It was always grey outside; the only color I could see. It was a faintly blue, sort of grey color. It was the color of all the rain.
I ran my fingers along the racing droplets that were always on the luminous window; my window. I looked at my pale, curious face in the reflection, distorted by the drops and glass. My irises faded into the rain, becoming the same color, and I was just left as an emptied casket of skin and blonde hair. I looked like the ghost of someone who lived a hundred years before me, and I was her descendant.
“Alice,” my mother whispered to me in her velvet voice. We always whispered in this house, there was no need to talk boldly. “Cello,” she mewed.
I nodded to her, and stood. Everyday around this time, 9:00 somewhat, I played my cello. My father didn’t approve of cello. He thought it was too melancholy, a gentlemen’s, instrument. He told me young ladies like me should be learning piano or harp. But I loved the cello with all my heart. It brings out the rain inside.
I walked into the room where I practice, silent besides the gentle pitter-patter. I picked my cello out from the stand, and began to play.
Playing the cello is like looking out my window. I get to dream and think, but this time with music as my brain and each note is a different thought, a different river of the rain streaming down onto the strings and setting the cello ablaze with beauty.
I played my strings slow today, listening to it drown out the drip-drop, pitter-patter. It wasn’t easy to play today, because I wasn’t playing for me. I felt tears trace lines and scars along my face, etching sadness into my features. I closed my eyes, feeling the tears become more of the internal storm. It wasn’t easy to play for my brother.
His name was Robin. He would always come in and watch me let my storm break and my skies become the only color I would ever see. He would watch me play and he’d talk, tell me what I did right or wrong. But there were other times; times when I would play slow and he would leave afterwards in silence. He would never ask me why I would let my face be drenched by my leaking window-pane eyes. He would never push his way in. And I loved Robin for that.
I felt my hands and the noise become lighter, suddenly, a bit faster as I remembered the day Robin and I went out when it wasn’t grey and raining. It was summer, a day where the flowers weren’t drowned. The grass was wafting through a breeze that wasn’t sunk down by humidity. And we ran.
We ran forever, until we collapsed from sheer laughter. We never had to loose our breath. I remember picking wildflowers and putting them in my hair and he’d pretend to be riding a horse, going on an adventure.
It was the most beautiful day I’d ever seen. It was a day where grey wasn’t the only color in my sight’s vocabulary. There were reds, yellows, greens.
I remember Robin was helping me make a crown of daisies, downy white against my pale yellow hair. I remember he was tying them into tiny knots he’d learned from being at the docks with my father. He was just about to place it on my head, when an oddly warm drop fell onto my nose. I had thought it started raining again, but when I looked up to see Robin’s reaction: he was crying.
We went home after he placed the crown on my head. We left because I didn’t want to bother him, but leaving only seemed to bother him more. We didn’t run back.
I felt my hands go slow again and my music, my sky, became dark. I scrunched my eyes up, willing myself to keep playing. I wouldn’t stop my brother’s song.
Only a year or so after we had played outside with all the colors, Robin’s face had grown pale, almost yellow. It looked leathery, or old, like waxy melting off a candle. His deep brown eyes, warmer than mine, sunk low into his face like he couldn’t bear to look at the world. And Robin became sick.
No one could guess what he had, but it was dreadful. His voice drained from his body, and he was always lost looking, or asleep. He would wake up in the middle of the night, writing down dreams he had. They were usually about the dark, or the rain, but sometimes, he’d die in them. Or maybe me.
The doctors never helped. They all said the same thing. They all told us he only had a few months to live. And those months were spent fast and slow at the same time. They were the times I would play cello the most, and always the hardest; always for Robin.
My hands went down scale, and gradually got louder as I remembered the ending of the death sentence he was punished with.
It was just in the middle of summer, and it was the brightest day I had ever seen. More colors that I could ever imagine. More colors that I could hardly name. I longed to go outside and run like we did when I put flowers in my hair and Robin would ride his Neverland mare.
But I had to stay inside. I had to stay and keep Robin company. I had to keep Robin feeling the longing I felt so badly for deep down in my gut.
But he never had a chance to long for a day again without rain. He died before he could wake.
My fingers slowed, going softer until they barely held the strings down. All the rain had been washed out of me. I wiped the tearstains on my hands, letting my bow rest on my chair as I looked out the small window in the room. Everything was still grey; it was the only color I could see. The day Robin died, he took all the colors with him.
I show you a picture of a teenager. They are all black. They wear tear-streaked cheeks and bleeding wrists.
You recognize them, but I don't. Every picture looks different to me than it does to you.
But you recognize them.
You tell me that used to be you. Back when you were lost.
Back when you had one face. And that face was your best friend's. And your enemy's. And every other teenager you knew.
Back when your generation had one face.
You called that face, that picture, loneliness and sorrow. Misery. You called it "Back when I hated my life. I wished to die".
But I know it's true name. Petty. Stupid. Immature. "Back when you wished for attention and pity, not death."
Defense.
That is who you are now.
You tell me that you felt alone in the world. That you felt like everything went wrong for you. There was so much drama and hate and people would harrass you. "My parents divorced too!"
But, still, that is all you told me.
You never told me that you watched your brother die in a war; his head blown to chunks of ashes like snowflakes.
You never told me you walked in on your mother's hospital bed. She was holding your stillborn sister. Alone.
You never told me you were the first to see the pale eyelids of your friend's dead face that morning.Their pills refused them to wake up.
You never told me that you lived in an unordinary hospital. You watched zombies come out of rooms, then go back into them. Sometimes they'd hang from ceiling fans. Sometimes they'd lie next to bullets. And sometimes, they'd come out of rooms, but never go back in.
You never told me, because you can't.
You saw things that people wished they'd seen. People wished they could live in your situation, while you wish for Cancer. But Cancer isn't so generous to some of the more deserving people.
Yet.
Here I am, testing you. Me being Rorshach, and you the patient with enough money to know my face.
And me with enough guts to hear about your ugly one. Your ungrateful, undeserving face.
You don't deserve to die, like you so wish you did when you explained to me that blob on paper; the teenage picture.
You don't deserve Death's relieving grasp as he plucks your soul from your aching heart. Death does not come to those who don't deserve him, because he is a privilege.
You have not seen the worst or the best of the world. And no matter how defense you get.
No matter how much you convince me of the depression you were at thirteen.
My friend and I know that you will not be ready for Death until you have seen it's many faces.
