Megan.

The snow. It's finally here. A new outlook on life, a new scenery to dream upon. To watch each flake fall, oh so gently and peacefully, gives me a feeling of wonder. Where will it drop? How will it affect the ground? Will kids eat it? Play or walk through it? I've always wanted to really look at a snowflake. Not just take a glance, but observe how it's different from the rest. To look at each individual part and find each piece to the puzzle that makes it one. I sometimes find myself looking out the window at school or in my house and getting lost in the flakes. Almost as if they're carrying me away in the midst of all the chaos and stress. Oh, how I wish it could, sometimes. I'd have to say one of my favorite parts of winter is driving down the road to get into my neighborhood. It's the perfect path to see the crystal-like snow glimmer on the trees, the thick, white circles landing on our car. I just love seeing the white on the trees, even without the snow falling. The season basically brightens my mood. "The color of springtime is flowers, the color of winter is imagination." -Terri Guillemets.

Preparations.

Taking my notebook to school tomorrow. Not that I don't take it every day. You get what I mean. I'm taking it, intending to have somebody ELSE write in it. Who to ask, who to ask, who to ask.

Sorry guys. Not many things not heard. Everybody has something, though. I'll find them eventually. And since I love these pictures I found off the internet, I figure why the hell not:

I'm straight and crap, but the guy in the black, holding the sign, he's totally got my respect.

And I can't say I wouldn't do the same.

I think I know who I want to ask.

He's an old man always sitting on his porch.

But I probably won't.

That's an anti-social for you.

So, this was another question.

The question was: What is music to you?

But here's the deal.

I don't feel like asking any more questions. I don't need their opinions on random things.

I just want some freaking Things Not Heard so I can get on with this freaking project.

Note: Yeah, it's a project that I'm doing by myself, for myself, with a little help. Not something I'm forced to do. But something I've forced myself into.

So, now I just need random people I don't know that will write for me.

And the question is answered: For the impending zombie apocalypse, what will be your weapon of choice?

Christian: The cold of Alaska. I will go to Alaska and since the zombies have no body heat, they will freeze. Then I will crush them with a hammer.

Riana: An m3. It's a machine gun, it kills faster....or an ak47.

Carter: My weapon would be an FAL with an acog scope 'cause it is a really good weapon that is one shot, one kill, easily.

Libby: A machine gun because it's fast and easy to use, or a softball bat because I can swing hard, and just double tap to the head, and they're dead.

Alexis: Flamethrower. Because I can go far and kill more.

Lily: Holy water. (looks like someone mixed up zombies with vampires.)

Bob: There won't be a zombie apocalypse. (and after eight hours of arguing, he finally came up with somewhat of a good answer. An atomic bomb. Even though he'd most likely kill himself in the process.)

Random person from ChaCha: It has been reported that with an HK416 sub-carbine, you'll be set. It has a shorter barrel for easier carrying and larger round than an m16. Good luck out there!

Matt: An mg42 because the giant ass bullets can blow them to pieces.

Noah: Flame thrower. (Or how he said it, Flame throwahh.)

Rayanna: The scorpian from Halo because it's beast and makes your life a whole lot easier.

Emmi: A big knife because it cuts zombies and stuff. (No offense intended, Emmi, but you'd die within the first second with only a knife that cuts zombies and stuff.)

Drew: Brass knuckles, pistol, and a knife.

Firespark (if you didn't already catch it in the comment): Oh gods, can we have only one? Because I'm pretty sure I'd start out with a flame thrower or some other way to wield fire because I figure, they're already undead, so will blunt force or piercing REALLY kill them? But anything physical can be consumed by fire, so there you go. (plus I have a certain appreciation for that particular element ;) But, if my fuel runs out (you know, if it's the end of the world and all and there's no more handy), I'd probably want something like a sword for backup... though I'd settle for a baseball bat. :)

Obsessing over the video game Left4Dead is a little TOO much zombie.

But I can't help myself.

You know, since the next few days are zombie days, I figured these fit the occasion pretty well:

Zombies Of Justice!

