It's raining. Actual rain. I love rain. It washes everything away. If only i could rain, protect everyone, cover them. But disappear as quickly as I came. And bounce back to myself to do it again. The storm symptoms are even better. They never fail to make me drowzy. Wanting to sleep, to escape. But ironically, the only thing I've been able to dream about is school. I'm either learning or being confused, or angered, or hurt. Every negative feeling. Just like the norm. And when I wake up, the dream begins. But its a reality.
My newest catch phrase is a cross between an "I don't know." and an "I don't want to talk about it." Which is normally true, but the only person I wish I was'nt fooling is too stupid to realize otherwise.
Lately I've been contemplating with a friend. About love. She is super insightful, so today I asked her, "Who are you so crazy about." Se replied "Nobody, I'm in love with an idea." At that moment, I had an epiphany (thats the correct word, right?). The answer. Love isn't love. You never fall in love with a person. You fall in love with an idea. Are these ideas true? I write as my vision begins to blur. I don't think you fall in love with what someone does. But the whole excitement is for the future. What this person will do? Will they be there?
This is such an incomplete idea. But I think it answered my question. We must love someone that we know will be there, that we know will remember. Someone that we know knows. Instead of falling for someone over stupid present-day things. Or the past. The past is the worse. But how much do I know?
How many poets write about experiences they never have. Do they make the details descriptive enough to feel important? To have something desired?
And my eyes are closing. I wish I could dream the answeres (Kinda like Angela). To feel the future, and then experience it. So that I know the path to take. To know, that I know, that everything I am and everything I am about to be doing is wrong.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
She's got the soul of a poet and the fire of a bullet. She is what she is, nothing left or unspoken. She don't love you no more.
So take back your soul; a life to uphold, a lie to be told. Cause lifes not set in stone.
"You live. And you think that your the one who's always gonna be there. Your craving to be there. Needed. But you dont understand that your parasitical. Through actions without realizations. And I'm usually not easy to break. To show. And I can't stand it. Not anymore. Wishes, expectations; that everything is going to be okay. But our plastic smiles tell you otherwise. Everybody knows it. Can the end redeem? How loud can the past scream? Will they hear it? But you dont want to be the one to lose. Though through it all, I do need someone. And it could be you, if only you could pretend. Are you capable? Through these trying times, how much do I really matter to you anyways? These intensities, bottled up, knocking on the walls for a passage, a way out. But there won't be. As I increase this stock. Is it complexity, or just a cry for help? And how different are the two? And your stiff bitter accusations. How difficult is it to censor your lips?"--fml in biology
Don't want to tell you but a year ago this was over.
And please dont worry about me. I can take care of myself. I got out of it before. And it will happen again. Cause history repeats itself. After being branded its first time. And, hey, at least I've made it this far. Lengthwise and without you. So please, dont let this matter. Just stay the same. Cause changes cause the most pain. When you remember what you did have. When you felt complete, or semi-complete. And I'm crying out: How many mistakes am I allowed? Who is going to cry "game over", where are our warnings...As often we find ourselves spiriling downward. Honestly, I know, this will never cure. I apologize for not being what you wanted. And I'm sorry the feelings were'nt mutual. Please.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
You are everything I want. Cause you are everything I'm not.
“Sometimes I wish
That you’d just leave
And stop making it so
Hard to breathe
And your whispers
Were slightly heard
They said they wanted lies
And you were there to say the word” –fml at 11:45
Quick thought:
Think back to all the Disney movies that you watched when you were a child. Now try to name one that both parents are alive in. it’s not easy. Ariel didn’t have a father. Cinderella’s mom died. The Lion King; was there parents, I can’t remember? Finding Nemo! Yep, both a mom and a dad! Too bad they decided to kill her off in the first five minutes.
Basically every Disney movie includes death, or violence, or some kind of tragedy. Yes, it does provide for plot, but should a child be exposed to this? Whatever.
I heard that the new movie, I think it’s called Earth, took it too far. Instead of one or two, there were three animal killing scenes. That’s too much. Even the adults were scared by this, so it wasn’t subtle stuff. And it’s never the normal animal to get killed, you always have to watch a child, or an oldie, or a sick one die.
So go Disney. Life is cruel…
But Yay today is my birthday. And I got to wear my pretty dress today. It is a little baggy though. But I got 2 awards and quite a few laughs with Roxana at the ceremony. Oh and cookies, and brownies, and cupcakes. Which I brought to 5th and they were eaten within 30 seconds of being revealed. I didn’t get much of that. But it was all worth it when Jake spit out his oatmeal cookie because he thought it was chocolaty.