Because right now, all you can see is your own.
And that is the face of society. That black and white, naive face.
Your face, your best friend's face, and your enemy's face. Every face you can think of.
Your generation's one face is not the face of Death.
And it never will be.
- Feeling::
pensive
I don't give a shit who you are.
Can't tell me what to do,
I'm not 5 years old.
World's spinnin around.
I'm real sick.
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Ho oh oh oh oh
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Oh oh oh.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
It's on, It's on, It's on..
I don't give a shit who you are.
You're so full of shit you motherfucker.
They're in my head and.
There's faces when I sleep.
He's a coward and I.
Need more time to get it across to you.
You're all fucking the same.
Who's the killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a killer?
Who's a?
So much blood.
Who's a killer?
Who's the killer?
I feel nothing.
Who's the killer?
Who's the?
So much blood!
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
It's so, It's so, It's so..
You're back.
Right here.
You're back.
Get away.
Your breaths mean nothing.
Get away.
But the TV's here to stay.
And I might die.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
I can't breathe with the radio on.
And die.
Watch while I die.
- Feeling::
angry - Listening To::Leathermouth
Have you ever noticed that, at night, it isn't actually that dark?
We have so much light that the darkness of night softened to a twilight grey.
I wonder what it would be like if someone stood in the middle of a deserted field at midnight, with no stars or anything. Would they even be able to see? Or would distant lights of the city still penetrate the dark? Sometimes I wish it was still immidiate black at night, so I could just sit in a serenity of silence and just think.
But on a different subject, I was thinking about just the overall beauty of everything.
Like, do you ever look at something, and can find the most beautiful thing about it, despite how ugly it is?
I do that all the time, and it makes me want to cry.
I don't know why I want to cry, it just makes me want to.
And thinking about the beauty of things made me think of photographers and photographs.
I know some people that want to be a photographer. And I look at their photos and I observe that most (without prior training) that they cannot capture the entire beauty of the object. That really makes me mad because everytime I take a photo, I try to capture the beauty of it, not just the object itself.
Like if the object was a person.
And they were the most ugly person in the world.
But everyone has something about them that makes them beautiful, and lets say that for the person, their eyes make them beautiful.
So, I'd focus on the eyes, playing them up with make-up or extra lighting or something.
I don't understand why some 'photographers' don't do that. I mean, what's the point of photography, if you can't turn it into something wonderful?
Okay, so apologies to all of those imaginary people who actually read this. My computer broke and I've been crazy busy.
Anyway, so I've been reading the Watchmen and it is an awesome comic book. I mean, it's given me a whole knew perspective on the corruption of society. And Rorschach has to be my all time favorite comic book character, even more than Batman.
Anyway, my favorite thing that's stated throughout the entire graphic novel was 'Who Watches The Watchmen?', which was always spray painted on like, every alley wall. It's like it's saying, Who looks out for all the people that look out for us? Who watches the watchers? Who write to the writers? Who observe the observers? It's a statement that really means that no one is watching over you, if you're watching over everyone else. And it kind of makes me sad. Who's the heros' hero?
I dunno, that got my number one besides in the beginning when Rorschach is says, "The accumulated filth of all their [society's, who he refers to as vermin] sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout 'Save us!' And I'll look down, and whisper, 'No.'"
That has to be my favorite speech because it's so nobel. Rorschach also carries around a sign that says, "The World Is Nigh," although no one actually knows it's Rorschach because it's his 'secret identity' that carries the sign. Anyway, I think that sign is also a huge part of the book. Well, a huge part of a smaller part. I believe it means like, no matter if the physical end is close, the end to humanity, nobility, and humility is coming to the end because so many people are living in filth and guilt, there is barely any innocence for anyone. It really makes me sad about how true this is, but I'm glad there are still people out there who stick to good morals like a 'Day's work for a day's pay,' and whatnot.
Well, that was really all I wanted to talk about, but I will probably add to this later on. Ta ta, For now.
- Feeling::
creative - Listening To::The Pink Spiders
I am so mad right now.
I know I haven't been on here in a while, and I'm jumping straight into this, but. I AM MAD!
Okay, so I told you about my band, and whatnot, and we've been improving loads! We have 3 songs completed, and we're getting ready to work on like, 2 more.
But that's not the point. The point is, is that we're really good, we're just not good enough.
First off, I'm the only one who writes songs and presents them to the band. One of the songs I wrote, Invaders, is ready to go, once we get all the parts put together with the vocals.
The other two songs we're playing, we've been playing since the middle of the summer. That's like, half a year.
But what makes me really mad is that everytime ourrhythm guitarist and I try to suggest more songs to our drummer, our drummer doesn't agree. She makes me so mad sometimes. And all the songs she wants to cover are songs that neither the rhythm guitarist or me have ever really heard so we can't make a decision on it, or if we want to play it, our drummer won't lend us the CD in time so we can learn it. It just ticks me off.
Our drummer also always talks about playing in gigs and how much she wants to hit the big time. But the problem is, is that she never practices, then tells me that our rhythm is slowing us down because she plays soccer. Not to mention that our drummer wants to take voice lessons, but makes excuses when we bring up drum lessons. Sometimes I think she doesn't even want to be in the band.
And once we start practice, she always bums out and then slacks off when rhythm and I play as well as we can. And she complains about the songs being too complicated or too boring. She needs to realize that whatever'll make the song sound good, they'll put in the song. If the song is supposed to have a boring drum beat then it will. Same with complicated.
She also tells me all the time that we need to get gigs. And that makes me mad because my rhythm guitarist and I just want to play music and we don't really care about gigs that much.
I wish she'd take the time to do the work to jump into our dream, instead of just sleeping all day to dream it.
- Feeling::
annoyed
Well, why do they suck?
Is it because they play their instruments wrong or their music isn't complicated enough? Or is it because they haven't sold as many records or got as many hits as the Beatles or the Chili Peppers?
Why?
Well, have you ever thought that none of that stuff should matter in how good music is? My guitar teacher told me it doesn't matter how complicated, fast, or original-sounding the song is, what should matter is just the song. Just because a song sounds easy, doesn't mean it's bad. He told me that if a song needs something, it'll have it. Just because a song has a crazy lead solo, doesn't make it good.
And I think that is some of the best advice I've ever been given. It made me worry less about the songs I write, and more about the sound. The sound is all that should matter, not the difficulty.
And so that brings me to a point.
