GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS.


BOB BRYAR WAS A HUFFIEPUFFIE!




Dark Arts: *IS PWNED.*

"For the last time with feeling
we'll try not to smile
As we cover our heads and drink heavily into the nights
That still shock and surprise."


they are all gentle hearts but
we all clutch silver hammers.
smile on the golden blade that banishes.
the sky is just a prop that can be broken down folded and put away.
when we take the final bow i hope my fingers are laced with yours.
sometimes the lights remind me of pixie dust and a forgotten story of neverland and boyhood loves
but sometimes its so artificial i just hide my head in my hands.
i have a different me for each person i meet and
one day i'm sure they wont be able to keep their stories straight.
there is no other now then this one. 
loss of blood vs loss of heart.
we all get dizzy now and then you just need someone to steer you straight.
she opens doors while he closes his eyes and wishes himself back home.
"mind the gap".
next time you pick up a pen think of me because i will be thinking of you.
fell out of a window wishing on a star and through scarlet eyes i saw the world fall apart around me.
when i am gone there will be nothing left i will make sure of that.
fame<infamy? i will make headlines.
i will make their heads shake and tongues wag.
and all the while i will laugh til my chest aches and keep tugging on strings.

i am a legend
but you are my storyteller.
we all get passed around like a cigarette or a last drink.
i am a hand-me-down of every greatness that has ever existed.
that one artifact that is barely reminsicent of what it once what.
just a ripped insult to what was once as big as the world.

this feels like a warm embrace on a snowy night 
more like home  than i remembered.

"They carved a message deep within our broken hearts that failed to mend:
Make out kids never had a chance to be best friends."


"And as I gently sip this drink,
I think about my lack of future,
And all the places I could learn to fall in love.

I know I shouldn't waste my time,
Wishing I'd been better designed,
yet for some reason still think

I am wrecked. I am overblown."

 
the universe beneath her lids

see you around.

"its not what it seems, in the land of dreams "

this is my last post here, as exiled. i've outgrown that name and the beliefs attatched to it. the girl who came up with it was selfish and in love with disasters. in some ways, i am the same. but now, at least, i want to think about the world differently. shed the cynicism. i'll eventually reveal the location of my new journal to you each individually, maybe. 

"been dreaming of him and you and us and castles in the sky"

i've got to get to writing again. something like a lullaby. i realize now that those rare moments i talk about? i'm just not looking properly. since i'm back in the "country"/escaped the city, the sky at night is so much clearer. ever since i became more concious of the world, i've been living in the city, either Melbourne in Australia or Abu Dhabi in the UAE, and god. its like someone had thrown gold and silver dust onto black velvet. "that stars are shining like rebel diamons cut out of the sun". I could see the horizon all around me, occasionally cracked and cut by the skeletons of trees, and honestly i felt like i was caught in a snowglobe, as overused a metaphor as it is. i just feel like i'm being held back. 

i think about you, now and again. about how sweet it would be to look into those foreverblack eyes and talk about days come and gone by. about the pretend. i guess if i had to sum up how i feel about you, i'd say i'm 
out of love with you.

"shh. teddy bears don't talk."

::heartbeat;;heartthrob::: contemplative
::music::is::my::savior::: L.G. Fuad: Motion City Soundtrack: Commit This To Memory

HOLY JESUS CHRIST AND OUR SAVIOR ABOVE.
DRAMA PEOPLE.
ARE THE BEST PEOPLE.
IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD. AND IM NOT EVEN EXAGGERATING GODDAMMIT.
I just *squee*. I love them all so much.
Except for maybe Jackie. And Gavin. The little squealer. Anyways I know you don't know who I'm talking about except...one of you who doesn't even read this. Bitch. :D
ITS OPENING NIGHT TONIGHT~!
And while 13-hour school days don't exactly make me shiver with excitement, it's going to be great. Drama people are like, over the top and outrageous, so I actually...fit in for once. I'm not just the weird one who occasionally says something funny and makes everyone else comfortable cuz they know they aren't the most retarded person in the vicinity.
Okay.
I gotta run, I'm not supposed to be writing this. But everything is going quite splendidly in my life, it's pretty odd.
Not sure if I like it yet, I need  me some anguish to make it through the day unscathed.

"To be okay with being okay"

Yah, I'm gonna miss all you guys in the interim between un-groundation, phones, and getting internet.
:(

*flail*
Whatever. 
I am content with my king&queens, my deserts, and my daydreams.

I'm going to be MIA for awhile. Miss me like I'm dead.

So unimpressed but so in awe
Such a saint but such a whore
So self aware so full of shit
So indecisive so adamant
Im contemplating thinking about thinking
Its so frustrating just get another drink in
Watch me come undone

Theyre selling razor blades and mirrors in the street
Pray that when Im coming down youll be asleep
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet
Because Im scum
And Im your son
I come undone
I come undone

So rock and roll so corporate suit
So damn ugly, so damn cute
So well trained, so animal
So need your love, so fuck you all
Im not scared of dying I just dont want to
If I stopped lying Id just disappoint you
I come undone

Theyre selling razor blades and mirrors in the street
I pray that when Im coming down youll be asleep
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet
Because Im scum
And Im your son
Ive come undone

So write another ballad
Mix it on a wednesday
Sell it on a thursday
Buy a yacht by saturday
Its a love song
A love song
Do another interview
Sing a bunch of lies
Tell about celebrities that I despise
And sing love songs
We sing love songs
So sincere
So sincere

I don't want to die/
but I ain't keen on living either

If I stopped lying I'd just dissappoint you. Truth.