Yes. A Zombie Invasion in San Fran, my friends. Look below.

And, the zombies of the night. These are pretty sweet.

Have fun. And don't take life too seriously. In a couple of years, you may be eaten by a flesh-eating canibal, who died, but still walks this earth.

Grab a kitchen knife. Tie your shoes. Time to save the universe.

And we're moving quickly.

That's right. Next question. One day after the last question.

Am I getting pushy or what?

But hey, this is my time, my questions, your answers, it's fun, just shut up and go with it. The last one was serious and meaningful, I figured I'd make this one just...a question.

A simple question that's fun to answer. Very fun to read the answers.

And so I ask you, my friends, or friend, due to the fact that I only REALLY have two followers, For the impending zombie apocalypse, what will be your weapon of choice and why?

Honestly, I'm choosing two. The bow and arrow and the sword. Come on. The bow and arrow is just my thing. I crave it. I need it. I'd probably suck at it, but I think I'd look pretty kick-ass. And the sword...I've read many books, young grasshopper. I believe that I could master it eventually. At least chop some zombie heads off.

You know how I am with zombies.

What weapon will you use to fight for your life?

And the question is answered: What Is Art?

Megan: Anything created from the soul.

Ian: Art is life, emotion, and passion for the things you love. It makes you proud of yourself to see what you have done and nobody can tell you otherwise.

Aid: Anything you want it to be.

Alexis: The way you express yourself. How you see the world in your perspective, and how you feel towards something or someone.

Unknown person from ChaCha: Paper pricking is a fancy name for poking holes in paper. Paper peircing is another term used in art for poking holes. ChaCha! [I REALLY HATE THEM.]

Emmi: Art is a creative way of expressing your feelings, and art is whatever you think it is.

Bob: Art is colors that people try to express themselves with. I don't know, I hate art.

Rayanna: I think art is anything you put your heart into, pretty much. Painting, drawing, music, sculpting, etc.

Maddy: Art is a way of showing how a person is feeling, it's dance, painting, drawing, or anything that makes you feel happy as a person.

Drew: Art is a way to express yourself.

Riana: A way to express yourself and to be creative.

Christian: Art is the creativity in human beings. Music is a form of art. As well as drawing and sculpting. Art can be found anywhere.

Libby: Kind of a way to express your feelings in a creative way.

Matt: Let's see, art is the products of human creativity.

Lily: Something that expresses people's feelings.

Cheyenne: I think art is an artist way of expressing himself or herself and that all art is beautiful. And that without art, life would be boring. So in a way you could say that we would need art to live.

Trevor: Something that makes you feel emotional.

And if you missed it in the comment, here's Firespark: Art is your soul bleeding out, bursting forth, or shimmering from you, for the world to see, or for you alone to examine. It's a physical representation of what we believe or feel or want or fear. Some say that all art already exists; that we only stumble upon it, the stories or pictures or movements, and it is up to us to interpret what we've found, to bring it into this physical realm so that it can be shared and experienced together. Some say that only then, when we take up the charge to interpret for the world, do we become artists. I don't know. But I believe that art can be both personal and outside of ourselves as well. We feel something or learn something, and we want to share. But I think that sometimes we also feel what others feel, and by becoming artists, we become a voice for the world, for all of existence. Art is the elusive and intangible made real.

Art

I looked up 'art' on youtube. Watch this video. This is art.

I looked up 'Inspiring graffiti' on google images.

"When living is a thing money can buy The rich shall live & The poor shall die."

"We're all the punchline in a joke that they won't let us in on."

And my favorite. "Only dead fish swim with the stream."

THEN.

I looked up 'Inspiring art.'

Someone said, "Finally some meaningful graffiti."

Honestly, I think most of it is meaningful. And all of it is powerful.

I once read that art is anything you can get away with.

I think art is something, anything, that you express yourself through.

Something that is showing meaning.

When I see a painting of a bowl of fruit, I get a little dissapointed. You have the ability. You obviously like art, you want it, you need it, so let's make it say something. I can't help but think that the bowl of fruit has some hidden message, some power in the colors, or the reason they made that picture.