Have you ever actually listened to an MCR song? Not like, just listened to it because it was on the radio, but I mean pick up the CD, hit play and strain your ears.
Their songs are so amazing, but not complicated.
If you actually listened, you'd realize all of the stuff their trying to say in the song is much more significant than what the lead guitarist or drummer is doing. It's what the instruments play that bring out the lyrics, and you should listen to a song as a whole.
MCR's song lyrics are from vampires, to love, to drugs. They talk about everything.
MCR's songs bring hope to the people that feel like they're never going to make it past highschool, or that they'll never get rid of their drug problem. It's for all the kids that don't fit in anywhere. It's for the outcasts of the outcasts, since everyone today likes to think of themselves as someone not considered 'in the crowd.'
If you actually listened to the songs, it's not all about just one guy, Gerard Way's problems. It's about all of them.
It's about the Morbid Alcoholic Faggot who gets beat up everyday.
It's about the Annoying Spastic Jerk who would get avoided because people didn't like him.
It's about the Reclusive Kid Brother who doesn't have any friends because he's too shy.
It's about the Scary Big Dude who would scare away everyone he tried to be nice to.
It's about the Ugly Creeper Kid who didn't have enough social experiance because he decided to play guitar instead of with other kids.
It's about how all these nobodies, losers, faggots, geeks, fuckers, and creeps who were going to kill themselves or live up to nothing. It was about all these miserable kids who got over all that stuff together, and learned to make it through. And they all did it together.
Their songs are the remedies to times when you don't feel like yourself, or you feel like you just can't make it through the night. Their songs are the medicine to cure the ill. They save lives.
And they've saved my life.
They've given me hope, and a road to follow.
They showed me that anyone can be what they want to, as long as they be responsible and think.
And that's what the whole Black Parade CD is about.
People say that it's probably one of their worst CDs. Well, I think it's excellent.
The CD is about a man who is miserable and sick with cancer and dies. And he lives in the city of the dead and Mother War and her daughters, Guilt and Envy are no help and just confuse him. Not to mention he's hunted by the Hell Hound. He thought death would be the release from the illness, but it only caused him to feel worse.
But then these people. This parade shows up.
It's called The Black Parade.
"Follow us," the head guy says, and he leads this man, this Cancer Patient through his most precious and favorable memory. It's the memory of when his father took him to see a parade down in New York City, but the Cancer Patient is in it this time and he is so happy because he gets to see his father again and just be care free.
And the Parade says,
"Don't be afraid to keep on living. Don't be afraid to walk this world alone, asleep or dead. If you stay here, you'll be forgiven. Then nothing will be able to stop you from going home."
And pretty much, that's a huge metaphor telling us that MCR will be there, and try to help guide us out of the bad and into the good.
They're my saviors. They've saved my life and made me feel safe.
They've taught me more life lessons than anyone else.
And I love them, and they're my heros.
"I am not afraid to keep on living.
I am not afraid to walk this world alone.
Honey, if you stay, I'll be forgiven.
Nothing you can say can stop me going home."
-- Famous Last Words, My Chemical Romance.
- Feeling::
okay
Two things today.
One:
Have you ever wondered the meaning of life?
Well like before I talked about how people need to stop to listen to their surroundings and OBSERVE. I also said that it was stupid for people to ask for the meaning of life because they'll never get any answers.
Well, that's all true, but there has to be a primary, basic reason as to why every single human or creature is born, despite who they are, right? And everyday, someone wonders why.
Why was I born?
Why wasn't I someone else?
What would it be like to be someone else?
What if I had different parents?
Or what if my parents had a different me?
And the list goes on forever.
All people want to know is why the earth is here. They want to know if they could've been on a safer, maybe easier planet.
And it comes to my realization that life was put on earth to ask questions, and the day we figure out the reason to life is the day the world ends. Once we found our reason for living, there is no point in living anymore, since we chose to live to find the reason to which we are living, right?
It's probably confusing, but it makes sense to me.
==========
Two:
But what about Ghosts?
People tell me that ghosts, aliens, even a higher power doesn't exist because there is no proof. Well, where is the proof of anything? What if this is all in our imagination? What if nothing exists except for space and our minds.
What if we're each a star. And we each dream up the universe around us to fit our desires and interests. How do I know that any of this is real? What if this is all a dream? Where did all of this come from? No one has proof.
And so that brings me to ghosts.
We do have "proof" of ghosts if you'd like to call it that. Or maybe their just made up too, or only heard by the paranoid mind.
But the proof is EVPs.
Have you ever listened to an EVP? I suggest going to Youtube to hear a fake, but good imitation of an EVP. You can only know their real if you recorded, editted out the static, and played back yourself.
But I think they are real. What else could that desolate, soft and unearthly sound be that sends shivers down everyone's spine, no matter what you believe.
What about the shapes in the dark we swear that aren't 'right' but when the lights go on, you can see clearly. What if when the lights go out, we can actually see what is really there.
When the lights go out, we can see the fear that builds up around us. All the shade that only illuminates certain figures. Almost like guardian angels.
No one can ever know though, because the proof isn't solid. All we know is what we can see and touch. We don't rely on smell, hearing, or taste. We just think it's us imagining things.
But that's only because you've never felt the brittle skin of the dead. Or have seen the shadows of the dead stare at you, until they get the message across.
- Feeling::
cynical
I'll start:
-------------------------
Okay, so. This is something I really want to kill a select few for. I hate it when people get really depressed then expect me to fix them.
First of all, if you're depressed, see a therapist, not me. I can't help you. I only give you violence-related advice which gets you
a) in a loony bin for underage homocide
b) jail
c) all over the news.
d) all of the above
So. Don't ask me for advice because I WILL tell you to kill all your friends/enemies/anyone that stands in your way. I will also tell you that guns aren't as fun as, lets say, axes or rocks, yet they do let you feel powerful and do get the job done better, and I will tell you that ransom notes are better then suicide ones.
So, my advice, unless under certain circuimstances, shouldn't be taken too seriously.
Oh, and if you don't need my advice and do all of the above already, don't have children.
---------------------------
Ahhh.. Here I come in on the not so harsh and violent stuff:
---------------------------
This is one subject I've dealt with yet I've tried to avoid.
Love.
At the moment, it makes my stomach flutter slightly. To others they cringe, cry, or curse.
It's an adored and hated word. It's not just one emotion, but all of them.
Anyway, I'm here to speak my opinions and experiences with our aquaintance, Love.
