The LOOP

The internet is a dangerous place. I'm not talking about all the scams, child pornography or sexual predators by the way. I'm talking about all the temptations to creep facebook profiles and blogs of past loves. It's a deadly practice that can keep a person up all night. I for one am never creeping again. It is way too hurtful to find out the things that go on in a person's life and mind no longer center around you anymore.

I have to accept that I'm out of the loop for good this time.

:D

I've had 1,074 visitors to my blog this week... which is more than I've had since I started this blog in 2008. I'm not sure what people find interesting about my teenage angst, maybe they find it funny or comforting to know that someone is as messed up as they are. Anyways: here's a funny video that I love!

Today

I've been getting a lot of traffic lately! :) I like. Anyways, today was pretty awesome. I went to my brother's hockey tourney today. They lost, but I did see Doug Gilmour. He's the head coach of the Kingston Frontenacs! They are my new OHL team.
By the way, I love my parents they are the SHIT! My sister is pretty cool too. She bought me a bucket of alcohol for Christmas... oh man she knows what them university kids like O.o
I'm downloading Jimmy Eat World right now. I heard them on the radio and I remembered how much I loved them.
All in all, I'm feeling pretty good. I had a few moments of weakness these past few days. I emailed my ex :S probably not a good idea in the long run, but he hasn't emailed me back which is fine. I love having the last word. I was very nice in my email so, I can now live with myself knowing that he at least knows how I feel.

I've been reading the novels by George R.R. Martin. They're going to be made into an HBO series. I ALWAYS love HBO series, so I'm excited. Plus the books are nerdy and epic.

Well, I'm going to get back to my reading... I'm so addicted. I forgot how good reading is for escaping reality.

Charts of My Life

Looking at the last three years of posts on this blog you can easily tell when I am happy and when I'm not. 2008 - Lots of post because I'm a depressed teen. 2009 - Very few posts because I'm in love and crazy about school. 2010 - Lots of posts because I'm not so crazy about school, boy drama and sad times start again. Hopefully in 2011 I'll have few posts again. New Years resolution: Get my freaking head back in working order... or fall deeper into insanity, lock myself in my room and write the next bestselling novel/popular movie franchise. Both have their benefits.

My Youth

Last week I went home. I wish I could say that I was happy, but I wasn't. I took the small amount of time I had there for granted and now I miss it more than ever. Driving home, the closer and closer I got, the more I realized that I would have to leave too soon. I would be soon going back to an environment of stress that I could not escape. I am not as strong as I would like to think I am. I rely on my roots, my family, my home for support I could never get elsewhere.

Here I'm surrounded by my future. I think about what would happen if I failed. If I ended up disappointing my family. I'm not some rich kid who can throw away money for education. My parents are struggling to keep me here.

I prefer living in my past. The cozy, quiet past.

But if my parents have worked hard to put me here, then I'm going to work my ass off to stay here. This is the struggle that what will make or break me. There's no doubt that I will stress, or that I will turn to my internet diary for support. As long as I have my thoughts and my love of learning, I will become a stronger person. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself. One day I wish to be happy and I hope that I'm on the right path that will lead me there.

This is my home now. It's about time I put my heart into it.

