http://victorywon.com/item.php?iid=266
What the hell is this? Someone I knew had this card...can't believe that they were handing this out.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Conformity sets me free from the burden of individuality
Dude, I'm not a follower--I'm just like drafting off you.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
deep thoughts by jack handey
something to look at if you're bored:
http://www.cco.net/~jpete/deepthou.htm
my favorite deep thought:
One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my little nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. "Oh, no," I said. "Disneyland burned down." He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he thought it was a pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but it was getting pretty late.
http://www.cco.net/~jpete/deepthou.htm
my favorite deep thought:
One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my little nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. "Oh, no," I said. "Disneyland burned down." He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he thought it was a pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but it was getting pretty late.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Dirty or not?
I hold her in my arms. One hand grasps lightly around her neck, while the other is resting on the curve of her mid section. When I have her in my arms, I feel relaxed. She is my way to extract myself from the world. I know every inch of her body. I slide my hands up and down her, listening to the noises that come from my fingers finding that perfect position. She is in tune. Each soft exertion sounds different from the first. The lower down my hands travel, the higher the sound that escapes from her “o” shaped opening. Both my hands become in synchronization, and I begin to work up my speed. With each stroke, I begin to cover more ground. I go from using only one finger to four, and my right hand begins following the lead of my left. I continue to strum harder and faster. The more energy I use, the louder she becomes. I know my hands have not missed a spot, because of the beautiful sounds she continues to make. My hands now reach their maximum speed, and the sound she expels shows for it. The sound produced is magnificent, and my arms become weak. I keep the pace for as long as I can, and as I begin to slow, the level of her noise begins to decrease. I finally stop, and begin fingering each string one by one, instead of playing the full chord. My guitar is my way of existence, and my key to nirvana.
Monday, February 14, 2005
reply to the dating ad
I wanted to contact, to say I saw you ad,
I read every word, and I am really glad,
I saw you like to read, but I’m not square,
But I do respect literature, so that is good to hear.
I like to party, and I like to dance,
But I’m also a sucker for a sweet romance.
Late nights are defiantly a plus,
But I’m also a morning person, so I hope it wouldn’t cause a fuss,
In the early hours I would make you breakfast in bed,
Just in hopes that next time you see, I would be in your head,
The only problem seems to be cooking, with that I don’t’ know where to start,
But I promise that the lack of cooking skills, will not stop from me using words to warm your heart
And maybe tonight if its not to late,
I could take you out, on our first date.
I read every word, and I am really glad,
I saw you like to read, but I’m not square,
But I do respect literature, so that is good to hear.
I like to party, and I like to dance,
But I’m also a sucker for a sweet romance.
Late nights are defiantly a plus,
But I’m also a morning person, so I hope it wouldn’t cause a fuss,
In the early hours I would make you breakfast in bed,
Just in hopes that next time you see, I would be in your head,
The only problem seems to be cooking, with that I don’t’ know where to start,
But I promise that the lack of cooking skills, will not stop from me using words to warm your heart
And maybe tonight if its not to late,
I could take you out, on our first date.
A hint of bias, but not bitter...
pools of red, as if bleeding hearts are worn on their sleeves. poisoned promises and bitter hopes that the day will bring peace. buried unhappiness and unaswered questions. proposals and pains on the brink of the surface. unhealthy obsessions and safety needles covered by generic mottos, candy of sorrow feeding the wounds of emptiness. but red is the uniform and they all wear smiles that will dissapear tomorrow. and their red shirts will be buried with their dirty clothes from otherdays. but none of this matters, for today they are wearing red, for roses and sweet nothings are the uniform today and this day vunerability stains the air, and I smile to myself. for today the salty lonliness of singles' wash away their dreams, but pain does not consume me. i watch men and women alike, flood these doors and with void expressions, gaze at the variety of floral arrangements, and I am thankful that helium and cavities are not what satisfy me. my heart is tucked safely in my chest, while they unite in red and pink, and wear their heart on their sleeves.