I don't think I've ever been in love before, no matter how many times I've been told "I Love You" by a partner or however many times I've said it back.
Well, this time, like how I say everytime, I think I actually might be in love... Or at least I am currently loving... Whatever. I sound so sappy.
Ugh, it makes me sick.
But anyway. So, I found this guy. And we've been dating. Or well, making out on my friends couch and holding hands. That's a relationship right?
Well, there's a lot more to it but I don't feel like getting into all the fluffly details.
But anyway, my guy recently said the L-bomb, and I replied generously because well, it felt like the only way to express that I feel the same way back, but we've been only going out for like, what, a month? Are we being stupid? Or are we just following out hearts? I dunno. I have a heart murmur, so does that mean my heart leads in the wrong directions?
Man. I hate asking questions, because that means I don't get answers.
I dunno. Well. Yea, I dunno. Love is just so weird. I mean, when you're in Love, you're supposed to think of nothing but the person... which I do.. ... ... right?
And you're supposed to feel tons of emotions at once when you see them. Like, excitment, anxiety, caution... I don't think rage or hate are in there, but whatever. They could be. If you're the jealous type.
But yea, I feel those emotions.
And you're supposed to feel like you're walking on air when you're with them. Well, I feel like we've been going out forever and I can do anything with Ryan (my guy) and that nothing can tear us apart.
Is that Love?
I don't know! I'm not supposed to know! I'm supposed to be some stupid teen running off hormones right? Right?
Ughh. I hate this.
- Feeling::
jubilant
So, it's like, 11 at fucking night and I know all of you night owls out there are thinking I'm a little fucking piss because I think 11 is late. Well, when you have to get up in 6 hours it is.
But I don't care.
I have like, 3 things to talk about here, so bear with me:
My birthday is coming up. I was thinking about going to a mental hospital for just me on my birthday, then have some weird party later where we'll all drink chocolate milk and play with ouijas.
Anyway.
I know you're now thinking I'm a big fucking piss because I want to go gawk at crazy people. But that's not it. I want to watch them(gawk) and like, I dunno what I'm trying to say. I guess, "I want to be one of them" works fine enough.
Here, lemme put it straight:
I want to go sit on the floor in front of a Schizophrenic person chained to the wall, being spit on and called nasty names; being the enemy. But I just want to sit and listen to everything they say. Just stay still and watch them, let them have their go at me. Let them call me the enemy, when all I want to do is lend them an ear; let them be noticed.
I want to go and make up stories to small children whose parents thought they just weren't quite set in mind. Make stories and make friends.
Or I want to go and talk with someone like Clarice did with Hanible Lector. Do you know how much stuff you can learn? They know so much about life, much more than any of us could. They just don't know how to word it, or express it. They don't have anyone to tell.
And I know that seems really weird. Like, who wants to be a crazy person? Who wants to have people talk to you like you're three and give you too many pills than you can swallow? Who wants to live with their arms strapped to their chest and have a metal cage barring their teeth. Who wants to live in a prison of white walls and just your imagination?
Well, I do.
And don't you even tell me I don't know what I want. Don't tell me that I'm just being silly. Because I know what the hell I want. These thoughts have been going through my head ever since I knew what an Asylum was. Ever since I understood the concept of being "crazy!!"
Don't tell me what I want.
Okay, so, switching gears now.
It's a short little transition, this one is.
And it is presented to you now.
The human race is so stupid. All us people want is to be perfect and to have money and materials.
Or people are always running around, trying to find love, and when they think they found it, 6 months later their back on a fucking dating site like eHarmony, searching for that special someone, because their last just wasn't special enough.
"What's the meaning of life," they're always asking.
Is it our jobs?
Is it our social status?
Is it money?
Is it knowledge?
Is it love?
Is it peace?
Is it religion?
Or are we just here to die? Do we live through a hell, before we can even think about shooting up(down) to heaven?
Well, no one fucking knows so I don't know why you're asking.
People need to shut the fuck up and start listening. They need to start reading, instead of watching, taking notes instead of teaching. People think just because they went to college and have a master's degree they can go tell people what they want and what they need to do, when they don't even know what they want themselves.
It's times like these I think I'm the only one who doesn't have all of their answers read back to them by a horoscope machine, or through magazines. Times like these where I feel like a bystander, laughing(gawking) at all the funny people in cages, trying to do just what their master tells them. I'm the only one that knows better.
But I know I'm not. The book, Tuesdays With Morrie tells me I am wrong, and that not every thought you have is original.
But the question is, who are the other bystanders?
And yet again, another transition.
And again short and to the point.
Moving onward:
Have you ever had that feeling that. I don't know. I've been having a hard time explaining things lately.
-ahem-
Have you ever had that feeling that there is something more to everything you believe in, besides affecting your life decisions and making who you are?
Gah, that was a bad explaination. Anyway, I'll keep up the pace.
For example, while I write all these thoughts down, I wonder why I don't (can't) talk about this with people I know. And yet, when people read this, they often tell me things like, "Thank you for the advice" or "You're an inspirational writer."
But all I think of to reply is, "How did you understand that? My thoughts are so jumbled and confusing, sometimes it takes me a while to even realize what I am thinking of."
But I don't. I say something simple like, "Thanks."
So, while I'm getting all these comments, it occurs to me that maybe, no, aren't adults supposed to think like this? I'm so inexperianced and uneducated, how can I even be thinking this? How am I even smart enough?
Then another thought forms, and I've believed it long enough, it's the answer to my previous questions:
I'm not going to live to see the day when I should be thinking these things. Everything comes so prematurely because I will die before full experiance will burst and become my inspiration. So I take experiance of other people and I connect, and write my ideas based off of them.
It's not because I'm smart or that I'm weird(although true), I think it's just because I can understand.
And I always have.
I remember when I was little, I would cry for homeless people, because I knew what it was like to be homeless, even though I had never had that experiance, or even had been close to it. It just.. knew.
I knew the misery of waking up everyday behind a dumpster, checking your surroundings for potential killers or theifs, then going out on the street and doing your best to get what you need because you just can't work. You just can't.
And so I think, maybe when I am just bone marrow seeping into the interior of my casket(dead!), people will discover this. Or more so realize it because I'm not exactly hiding it.
And maybe they will agree with me.
Maybe they will ask God, or whoever they should ask, why. Why did I die so soon? Why couldn't I have been here to share this information?
Because I was never meant to.
