. Jil refused. It was pudding time, and she had an appointment to keep.
Jil soon found that she had become obsessed with the sweet nectar of child-dom. She tried so hard to stop, but everyday by noon she had five cups, by the evening news, twelve. Things were getting crazy. How could she break this cycle of choco-holicism? Something must be done. And quickly.
Jil gave all her credit cards, debit cards, checkbook, and cash to a friend, Bec, and had Bec remove all the cups from her presence. Would it be enough?
Jil’s eyes became bloodshot and twitching. She sat in her shower, letting the water just run. She lay across her bed covers, her stare vacant. She wrapped herself up like a burrito, her head and feet drooping out the ends like so much ground beef. And Jil felt like grounded beef. She felt shredded, smashed, pounded, and spread too thin. She was alone without pudding. She cried and balled her body up, rocking.
Bec thought this was pretty weird. It’d only been forty-five minutes. But to Jil, it seemed a lifetime. Bec tried to get her to go to the movies, but every title sounded like pudding to Jil. “The Pink Pudding,” “Final Dessert 3,” “Curious George…and some puddin’.” It was useless. Bec was close to caving in. Jil needed it. And if that’s how it had to be, then that’s the way it had to be.
As Bec drove Jil to the supermarket, the radio played on. Then, like a scent on the breeze “Stop Crying Your Heart out” passed by Jil’s ears. The tune rapped on her cerebrum, and all of sudden the world fell into place. She didn’t need pudding. Pudding was like the jerk teacher in Algebra 2 that tried to get you held back by giving far too many pop quizzes than any sane person would. Jil would beat Mr. Filibuster, uhh, Pudding! She would conquer it like she had Pop Rocks the week before, Lunchables the week before that, and Nabisco Chicken ‘n a Biscuit crackers before that.
Jil had control again. Now if only she could get some more of this awesome gum. | | comments: 10 comments or Leave a comment |
| A Life Less Acute, by Hi
Hers was a smile that could part rain. When her lips split, the water would slow and halt all around. Tiny drops would frame her face and linger in her lucid eyes.
His breath caught in his throat. He nearly died right there. It was beyond comparison, beyond the mind’s power to capture. The details were already slipping away. He tried to hold on to them but the wind picked up and it was gone again. The picture faded and he was left staring at his moving toes.
He shook his head, trying to focus on the here and now. He was somewhere down the road but he wasn’t sure how much farther it would be. He’d never walked it, though he’d ridden it several times throughout his life. From his early childhood up until the day he left, he’d been down this road. He stared up it, following the lines as they dotted up ahead of him. He remembered several things all at once. When they were pulled over and Devin had a fit. When he and his father ran errands picking up things in town. When his mother drove he and his friends to the movies. When he and Devin had cruised down it 4 in the morning, the music crackling.
Mostly he thought about the moments just riding along, the windows down, the wind crashing against their faces and the music loud. Everyone’s voice was lost amongst all the sound and air. It was a great feeling, so crazy and so contained. Everyone singing words they made up as they went along. No one falling behind, no one conscious of his or her sharp or flat notes. No one cared. It was beyond time or place. They were living in a world made their own in those instances.
They lived a thousand lies and truths in those days.
And they cursed the dawn for the loss of tonight. | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| A Life Less Acute, by Hi
He sat in his suit on a stool in a local diner. It was past 2, the dark still holding out ‘til the dawn. His hands cradled his bottle, a cool long neck Stewart's. The speakers hanging around the place let the soft voice of Vera Lynn linger in the air. He let the lip of the glass touch his own while his eyes focused instead on the sugar jar in front of him.
His eyes laughed quietly, a light spark here and there. He rubbed his chin and then ran his fingers through his hair. He loosened his tie again, and let his shoulders sag a bit. He looked out the windows at passing cars, their lights little flashes in a moving Monet. He finally smiled.
He paid his bill and stepped outside, tossing his coat around his shoulders. The night was crisp, but not chilled. His breath danced on the breeze under his chin. He walked slowly up the sidewalk, the traffic moving in the opposite direction. He found his feet leading the way and he allowed them their choice.
As he crossed at the light, he looked back over his shoulder and down the road. Cars waited quietly at the line. While he continued on his mind searched back on through weekend. This last had been an interesting collection of stories. Soon he'd be back on a flight to the north, but not before he made a last stop.
In 24 hours he'd be high as a kite but in the meantime his feet led the way.
Goin’ down the road under the stars' watchful eyes. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| A Life Less Acute by Gav
A gentle breeze causes the wheat to blow in different directions. A soft bark in the distance means that Rover is chasing geese in the far fields. The sky is clear, and only a few clouds string themselves across the sky, their cotton strands hang on the setting sun. I watch as its rays slowly turn over the waving grasses. Hours pass. My eyes water and twitch at the beauty. Then darkness.