I'll ask someone what it is, they'll say it's just a bowl of fruit.

I'll tell them there is no such thing as just a bowl of fruit.

Art is anything you can get away with. Art comes from inside, comes from the depths of your soul, and it has a message, it has meaning.

Art is you.

So, since people right now don't have many things that aren't heard, on the spot, I'll give them a topic.

What is art?

Kayla.

We drove and drove for miles, for days and weeks on end. Running from “Them”, from the nameless, faceless Them that tracked our every move and were closing in all the time. All those years ago, travelling with her up and down the map, wondering how she had the money to keep buying gas, and what would happen to us if the car broke down. We stayed in shelter after shelter, vagabonds, gypsies under duress. I never saw Them, and neither did anyone else. But she knew They were there. So we fled for our lives, crossing state lines, she wondering if they were close now, if her daughter’s young, ignorant slip-up in a car that was clearly bugged, “Look, mom! Welcome to Texas!” had tipped Them off; me wondering if anyone in the world had any idea where I was. Of course, no one did. There was no cavalry coming to rescue me. I’d have to do that myself, somehow. But I couldn’t leave her. She needed me. There was no one else.

I’m grown now, living my own life, but I sometimes wonder if I’ll be in that car forever.

Another Daydream.

She'd put up a sign.

It would say "Scream."

She'd put it up above the drinking fountain at school.

No one would know she's the one who put it up.

People would see it.

Most would think it was lame, wrong, why would you scream?

But it got to at least one person. One person got it.

He stood there, staring at the sign, knowing now that he wasn't the only one who wanted so badly to just stop and sit and cry. And scream.

He'd see her later in the week, sitting by the same water fountain she had put the sign up above.

"Scream." had been torn down by some brats.

The girl was crying because, even though she was the one who sent the message, she still couldn't open up her mouth and scream, or do anything , really.

He sat down next to her, next to the fountain.

And cried.

And they both did for a while then, no one stopping, no one laughing, no one pointing, but people passing. The only respect they got from people was being invisible.

He knew. No one knows how, but he knew she put the sign up the moment he sat next to her.

And they didn't let each other be alone until the final bell rang, and they could go their seperate ways, not speaking a word, not turning back, but everyday visiting each other at the same place. So they could get out at least a little bit of their screams.

No one can be trusted completely.

You "douche-sucking" bastard homo-sapien, who doesn't even take anything seriously, not even pain.

"She said she can't hang out, and it's like she's not interested in me anymore," he said.

"Just because she can't hang out doesn't mean anything," I tell him.

He honestly sounded hurt.

"Besides," I continue. "You don't really really like her. It's not like you're serious about it."

"It's highschool," he said simply.

"And that's your excuse," I told him with disgust, getting up and walking out of the room.

AID.

[First off, let's pretend this is Friday. Secondly, I don't think people are getting the point. What they're writing is supposed to be "Things Not Heard". What some people are giving me is just a bunch of things that I hear all the time. All but one. Man.]

My neighbors are so annoying! The other night, one broke his arm by banging on a door. His little brothers locked him out and when he got in, he started beating them up. Another neighbor called the police. A lot goes on down there, like parties and music blasts. One time we were playing capture the flag, and we were yelling. They came out and yelled, "Shut up, I'm tryin' to drink!" WOW. They are just stupid. We have called the cops, like, 10 times. They need to give it yp and just get arrested! People can hear them that are six houses down.

[Including me. She's not over-exaggerating. They're horrible. And they've stolen my brother's bikes. Anyway, there you go. That's ALL OF MY FRIENDS that I can get a hold of. The challenge is on, humanity.]