American Psycho

I've been reading American Psycho. The book is much more detailed and perverse than the movie. Reading it, I thought about writing my own horror story. I started thinking about the character, whither it would be a woman or a man, stupid or Hannibal-like, what would his motivation be... etc. In my head I saw him as a man who only killed the people who loved him most. As to why he killed the ones who loved him, he didn't what to let them down, he didn't what that responsibility of loving someone back, of holding one piece of the puzzle while they held the other. So he let everything collapse right away before he had love and he could feel loss. Mostly he's scared. In his mind, he is saving his victims from a much worse pain. It makes me a little worried that I have created his twisted mind from my own. I wish I could play the piano... I wish I could do something more productive with my time like learning an instrument or improving my knowledge of the world by traveling the world or even going outside. But, it's much easier to write about things than experience them yourself. Horror for instance. I could go out and kill some people... (I'm not going to.) But, it's much easier and healthier to write about it... or read about. The reason why I'm talking about killing people is because watching horror movies or reading horror novels makes my mom angry, not scared or sick to her stomach, angry. She gets angry because she can't understand why anyone would want to watch or read about murder. To quote my favorite author and song writer Matthew Good, "The telling of such occurrences, though anyways touched by a bit of danger and mystery, never quite lives up to the true depravity of such actions. And therein lies the sickness that we embody as a species. Horrified by the fact and entirely mesmerized by fact sold as fiction." - From Porno Safari. The reason I think that people are so intrigued by horror is that it is so removed from their normal lives that the mystery of a man going through the night and murdering people to fulfill some sick need in his heart is enjoyable. It's as if they like to be close to something so awful that the good things in life seem greater... like being alive. I wonder what our lives would be like if everything was good and nothing was psychotic about anyone. Well, in order for that to happen our brains would have to be removed. See, the brain is just a pot filled with soil and our thoughts, good or bad, are either nurtured or removed like weeds, voluntary or involuntary. All my thoughts are vines, not exactly beautiful flowers. They crawl through my body and escape through my mouth, my hands. At one time my skull was too crowded with bad thoughts and the only way I could relieve the pressure was to write. I think I've reached a healthy balance. The headache is gone and the horrific thoughts have become characters, settings and morals, not actions. But that doesn't make me any less of an "American Psycho".

Here it is.

I find it easier to write my thoughts down when I have nothing to do. When my mind is occupied with thoughts of another kind, I will write frantically -but, with a cause, which is unlike now since I am writing about writing about nothing in particular- and make no sense. Maybe I'll write another poem about life in general or a story about growing up and how it is so hard. By now you have probably realized that I'm making fun of myself. If you have not, then sorry for wasting your time.

I hate how my friends never write on their blogs. I wish they didn't have lives and were more like me!

I complain a lot. I complain about complaining a lot. I think that by pointing out my flaws, somehow that makes them ok. It probably just makes them worse.

I'm going to cut and paste some poems that I wrote for english because I'm too lazy to write some more stuff. -I totally forgot that I started writing a book/novella last summer. I'm probably never going to finish it- I just got an awesome idea for a book! Since there are millions of half-finished books out in the world, I should take some and make a book out of them. The stories would never end, but there would be dozens of blank pages after each story so the reader could just write their own ending... that sounds awful. But, here are some of my half-finished stories so I can pretend that I wrote something on my blog.

This is my favorite half-finished story because it has attitude! Here's I Sold My Soul For Drug Money:

Chapter I – Laced Intentions

“Hi. My name is Johnny.”

“To be honest Johnny, I don’t give a flying fuck. Here.” He shoved a medical mask into the boy’s hands. Johnny didn’t hesitate to put it on. Then the man motioned for the boy to follow. Johnny could smell it in the air; the mask couldn’t prevent it from getting to him. It made him hate himself. The need was killing him and there was no doubt that it would be successful. So, he gave in to it, like he always managed to do after the doubt kicked in and followed the man down the hallway, one that looked like in belonged in a horror movie.

“Your family is dead if you told anyone where you are and what you are doing. Then…” The power that he had over the boy went to his thick head and he paused for a second to intensify the words to follow, turning around to poke his thick finger into Johnny’s gut. “We’ll come after you.” The large gun in the man’s hand told Johnny that this was no empty threat. And with that, he saw himself, bloody and limbless, crawling down this very hallway after being subject to the torture of the big man in front of him. That was enough to silence him for the next millennium.

With his mouth-sewn shut with invisible thread, Johnny matched his speed to the long strides of the man until they reached a large room that was so smoky that the ceiling was practically nonexistent. The first thing that set him back was the amount of people working. Not a sound was heard while they were in the hallway and even now, of the approximately twenty people in the room, not one lifted their head from what they were doing. Johnny could see that this had nothing to do with concentration as he looked back at the gun, one that he knew the man would use and had likely used before.

