I've gotta say all this drug stuff is wrong. I quit that stuff because it upsets people I care about who have genuine concern for me and my happiness, it did not make me happy, I could not do enough to label me a stoner or elevate my status as a no-status social outcast. I couldn't be famed for drug use, was not a supplier or seller of it, so why keep up with it all? I know that if I kept on going I would become so miserable I probably would have had some sort of mental breakdown or I would be miserable because I made the people I love miserable by lying to them, saying I wouldn't do it anymore when I would. It wasn't worth the short time of feeling good, when I got so depressed after..I have the munchies constantly anyway. Drug use as I see it is a product of the constant want of a label or some kind of social-staus. Drug use is buying a label in a plastic baggie full of weed or in a pill bottle. People know you use drugs, you are a stoner, or seen as somthing as a god when you can take as much as you can. Drugs will get you somewhere when all other methods of achieving a lable have failed. I thought that I might seem cooler if people knew I did stuff, well the certainly were surprised. I admit I wanted to be somthing I wasn't or couldn't be. That isn't the only reason I tried stuff don't get me wrong, I wanted to experiment, learn me somthin from the experience. I learned a lot. I don't want to be one of those people who say they are gonna quit one day but smoke a day or two later. I don't want to say I'm gonna quit for a month just for a drug test. I'm not saying I know any dependants but I think I could in the near future. I don't want to see my friends like that, bad enough my family is. As I see it drug use is a sign of having a shitty family or living in a shitty society, I'm not saying that people who drug in general are shitheads. I just want people to stop pretending that nobody cares about them, open your fucking eyes... This rant isn't nearly as deep as I want it to be, it sounds like a handout you'd be given in elementary school drug education class...or a lecture from your daddy. But I gotta say pot, alcohol whatever is a soma (just wait until you read Brave New World) making drooling idiots instead of strong men and women who can face up to their problems without running away. I understand circumstances beyond control.... Don't call me insensitive... well whatever I'm sick of seeing this stupid rant.

I'm tired of myself again hooray.
I want to be sparkling white, I want to be the green eyed goddess. I want to be the polished and sanded bits of glass that wash up on the beach at sunset, I want to be the angel in that painting, I want to be that sketch of a solitary rose I want to be the pretty lady with the pretty hair, I want to be the aluminum siren, I want to be the mother of silly bean bag animals, I want to be a stupid 16 year old girl, a voice from across the horizon, a swedish sex kitten..

I want to throw away these words/phrases from my vocabulary:
-nothing
-forever
-always
-the phrase: "greatest and/or most awesome thing in the world"
-huh?
-stupid
-douche bag
-trying
-well...
-I don't know
-I can't say
-sorry
-I wont do it again
-I'm just kidding
-I wasn't lying
-are you alright?
-I just don't know what to say
-horrible
-I don't understand
-what?

Hullo to everyone, I'm not ded.
Guess what? Emergency Room trip #4 yesterday.
Cause my poor Brians jaw is swollen up big, like yo mommas ass, and it hurts like a bitch. Brian is a good man, he doesn't complain about shit.
This time we got the goods, kind of I guess, that pill with the fancy name Vicodin. Hah...you know..that one.
There was this big fat, trailer-white trash woman in the bed next to Brain at the hospital, she went *poooot* "oops I just farted heh heh". Her son went "I did too, heh heh." Her son kept talking somthing about how his girlfriend was pregnant or somthing and the baby wasn't forming right so they needed somthing to (and I quote) "stick somthing in her kootchie and suck it out."
I gagged. Brian wonders if he heard correctly.
But the problem wasn't sucking somthing out of a girls kootch. It was the big fat momma. She had an oozing wound that "poured water". She says it just "runs down my legs and into my socks, it gets my pants so wet I can wring them out."
I gag, gag, gag, again. Brian gags too. We're glad we have a curtain separating us from them.
In the bed left of us was this little 4 year old kid who fell 10-15 feet out of a window. He was pushing on a screen on his window and he fell out, he smacked his head on the ledge of a bay window and hit the ground.
I'm guessing that kid was fine cause he was laughing and jumping on the bed and stuff. Its so cute when little kids cuss!
kid:"ha haa shit"
momma: what did you say?
kid: nothin heh heh
I offered to play doctor with Brian. He didn't think that was appropriate hospital conduct. heh heh
Life is a big bowl of cherries, I'm happy, seems everyone else is too. At least it seems like no one has a reason to be unhappy, but realistically I suppose that is never the case. I kinda feel like I'm being left out of all your fancy fun. But I know that its my fault for not getting out more. I know I can pick up the phone and call you but hey.. you have a phone too, communicatinon works two ways, so does friendship.
--Helpful Hint: CALL ME SOMETIMES.
sometime soon. Don't forget I love you all, okay?

