Its depressing, the most important writers in english literature were men. I hate having to write stupid reports about little rich boys, who had their daddies pay for Oxford or Cambridge or wherever, who kissed up to the queen and everything they fucking said was poetic, artistic and insightful. Those knowledgable men who wrote in the language of common man. Oh those men who have said thoughts in ways nobody has. I pee my pants with excitement. They all grew to be cantankerous old men who loved religion and wrote poems of forgotten grecian gods.

If you could fight any celebrity, who would you fight?

If you could fight any historical figure,dead or alive, who would that be?

Who would you fight if you could fight any person in the world?

I've just looked into people too deeply. I just thought to myself that teenager are all extremely shallow people, there is no way around it. They have shallow intents, shallow meathods, shallow reason. I'm shallow. I scream "hey, everybody love me". Everybody screams "everybody fuck me," "I need so much more money, to be the Fuck I want to be." But I just looked to deeply into everyone just like I expected there to be more. I'm pretty dumb, I don't understand things the way other people do. I thought that maybe you had a kinder, braver, more noble heart. I thought that you were so much more audacious, real, braver more admirably uncaring of the criticism of others. I thought maybe your self-proclaimed love was constructed of more solid things than sex and always being just together. But I'm not being critical, I'm just voicing my horrible dissillusionment that I've carried with me for a while now. I know people aren't what they seem, I know they aren't what I expect, but why can't we all just try to be better people.
Someone please, please, take me out behind the old red barn and shoot me, 'cause a pathetic creature like me, clinging desperately on to my holy self-fucking-righteous innocence has no practical use. Please discard me like an out-of-date epson inkjet printer, chuck me out the window. I've outlived my usefulness.

Angry Young Man
Billy Joel

There's a place in the world for the angry young man
With his working class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl
and he's always at home with his back to the wall.
He's proud of the scars and the battles he's lost
He struggles and bleeds as he hangs on the cross
And he likes to be known as the angry young man.

Give a moment or two to the angry young man
With his foot in his mouth and his heart in his hand
He's been stabbed in the back, he's been misunderstood
It's a comfort to know his intentions are good
He sits in a room with a lock on the door
with his maps and his medals laid out of the floor
And he likes to be known as the angry young man.

I believe I've passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage,
I've found that just surviving was a noble fight
I once believed in causes too, had my pointless point of view
Life went on no matter who was right or wrong.

And there's always a place for the angry young man
With his fist in the air and his head in the sand
He's never been able to learn from mistakes
He can't understand why his heart always breaks
His honor is pure, and his courage as well
he's fair and he's true, and he's boring as hell
And he'll go to his grave as an angry old man.

There's a place in the world for the angry young man
With his working class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl
and he's always at home with his back to the wall.
He's proud of the scars and the battles he's lost
He struggles and bleeds as he hangs on the cross
And he likes to be known as the angry young man.

Always present is this horrible lonliness, like somthing in me just crawled under a rock and died. I feel like I'll never understand anyone but myself, I'll never feel comfortable just being with people. I'm always thinking look at how far he got in so little time. Look how she can just start a conversation with just anyone. I wonder at the relationships, the communications of everyone. Why can't I do that? I want to contribute to the happiness of others, I want to say what you say in my own way. I'm incapable...just incompetent of getting along with people. I pity myself though I hate pity.

Title: The Fading

Subtitle:
"I Hope my Crappy Poetry Streak
Fades Before I REALLY Embarass Myself"
by Naya

Bow my head
and my eyes away
from the plastic sky
and the light of day
What I felt
was bitter strong
spent to long
in fluorecent sun
Wish I knew
what I meant
could I
justify
the time I've spent?
searching for
a face
a living moment
images in clouds
precious intents
glaring down
laughing
laughing at me
at my loving
laughing at my nothing
the skies fade
fade away
it fades away
it all just fades away

Good lord, my poetic and artistic skills have turned to dust. Hwagg... and when It comes to my common sense... well I just haven't seen that bitch for some long time.
I just discovered that I lead a completely aimless existance. I can't deny it, I've just up and lost my head. Sayonara!
Good night, sweet prince and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Honestly this is the absolute epitomy of retardspeak but it is so amusing to read this out loud:
AWRIATE SAO TIAMMY TAOKK mea hias goalf coause thais teime and i aws soo happay thean rayachel came aout waich ways HOTT baut thean...earin came aout. ia hate thaaata fauaking baitch. awhy thae fauck doeas tiamy loaik hear soo mauxch??? it ahonesatly kaills mea. i loave him asooo muach. anad mea awnd earin eacutaly hased asomething goaing on lasa;t year buat thais yeasr we adoant eavaen talk and ai caasnta staeand hur!!!.

ah haa haa... this kills me.

I bet I find myself thinking about you, at least 10 times today.
Not a lot considering the amount of thoughts I have in a day.
But certainly more than I'd think about anyone else.
This is nice, very nice.

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