And Diamond’s email last Friday was enough for a lifetime of love. And Pauli gave me a letter that almost made me cry with the feelings of being important. And yummy smelling sprays. On the back was this mind-blowing poem. That I'm going to be greedy and keep to myself. I'm so thankful for people like this. Most of the time. People like this never fail to blow my mind (Can I ask you a hypothetical question?)- So yea, pretty interesting day.
Book signing tonight. Grabbing my size 3s and paint-splattered V-Neck as we speak. Or as I type (even though you can’t type and get dressed at the same time) Picking Kayla up later. This might just be interesting.
Oh, and the Psycho mock is finished. Edited. We missed so many shots, and I'm terrible at dying. Which I cover up with the extremely accurate fact that the storyboards were wrong so I didn’t know what to do. Ms. Garcia saw it, and everybody else’s so I'm sure I will be hearing about the hilariosity of this later.
Ice Cream soon. And Self-Titled Album (the Audition) released today. I can’t wait; Lela’s buying it for my prezzie. My favorites are the Running Man and Los Angeles. Los Angeles has the cutest theme; the dude is jealous of Los Angeles because it gets to keep his love for two months. <3>
Friday, April 24, 2009
How insincere are your fingerprints?
I finally have something to live for. Something to distract. Something tangible to rely on. Can I? Oh so doubting. But as those who really know, I’ve needed this, for a long time.
So update on Psycho…..we have yet to film the real thing. We put together a draft this week (well filmed, that is) but my oh-so-ready-to-work group got a start two days late. I get to be Marion (the girl who’s violently stabbed in the shower) and Paulina is Norman. Our shots are pretty cool. We did the draft in the school bathroom so the setting is semi-realistic. (And it helps that I look pretty cute getting stabbed-as previously mentioned, it’s my conceited day) so I can’t wait to do the real thing. I'm sure the blooper reel is gonna be extensive. I'm sure you can imagine the level of seriousness me and Paulina have when she’s stabbing me.
Example: One of the shots was of a wide of her stabbing me (obviously) but I was to block myself with my arm, and she was to pull it away and continue, well, stabbing me. So she grabs my arm and holds it there. We stop; I'm supposed to still be getting murdered. But Nia, who is doing the screaming noises for me because I'm out of breath, continues to scream. I have to move my arm to make it look like she’s stabbing me to tell her to go on. She then goes oh! And continues. But at this point I'm on the floor (which I tend to do a lot when I'm laughing-trip over myself)
Reasons why I am Holden Caulfield:
-extremely cynical (skeptical, sarcastic and whatever else comes with it
-which reminds me of Wednesday when Ms Garcia says “How can you be so young and so cynical?”...She now calls me Holden)
-Mocking of Romeo and Juliet
-Mocking of how people practice for their jobs
-Hanging on to a memory
-Kinda slack (but I'm not that bad)
-I do tend to have catch phrases
I don’t know, anything I missed (cough, cough Annie)
You told me about nowhere and it sounds like some place I’d like to go.
-Artwork provided my love. (Brit)
Youth. Remember when you were young? When Santa still existed? The opposite sex had cooties? And bugs were considered snack? I wish I could have that again. These days, life goes by way to fast. But that is kinda phony of me considering I'm constantly complaining to my father that I need to get older, faster.
I just kinda wanted to bring that up. Maybe inflict some happy memories. Or painful, whichever your childhood was (though I strongly hope I am not bringing the later of the two because the only kind of hurt id want to do to anyone is commonly known as “musical terrorism”-best comic ever).
Today in Language Arts, we had the journal topic “What is a phony? Do phonies know that they are phony?” So obviously we’re reading The Catcher in the Rye. (I am so Holden, more on that). The main character has a tendency to call everybody a “phony”. A phony is kind of hand-in-hand with a hypocrite. They change their ways in order to fit into a group. The people closest to these “phonies” realize it the most. (And it really pains them)
I offered that “To be a phony you have to be aware of the fact that you are a phony.” These people are obviously aware of their personality problems. Or aware of the fact that they will do anything to “fit in”.
A laughable idea would be that of a “secret phony”, as Veronica put it. That everybody is phony on the inside. That we go from social scene to social scene changing ourselves to belong where we are at the moment. Everybody is a phony. We obviously don’t address our parents and teachers in the same way we do our friends.
One last random thought: Look at yourself in the mirror. Right now. And ask yourself: People value my opinion. Someone cares weather or not I show up. I affect someone, anyone’s life.
P.s. - If I get Hannah Montana balloons in 4 days, I will love you for life. And cookies and stuff, even though I’ll probably give them all to someone.