So, if I can't live to see the day thousands of kids shouting my name are jumping just to reach my feet, maybe this will inspire.
- Feeling::
thirsty
I figured that if anyone read any of this. And I mean anyone besides my friend Brett, might want some other links of mine.
Well, here they are:
Myspace: www.myspace.com/billie13joe
Facebook: www.facebook.com/profile.php
Deviant Art: kitty33133.deviantart.com/
E-mail: taykitty13@yahoo.com
Youtube (I only have like, 2 videos, sadly.): www.youtube.com/user/Billie13joe
And here is my playlist, so you guys know what I like listening to:
- Feeling::
content
- Feeling::
melancholy
And I know what I was born for too. It's just a gut feeling, you know? Just something I know I was meant to do, ever since I picked up a guitar.
And yea, I know most of you have heard me blabber about all I want to do is play. Play play play. Jump into the mosh pit and have tons of loving fans, kids, friends, catch me and carry me around, like a float on parade.
And I felt like I was born to do that. Born to change lives through words and riffs. So easy. I want to be called a lifesaver, a hero.
And I know most of you think I'll grow out of it by the time I reach 26 and get a real job with real money and stop living off Doritos and Coke. But I can't.
I love being a 'starving artist' and having a home that goes to every fucking city in the nation. I love thinking about all the places I'll go, covered in dirt and grime with the best fucking people I'd ever known, then having the best fucking night of my life every fucking night. Having hotels be a luxury, signing autographs and talking to kids about how much you love them and they love you and just so much love and happiness.
And that's all I want.
That's the only thing in life that could ever make me eternally happy is just being able to play shows everynight and watch as kids sing back to me my own words. Having at least one kid being effected by more than the jazzy chords I produce, is my fucking dream.
I don't want to be a rockstar. I want to be a hero.
- Feeling::
energetic
So, I'll edit this for 100 days, and at the end, there'll be 100 secrets.
But I for the secrets I want to let out, but are afraid of what people think (becaue, yes, I do have those kinds of secrets -wiggles eyebrows-) I'll only post the first letter of each word. As in: I D S (I don't shower.).... (I actually like showering, just so you know. It's an example, not for real.. O.o)
Okay, so, I guess I'll start:
(1) Sept. 4, 2008 ----- Sometimes I wish I could be a guy.
(2) Sept. 6, 2008 ----- I say things that'll make me seem insane to see if anyone will send me to a asylum.
(3) Sept. 9, 2008 ----- I used to think I was bi.
(4) Sept. 10, 2008 ---- I've had a couple suicide attempts. I can't remember most, or how many.
(5) Sept. 11, 2008 ---- I'd rather live a miserable life with no friends than a happy one.
(6) Sept. 15, 2008 ---- I envy the anorexic.
(7) Sept. 16, 2008 ---- I dream up ways to kill people I don't like.
(8) Sept. 18, 2008 ---- I'm afraid of scenesters. I'm afraid they'll think they're better than me.
(9) Sept. 20, 2008 ---- I love my heros so much, I want to literately be them.
(10) Sept. 22, 2008 -- I wish it'd rain everyday so the sky would be my favorite color.
(11) Sept. 26, 2008 -- I C M R. Figure it out. XD
(12) Oct. 4, 2008 ----- I suck at lying. Really, I do.
(13) Oct. 10, 2008 --- I'm not (nor ever was) afraid of dying. I'm just afraid of being lost.
(14) Oct. 13, 2008 --- My biggest fear is falling. And not just off cliffs.
(15) Oct. 15, 2008 --- Killing sprees sound fun. And I don't mean mediphorically.
(16) Oct. 18, 2008 --- I'm ashamed of all the misery I've been apart of. How little I've lost in my life, but people still find ways to sympathize with me, when there are others who are walking corpses.
(17) Oct. 19, 2008 --- I hate writing suicide notes. I'd rather leave behind a ransom.
(18) Oct. 23, 2008 --- The Jetset Life is my favorite song, but I can never listen because it's broken.
(19) Oct. 24, 2008 --- I want to have Schizotypal Personality Disorder.
(20) Oct. 27, 2008 --- I have a lot of problems looking at people straight in the eye if I haven't known them that long.
(21) Oct. 29, 2008 --- People say they hate it here. But I'd never want to live anywhere besides Misery.
(22) Oct. 30, 2008 --- I'm really subconcious about the stupidest things. Like being thin.
(23) Nov. 2, 2008 ---- I'm very afraid of my parents. And not because they'll punish me.
(24) Nov. 3, 2008 ---- Another one of my biggest fears is disappointing my friends. I couldn't stand the thought of them hating me because I made a mistake.
(I forgot about this for a long time, so I'll keep going from today, almost 6 months after the last entry)
(25) April 22, 2009 --- I've only been in love once.
(26) April 26, 2009 --- I've done it over 10 times.
(27) April 28, 2009 --- I have never touched a drug.
(28) April 39, 2009 --- I have been arrested.
(29) May 1, 2009 ----- I W H T P T M.
(30) May 3, 2009 ----- I see people before I go to sleep.
- Feeling::
lethargic
I mean, someone'll buy a Ninja Turtles shirt or a Pokemon jacket, not because they actually like the shows, but because they think it'll make them cool.
For all you people that never used to sit down and watch Pokemon for hours when you were little (or other shows like Ren and Stimpy or Power Rangers...), well, Fuck you.
People are always buying shit because it's cool, and it makes me mad. I don't care if you like the shirt because you think it looks cool. But I do if you buy the shirt because you think it'll make you cool.
See, there is a big difference. The previous explanation (you like the way it looks) is totally fine. I buy crap just because I think it looks cool all the time. It's when you go buy a shirt with Invader Zim on it and flaunt it, but have never watched the show, you piss me off. I get if you've seen the show and liked it, but if you're only wearing Zim because he's 'cool' in the fashion scene, learn some background please. If you a) don't know what the shows about or b) think the show is weird/stupid/uninteresting, but buying because it's 'cool', you're a loser.
Only the people that like the show or have an idea of the show, can be cool.
This goes for band t-shirts too.
My policy is that if I don't have a favorite song/episode of whatever is on the t-shirt, pants, jacket, necklace, etc., don't buy it. Then you'll get the overly excited and obsessed people running over to you and asking you tons of questions you don't know the answer to.
So please, buy the shirt because it fucking looks cool, not because it's cool. And don't brag about it in my face. (Oh look! I bought a Ninja Turtles shirt! Too bad I've never seen it!)
