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Subject line in Latin. Translated: "I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head."
Well I should stop pointing fingers
Reserve my judgment of all those public action figures
The cowboy presidents
So loud behind the bullhorn
So proud they can't admit
When they made a mistake
Well-poisoning spews from a speechwriter's pen
He knows he don't have to say it so
it don't bother him
Honesty, accuracies just popular opinion
And the approval rating's high
And so someone's gonna die
Well ABC, NBC, CBS bullshit
They give us fact or fiction i guess an even split
And each new act of war is tonight's entertainment
We're still pawns in their game
As they take eye for an eye, until no one can see
We must stumble blindly forward, repeating history
Well I guess we all fit into your slogan in that fast food marquee
Red-blooded white skinned
Oh and the blues
Oh in the blues
I got the blues
That's me
(That's me)
That's me
- Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love And Be Loved) by Bright Eyes. Quoted here only because I recommended the song to my sister for her Bowling For Columbine project.
I have been commanded to write a "real freakin' entry" by Someone. So, away I go.
Last weekend I actually managed to write the 24-hour story. In the time frame and everything. Go me, huzzah, and all of that.
This weekend I went to Cats with Mum, Keru, and Sute. While the show itself was amazing, the dinner afterwards was not. It was the first time in a long time that I've ever been truly embarrassed to be seen with my family. It was also the first time in a while that I've seen Mum drink more than a glass or two of wine. (She kept on drinking once we got home, too.)
Man, my life is like something from a shitty after-school special- random depressing plotpoint after random depressing plotpoint.
I came out to my brother today. His reaction?
"Eeech."
After trying (fruitlessly) to explain things to him, I just realized it was pointless and sent him back to his room.
I have fallen in love with a Melissa Etheridge album by the name of Breakdown. I have similarly fallen in love with one by Hole, name of Celebrity Skin. Which (according to critics) is a really bad album. So don't listen to me, kids.
...
Huh.
I have decided that I do not want to talk about family problems, my sexuality, or the music I like. Fancy that.
Instead I shall talk about... er... I Dream Of Jeanie. And vending machines. And Politically Correct Candy Sticks.
(Above all I shall talk about candy sticks. Candy sticks are like oxygen. Candy sticks are a many-splendoured-thing. Candy sticks lift you up where you belong. All you need are candy sticks!)
You are The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Wow,
you're a sad bastard. You will probably become
the book most read by the Emo kids in high
school and every kid will relate to Charlie.
You have a kickass poem inside of you as well.
What novel are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Ooh. Shibby.
You are American Gods! You are mysterious,
intelligent, and creative. To the rest of the
world you may seem a little standoffish, but
really you're just a quiet person. You're sort of
bookish and are intrigued by mythology and
fairy tales. You might be Wiccan or Pagan,
either that or you're unreligious. You have a
sarcastic sense of humor and are the kind of
person people like to talk to because you're
such a good listener.
*~Which Neil Gaiman book are you?~*
brought to you by Quizilla
Shibbier.
(By the way, Jennifer, I recommend that book. Or anything by Gaiman, really.)
Anne Rice is writing your life. Go you goth girl,
go.
Which Author's Fiction are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Less shibby. I don't like Anne Rice. Well, I liked the beginning of The Vampire Lestat, but after he became a vampire it just dragged on and on. And he whined.
Which I guess is why Anne Rice is writing my life.
~Jehane
"The noun of self becomes a verb. This flashpoint of creation in the present moment is where work and play merge." - Stephen Nachmanovitch
Well I should stop pointing fingers
Reserve my judgment of all those public action figures
The cowboy presidents
So loud behind the bullhorn
So proud they can't admit
When they made a mistake
Well-poisoning spews from a speechwriter's pen
He knows he don't have to say it so
it don't bother him
Honesty, accuracies just popular opinion
And the approval rating's high
And so someone's gonna die
Well ABC, NBC, CBS bullshit
They give us fact or fiction i guess an even split
And each new act of war is tonight's entertainment
We're still pawns in their game
As they take eye for an eye, until no one can see
We must stumble blindly forward, repeating history
Well I guess we all fit into your slogan in that fast food marquee
Red-blooded white skinned
Oh and the blues
Oh in the blues
I got the blues
That's me
(That's me)
That's me
- Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love And Be Loved) by Bright Eyes. Quoted here only because I recommended the song to my sister for her Bowling For Columbine project.
I have been commanded to write a "real freakin' entry" by Someone. So, away I go.
Last weekend I actually managed to write the 24-hour story. In the time frame and everything. Go me, huzzah, and all of that.
This weekend I went to Cats with Mum, Keru, and Sute. While the show itself was amazing, the dinner afterwards was not. It was the first time in a long time that I've ever been truly embarrassed to be seen with my family. It was also the first time in a while that I've seen Mum drink more than a glass or two of wine. (She kept on drinking once we got home, too.)
Man, my life is like something from a shitty after-school special- random depressing plotpoint after random depressing plotpoint.
I came out to my brother today. His reaction?
"Eeech."
After trying (fruitlessly) to explain things to him, I just realized it was pointless and sent him back to his room.
I have fallen in love with a Melissa Etheridge album by the name of Breakdown. I have similarly fallen in love with one by Hole, name of Celebrity Skin. Which (according to critics) is a really bad album. So don't listen to me, kids.
...
Huh.
I have decided that I do not want to talk about family problems, my sexuality, or the music I like. Fancy that.
Instead I shall talk about... er... I Dream Of Jeanie. And vending machines. And Politically Correct Candy Sticks.
(Above all I shall talk about candy sticks. Candy sticks are like oxygen. Candy sticks are a many-splendoured-thing. Candy sticks lift you up where you belong. All you need are candy sticks!)
You are The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Wow,
you're a sad bastard. You will probably become
the book most read by the Emo kids in high
school and every kid will relate to Charlie.
You have a kickass poem inside of you as well.
What novel are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Ooh. Shibby.
You are American Gods! You are mysterious,
intelligent, and creative. To the rest of the
world you may seem a little standoffish, but
really you're just a quiet person. You're sort of
bookish and are intrigued by mythology and
fairy tales. You might be Wiccan or Pagan,
either that or you're unreligious. You have a
sarcastic sense of humor and are the kind of
person people like to talk to because you're
such a good listener.
*~Which Neil Gaiman book are you?~*
brought to you by Quizilla
Shibbier.
(By the way, Jennifer, I recommend that book. Or anything by Gaiman, really.)
Anne Rice is writing your life. Go you goth girl,
go.
Which Author's Fiction are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Less shibby. I don't like Anne Rice. Well, I liked the beginning of The Vampire Lestat, but after he became a vampire it just dragged on and on. And he whined.
Which I guess is why Anne Rice is writing my life.
~Jehane
"The noun of self becomes a verb. This flashpoint of creation in the present moment is where work and play merge." - Stephen Nachmanovitch