Weekend: first one without a party in like a month, finally some sleep (my aunts dinner doesn’t count though, right?) and tomorrow my father is taking me to get Japanese food.
Oh- and I used up my 2nd conceited day today, I think it went okay.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
She said I’m jealous of Los Angeles. She gets to keep you for a month or two.
Me: Id make a wish and watch you explode. It would probably be for popcorn.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
You were my outline drawn. You were my greatest failure. Discourse your saving song.
But when someone has no good reason to ignore, that’s where the line is drawn. I suppose I could go off with some story about Damien Grey and his tendency to do this. But, like I said before, I promised to do the following:
Nikki and Ryan were close friends. So when they started their relationship, nobody was surprised. They were always together because they had the same group of friends. So when they fell in love, nobody was surprised. And it was great, how they had this honest bond, everything desirable in this kind of situation.
Nikki was basically head over heels. She lived and breathed for Ryan. Poured out all of her emotions in his name. But it broke her heart to know that the feeling might not be mutual. For months they were together, and even though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew she could do better.
But Ryan could be so great. He was everything she could ask for at his best. But he seemed to have other priorities. And they began to grow apart. Fighting happened in this group of friends. Nikki started noticing that Ryan spent way too much time with her best friend, Rachel and his close friend Courtney.
There was a pep-rally. Nikki was 10 minutes late to this because she had to get an assignment she missed. When she got to the auditorium, she quickly seeked out Ryan. He had two empty seats next to him. As Nikki started across the floor, Rachel and Courtney took these seats. Infuriated that Ryan would save seats for them and not his girlfriend, Nikki sat with her other friends.
This was becoming a trend. Ryan would sometimes come over to where Nikki ate lunch and basically ignore her. But Nikki didn’t want to see how bad this was.
Maybe Ryan isn’t intentionally doing this. Maybe Nikki is completely misjudging this. But it all comes down to: Can I do better? Do I need this? How mutual is this?
Obviously these names were changed. And don’t ask me who this is really about. And don’t guess. It’s really none of your business.
I hate this. Maybe if you’re going to ignore, I should just forget it. As Pete Wentz once said: "People...need more social lubricants when it comes to being around real human beings." And I'm sorry if I'm being a Holden here, but seriously try to value everyone. Especially those who only get up in the morning knowing that they will soon see your face.
P.S.: 6 days till I leave this horrid number.
And……If u want to have my heart, u will sing to me Lullaby by the Smiths.
Monday, April 20, 2009
And even if your whisper eats my ear, your voice will be the only sound I wanna hear.
The alarm had been ringing for about 10 minutes. But she preferred to lay there and pretend to sleep through it. She lay there for a while, thinking of how she could make this day better than the previous. Then he mother started screaming.
But as before, she just lay there. Until her father had his turn. After a few seconds of that, she figured it was time to give in. She pulled the covers from over her face and opened her eyes. "Are you happy now? I'm up!" she fumbled for her glasses and stood up. Her counter top was chaotic. Jewelry, old batteries, spare change, and her scissors covered half the space. Slowly, she walked out of her over-cluttered room. Careful not to step on the mess of clothes, books, and cds (yes, she still does cds). It was 5 o’clock.
She walked the hall until she got to the washroom. She turned the faucet, flooding the shower with hot water. She stepped out of the shower. Waited for the mirrors to steam up as she stared at her reflection.
20 minutes later she had a towel wrapped around her head. She walked out to the kitchen to look at the food. But she didn’t eat anything. She wasn’t hungry enough. She walked back to her room to find something to wear. She settled for an orange polo. Orange is her least favorite color. She pulled out the beige Dickies and slipped them on, wrapped an old shoelace around her waist, and zipped them up. Nothing in her closet fit her anymore; it was baggy and hung off of her in spots. Though, this uniform still never failed to make her feel twice as big as she really was.
In the bathroom, she dried her hair. She tried to make it as good-looking as possible. But she knew her part would be messed up by third period. Waiting for her ride, she did the little things. Like pulling on her bracelets. One at a time, they hid the truth. And repainting her nails. As she covered them in electric blue, she promised herself once again to stop chewing them. She has been promising this for months.
She got to school to face the awkwardness, things had changed, but she’s not one for complaining. There's not really much for her to say except that she’s bored. Bored with how predictable people are. And bored of how predictable she is. Each one of these "friends’ have a part of her. One she would never have. If only they could fit them together. And these classes are way too easy. But why couldn’t she make the better grades? Have the high GPA, like them?
She was careful to stay close to those she needed. There were only a few of them left.