Villains. Now, here comes my conflict. What if a villain isn't REALLY a villain? Yes, of course the person broke the law. "The law is the law." But does that mean he's horrible, that he did it out of evil, that he should be punished? Most of the time, I don't think it does. Some things, yes. Horrible, HORRIBLE things that you KNOW the person did, yes. But, here's an example. An old man has a big family. Local pharmacy. Needs medicine for his little granddaughter. No money. Takes it. Gets caught. No sympathy. Papers assume, people's heads judge for the wrong reasons. They all see the wrong things, and no one reveals the right. I guess that man should do his time. Fair is fair. But the way people describe that man disgusts me. The way people react, the way they treat. Another example. Someone is a suspect for murder. The person that died was the suspects friend, even though most people didn't know it. All of the clues lead to that suspect. He didn't do it. He honestly didn't do it. And then. All over the News, the radio, the public. People hear things and start saying he's the one. Everyone hates him. The local station even says that it was him. He goes to court. Gets a trial. Innocent. Eventually word dies down, but no one looks at him the same, because they can't get the thought out of their little assuming heads that he's a murderer. And he lives in misery for a while, adding to the sorrow from the death of his friend. Isn't it all bull shit. Doesn't it all suck when you're called a horrible person, when in reality, you were trying to do something good.

Picked strawberries today with my mum. Of course, it wasn't a huge thrill ride, but on our way, we blasted some sweet music and rolled the windows down completely, letting the tunes flow out and the wind flow in. If that doesn't cause pure happiness, I don't know what does.

First, you must realize that I am sorry. Second, you must understand that my computer has a virus. Thrid, it is summer. No one can write for me. Should I do the brave thing and just go around the neighborhood? Hm. Maybe someday. Things have been okay. I honestly think I'll always feel lonely, though. As if the crowd around me is only a mist, and that there is no waterfall of people around, trying to help. I've got it good. I just don't have the mind.

One moment smiling, one moment crying. Eh. I wish I could cry. Time for a bike ride? I'm thinking yes.

"If you don't understand my silence then you'll never understand my words."

Ian.

Muffin is the most amazing cat ever, if you know what I mean. I mean seriously, why wouldn't you love her? She is a freaking cat. On the bad side, I'm allergic to cats. =[ . People should make a chocolate that doesn't make you fat. Life is fun (sometimes). It makes you live your real life, if you know what I mean. With life you're not dead. Pretzels are really good, especially when you're writing while eating them. The bad part is when you're friends eat them. (Grrrrr...).

[I told him to write his opinion. He did, I guess. But that's not what I meant. Oh well. Here's your Friday not-me-post. And you wonder why I've only had girls write so far.]

Another Daydream.

The two middle-aged couple were canoeing down a small creek. They were paddling in silence, until a rock came and caused the water to splash all over the woman. She looked at her husband in shock. Then they burst out laughing together, and got into a water fight, splashing each other and smiling the entire time. When they were soaking wet, they jumped into the creek, dragged the canoe over to a random yard, and had a picnic on the side of the water. In the house beside the river, a younger couple eating lunch were observing the two. "That'll be us when we're older," he promised. "Soaking wet, laughing, smiling, and loving each other as much as we do now."

"He crossed the street and, in a matter of moments, blended completely into the night." Sometimes I think that would be amazing. Just to...not be seen. I think about how crappy it is, not being seen, but the quote above isn't like that. Just REALLY blending into the background. Almost as if you're not there at all. We all have a few moments where it seems as if thats exactly what we are. Background images. But it doesn't last forever. Someone will talk to you, others will see you. I guess once in a while, it would be nice to be completely alone. Observing, sitting by yourself in a forest, not even the ants walking over you.

I was daydreaming.

He was standing on the edge, waiting to jump. Except this isn't one of those weird things I get into. He seriously was. And I climbed out of the window, next to him, and thought to myself, "If he was actually going to do it, he would've already." I guess he heard me. Because he looked at me with pain in his eyes. And he did it. He jumped off of the edge, down to the ground, plunging to his death. "Oh, shit," was all I said. I didn't have much time to say anything else. Why? Because he was beside me again, back on the ledge of the window, laughing. And laughing. And laughing. "My life sucks right now, but that wouldn't kill me," he said, completely serious. "I know what you're thinking," the guy continued, around eighteen. "Who am I? WHAT am I?" His face became serious again, the pain flashing in his eyes one more time. And then he closed them. And that is when my mind decided to end the daydream. Sometimes I hate my mind.