Is it really possible that a completly alien mode of thinking exists in the minds of humans? Is there somthing beyond everything we are taught in school, by our parents, by society, by our instincts. I want to know if this mode exists, I want to be able to grasp it.
This way of thinking has been sketched out very vaguely in my head. A couple of months ago I was kept awake by a series of dreams about metal pipes, and floating words. I was very depressed during this time, and felt that my life was slipping into this very redundantly lonely trench. I woke up every morning trying to fit the word aluminum into a poem. I felt like my imagineation was trying to overthrow my conciousness.
--and how does this reate to what I'll say next?---well, I suppose it doesn't--
--Maybe just thinking that what I know is very mysterious and there is more to think abou in life than the usual.
People only think about as much as they are taught to think about. We would look at a bulding and never think to count how many windows there were. We would just know that there are many windows. But a person who excercises their mind would take a mental picture of the building and count the windows, and I'm told after a while you would be able to develop the ability to KNOW how many things there are without counting. For example you would look at the window and in a second know there are 132 windows, 8 birds on the telephone wire, 12 lamp posts, 54 dandelions on the lawn.
What I'm talking about is increasing the capacity of your brain to just know.

Think about it, how many number patterns are we conditioned to learn in our lives, maybe 1-10. Watching Sesame Street as a kid I was taught what 3 objects looked like, what 5, 6, 8 objects looked like.
I don't consider my brain very strong, I can't recognize what more than 4 objects in a straight row look like, often when I see five I think "four".
I hear that thinking in a way which increases the amount of objects you recognize will make everything in your life seem like a numerical problem that can be solved with math.
..And how does this all relate to thinking in this very completly foreign way?
--well I forgot what the hell I'm trying to say, its all messed up---
But I suppose it means excercising the mind much more than any average person, believing that there is somthing out there more to be known somthing that trancends emperical and abstract concepts. I'm crazy..don't mind me...

The ultimate perfection of life is misery.
Have you ever seen somthing so horrible, but strangely alluring you can't stop looking at it.
HAve you picked a scab?
I'm facinated with emotional disorder, I'm facinated with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder. I like to talk to people to try to comfort them, though they will always forget what you have done for them the next time they have an emotional crisis.

Misery is always possible, it can always be elevated, aggrivated, and can spread from person to person.
A tangled web of conciousness, thinking things they cannot understand, things that scare them.

hah...just like me, you still live at home with your parents and you tell me how it's gonna be when I get out into the "real world".
Good God...

My days are wrecked with inconvenience.
Its nothing more isolating than anything else I experience everyday.
I feel like I'm losing more of myself...
I wish you were here.
See you soon!

Today, when I was walking downtown, I saw Sean Springer with an unusually vulnerable expression on his face. For every one man released from captivity how many more are imprisioned?
Then in another instance and another person,well--
Its funny how the slightest facial expression can be more revealing, more disturbing than some actions are. Looking at me that way, was watching someone swerve to hit a housecat crossing the street. You killed a kitty cat in my heart. Have you ever been shocked by the betrayal in a glance? Are you fooled when your friends conceal their feelings under a smile?
Have you ever seen somthing so horrible you have to see it again and again? Have you ever felt concern however frivolous for a stranger that just passes you by?
I'm obsessed, I'm haunted..

I'm disgusted with my lifestyle, I have to build some structure around myself to keep out all the pervasive junk that molds on my intellect like fungi on a shower wall. I feel like my soul is starving to death, in school when I was "participating" in gym class wiffle-ball I noticed how very thin I am. I felt like an ethiopian child standing in the outfield, I was surrounded by well-fed pink and porky american children.
Isolation is my diet of dust and seeds, it is my fault I am so individual, not laughing and energetic like happy, happy, Bethany, not pretty and popular Sarah, or Tai. Society hasn't left anything for me to build me up, I have no sports to keep me moving and not thinking, no church group to keep me a blind slave to treasure in heaven, no mediocre job to make me hard working and responsible. Society owes me nothing, I owe nothing to it in return. I need to save my own self, how?
I saw Rosemary Wells on my walk to the place where I live. She said it was a nice day. I saw a dead chipmunks with flies on it. It smelled bad. What a crazy day. I love you.

Trying to cram an elephant in a tin can is like trying to get all this stuff done so I can graduate highschool. I have so much work to do, it is frustrating, I cannot for the life of me...concentrate. I don't really care about not graduating...I'm crazy you see, but I don't want to be called a failure, failure failure failure, ooh. They are all gonna get so mad at me for not graduating. I'm too stupid to do this right now. All I can think about nowdays is that I'm too stupid to get all this work done. Complaining about this shit consumes most all of my time. I cant concentrate on anyone, or anything. Just try to talk to me you see how incoherant I am. I'm just so tired, so lost.
I can't write anymore, I just don't know how I feel about stuff.
This is so confusing, I'm glad at least I have some very splendid friends that at least try to comfort my obseqious anxiety.

I don't read blogs anymore

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Hah, I'm not in squell today and you are!

I just got a call from Bruce Castor, Republican Candidate for Pennsylvania Attorney General.
He would like to tell us that he believes in the death penalty, our 2nd amendment rights (right to bear arms) traditional marrage and the sanctity of life (pro-life).
Now, how the hell can you believe in the death penalty AND the "sanctity of life"?
GOD DAMN YOU CONSERVATIVE REPUBLICANS! STOP CALLING ME!


DOWN WITH THE BUSH EMPIRE!

IMPEACH BUSH!
and kill lots of fetuses!

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