23.0

Sometimes I feel a void.

A MAJOR void.

I'm talkin' eternal abyss of NOTHINGNESS

everywhere.

Stuff happens, then it doesn't. I see, then I don't.

I am then I'm not.

But I guess everyone feels like a little soda bubble every once in a while.

Round and bursting with--- emptiness.

but enough of this!

For it is late and my eyes are tucked into my skull, and now is the time for the screwing of all homework that I was in the midst of completing (or beginning...) and to instead, write.

To write of my emptiness and my existence as a product of carbonation.

To write of my spine that feels like the tree branch from that one lullabye.

To write of my past and my vingetted memories coloured in muddy fingerprints and stuffed with innocence.

Or to write of my future as an anemic vegetarian left to rust in a leaky broom cupboard. But there's one problem. I won't rust!

Yes, today is of turning myself in front of the furnace to toast myself as evenly as possible, tomorrow will be of turning myself into something that actually works.

Today is forever and tomorrow is never.

Today it's ok

to write like this.

22.0

I ran today

on the HIGHWAY.

I never do this for obvious reasons, but I did it today, cuz hey, we're all entitled to some nonsensical actions every once in a while (especially if those nonsensical actions involve commas. Or any punctuation in general).

I ran about 2 miles with my baby iPod in my ears. It barely tickled my eardrums as it tried to compete with Doppler.

It didn't take long for the wind to coat my eyes and for the exhaust to coat my throat. I didn't care though. Did pull a couple of "Mulan"s while trying to deal with my un-swallowable spit, but other than that I embraced the nastiness.

In the midst of the highway whining, I was oblivious to my equally sonorous breath. Which is good, because the sound of a dying horse is probably not the best soundtrack for a run.

The cold didn't stop me from sweating. My face never fails to saturate itself in perspiration or to transition into a nice red wash. When I reached home I looked in the mirror. I looked like I'd been punched in the face.

It's such a great feeling when you feel your body working. Doing what it's meant to do.

And you know what's an even better feeling?

Sitting on your butt playing Tetris.

21.0

my head hurts

sooo much.

But I can't stop using the internet.

My laptop's battery is down to about one millimeter. I don't want to plug it in. I'll let it die with me.

20.2

Carry my crossbow

lift the pride from my chest

sing of my misfortunes

and the things I did best

Don't hold me for too long,

don't think of them in the wrong.

Leave your tears to the mist,

and leave me with a kiss.

20.1

The emotional callusing,

the hopeless faith that she harbors,

the raw and rusted wit that she is forced to conjure up,

and the fears that distort her reasoning.

For love she plunges herself to the gallows of humanity.

For love, she is panicked and rash.

For love she puts trust in a demon.

She erodes,

she totters

on the edge of sanity and survival.

And by the sigh of a choice wind, she shatters and falls.

For love.

20.0

It is 7:16 of the PMs and I have done nothing but internet all day along with some sprinkled math problems here and there.

Hooray for the life of a 21st century teenager who thinks she's too cool for everything but her desk.

Oh yeah. Get ready, America. I am your future.

But honestly, this whole week has been more productive than a Chinese sweat shop. So doing nothing has given me that refreshingly grubby feeling that everyone gets when they sit on their ass for too long.

In addition to the adipose coagulating in the area that is supposed to be my waist, three new volcanoes have been born. They're nicely aligned on my cheek. I can pretend they're bite marks from some three-toothed demon instead of cysts filled with facial residue.

Adolescence is so disgusting. And I say "adolescence" because that's a much better sounding word than "puberty". Ugh. That word definitely sounds like what it means.

Though I feel that the only part of me that is "pubescent" would have to be my physique. It got stuck at age 12. My brain is probably that of a 40 year old woman with cats to substitute as actual biological offspring. As far as my girly hormones that cause me to constantly shriek and whine, I have those. But when your male English teacher can out-brat you.... well... I don't know what to make of that, actually. I feel like I should be ashamed because I can be out-brat-ed by an adult man, but at the same time I feel slightly superior.

But for the most part I feel ashamed.

God, men just have to be better than women at everything. Even at being women.

I've already been told I have the eyes of a 35 year old woman. By my eye doctor, of course. I am blessed with small pupils. And I say blessed because then I can do weed and my pupils will look normal when dilated because they are naturally smaller, like the grinch's heart, but these are eyes.

But I kid. The likelihood that I will willingly intoxicate myself in the latter years is probably slim to none. Mainly because I have no friends with whom to get intoxicated WITH. And we all know it's only fun if there's someone to film/quote your profane spurts of genius you gave birth to in that cloud of herbal armpit smell.

19.1

The cold months always get to me.

It all starts in fall. It all starts with my hands. The skin on my knuckles dries and cracks like that instant chocolate shell stuff you put on ice cream. My paralyzed fingertips steal the color of the congested skies. A fire is started in my stomach, constantly needing to be re-kindled with cake, and my lips turn to dust whenever my the castanets in my mouth start to play.

My bed turns into a millefeuille (along with the rest of my wardrobe), and I don't cut my hair because I value my neck and my ears. The Earth sighs, blowing knots in my hair, spitting snow in my eyelashes and freezing my lungs. The cold turns me livid. And pensive, I guess.

Because what else is there to do when you're robbed of sleep?

19.0

I swear, at night, someone takes a crazy straw and sticks it in my belly button and fills me up with lead-air. And then in the morning as I trudge out of bed I'm greeted by an inflamed face in the mirror that says "good morning" but not really. I get the feeling that the undertone of its greeting is something along the lines of, "I am going to explode, I am going to explode, I am going to explode and soon you will have no face because I will explode."

what's the point of feeling like a balloon if you can't even fly?

stupid.

18.1

My friends: They are beautiful

Thing is, I don't regularly appreciate that about them, but I should. I know this is the most canned phrase in the world, but I honestly don't know where I'd be or what I'd do without the few people I have in my life that will tolerate me. Of course, they do so much more than tolerate me, but I don't wanna get all into that because.... I don't.

One thing's for sure. No one can live for themselves forever. You need others. Not just for company, but for responsibility. If I were completely on my own, there's no doubt that I'd be completely unmotivated to do anything very significant or to put forth any effort in anything.

So anyway, this is just me being grateful for the people who will stand in the cold with me, give me a good slap when I need one, listen to my "troubles", laugh at all of my stupid jokes, and give me the sickest music to listen to. I have a level of care and love for these people that's more than I have for most of my blood relatives (:P)

Ok, I think I'll spare you the rest of the sap now.

:)

18.0

so. What now?

besides falling asleep during health class

and during library sits

and during movies.

I can't do anything anymore, my eyelids won't let me.