No. I'm dead serious this time. I've cracked. If this isn't the explosion coming, it's a big step of hatred. I'm freaking, like, anti-social. WHY HAVE I NOT FADED INTO THEIR BACKGROUNDS. It pisses me off. It really, really pisses me off.

This is a test. Again. Another test of the enter button. If it doesn't work, let's hope another coughing and weezing fit that is keeping me home from school will distract me from tearing the wires out of this computer.

She.

My one friend has a blog that keeps changing. The link has changed, and everything. Megan: http://livethelifeworthremembering.blogspot.com/ Her quote beneath the title has changed, also. It says: "Alone we can do so little, together we can do so much." Normally, I love all of the quotes she shows me, or tells me about. But I really dislike this one. Alone, you can do anything in the world, if determined enough to do so. Anything. And so I swing from the tall trees in my mind, alone, and dance amongst the sunset, ready to dive into another alter reality. As my brother always says, I'll catch you on the flip side.

"But maybe living is supposed to be more than survival."

Pay it forward.

I don't know what to write. I guess I just want to tell you that tomorrow I want to go down to the local grocery store and help others with their groceries. For nothing but a signature. You see, I need to do volunteer work at school. I don't have this daydream just because of this project, but I figure it would be cool to turn in pages of signatures from multiple random strangers to prove that I did something for society. Not just because I had to. But because I wanted to. Now, all I have to do is build myself up and do it. I encourage you all to do something. Not because you feel you have to or you should. But to see others smile.

Lexie.

Ok. So, at lunch we get treated unfairly. Who by? You would think that it would be the "cool" kids in school. Well, if you thought that, you thought wrong. Who is it? The teachers! Teachers...aren't they the ones who are supposed to stop all of the "bullying". I mean, we have these bullying meetings every Wednesday. But have they ever thought that maybe it isn't the students creating the problems? It's the teachers. No, they haven't! So, we continue to have the bullying meetings. For example, at lunch, we were sitting at a table that was right next to our usual table. The one teacher comes over and says, "You can't sit on this side of the cafeteria." And she makes us move to our usual, smaller table. One table over! Then we look over and there is a whole group of "jocks" sitting on that side of the cafeteria. So one of my friends asks why they get to sit on that side of the cafeteria. And they say it is because the girls on the other side are picking on them. BULL CRAP! There were a bunch of empty spaces on the other side, not even close to the girls. Then once, they yelled at someone for walking around the table the "wrong way". There is no wrong way! I get sick of all of the things that they do. They also gave my friend an assign seat for accidentally spilling vinegar on herself. She had to sit, facing the wall, well away from anyone else. Then, the "cool" kids got assigned seat together, with all of their friends, and they could turn around all they want. Anyway, as you can see, they're very unfair. My mom hears these kind of stories every night and says that I should tell the principle. We will see... [Like we don't get bullied? This all made me sick. It also made me laugh. Some bastards these days. I think this just proves a point that life is one, huge popularity contest.]

"'Cause we won't have to be scared."

People suck. Homework sucks. Band concerts suck. Doing book reports for other people suck. Math doesn't have anything to do with our life anymore, and learning how the government works will not help me survive. I don't need to know about cells or atoms or any of the other shit we learn about in science. "That, right there, that's a tree. It helps us live. That, right there, is a cloud. It gives us water. That, that coyote, it has billions of tiny things inside it called cells. Knowing this will not help you do anything in your life. But you need to know it anyway." Reading? Like I'm even learning anything this year. Look at my posts. I know the basics. You understand it. I have correct grammar. I know how to spell grammar. Sure, the basics you may need. But the rest is just a load of freaking crap that makes you sweat and worry.

"I would disappear into a world that didn't exist."

Black. What's so wrong with wearing black? It's not a crime. It's not hurting anyone. But they comment anyway. And I guess it matters. And I guess they don't comment it as a good thing. And it just makes me even more determined to wear black again. Because that's me. And it shouldn't matter what color I wear.