Oh, and another thing goes for the, 'I only play old school Nitendo..' shit. Have you people ever really played old school? Dude, I grew up playing games that had to go in a fucking Genie adaptor thing to work in the old school Nitendo! And you fucking had to type codes from a manual. By the way, these games were way before Mario, and mostly consisted of Zelda-like games. So don't tell me you're playing old school Nitendo, when you play something that isn't just pixels fucking around on the screen.
- Feeling::
pissed off
This is for everyone who has been told their stupid for something they like. This is for everyone who wouldn't admit they're depressed, for fear of being called emo. This is for everyone who won't go to a therapist because they don't want to be thought of as crazy. This is for everyone who cuts so they know they're still alive. This is for everyone who looks at the cuts on their friend's arm, and cries because they can't help their friend. This is for everyone who writes suicide notes in their spare time. This is for everyone who cries theirself to sleep everynight. This is for everyone who loves the burn of fire. This is for everyone who'd rather live in black and white. This is for everyone who's called names just to get a kick out of watching someone cry, even if they knew in their gut it was wrong. This is for everyone who screams instead of crying, for fear of being called a pussy. This is for everyone who does the drugs because their friends told them to. This is for everyone who drinks their night away. This is for everyone who just can't make anyone happy. This is for everyone who secretly watches their parents fight everynight. This is for everyone who lives in two houses. This is for everyone who's never seen their real mom or dad before. This is for everyone who's lost their virginity too young, because they didn't know where to draw the line. This is for everyone who's been molested, but thought nothing of it because they thought it was normal. This is for everyone who's been lost. This is for everyone who's been shoved in a locker and left there. This is for everyone who can't tell anyone, because they wouldn't understand. This is for everyone who wears make up to cover the bruises, but only gets more because of it. This is for everyone who's tasted the coldness of the streets because they're too afraid to go back home. This is for everyone who's walked in on an empty house. This is for everyone who sits home alone everyday, cooking their own dinner. This is for everyone who didn't go to school because they felt unsafe. This is for everyone who's in a gang because it's the closest thing to a family. This is for everyone who had to keep their interests a secret because they weren't cool. This is for everyone who is too afraid to do what's right. This is for everyone who feels guilty for being happy. This is for everyone who was too afraid to sit alone at lunch, so they sat with their enemies. This is for everyone who posted slutty pictures on myspace so they could look cool. This is for everyone who pretended to be depressed and cut because it was cool. This is for everyone who's been hassled because they didn't want to do something. This is for everyone who's been rejected for how they look/act/ are. This is for everyone who has felt like shit. This is for everyone who didn't tell anyone that they were sick, because they were afraid that no one would care. This is for everyone who doesn't have a heart anymore, because it was broken too many times. This is for everyone who's been in love with their best friend, but couldn't tell them. This is for everyone who's watched from afar, but too afraid that it will never work out. This is for everyone who pretends to be someone their not. This is for everyone who tells lies so no one will worry. This is for everyone who knows every scratch on the toilet, because they've puked in it so many times. This is for everyone who pretends to eat. This is for everyone who cries because they can't look like the celebrities. This is for everyone who over works their body so much that they can never hang out. This is for everyone who broke all the mirrors in their house so they wouldn't have to look at themselves. This is for everyone who spends all their parent's money on cocaine. This is for everyone who made the wrong friends, just so they could have friends. This is for everyone who wishes they wouldn't wake up in the morning. This is for everyone who can't remember the night before. This is for everyone who can't sleep at night. This is for everyone who is addicted to something. This is for everyone who doesn't tell anyone about the nightmares, because they might get laughed at. This is for everyone who doesn't want help. This is for everyone who wishes someone would notice. This is for everyone who pretends they just don't care. This is for everyone who's found the note and the body. This is for everyone who's been on a gurney more than a bed. This is for everyone who knows the smell of a hospital better than anything. This is for everyone who's heard their last words. This is for everyone who's stood next to the casket way too many times. This is for everyone who's wondered if everything'd be better without them.
This is for everyone who can't stop:
Who can't stop eating.
Who can't stop sleeping.
Who can't stop smoking.
Who can't stop drinking.
Who can't stop crying.
Who can't stop puking.
Who can't stop screaming.
Who can't stop feeling.
Who can't stop self-harming.
Who can't stop singing.
Who can't stop wondering.
Who can't stop loving.
Who can't stop rejecting.
Who can't stop breathing.
Who can't stop sighing.
Who can't stop wanting.
Who can't stop hating.
Who can't stop hurting.
Who can't stop looking on the brightside.
Who can't stop wishing.
Who can't stop dreaming.
This is for you.
- Feeling::
indescribable
I love you so much.
You are my hero.
Can I have an autograph? A picture? A lock of your hair? Your shirt? Your shoes?
I love you.
I know everything about you.
You were born on some date. In some place. To some parents.
You have 11 brothers and sisters and never sleep.
I love you.
Can I have a hug? A kiss? Can we fuck?
I can't wait to see you again.
I'll follow you everywhere.
I want to be just like you when I grow up. I want to be you.
Can we be friends? Please?
I love you.
I'll follow you around and spy on your every move.
Wait!
I can't bare to see you go, please don't leave.
Why? Where are you going?
I'm your stalker. I deserve to know.
I know everything about you.
Who you're married to. Your first girlfriend. Your first pet.
I deserve to know.
What do you mean your last show?
Gone for how long? Forever?
But I love you. We love you!
You can't leave me! You can't leave us.
I'm your biggest fan!
You saved us. You saved me.
I love you so much.
No! Wait! Don't leave!
Stop!
Fine then. I hope you're happy.
Leave us here to drown.
Leave us here to try to save ourselves.
You think you did enough? You think you put everything right?
The world gets worse by day.
And someone dies every night.
You can't just stop now.
I'm your stalker.
I deserve better.
We deserve better.
Don't abandon us.
You were our fathers.
You were our heros.
I hope your happy now.
I'm your biggest fan.
I love you!
- Feeling::
pessimistic
So, I love the rain. I really, really do.
I mean, if I could, I would go outside right now and just run. Run all my sorrows and worries off in the rain. Rain just makes me feel clean. It makes me feel pure; new. It reminds me of fresh starts.
Especially thunderstorms. Just the trill of maybe getting struck by lightning in your own home. It's like watching scary movies with your best friend, in your pajamas, and all alone in your house.