I guess I have to explain to you how I ended up here, the twenty five year old high school drop out, druggie and loner. It’s that one word, the one substance, and one of the many ways to screw up your life. A very expensive “pass time.” I’m telling you, it’ll explain everything. It reveals the reason behind the twitching, the coughing, the hallucinations and the whole mess that comes as bonus gifts in the package of a cocaine addict. Did you find it in that last ramble? Well here’s another clue for you. Cocaine, cocaine, cocaine and goddamned cocaine.

I’ve been told that if I had finished high school and gotten a “real” job I wouldn’t be an addict, but how does that make any sense? At the risk of coming across retarded, let me reiterate, cocaine is an expensive pass time and mostly only people with “real” jobs can afford to get high off it. But, men like me would sell their soul for a single line. Sadly, what I learned, my soul was worth shit.

“Snap out of it, you dumb fuck.”

And snap I did, as the butt of the gun was jabbed into my side. I tried not to cough up my lungs, while the big man giggled as if the whole “causing internal bleeding” idea amused him.

Once I managed to find my breath, I asked, cautiously, “When can I start?”

“The Boss, in other words “the guy you don’t want to fuck with”, will tell you.”

Nodding, not looking into his eyes, and managing to hide the tears, I once again followed the stupid, ass-faced motherfucker deeper into the depths.

Chapter II – Wasn’t Always a Fuck Up

I may have dropped out of school, but you first have to understand that I grew up in a perfect family in suburbia. I’m not entirely sure if all suburban kids turn to drugs… but now that I think about it, that wouldn’t surprise me if they did. Well, who else would be able to afford the expensive ones?

Meet my mom:

“How many carbs are in juice? Maybe I’ll stop drinking liquids altogether.”

“Mom, what about water?”

“Of course I’ll drink water. I’m not stupid.”

“You are stupid enough to screw the mailman.”

“Yes. And you are smart enough to keep your mouth shut.”

Meet my Father:

“Are you happy son? Cause I didn’t buy you that new bike so you could cry on it.”

“Dad, I think I might be depressed.”

“Son… rich people don’t get depressed. Now go for a ride while I work late with my secretary.... Son…”

“Ya Dad?”

“Good things come to those who keep secrets. Things like tuition to a prestigious school.”

“What I’d like is a soul to sell.”

“You have a soul son. Just like me...”

“…and mom?”

“I’ll pay for the therapist.”

(to be continued....?)

This is a poem that I finished last summer with the intent of giving it to my mom and dad, but I decided against it...

We are all deformed by our views of perfection - a poem

Look at me as I am,

I am your daughter, the fuck up.

You can’t see me if you don’t know what you are looking at.

I may be a tarnish canvas, but you’ve never seen the painting beneath.

Never cared to look, did you?

I’ll give you my heart on paper -- you can eat my soul.

That’s why I give it to you,

I like the pain that you give me,

You like the pain that I get.

Judge who I am before you get to know me

Get to know me, then judge who I have become

You knew me, I changed, the end

I can hear your brain throbbing

Throbbing

Throbbing

Robbing me of wordssss

I can see your eyes darting

Darting

Darting

Starting this sweat

Dripping into my veins

I love you, but I made a mistake.

I write about your forgiveness,

But have yet to receive it

You didn’t forget.

You are there, up on your throne

I am here, all on my own

No one fights for my reputation

I never fought the losing battle that I began

All I did was fall, I have yet to get up

You have your hand on my shoulder

It should be comforting that you’re there

Your warmth should make the coldness in my lungs cease to exist

Your hand is strong

I try to get up

But you are holding me down

I panic

You smile

I cry

You smile

I look at you for help

You smile

I scream

You laugh

I give up

You laugh

I stop breathing

You laugh

I am dying

You laugh

I’m gone

You shake your head

It was my fault you say

It was my fault

It was my mistake

It was my deformity

And that was the end

I was at an end

My mistake made a fucking end

It ripped through to the other side and spilled my guts for the first time,

Sorry, my mistake

Read my suicide note

It will tell you everything,

Just not anything you want to hear.

You never wanted to listen

I told you so many times

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

But, you didn’t believe me

You held my hand

I couldn’t see you, but I knew you were there

You held my hand

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

You held my hand

I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear

But I could feel the heat of your stare.

The disappointment burning through my lucid skin.

Skin soaked in the aftermath of my mistake.