Peter Wentz, how you slay me.

So I am...*throws hands up* Yes. There are no words for this. Its just a very turbulent feeling, mixed with unrest and the uneasy feeling I'm forgetting something very important but that once I remember will wish I hadn't. 

People. I am done with all this bitching and moaning about other people. Only I can do that, and only when it involves aforementioned Peter Wentz and how he continuously manages to crush me and return my mental frame to that of a four-year-old. I have very good reasons for the bitching-and-moaning, see?

People. Perspective.
Goddamn perspective, I say!

Please, just...ignore me. I have no say over what I think or feel. I don't even know what I'm doing. Out-of-body experiences and such. 

"with all your cheap words about hearts and accidents"

everybody loves an underdog and all.

-xo

forgive me for forgetting.

the one you love and the one who loves you are never the same person.

miles might as well be worlds.

its nice to dream.
at least until you wake up.

...minus all of that.
Yes. That.

I am not even joking with you all right now. I want to wrench each germ out of my body and personally beat the living shit out of them. I've gone through maybe twelve bottles of water because my throat is dead. It hurts to exist. And I don't even mean that in the incredibly emoish way that I usually would. :P

I carry his words in my pocket, you know. They're so heavy. Like each is worth its weight in gold. Or like I'm carrying a sun or a galaxy or maybe the entire universe, and that wouldn't be too off would it. Except then I start thinking I like the universe but he messes with my words and connections like that give me goosebumps. I press my fingers to them ones that hit the hardest, like I want them embedded into my skin- an emotional imprint. I want tattooes of black lettering across my every inch. I don't want to forget them now that I know them.

But they're just old words, old light, beamed out ages ago.

People have been telling me I haven't been making much sense lately which is odd because I feel like I'm being the most coherent I've been in a while. Yah so I haven't run out on you yet doesn't mean the cabin fevers not there. And it doesn't mean I'm not still me.

There are certain moments when I think, yes, the world is wonderful and beautiful and I want to lie on the ground and just take it all in. But there are just so many moments when all I see is filth. Dirty minds&souls&cities. I guess I could work on scrubbing it all away but something tells me one day I'll love what I see. So. 

Yes. You are regular. Ordinary, even.

I still get to wondering, laugh andor frown lines?


i'm not talking planets and galaxies.

The Wizard of Oz still makes me sad. I miss her. And her shiny red shoes.
There's no place like home. So why are you gone?

click here please&thanks.


or for you lazy bastards:

When Will Your Favorite Pop Star Croak? Fall Out Boy's hyperactive bassist gets a professional opinion from gerontologist Dr. David J. Demko. Blender, November 2007

PETE WENTZ Birthdate: June 5, 1979 Current age: 28 Death calculator starts at age: 79 CATEGORY YEARS ADDED / SUBTRACTED White male (-2) raised in Illinois (-1) -3 Delinquent child: Stole a guitar at 14; frequent truant; parents sent him to “eight-week tough-love boot camp” -1 Poor exercise: Days spent riding in bus, nights playing board games -2 Stress: Work overload has led to anxiety meds and a weeklong hospital stay -1 Public humbling: Penis pix on Internet -1 Media fishbowl: Paparazzi hound Wentz and girlfriend Ashlee Simpson -2 Insomnia: Chronic lack of sleep inspired his book The Boy With the Thorn in His Side -1 Neurobic: Songwriter, author, entrepreneur, bar owner, clothing model +2 Hepatitis risk: Tattoos all over body -2 Sexual-identity issues: Irons hair; wears guyliner (“I’m pretty much half-gay”) -2 Supportive parents: Bumper sticker on family car said MY KID COULD BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR HONOR STUDENT +1 Questionable hygiene: “Never eat good food ever” (-3), suffers from “health issue” (-2), van tours are “dirty” (-2) -7 Workaholic: “290 shows per year” -4 Neurosis: “I have a negative outlook on everything; I tend to be overly bitter” -2 Estimated life expectancy 54 Projected year of death 2033 Gerontologist Dr. David J. Demko: “Pete needs daily aerobic exercise for his overall physical and mental health. Also, he needs to make taking showers an everyday priority.”

fuck your stupid flist. this is important.
meaning, not.

I am so ill. Not even in that wonderful way that I like to pretend to be (note to self: I am not, and never will be, Peter Wentz) but mind-numbingly, miserably sick, and its really gross and the sleeping for half-hours at a time between long periods of pacing and writing absolutely nothing of value (unless you include mindless rambinglings about my views on standards of humanity, my god, horrendous stuff people) is driving me up the proverbial wall.

So. In between my flails of misery I am here to alert you:


My god, I am actually sort of loving what I'm writing for the Frankenstein story.