It's like being chased by your friend's big brother, knowing he isn't going to hurt you, but you're still being chased by something bigger and smarter than you.
It's not scary, or raging, but it still gives you that adrenaline rushing through your veins like poison. It makes me feel like the earth is falling. Like a black hole of infinite gravity conjures up below us and the whole world is falling. The end of the world. No, the end of the universe.
I wish the end would be that peaceful. We'd all be comfortable in our warm pajamas, still stuck in the state of waking up. It'd be in the earliest of morning, right during dawn. And it'd be raining. We'd go outside and watch the universe explode, feeling ourselves become more tired and we'd lie down on the pavement. Everyone would huddle together on the street of their neighborhood, hugging eachother. But no one would be afraid; it'd be like graduating. People would be crying tears of happiness, but they'd be sad at the same time. Like melancholy.
It would start with the stars falling. One by one, the stars would fall, until it looked like the end of a fireworks display.
Then the final star; our sun, would explode. We'd watch it, being the finale to our parade. The intense heat would lull us to a somewhat-sleep, but the sound would be like the biggest thunder-strike we'd ever heard. We'd cower next to eachother, not so afraid, but it'd feel nice being in someone's arms, not caring who they were.
And the moon would disintegrate, still shining. It'd blow away like a ball of dust in the wind, and we'd all sigh; melancholy.
The next thing would happen, is that the rain would be mixed with moon-rock and sun ashes. It'd float down on us and stick on our eyelashes and noses, little kids would be playing in it; running around; dancing.
Then we'd start to fall. At first we wouldn't be able to feel it, but we'd all start falling and spinning, going down the vast drain that was sucking up the entire universe. Like, the opposite of the Big Bang.
We'd all be laughing hysterically at how drunk everyone looked, walking around dizzily and falling. Our eyelids would droop, and everyone would become sleepy again.
Then the rain would dim as pitch darkness would surround us; the aftermath of everything turning black. We'd close our eyes for the final night, feathery thoughts and peaceful dreams would fill our wake.
There'd be no screaming.
- Feeling::
peaceful - Listening To::The Rain.
What is the fucking deal with labels? No, I'm not gonna give the whole, "labels are for soup cans" bullshit. I seriously don't give a fuck if you label me or my friends or whatever. Because I know that my label is just my name, and that's it.
But what I'm really here to bitch about, is how much people hate something, or even love it, just because of it's label name. I mean, just because someone is fucking labelled emo because they have a black fringe and shit, doesn't mean they're a whiney, cutter son of a bitch. And just because someone is labelled prep because they like to wear pink or plaid or whatever, doesn't mean that they're a back stabbing, rich-ass son of a bitch.
It's almost like a racism ordeal to me.
You hate a person because they where a pink blouse and mini skirt, or because they wear eyeliner and dark clothing. That is complete bullshit.
If you're like that, if you're anti-emo or anti-prep or whatever, you should go burn in fucking hell.
I mean, I get anti-emo, as in, anti-emo-fashion. Or anti-prep-fashion. Like, "I just hate the clothes they wear, not the people. Some of them can be really cool." That is all fucking fine with me.
But if you despise the person because they of their fucking label, because you've never met them, but they look like they cut, or whatever, is bullshit. You can't hate someone because of the fucking label OTHER PEOPLE give them.
"Hey, that kid that I don't know over there, is emo."
"Really? Lets go kick his ass because he has messy hair."
"Okay dude! Because I don't know the kid personally, and we could actually have a lot in common, but I don't care and would rather kick his ass because his label says he's a whiney pussy."
"Right on, man!"
You see that?! That up there ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^... That is fucking BULLSHIT!
What I also hate, is when people make videos about how much they hate them.
I mean, unless they have jokes or something, like Emo Patrol, it's fine, because it's funny.
But if you pull up a bunch of pictures of emo shits and comment on them how much of a 'faggot' they are, because they look that way, you are very immature and disrespectful. Why do you even CARE that much, as to post a VIDEO!!! It's outrageous! Do they really piss you off that much, and have to start a riot about how much you hate them, because of the stereotype they give?! REALLY?! ARE YOU FOR FUCKING SERIOUS?!
Wow.
And for all you fucking "emos" out there who hate all the preps because a group of bitches who just 'don't understand you' were mean to you.. fuck off. Preps are my friends, you just have to find the good ones. Not all fucking preps want to humiliate you in front of the entire school, or want to put you down! Tell me the one fucking difference between a fucking genuine "emo's" personality and a prep's personality. Sure, they can have different tastes in music or clothes, but they don't talk differently, they don't tell different types of jokes.
It's not like they're a different fucking species or something, so don't fucking flame them when three assholes beat you up!!
...
Okay. So, another thing I'm here to bitch about, because I don't want to be an idiot who posts two entries tonight..
Music Genre Haters.
What is the fucking deal with you people?!
This goes along with what I was previously ranting about, so.. here you go.
One thing I don't fucking get, is why it even matters if MCR isn't emo or if Green Day isn't punk or what the fuck ever. It's just music, and you should like it because it makes you happy.
That's another thing. People who ridicule other people, and put them down because of the music they listen to, are motherfuckers. And not the good kind of motherfucker.
Do you know how crappy you make someone feel, when you say they're music is "just shit." Or that their influences "are only in it for the money."
Even if the person KNOWS that's not true, it still makes them feel like a bag of shit on fire. And it pisses me off.
Why is everything that is new and mainstream just shit and not real art or whatever? So people who are modern and mainstream only do it for the money and fame?
No, you guys are bullshitting that.
Music from the 80's or whatever wasn't all good. There were some shitty bands. And music from now can be good, it's not all shitty bands.
And not only legends from like, a million years ago were the only good people to ever hit the market.
Why does it fucking matter what effing genre or era or how main-stream it is? Why can't it just be music that people like?
---------
Okay.. So this is just a side note to say that YES! I totally get that everyone has an opinion, and everyone gets fucking pissed off at something or whatever.
I get that totally,
All I'm saying here is that people need to lighten up. I don't get why people give a fuck what genre of music someone listens to or whatever. Go ahead and state your opinion, but don't fucking kill our love for a certain band while doing that. Because that pretty much ruins the whole idea behind music.
Music is a way to express yourself with lyrics and melodies and all that other fun shit. It's not for people to ridicule and make our fucking passions for the bands that make us feel good die. Music is about freedom to be yourself, and when you say the music I listen to and think is really good, is shit.. well, that pretty much makes me think that I need to change my music, just so I don't listen to shit.