The mistake that put me here,

With all this voices talking about me,

I’m here!

I’m here!

Aren’t I?

I can speak.

I think… I just wanted to say…

I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.

You let go.

When Talking No Longer Gets You Anywhere

I was watching the movie Your Mommy Kills Animals, which is about the animal rights movement. Mostly, it shunned Peta and groups that have lost their way. Well, I disagree with that statement on most parts. At least they are speaking out about a cause that seems noble. But, one thing these turd sandwiches said, was that they couldn't understand why wearing fur was so wrong. This one bitch from Australia said that she enjoyed wearing fur cause it was warm and that didn't mean that she hated animals. I was sort of laughing and crying at that point. How can you say that you love animals, yet kill them, skin them for your own benefit? It sickens me to think that these delusional people actually thing that wearing fur or leather is fine, when there are warmer, CHEAPER things to wear. Like a fucking ski jacket. All I can think about now is going up to that girl and showing her my bunny, letting her see the FACE of her fur. Like holy shit, not like it would change her mind about it, but it sure would give me the satisfaction of knowing that she can see how pissed I am. Just like people who have dogs or pets and eat meat, you ask them why it's OK to eat a cow when they would never eat their dog. It's so frustrating. This whole thing. Deep down my parents, and my whole family believe that vegetarianism is a phase, probably some teenager thing about having an identity. In a way it is. I've found who I am and I've found something to fight for. I look back and I hate that I once ate meat without thinking about the animal. I've always loved animals and recently I've seen my former self as one of those delusional turds that I get pissed at. I love that I'm finding who I am. For the first fifteen years of my life I was what I as told to be. Now, I'm thinking for myself, living for myself and loving every minute of it. But, anyways, back to the movie. It was also about the SHAC 7 convictions. And if you noticed, I added the homepage to my blog for anyone who is interested in the case. These people were tried as terrorists because they protested animal testing. None of the people who were convicted did any of the crimes. They were a representation of the whole activist group. They couldn't actually find the people they suspected of the crimes. The sentences ranged from 3 to 6 years and each person was fined 1 million dollars. These people were given a larger sentence than a rapist would have received or even a murderer in the UK. The funny thing is these "terrorists," were these geeky, skinny, vegans who wouldn't hurt a fly. The guy, Kevin Kajonaas, who got the highest amount of jail time was ambushed in his house by a SWAT team who put a gun to his head. The guy was 5'10 and weighed 120 pounds. I remember this thing he said in the movie that went something like this: "Just like time and time before the same questions are being asked. All this for a black? All this for a Jew? All this so women can vote? And now it's: All this for an animal?" He put words to the sad history that is being repeated over and over again. I'm SICK of crying myself to sleep because nothing I say is being taken as valuable information into any one's brain. I'm screaming in the dark, waiting for someone to tell me, not that they care or that they feel the same way, just that they can hear. I'm SICK of being made fun of because I haven't had a boyfriend. I guess it's kinda hard to find a boyfriend if the whole world thinks that you like girls. I've even began to doubt myself. I'm SICK of being laughed at because I TRULY BELIEVE THAT ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUALS. YES! Even the fucking birds and the worms. Everything has a right to life. I'm going to be a vegetarian for the rest of my life. I don't even care if it gets me nowhere in the end. I'd love to say that I hate everyone and everything, but I really don't. It's just a sickness that forms in my heart and has eaten its way out every time I'm told not to scream, not to cry, not to feel. Feelings tell us that we are alive. It's only after the fact that we see this. After the screaming fits and the tears. Sickness is a whole different story. Sickness is what I feel, bitter resentment and anger. But anyways, most of all I'm SICK of yelling into space. Empty space. There is not even an echo. If there was an echo I might be able to convince myself that it's really someone who gives a shit.