I am blind. I can no longer see my own hand in front of my face. I stumble through the field. My foot digs into a small hole, which turns out to be a wasp’s nest. I run, tripping over a tire I had left out to replace the blown one on the tractor. Then I ram into the tractor. My head stings. And so do the venom-filled spots covering my skin.
I blunder into the barn, groping for the phone that's tacked to the wall. I find my hands are brushing against the rough wood surface of a stall. I wondered inside. I feel something bumping against my leg. I reach down to feel Rover's fur and I pat his soft head, ruffling his ears. My shoulder feels the light tap of my horse, Barracuda's nose. Hot air escapes his nostrils as he breathes on my neck. I climb onto his back. Without a saddle I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on it. I whisper in his ear, "Let's get help Cuda." He nays lightly and I hear the stall door swing as we walk from it and then the barn.
The early evening wind whips at my hair. I smile as Cuda and I are on our way to the hospital, our pride lessened, yet our spirit strong.
I hear car horns on the highway and then I feel the sharp air of close passing cars. I hope Cuda's not taking I-35. It could take awhile if we went that way. He's got no sense of direction when it comes to these things. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| A Life Less Acute, by Niq
I'd often find myself wondering, why? why do I just stand here and take this kind of abuse? why do I just let them throw these hard, harsh rubber balls at every surface of my body? why do I let the words they scream touch my fortress of deep burning angst? I know I shouldn't, and yet, I do.
So I often find myself occupied come the bell's toll for recess's end. my mind engaged in plots involving shrinking them down to pea and stepping on them, or making a ray gun that would turn all their testicles into raisins. I feel that these are my best options.
I once dreamed about telling them to throw balls at girls, they are after all, an inferior sex. and yet their cooties plague my very skin, itching and tearing at the bonds of my sanity. I've also thought about curing this ailment, but I figure in a few more years I might like the sweet tingle of womanflesh, so I quietly sit subdued for now. I watch as my fellows walk indoors, their balls spread out in the growing afternoon sun. I walk up to one, pressing its red smooth face to mine. I smile.
I walk back inside to join in the pastesmithing and water-colored symphony of art class.
I stand wondering why? why my pants are wet? I have wet them with urine. Ah, that's the ticket. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| 4.
June 20th, 2016. Excerpt from transcribed phone conversation between Mr. Gary Barder and Mr. Max Stoller.
…
Stoller: What do you mean he's not here?
Barder: Just that, we looked all over, he's not here. I talked to Mitch, he hasn't signed the call sheet either.
Stoller: Today of all fucking days. We're shooting the exterior of the boat, right?
Barder: Yeah, well, we were supposed to. Look, I'm an A.D., I'm not the assistant to Mr. Rodriguez. Am I my brother's fucking keeper? Don't get mad at me.
Stoller: It's Joey I'm mad at. Where the fuck is he?
Barder: I can check… yeah?... I'm not sure, I'll take a look… Listen, I gotta go, we’re having some problems with fitting the dollies on the pier. I'll have Allison call you when we find out more, Ok?
Stoller: Alright.
Barder: Ok. This will work out.
[Connection Terminated]
5.
Excerpt from the memoir “Bradfordville Angels in the Publix Parking Lot” by Thomas Bowers.
“… I would play with my Brights, flicking them on and off, singing Billy Joel on the way back from the AMC. A speed daemon in a white SUV pops around the bend and we turn off our high beams at the same instant. In Tallahassee you’d be as polite a driver as you could while cutting someone off. It was our southern hospitality. And our southern mentality kept the trees on Meridian. We were conservative hippies, saving the canopy road rather than saving lives. More people died on Meridian, hitting the trees that were too close to the shoulder, than anywhere else I can think of in Tallahassee. But you didn’t think of that at 10 PM, driving 20 over the limit, the moon peeking through more than it should in such a full canopy. You thought about Wendy’s 99 cent junior bacon cheeseburgers. You thought about the last time you were on this road, in Greg Bacon’s car with the top down and Stephanie Kelly’s brown hair looking cute next to you. You thought about your Biology Teacher Mrs. Schuster’s cinnamon scented candle. You thought about running. You thought about laughing. You thought about Latin and god and chapstick and chopsticks and backpacks and pigeons and curly fries and the fair grounds and poverty and Tic Tac Toe. You just didn’t think about dying on Meridian. How could you? You could only live on Meridian. I couldn’t die on that road because I was driving too fast for death to catch me.
I feel old now. Thirty-four. That’s young to some, but old to me. If I could go back to Tallahassee I would turn on my brights and speed down Meridian, risking life on the road that kept you alive. But I can’t.” | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
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