She waited her 7 or more hours of torture. Then she got home. To deal with whatever task awaits her there. Happily she changed into acid wash jeans and an old tee-shirt. Finally, she was comfortable. She washed her face about 20 times to remove the "school germs".
She switched into autopilot. She did a bit of her homework while she drowned out the noise with an indecipherable screeching that sounded a bit like a witty, heartbroken 20 year old. (Mostly just to get on the nerves of her sisters who would rather be playing a tween Jonas Brothers tune.) She was either going to play that or something acoustic. But it was always about how love sucks.
She went online and laughed when she found herself talking to everyone but who she really wanted to hear from. But she continued the smalltalk because she didn’t want to be alone. She was then called for dinner. Spaghetti. Again. More boringness, but this time you can eat it. She kinda stirred it around on her plate for 10 minutes then ate half of it and said she was full. She watched a half hour of television. Nothing was on that interested her. Finally, she went to her room and found a book.
She lost herself for 2 hours. It was peaceful, no distractions, no phone calls. Not that she didn’t mind feeling needed, everyone wants to feel needed. But she needed a break. It was 10:30. She went back online and talked. She caught up with a few people she hadn’t seen in weeks. They reminded her of what it feels to feel normal. To be with people because you know them, not just because you have too.
She analyzed herself before she went to bed. She was being stretched in all aspects of her life. She didn’t know how to deal. But she put her hair up and lay down again. It was 1:15.
so thank you for finding the words i couldnt find on my own. now im not alone.
So today, if my sources are correct, is the anniversary of Columbine. (did i spell that right). I remember reading She Said Yes in 6th grade and being extremely saddened. I wanted to post something about that, but i got to thinking. Columbine reminds me a bit of this Jodi Piccoult book, Nineteen Minutes. So i want to post a quote from this book, that makes for happier feelings.
"By myself I'm nothing special. But peanut butter was just peanut butter for a long time, before someone thought of pairing it up with jelly. And there was salt, but it started to taste better when there was pepper. And whats the point of butter without bread?Anyway, by myself, I'm nothing special. But with you, I think I could be."
Saturday, April 18, 2009
im sick and tired of being sick and tired
Sometimes, you can watch the person you care about slip away and not even realize it.
There were so many things worth noticing. But nobody did. Nobody noticed the freckle just under his right eye. Nobody saw the way his face lit up whenever someone talked about human rights. Nobody got to hear him as he smiled and strummed his guitar.
Nobody knew he wanted to be an astronomer. Nobody saw the telescope set up right outside his window. Nobody sat there with him, into the night, as he explained every constellation, every star.
Nobody knew that he wanted to be one of those stars. So that he could feel bigger than himself. Nobody would listen.
And now he's gone.
Nobody got to know his story. Nobody got to hear about the abuse. Nobody got to be his first love. His first kiss. Nobody got to break his heart.
Nobody ever will.
Nobody ever got to hear him. Nobody knew what he had to say. And if they did, would it have not happened. Could that person have changed him in the long run? Could I have been the one to fix it, just with a smile? These are the questions that haunt me. If we would have showed compassion, would he have stopped himself?
Nobody will get to know.
So I'm feeling inspired. Ive recently come to terms with the fact that my school is full of screwed up people. But possibly for different reasons, but ill transition. Right now, I really feel that the time is right to make something more clear. I promised my best friend that I would teach people about this…
I'm sure you’ve been in a Hot Topic, and if you have, you’ve definitely seen or heard of To Write Love On Her Arms.
"To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide."
The point of this organization is that everyone can struggle with depression. Depression doesn’t have a face, it just exists. And we may not even be able to see it.
"We’ve learned that two out of three people who struggle with depression never seek help, and that untreated depression is the leading cause of suicide. In America alone, it’s estimated that 19 million people live with depression, and suicide is the third-leading cause of death among those 18-24 years old."
There are so many forms of depression. And 2 out of 3 of those strugling, don’t seek help. Untreated depression is the number one cause of suicide, and suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers "Experts estimate that 4% of the population struggle with self-injury. It has the same occurrence between males and females, even though in popular culture it can appear to be more prevalent among girls."