The shadows lurk through the forest. You try and do a back flip. But it doesn't matter how long you practice, you always end up landing on your neck. Besides the usual, unessacary pain that runs through my fingertips, I feel good today. Keep it on the down-low. Here, this is my hate. Am I supposed to love here, too?

Of course I don't know who I am. Of course people have their ideas, their assumptions, their judgements. Of course. But if I don't even know me, how can somebody else?

Megan.

Why must this bother me?

Why must I be the weak one?

Questions I'm afraid I can't answer.

I've read too many books, too many quotes.

I was determined I'd get over him. Maybe it's the ones you truly love that leave you without answers.

Without solutions.

Every tear I've shed, every outburst I've given, they must have a reason.

Maybe, in the near future, there will be reason behind this. Maybe something amazing will happen, it'll clear up these cloudy days, and allow the sun to shine.

Allow the sun to show what's meant to be.

To show me that I must keep looking up, and miracles really do happen. It shall show me that reality can be a love story. That life really is a book, a perfect one, with a great ending. All these tears in the pages will turn out with something so great, so destinable, every little tear will mean nothing. And if not? I'll always have that one friend. That one person who will sit with me, in the dark, when it's impossible to look on the bright side. The one who will sit and cry with me. We all have things to cry about; all have tears to shed, words to speak, voices to hear. We'll do everything we can. Everything to make it better. And when times are tough, we'll think positive over negative, hope over fear, and destiny over change. We were given this life because we are strong enough to face it. I am too positive to be doubtful. Too optimistic to be fearful. And too determined to be defeated.

For now? I will let life go on.

I'll go with the flow. I'll let this world change, and see where it takes me. Until something happens, some twist or turn, some rising action or climax, I remain the shy girl I was.

Seems to be the only option I can rely on.

So, world? Keep turning. Keep moving.

I'm ready.

[[Sadly, this girl does not have a blog. I tried to convince her. She said maybe. I'll keep you posted if she does.]]

It's a battle between you and the wind.

The darkness surrounds you, consumes you, but you see the dim lights ahead.

You fight against the stronger force, knowing that it can beat you, but being too determined to stop.

Your imagination stabs you in the back.

But you move forward.

And you make it home, not because you want to, but because you have to.

So, every Friday I'll try to have a different person's view. If I can get people to write their opinions for me. I plan to just put my notebook in front of someone, look them in the eye, and say, "Write." I have someone for today. Look at the post above.

Molly.

Being understood.

I hate how it never seems to happen at all.

He's laughing one moment, fragile the next.

If this is what I can see from the back corner, why can't anyone else see it from the front of the room.

They think about materialistic items, judging others only on that. They think that talking about shooting Mexicans is funny. They think things like that. They think that this is all one big joke. But it's not. You have to be kind before you can stand up for yourself and tell the world you're a nice person.

That's one of my many opinions that are never voiced. My words are things not heard.

[[So I've decided to do this thing. I'll try to get different people each week, or something, to tell me their thoughts so I can post them hear. This is what I heard from Molly. The other ones will be different. They won't talk about the same things. Maybe I'll have some of the same people. You know? I don't have that many friends, so it'll be hard and different to ask people who are '"above me on the social scale."']]

OpenUpOpenUpOpenUp.

It's weird how warm you are one moment, and then another you're trying to escape the chills.

In class today we talked about cloning.

My opinion. For no one to see, hear, or care about.

It's disgusting.

Why would you clone something? Make the same thing over again? It's breaking how nature is. Everybody is different. EveryTHING is different. We don't need to clone to make things better.

Are humans really that greedy?

We need everything perfect? We need to live longer than we already do?

It's filthy.

Humanity is filthy.

But we're all apart of it.

The stupidity of us all is frightening.

Good thing miles separate people from other people. If we were all a whole, the world would be gone already.

Someone would start a war for not having enough room to put their things.

"Perhaps in the land of the cruel, the wise heart cannot be tolerated."

