come · look · at · the · freaks.

I recently got a bunch of differently patterned pieces of felt. I have some animal print, tie-dye, etc.

I have no idea what to do with them, though! I want to put them in both my journal, and Kat's book somehow, I just don't know how.

Ideas? Suggestions? Examples of awesomeness?

stuck

I was really into Pippi Longstocking and books about animals like koalas and polar bears and shit.

Then, in my later years, it was all about Animorphs.

Any fucks at comic con? If so, wanna go get trashed?

also i'm willing to auction off my v-card for the cash to pay for books for this fall semester.

I just don't understand how she just continues on and on with this, I've been done with her and that entire situation. This is all old news, she is a washed up little attention starved girl. Even though she told me to my face that she hoped to forget I ever existed, she just can't seem to keep my name out of her mouth. Somehow it fucks with her head, that I was serious when I said "I'm done with you." I have no sympathy for her at all either. She brought this on herself. She is the most manipulative person I've ever met and she's still under the impression she has that effect on me, which is once again laughable. She uses people simply when she needs them. The ironic part is she thought she had this long lasting effect on me that I would still be stumbling over, yet it seems it's her who is stumbling. However, for once in my life, nothing can falter the strides I'm taking towards my goals, my life, my happiness, and I fucking love it.

Yes, Rose, you're the smartest person in the world - BURGER world.

i just heard of this new cool band. i don't know if you guys know them. they're pretty underground. they're called... cold play.

but rly, what are you hot babes doin' up so early?

I currently have a boner for cremated and __because. BUT MOSTLY contribution.

and for girls, sjhfdj I don't know most of the girls here are babes so I cannot choose.

k your turn

i have not felt as alive as i did opposite you today in the park for a long time, ice cream in our hands and conversation leaping from mouth to ear. if this buzz, this dizzyness, this fire under my skin and sparks from a girl is what being alive, breathinglovinglaughinglife, is then how dare i have ever felt like not wanting another day on this earth before? the grass could crawl up my legs and ladybirds perch on my toes, the sun could turn me pink and sweat collect in a pool on my back but i wouldn't leave. the time would always run too fast. every cell every heartbeat every thought that i produce is what i have become over the years and i bloom, i cry, i move on, i hold hands and plan the future. things are okay. i have struggled with an eating disorder, my love committed suicide on me, my mother was paralysed from a stroke. these amongst other things have been ruining me slowly and enticing me to sleep at night. who would think i could feel this ripe and flowery from a summer smiling outpour of thoughts on both our parts.

i told you of my wish to love everyone the way i love you (in that hand holding same wavelength youmakemewanttolive way that we have) and you called me a hippy. how i want to leave everything behind and travel from place to place with no money or companions except the amazing strangers i meet along the way, how i feel unlike all the people in my life, bar a few, because i expect too much and that i want a disgustingly obnoxious man who is unexpected, my soulmate and in love with me to enter my life. i need variety here, routines suck the passion out of me and i resist settling in. i told you i no longer believed in the god that so much of the world imagines, but a god of no form but smokey incense, of tears, rockets and the touch of a finger, of anything.

we spoke of secret weddings and i want it to happen for you extremely so because it is what i want and am yet to reach with a boy. a little chapel in the countryside with flowers and jeans, no vows, just love spewing from our eyes and ears and mouth and hands held we'd be wed, him and i.

we will be handwriting a book together, posting it back and forth to document our days and nights, our smiles and tears, our hopes and inspirations. i expect it to be colourful pulsating and like us and i just want to thank you for resuscitating me again.

but i will not hear from you. and it's the permanence of that and you that makes my world stable. as long as you're gone, i have one thing to write about, one thing to think about, rather than a million unsolvable things that take up grey matter but don't matter.

and it's like tree roots. it's like being so entwined with dirt for so long that when some innocent child digs you up, you have dirt stuck on you and you scrub and scrub for years and it's still there, in the cracked lines of your palms and the crevice between your nose and cheek. it's like when you stick a knife in peanut butter and you can't for the life of you get the sticky mess off unless you lick the sides carefully, and even then there are streaks of brown, like the shit stains on your favorite pair of underwear, and you cut your loses on the sharp edges of words you never said.

it's that feeling after vodka and coffee, when you're sitting in a chair, legs crossed, quiet, wondering what the moment is called, what the space behind your ear is called, what the people you've left behind are called.