Today the storm gained speed over Norway lake and we raced back to the high school to pick up Jonny and Ryan. They weren’t ready. Rain screamed down from the heavens and body slammed the steel machinery. The sky was a gorgeous gray, black and white mixture. I reminded me of watercolors. And right near the telephone lines, there was a small but bold glow of light rose. The wind embraced us and left. I felt so happy in that empty lot.
Another Person Dies.
It makes me appreicate life more. A childhood friend was murdered and no one told me until a few days ago. It was gang-related and happened back in Brockton. So, so sad. She was beautiful. It’s not right to live in such a hard place. I’m glad I got out, but you haven’t.
Standing on the 2 story deck of a rich man’s residence, I realize that life really is too short. The fog is so visible you can see it move in with a speed of high winds. Hundreds of people are lounging, climbing and tanning on the white hot sand. Life is too short to worry about failing romances and dwindling inspiration. I was reminded this again reading a National Geographic magazine where a woman who lived to be over 100 years of age, said the secret of a long life is not to worry. I’m not going to do that over pointless things any longer. I’ll worry about grades, art and my health. Nothing more.
Seeing your shadowy figure stroll down the broken night, perfectly underneth the illuminated lamp, made me feel like nothing else. It made me think that you are a personwith feelings, with regrets. I miss you. I’m not perfect, and you’re not either. But I want this.
I Don't Want You To Go.
I don’t want to have to deal with more drama and more fighting then I all ready have to. I don’t want to miss you every fucking day again. I don’t want to have to just ‘deal’ with you leaving us. I don’t think it’s for the better.
“ This is the story all about how my pulse got flipped turned upside down, Now I’d like to take a minute just sit right there, I’ll tell you how I had cardiac arrest in Bel Air. In Gary Indiana born and raised, In the plastic surgeon room is where I spent most of my days, chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxing all cool, and sittin’ in a van outside of a school when a couple of parents said I was up to no good said I was molesting their kids in the neighborhood. I got in one little incident and the police got scared and said “You movin’ with your Blanket and children in Bel-Air” I said I’ll do a big concert tour, and when it came near I needed a trainer my body couldn’t take anymore. One morning I woke up and felt pain, I said “Nah forget it, YO HOLMES LETS TRAIN” The next day around 11 or 12, blood stopped rushing to my heart valve, I collapsed on the floor, I yelled to the world yo holmes smell ya later, Slipped into a coma and I was finally there, dead of cardiac arrest at my home in Bel Air.
— EncyclopediaDramtica.
I Haven't Slept In 24 Hours.
I tried. I took sleeping pills as well. Nothing worked. All I could think about was this flashback I got today.
When I moved to Maine from Massachusetts, I only had to finish a month or so in 5th grade. I met a girl named Summer. We hit it off so well. She moved the following year, I think to Augusta or something, but I know we could’ve been best friends. I remember one time we were sitting on the bus and talking about everything. Summer brought up his name. She said to just stay away from him. He’s weird and I don’t trust him. We never talked about him again.
About a year and a half later I get raped by him.
I know she was too, now.
You’re a nut. You’re crazy in the coconut.
My eyes are the shit. I don’t want to find this picture anywhere else.
5th
I got my fifth Polaroid camera today.
But Dad just HAD to expose it so the pictuers came out fucked.
It’s weird how I’m fascinated by the very extistence of you. I know I might get hurt. Shit, I will get hurt in this. But I’m risking it again. I’ve never in my life been afraid to be with someone. And I am with you. With your reputation and the age difference it’s way too much. But I love the things you’ve done so soon. Just holding my Dew and saying “Just relax, I got it.” just made me feel loved in some stupid way. They way you lit you cigarette off mine, and just looked so deeply at me while doing it. They way you were the one to realize there were stars out when we were laying on the grass behind the fair. And how you’d “steal a kiss from me” and yell A-Ha! to the people below like you made some major accomplishment. They way you were in your room were you’d say something stupid, and I’d pretend to leave and you held on tight. Then let me go, so I always came back. And how you kept on bitching that you wanted me to stay the night. And how you kept on saying “Stop bdeing so fucking cute. I can’t hold back much longer. Stop it!”. And how’d you constantly just kiss me lightly all over my face and shoulders. How you held my hand in the car, and how you look so sad when I get out of the car. Like some part of you just died. And I can’t believe you almost got in a car crash with my fucking Dad.
“ Aren’t you the stork?
Yes I am, baby.
Where’s my baby?
We’re gonna MAKE that baby!
Yes I am, baby.
Where’s my baby?
We’re gonna MAKE that baby!
— Ryan when he talks to himself.
Vent. 2
I love comedy. Really, I do. But I can’t stand how black, yes this is about race for a sec, comedians blame everything on “the white man”. You’re in poverty and in the projects because you don’t have a good job and you’ve made bad choices. It’s not any white guy’s fault. Now, I’m not racist. However, it gets really old when other races and minorities make judgements on whites and whites cannot retaliate because they would be labled racist. Not everything bad that happens to a black person is a direct fault of a white man. I was watching Chris Rock’s special on Comedy Central and I had to come downstairs and rant. Stop bitching about how it’s “whities” fault that you don’t have a job, or you knocked up 2 or 3 different girls. That’s not my fault. And it’s not any rich honkey’s fault either. It’s yours.
Sorry about that. Had to vent a bit. Also, what’s up with the stereotype that all white men talk like nasal-y egotistical old British men?
I wish I had some sort of point. Or impact on someone’s life. Anyone.
Know what I mean?
I need you know more than ever. I need this feeling to stop, but never stop. I hate feeling so vulnerable for you. I just want to give up on you, on everything. But I can’t. I can’t sleep at night because the walls close in on me and I have to sit up and check to see if I’m going crazy or not. This has to stop soon.
Well, Then.
I need to get some ass.
I sound like a whore, but I could give a shit.
It’s getting old.