"A little bit of salt doesn't bother your skin. But that same small amount in an open wound can really, really sting." Bad day at school + really abnoxious people on school bus = ticked student. Ticked student = me. Why? Humanity is stupid, greedy, and pretty much hopeless. I don't believe in a lot of things. Like global warming or God, and going to Hell just because you didn't bow down to him. A lot of things. Like I don't believe the human race is capable of taking out the greed and putting in the care.

"It's always about comparisons. Kids measure eachother and then pretend they're not doing it."

I started thinking today, about what I want ot do.

I want to see the world. Not every last inch, but I want to get out of my small village and into some places, never really staying put and settling down, but never really packing up somewhere new everyday.

And then I started thinking some more.

I have a lot of daydreams. None of them come true.

How is this dream any different?

"Look right through me."

The weekend has been long. I skipped school Friday, with permission, to go to this district band thing. All day I was playing my instrument. It was amazing. All day I was playing Saturday, as well. And here I am, dreading a day of school tomorrow. But hey. I don't hate school at all. In fact, I love school. So I'm not exactly dreading it, but I'm not exactly jumping up and down and pissing myself for it, either.

I just hate that I'll go there and be my anti-social self again. You can tell me it's my own fault, and I'll agree with you. Because it is.

I just have this problem with opening up to people, I guess. I comment and I have my opinions, a lot of opinions, I just don't voice those opinions and thoughts as much as others.

What's the point?

People judge you on everything you do.

So why give them yet another thing for their judgement?

Words are our own weapons.

Let's just say I'm waiting for the perfect moment to explode.

Okay...nothing happened.

But now I'm back.

Bet you're excited.

"Arrive. Raise Hell. Leave."

"TP Dude. Out to wipe the asses of evil with the pulpy rolls of justice!"

So.

Tomorrow I'll be out of my town.

It might be fun.

Or it might suck.

But hopefully it'll be good.

"It always rains the hardest on the people who deserve the sun."

I don't really know what I deserve.

Today was crap. All of it, pretty much. All of it.

"Pushing his body on and on until everything had been drummed out of his mind."

Quote of the day- Gregor the Overlander by Suzanne Collins.

Today was okay. I yelled at our gym teacher, band class was amazing, as usual, and study hall (advisory) was hilarious.

Of course, I have a test tomorrow that I choose not to study for until the last minute.

Literally.

What the hell, I'm a procrastinator. Sorry.

Right now? I'm planning to read. An amazing book about a serial killer.

Yeah.

And what did I just finish doing?

I just finished drawing a watch on my wrist in permanent marker.

Life is good when you're that nerdy.

Or, well, sometimes. Kind of.

But I'd rather be the nerdy, anti-social, loser, freak that I am, instead of some preppy jock person who's exactly the same as everyone else.

"A little rebellion now and then is a good thing."

Quote for the day, how about it.

Well, I said I'd try to make things a little bright sometimes.

Because we know I'm just a ray of freaking sunshine.

But, hey.

I'll do my best.

Earlier this morning there was a huge thunderstorm.

I find beauty in that.

The lightning, the thunder, the sounds, the rain.

It's all pretty amazing.

But what's really cool?

How an hour later it's warm as heck, not raining at all, and the sun is out.

Makes me believe there are some things out there that go from bad to good.

And then good to better.

So, happy enough?

I could probably draw a picture of rainbows and unicorns, but who am I kidding.

We all know I'd rather draw a pegasus with a cyclops on it's back, carrying a javelin, ready to spear the sorry soul that got in his way, flying under a beautiful storm, like the one that occured this morning.

So I COULD draw the picture of rainbows.

But I choose not to.

Honestly?

I'm not that bad.

I don't complain all the time, I'm not always ticked, I'm not depressed.

But it seems as if I'm making myself sound that way.

I just planned to get all of my hate out here.

I guess I can let good things run through these fingertips, too.

Sometimes.

People are stupid.

It's a given.

People are annoying.

It's managable.

People are mean.

And it's making me angry.

Every. Freaking. Day. Something. Happens.