Discouragement of An Unknown Cause and Basking in Disaster

The stupid thing about a blog is that no one will read it unless there is something important on it. Like news or stuff about celebrities. Then again, I wouldn't want to read another person's blog who wrote the same pointless shit that I do. I'm back at home and I could be doing something else more productive to be honest. The thing is, that I'm always coming back to this. This blog. But, now I see that I have actually achieved in making this a diary, cause no one's reading it. It doesn't bug me really. It's not a surprise, but I'm thinking that maybe I'll just go back to writing in a journal. It's easier that's for sure, to write on the computer. The only bad thing is that I will end up needing a computer to think, to write. Sure, writing on random scraps of paper is convenient and all, but they are lost and sometimes even found. That's the worst thing that could happen because when you write on scraps your thoughts are raw, brutally honest and can be used against you. On the computer you can read it over before sending it out to "everyone" to read. In a way the computer makes you think twice about everything you do on it. But, I've already wrote a lot that could be used against me, to hurt other people and it could even be taken the wrong way. It's not the first time that I've considered what my mom would think if she read this stuff that I've wrote. Ya, one day she might and think differently of me. The perfect daughter image in her mind will be blown to hell and she'll have to deal with this hormonal mess, crazy god hating child she's got on her hands. The funny thing is that I'm not used to being myself. I've always been what the world wanted me to be. Unquestioning and silent. I'm glad if my words make sparks. If there is a fire with my name on it, I wont be surprised. But, I'm probably just dreaming again. It's better to dream about destroying lives than actually taking them. Even though that sounds cryptic, even I have low points. But to be honest, I've only wanted to kill two people in my whole life. The first one doesn't have a name. Cause I don't know it. He was trying to kick a peacock at the zoo. The other, has a name but I don't want to give him the pleasure of knowing he pissed me off to the point of tears. Most of the time I act so nonchalant about everything, but when I find a person who just hates, without reason, and the world would be so much happier without them, I can't stand it. It's people like them that kill me and everything that I have told myself about people. I'd never do it though. That the part that I cry about, that I'd reach a point where I'm considering it. But, then I find good people and I see that good people outnumber that idoitic ones, I return to normal... I guess. We all have faults, but some have no attibutes to balance them out. I'm smiling. I can't say why... Because I haven't figured it out yet. And you know what I think? I don't think. I just feel. The only thing I know is that it feels good to bask in disaster and wait for my boat to hit the rocks. My hearts beating and I'm alive. Do the idoitic people feel this? Maybe. The truth is I don't consider them human. They are just the rain. And I'm in my boat. The rain is clouding my glasses but, it doesn't matter. Because I don't need to go anywhere anytime soon. I can just float, write on scraps of paper and the rain can join with the water that holds my boat. Then, I'll be basking in this disaster that I've got and make the best of it. I can't stop this blog, it's like an addiction. It's like talking to the invisible person who completely agrees with me and doesn't think that I'm crazy. Even though I am. And this crazy girl will not give up on writing until she's hitting those rocks and the water fills her lungs.

Does The World Actually Slow Down?

It's a question that I have asked myself before and thought about it on and off frequently. Just now the answer smacked me in the face as I checked to see if any of my friends had written anything on their blogs. A few weeks ago for Adam. One week for Yvonne and a couple of days for Maddy. Did they hit writer's block? Are they wanted by the government and in hiding? Are they frozen or something so out of this world that even I haven't thought about it? I will not know I guess, until they write about it. But, back to the world slowing. I find that when you are doing something the world seems to be frozen. Waiting for you to get back on its track. Like, my friends will remind me of my Canada Day retarded-ness. But, as long as I'm heading off to my brother's baseball every morning, I'm not thinking about it. About them. Is it cowardly? Ya sure, but eventually I will have to face what I did. And when that happens my worries will be put to rest and everything will by A.O.K. So, does this prove that by ignoring the obvious pile of shit I've stepped in... the world is just waiting for me to realize and wipe it off on a rock? I know that the world does not technically slow! I'm just saying that it feels like everyone and everything has stopped. Or maybe... It's all just waiting for me to face it. And the fact is... that shit ain't coming off, no matter how far I walk.

Exams Over / WordPress

Exams are over for me, but not for others... sucks. And if any of you are reading this that should be studying... well... get back to work lazy.

I'm thinking of switching to WordPress to see if I can handle advanced blogging. I'll still have this one though. I just looked it up and I can not understand any of it. Guess I'm still a beginner. :)