Oh man
Ok hate me all you want but i would like to take a moment to share my disapointment with you all about the senior quote. Jenns got nothing against star wars but im going to be sending out 85 announcements with a quote from Yoda in them? Guess i should have gotten up for the senior meeting... :)
Just a taste
A paragraph from my story. Just a taste of it i guess. Anyone who wants to hear more let me know. Not a lot of background but at least its a post.
Angela she called herself I Think I will call her “Vacant.”
I was driving until I finally pulled over in a framilar driveway. It was my friend Pauls house. I hadn’t seen it in so long that the paint seemed to be chipping in new places and his dog and I were on burgalar terms again. Angela had consumed my life… Paul had been affected greatly. We ended up parting ways in a somewhat less dramatic episode; where I can remember him turning his back and saying see ya later… That was 11 months ago. My dark jeans stuck to my seat as I willingly leapt from my truck. It was peculiar how I was expecting a warm hello and a couple rounds of our favorite video games. As if no time had passed since that day I had seen him by the lockers. I knocked hard remembering that his doorbell never worked and recalling the wasted minutes I spent on his front porch until I figured that out each day. Paul answered the door in a dirty t-shirt with a glass of milk in his right hand. I smiled so big that I thought my face would fall off. And this is Paul. He simply let me in, sat me down and played 4 hours of video games with me. Not ever asking where id been or why I wasn’t around anymore. Just telling me he was glad I was back. Paul was a simple man. This was real love.
Angela she called herself I Think I will call her “Vacant.”
I was driving until I finally pulled over in a framilar driveway. It was my friend Pauls house. I hadn’t seen it in so long that the paint seemed to be chipping in new places and his dog and I were on burgalar terms again. Angela had consumed my life… Paul had been affected greatly. We ended up parting ways in a somewhat less dramatic episode; where I can remember him turning his back and saying see ya later… That was 11 months ago. My dark jeans stuck to my seat as I willingly leapt from my truck. It was peculiar how I was expecting a warm hello and a couple rounds of our favorite video games. As if no time had passed since that day I had seen him by the lockers. I knocked hard remembering that his doorbell never worked and recalling the wasted minutes I spent on his front porch until I figured that out each day. Paul answered the door in a dirty t-shirt with a glass of milk in his right hand. I smiled so big that I thought my face would fall off. And this is Paul. He simply let me in, sat me down and played 4 hours of video games with me. Not ever asking where id been or why I wasn’t around anymore. Just telling me he was glad I was back. Paul was a simple man. This was real love.
anybody in 6th or 7th hour or whatever hour it is
hey anybody in the later hour of creative writing who has their want ad and would wanna post here should that woudl be awesome cuz then i could do our third hour homework!
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Molly says I don't blog enough...
I've been keeping pretty recent on the blogger here... just haven't been posting much. I never really know what to say when someone else posts work. to be honest, I dont read a good majority of it. I have a disliking for reading, and i'm not a very poetic person, so i never see the metaphorical meanings people always have. this is where leyba is thinking... "i'm telling you mike, you're bitter about everything" which is probably true. no particular reason, probably just wanting to be out of high school, even though i know not a lot is going to change in college as far as some of the people i'm around. i might come up with some "bitter with life" poems or something fun... we'll see how motivated i am.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Oedipus likes his mom
The whole culture thing can be so messy. Sorry about the time you will never recover. I am willing to give you two hours of mine if that helps--how bout 5th and 6th tomorrow--I just wanna help a brother metrosexual out! Nice shoes!