Maybe it's small.

Maybe someone will just move my stuff from a desk so they can sit there.

That's not that bad.

But it'll still get me ticked.

Why?

Because I'm tired.

Not physically tired, just tired of people.

And so now those small little mean things make me pissed.

And I'm starting to react instead of just letting them do it.

-earlier today-

These group of girls run into me in the hallways.

"Oh, thanks for, you know, running into me," I say, loud enough for them to hear, a sarcastic and angry tone in my voice.

The one girl just turns around, a smile playing on her face, her peppy ponytail bobbing.

"You're welcome," she tells me cheerfully, making fun of me.

I scoff and walk away, shaking my head.

-back to present-

It just upsets me.

To put it in nice terms.

It bugs the f*cking sh!t out of me.

But, hey. I'm slowly cracking.

I'll stand up and say something back someday.

I need to talk.

I mean, I really need to talk.

Out loud.

To people.

Don't mind it.

You try to walk forward, but instead you go down, hitting the pavement hard, making cracks, scars.

You didn't even know you could fall that hard.

You try getting back up.

It works.

And then.

Someone trips you.

You're down again.

Hitting harder, you're further down.

You're bleeding.

Bones broken, body aches.

It doesn't look like you'll see the sun again.

It seems like you'll be facing that ground the rest of your time.

And then.

You're on your hands and knees. You want to reach the top again.

You need to reach the top again.

Wincing, closing your eyes, you start looking up.

Seeing the stars. It's night.

It's beautiful.

And so you're off of your hands, and only on your knees, breathing hard, but breathing.

In. And out.

Almost give up. It's so tiring.

But you don't.

Because you know you don't want to.

You know you've got to keep moving towards the top.

You squeeze your eyes shut, clench your fist, and grit your teeth.

You WILL make it.

And eventually, you do.

Hands still clenched, body aching.

But it is worth it.

After all, you're staring up at the night sky, the wind in your face.

The stars in view.

You don't need a figure to bow down to.

You got up on your own.

And now you're walking over the cracks in the pavement, the puddle of blood, and you're moving forward.

A smile on your face.

Through.

-Earlier Today-

I'm about to ride my bike to a friends house.

Dad says it's fine.

I tell him that my brother and I hadn't taken the papers we were supposed to downtown.

I don't know why. I just did.

And he flipped.

Told me that the bathroom wasn't clean, that I did horrible with my chores, that this house was a mess. That I should have cleaned it all.

I'm the type of anonymous person to...back talk.

So believe me, I back talked.

Told him that he said we had to work together, that two lousy papers isn't going to harm anyone. I told him that he said we had to have it done by the end of the day.

It wasn't the end of the day yet.

I'm sent to my room.

He leaves.

I walk downstairs and pace, furious.

Then I pick up the laundry basket.

"You want a mess, Dad?" I say, to no one.

And I dump it all.

Every sock and shirt, every piece of laundry is on the floor.

I let out a cry of frustration and I throw pillows around the room.

As I bend down over the laundry, I feel tears escape my eyes.

Tears of anger, I guess.

And then I pick up the entire mess I made, go clean the bathroom, dust the living room, vacuum the stairs, and do someone else's dishes.

Well.

Sucks for me.

Maybe it'll work now.

But probably not.

I'm just going to stop writing for now and change my post frequency to daily.

And then I'll try not to drink that f*cking rotten milk again.

Sheesh.

* = me trying not to be too R-rated. Be proud, blogger civilization. Be f*cking proud.

ENTER already.

Already, this blog is ticking me off. It's called an 'ENTER' button. The post below? It has about 50 enters. None of them showing up. So let's call this a test. Hope that the enters will show up. Hope that they will STAY showing up, and hope that I don't punch the computer screen.

So, I figure.

A bit a about me. I'm anonymous. Let's keep it that way. My 'blog' is dark. Because I like dark. I'm young, restless, and somewhat of a rebel. I'm a nerd, a geek, a dork, a loser, an anti-social, a freak. You decide. I'm just here to freaking write. Anything.