Emptiness, Inability to understand or express feelings, Loneliness, Fear, Past Abuse, Depression
So next time your in Hot Topic, don’t pass up buying one of their shirts. Your saving lives, not for some charity for sick/old people. But people like you. That need help. That need saving, support, and so many other things. I will be sporting one of these shirts, as soon as I get the cash. But for now, here’s the story the organization was founded on:
To Write Love On Her Arms
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes
Monday, April 13, 2009
we all know that your a beautiful girl in this horrible world
"Chiodos to record in autumnBrian Shultz on 4/11/09 @ 12:00 PM
Chiodos will be recording their new album in the fall according to a recent interview. Considering Equal Vision's recent partnership with Sire Records to release 2007's Bone Palace Ballet internationally, perhaps the two will team up again to release the band's new album either late this year or in early 2010. That's pure speculation, however. "-altpress.com
if this is true..i will dither spaz all over the place. im not even kidding, diamond understands
Cheap champagne and a complicated lifestyle
So i figured its time i start linking ( if thats a correct call.) Of sorts. I think its kinda mean to take pictures off the internet (in my case other peoples blogs) and not give them credit....
so heres some breif credit...
http://www.unicornology.com/ is where i get most pics
http://www.theapplejuicepact.tumblr.com/
pics and random stuff
http://www.xkcd.com/ is the comics
and most titles are random lyrics (in case u havent noticed)
in case u ask why i have so many tumblr sources its cause i used to have one. but i like blogspot more. whatever
These fishes in the sea they’re staring at me. A wet world longs for a beat of a drum
So here I am. Bored. Waiting for a phone call. Thinking back to an earlier post, I decided to write about life. I'm way over my head.
The meaning of life. I hate it when people try to be smart on a cartoon or something and they ask each other “What is the meaning of life?” That is such a cavemanesque thing to say. Nobody knows the exact answer. I mean, you could go on about different theories. So I'm going to try not to be biased here.
Try not to get bored. First I'm going to discuss the different paths you can take. Then I’ll do the whole deep or instigating thing.
You can take the Biblical route. And say that life was created by God (I'm sure you’ve heard the bible story about the first seven days). But why would we be created? So that he can save us again? Is he doing us a favor?
Mythological. The whole Titans and Zeus thing. (Though I prefer the Jesus route, I have a tendency to be fascinated by mythology.) But, you don’t see many people believing in that these days. Mythology is more of a thing of the schools (not to self: write about how mythology should be banned from schools because it is crossing the fine lines into religion).
The scientific way. The whole big bang thing. I'm not really knowledgeable in this area. But a lot of people believe in this if they are not religious.
Or the "I don’t care" way. The people who are just like “Okay, Earths here, I'm living on it. Whoop!” Probably the smart way to go. But a tad ignorant. This also tends to go with the non-religious group.
Tangent: think about it. How long is the average life expectancy? We only live give or take 100 years. Isn’t that sad? Imagine knowing that your years are running out. That has to be this horrible, defeated feeling. And times are changing: What is classified as a child? Your childhood? As hypocritical as I'll sound, I do agree: Kids are growing up way too fast. And medical advancements. By the time I'm old, or 50, what will the life expectantly be then? It’s crazy?
Which brings me to my point. We are messing up the world. Earth is dying. And I'm no hippie. I'm just practical. How long can it last? But we ignore this, and carry on our lives. There's war, recession, and global warming. Yes, we are making an effort to improve, but the fact that it’s gotten this way is sickening. Consider the future.
And we continue to make all of these medical advancements, playing around with our lives. Desperately wanting to look younger. I think people just need to get old and, dare I say it, die. How much can this planet hold? What if some creepo scientist finds the key to immortality or the fountain of youth exists after all? We all get young, but continue to reproduce. Making more waste. How much can we do? This sickens me.
And don’t even start me on human flaws. That’s far more personal. And far more widespread. Look in the mirror, what have you hurt today?
And don’t worry. I’m not done questioning life…to be continued
Friday, April 10, 2009
my life reads like the classifieds
sorry for all the pictures. but i want to share a little bit of my comfort with you.
which ones your favorite?
Thursday, April 9, 2009
You wear your heart on your sleeve And I throw mine to the sky
— Norwegian Wood
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Do you find comfort in numbers? Do you cry out loud? My sweet pessimist. I cant be the soundtrack to your dreams, but ill sing you to sleep.
“ All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water.And that’s the tragedy of living. " Did i already post that, hmmmm. :DD
“ Because they are so long lived, atoms really get around. Every atom you possess has almost certainly passed through several stars and been part of millions of organisms on its way to becoming you. We are each so atomically numerous and so vigorously recycled at death that a significant number of our atoms—up to a billion for each of us, it has been suggested—probably once belonged to Shakespeare. A billion more each came from Buddha and Genghis Khan and Beethoven, and any other historical figure you care to name. (The personages have to be historical, apparently, as it takes the atoms some decades to become thoroughly redistributed; however much you may wish it, you are not yet one with Elvis Presley.) " mrW moment.
i apologize guys
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The spaceman says everybody look down, It's all in your mind