If I made it original characters, Patrick would obviously be "Victor". Coughcough.
And Pete, Pete, for some reason I'm just totally in love with the idea of him being purely and simply a thought, just borne of some restless childs mind, a need for articulation and protection from loneliness.

Ah! Such excitement! I refuse to abandon this idea, flat-out fucking refuse.


I miss all of you, pretty much.
Wanted to talk to you today. And yesterday.
Me getting over myself? It happens in slow, short bursts. But its happening. And while I know its totally possible that maybe I'll lose whatever spark you find so fascinating, its kind of...
nice. Just...
"growing up became growing old."
Not for me. I refuse to let it. I'm just...learning, is all.


And Im starting to figure out...how not to regret. If I felt it was a good idea at the time...well, let me face the consequences. I will stay faithful to my past self's decisions and beliefs. Like, defending the friend you know is wrong but still, its your friend. You gotta back em up, stick with em till the end.


Love.

chills and thrills.
beware of the weeping angels.
read&believe.
strange how only now i'm in the halloween spirit.
i'm so creepy in all actuality, you guys have no idea. 
some guy threatened to shoot me today. and i got into his face and told him all the places he could do it.
asked him if he wanted to see my brains explode out of my skull.
or for me to drown in my own blood.
or maybe in the stomach, until my screams of agony as my insides fell apart drove him to shoot me in the face. "and as the fragments of my skull begin to fall like pixie dust upon your tongue." (that line is a guaranteed freak-out by the way.)
maybe shoot me in the palm of each hand until i went crazy and killed myself off.
haha.
the look on his face.
priceless.
see the problem here is i'm suffering this strange identity crisis.

whiiiich reminds me.
since i'm roughly...two fifths through frankenstein, ive come to the part where "the creature" (i desperately want to name the poor thing) finds Agatha and Felix and their father, and falls in love with their beauty but then sees himself in a puddle...
and oh, a complete story just appeared in my head, like Adam from dust.
and Pete! it would be pete.
"infuse a spark of life into his being".



i'm pretty sure you are right in wondering if i understood.
apparently i'm not getting much through my head, anymore.


-xo

( yah so im pretty sure plagurism is against the law...?Collapse )

things change so quickly.
everything is so fucking fleeting, i hate it.
well i mean i want the good times to last (sorta?) and the terrible ones to past but if i had to chose i...
i don't know.
its just really confusing.


"moon so heavy its about to fall out of the sky like fruit from a tree.
in your eyes its reflected and you can see it crashing down, flooding the streets with silver shine and fragmentsshardsslivers of moonbeams.
breath a mist in the air in front of you. 
legs pumping.
heart pumping.
falling to the ground, the evening rain soaking you through.
your makeup smudging but not really caring.
the world spinning underneath you but it feels so still. like that moment is forever.
and then you get up and walk home and you begin to understand how no moment is really forever."

yah except i suppose where it counts.

 "reap what you have sown"
but this drought has all i've worked on dying.
only here's the thing.
what you say doesn't matter.
i'm going to do what i want to.
you don't have the spine to do anything about it anyways.




stick that in your juice box and suck it.


-xo

my words are my faith.

i ask you.
if its supposed to be fiction why does it feel so much like the truth? it has come to the point where my perception of them is skewed- they are more me than they are them.
still waiting to wake up. though im not sure from a nightmare of a dream.
publish your inner monologue and make it a best seller.
smother yourself in the glitz. the glamour. until youre too bright to look at, anymore.
words can be bent and broken and rebuilt to feel like hom. they are always hiding beneath my skin. dancing through the currents in my veins. so closely intertwined with my heart and nerves they are hardly seperate.
sometimes i feel full to bursting and maybe it would be okay to run on empty except you dont get anywhere that way.
"have you ever felt drained of everthing that makes you, you?" yah but its not like i ever bother to look hard. a scavenger hunt for the parts to stitch us back up. with injected lips and skin tucked.
x marks the spot for every mistake made by God to be fixed.
like He should even need a spell check. 
a vampire and a looking glass.
its unfair though that i should feel so comfortable in his words, like an old skin but in reverse.
more like what i might grow into. 
thoughts shouldn't need to be judged before the world to hold weight in your heart but i cant seem to get this through my head and its not even purging or catharsis or whatever you might want to call it.
its a need for validation.
no i'd have to say its more a need for attention.
"silly boy you're just dying to be tragic"
hearts learn to ache in fierce ways. its so hard to keep going once you've been kicked when you're down. sometimes i feel sick thinking about all the ways ive messed up. but sometimes its like i took a wrong exit on the way to my 3x4 desk job in a smoke-soaked city and ended up in Paradise and i'm sure i'd be first to say i was going to be late for work.
"sorry for calling in late but in this moment i just need to convince myself that i am not so alone"
teach me how to control this steel monster in my ivory cage. id like to ask it a question or two but it always seems like i get the answering machine.

i mean if either way you're expecting bad news why should it really matter if you get there and its empty.
except maybe its fear cuz if i felt how i think you would i probably would keep my mouth shut too.

-xo
take in the laughter, "carpe diem"