Oedipus Rex... more like I want 2 hours of my life back
I don't know if it was offered in Creative Writing to go to Oedipus Rex for extra credit, but Humanities went, well some of us. It was awful, and I have an appreciation for the arts. I love the symphony, and most plays, but that was such a waste of my time and my mom's money. Luckily I was in good company, and we all hated it just the same. I WISH I HAD MORE HANDS JUST SO I COULD GIVE THEM... ACTORS?... 4 THUMBS DOWN!
sorry this one is kinda melancholy but intersting
The cool breeze of an Autam afternoon flows through her hair, and the sun shines off it like a blazing wild fire. She sits quietly, basking in the comforting warm afternoon air, waiting to catch the 3:30 train back to school. Her ears are plugged with the sound of music, blocking all the noises of spring that are abundant in the outside world. She wears a smile because of song that plays. It is Layla, by Eric Clapton. She loves hearing the words "you got me on my knee's," as a result of her own name. She likes being in a postion of hierachy, where instead of yearing for attention, she is the one being yearned for. Layla has not experianced this in the span of her life.
She is surrounded by people. Sitting across from her is a teenage mother, or mabye that is her little brother, but the bags under her eyes seem to point more in the direction of a caring mom. But this sight is not foriegn to her. The scare three years ago makes it easy to relate, but i guess some people just have better luck.
Flash! With out warning, a lightning storm of past memoreis flash through her head. Flash! She remebers the car pull to the side walk, it pulls so close that it nearly knocks her off her bike. Flash, flash! The smell of the car when she was the tender age of six flows through her nostrils. That musty smell, that she now knows was a mix of liqour and cigeretts. She could describe every awful detail of that day. The black leather interior of the car. The sereing pain she endured, which to this day has never been matched. The look of the man. His every shape and form. The mole on the top of his left shoulder. The cut about his eye. She begins to shake as a result of the hate that flows through her. Any hint of that man, or that act in which he forced her into enflames her.
Flash! The storm takes her to her Sophomore year in high school. She remembers the boy, and the feel of she soft silk sheets rubbing against her bare back. How she was looking for comfort in all the wrong places. How she felt embraced in his arms, even though she was fully aware that everytime his lips spit the words " i love you," was nothing more then an exertion of tension during the height of passion. It was not the boy she cared about, she could give a damn whose arms she was in, but the attention she was getting from the opposite sex. She had never had it before, and felt it was nessecary to have, even if it ment attaining it by any means nesscary. This was her escape, her way to acceptance.
flash! the final thought. She remebers pushing open the door, walking to the desk, and hearing her test result come as positive. The first time since the last that she felt lost. He, he was no where to be found. What should she do? Where would she go? Who would she... ding ding. The 3:30, right on time.
She is surrounded by people. Sitting across from her is a teenage mother, or mabye that is her little brother, but the bags under her eyes seem to point more in the direction of a caring mom. But this sight is not foriegn to her. The scare three years ago makes it easy to relate, but i guess some people just have better luck.
Flash! With out warning, a lightning storm of past memoreis flash through her head. Flash! She remebers the car pull to the side walk, it pulls so close that it nearly knocks her off her bike. Flash, flash! The smell of the car when she was the tender age of six flows through her nostrils. That musty smell, that she now knows was a mix of liqour and cigeretts. She could describe every awful detail of that day. The black leather interior of the car. The sereing pain she endured, which to this day has never been matched. The look of the man. His every shape and form. The mole on the top of his left shoulder. The cut about his eye. She begins to shake as a result of the hate that flows through her. Any hint of that man, or that act in which he forced her into enflames her.
Flash! The storm takes her to her Sophomore year in high school. She remembers the boy, and the feel of she soft silk sheets rubbing against her bare back. How she was looking for comfort in all the wrong places. How she felt embraced in his arms, even though she was fully aware that everytime his lips spit the words " i love you," was nothing more then an exertion of tension during the height of passion. It was not the boy she cared about, she could give a damn whose arms she was in, but the attention she was getting from the opposite sex. She had never had it before, and felt it was nessecary to have, even if it ment attaining it by any means nesscary. This was her escape, her way to acceptance.
flash! the final thought. She remebers pushing open the door, walking to the desk, and hearing her test result come as positive. The first time since the last that she felt lost. He, he was no where to be found. What should she do? Where would she go? Who would she... ding ding. The 3:30, right on time.
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