And yea, I know you're gonna say, "Why do you fucking give a crap if I think it's shit?"
Because! I don't want people hating me because I supposibly listen to shitty music! So yea, I care that people think the music I listen to is shitty, when apparently, the music you listen to is the best there is!
Yes. I care, and I know I'm sounding like a hypocrit when I'm telling people to shut the fuck up and asking them why the fuck they care what people listen to or how they look or whatever.. But if I have to be a fucking hypocrit to say what I want, then fine. I'm a fucking hypocrit.
So back the fuck off.
- Feeling::
aggravated
I neeeeedd a job, but I'm too young. It makes me mad, because I want some money to buy on stuff like, clothes, and a guitar petal and just other useless junk I need. And then I wouldn't feel bad for mooching off my parents. I mean, if we were in school, I could go to the councilor's office and ask to an applicatino for a worker's permit. But NOOOO it's summer vacation.
And not to mention that I'm too shy to ask my neighbors if I could babysit or mow the lawn. Not to mention that they already have babysitters and lawnmowers And my brother is making $10 a week for mowing my dad's puny lawn, when I get nothing for cleaning up or doing the laundry or whatever.
Wait! I just got a good idea.
I'll sell some of my crap. People'd buy my crap, right? Well, I'll think about it.
Anyway, I was gonna tell you about a dream I had two nights ago.
It starts off. there were these little goblin things that were attacking my mom's house, but it was my dad's house.. And it was really scary because if they jumped on you, you died. And my dad and I had to fight them off and there were thousands of them. I guess I'd say it was like, I Am Legand. So, these refugees came over and they were kind of like people we knew and such. Oh, and by the way, the goblins got INSIDE OUR HOUSE! So you had to watch your ever step and you were always filled with fear. And the people came over and all the goblins got sent to either the upstairs or the basement, I can't remember. But then this guy came with this chick, they were my age and me and the chick both dated that guy in a hot tub at the same time. I dunno it was like, really dark and we were in a hot tub with this guy talking about the evil goblins and stuff. And there was like, a fireplace right across from us and it was weird. And there was a fire in the fireplace and rose petals everywhere. And we just sat there and talked about the scary goblins! I guess my subconcious couldn't get that perverted. But yea, I think some people died and I remember after the hot tub part, I was talking to my dad and started panicking because I could hear the goblins coming. And they weren't very loud creatures. And I remember saying to my dad, "I don't wanna do this anymore! I wanna go home!" and he was all excited from the thrill of the kill. And I was just so scared because I knew that we wouldn't win. There were too many and all the refugees wouldn't fight. And my dad and I were unprotected and had no weapons and stuff.
But mind you, all that happened in about a 4 hour sleeping time. Because I stayed up till five and woke up around 9.
And I drew a picture of one of the goblins, by the way:
(Sorry for the crappyness. They were really scary in my dream...)
Oh, and all that reminds me of another dream I had, focusing on me and Frank Iero. I wrote it down somewhere. Here, I'll copy and paste it..
"I had the worst dream last night.
I mean, during the dream, I was the happiest I ever felt in my whole life. I was pretty much sitting on cloud nine singing with angels happy.
This is how it goes:
It was Warped Tour and My Chemical Romance were going to be there again.
Monica, Michelle and I were so excited because during warped tour, the bands usually walk around and talk to fans and stuff.
So we went there and before MCR got on, Frank and Gerard walked out of their bus. No one bambarded them because there was so many people talking to other people and no one relaly cared. So Michelle, Monica, and I, along with a few other, ran up to greet them.
Well, Gerard and Frank, (well, mostly Gerard) had us all gather around in a circle and we all hand each other's arms around our backs. I was right across from Gerard and he was talking and he said things like, "Always stay alive. You guys keep me alive," just shit about how you can't go and kill yourself.
So, the other people left and it was just Gerard, Frank, Monica, and Michelle and me. Monica wanted to stand by Gerard so she left and I got to stand next to Frank. Everyone was still holding everyone, even though the others left.
Then I remember being squashed by about 10 other people and I was really really close to Frank and I said, 'This is sorta like the mosh pit!' and he chuckled.
So the 'mosh pit' carried away my friends and Gerard and left me alone with Frank. And he still had his arm around me.
I remember standing there with him and everything got so quiet. He pulled me closer and just held me for what seemed like forever. I could feel his breath on my hair and the heat from his chest. I couldn't stop smiling and I played with a cross he wore on a chain around his neck. Even will all of our body heat, the chain was still cold. It was so vivid.
I felt like the love he gave me, and the love I gave back was split in threes. It was like the love of father and daughter. He held me like I was his child. But the way his head rested on mine, and how my head was on his chest, we were almost lovers. It was romantic. And finally, his hands were wrapped around me as if we've been best friends forever.
Then, he pulled away a little bit and he told me to write my name on two lists. One was in a book and another on a sheet of paper. He called it the list of people who he loved, and who loved him. I wrote, I love Frank in the book.
Then he hugged me and left to find Gerard.
I remember going to a PB&J eating contest after, alone.
Then I was woken up by my dad.
I remember trying to make the dream come back but it never did. I never got to see their show.
But anyway, after I woke up, I started crying. I realized, not only he won't ever love me like that, but no one will or does. No one loves me enough to hold me forever.
I can't remember feeling so happy in my life, or so miserable."
That's what I wrote. I can't really remember the dream without reading that. But I know it was sad.
- Feeling::
crazy
So, I've been thinking about things. Not many things, but some.
Like, why do people get mad at you when your parents say you can't hang out? It isn't my fault my parents think I should stay home. People also seem to get mad at me when I don't wanna do something. Sure, I mean, if I was told, "No, I don't want to hang out today," I'd feel sad, but I wouldn't yell at the person. I mean, sometimes I just wanna be alone! Why do I have to spend every waking moment with someone?
What also makes me wonder is why people call other people stupid for having a certain opinion. Sure, you don't like that kind of ice cream, but I'm not stupid for liking it! Or they make you feel bad for liking something. They make you feel inferior. I don't make anyone feel inferior when I say I don't like the same band as them or whatever. Or at least, I don't try to, like some of these jerks.
Another thing that grinds my gears is when people don't take you seriously. I'm trying to have a intellegent conversation with someone and they laugh at me. I'll be saying something like, "I think it's stupid how people are getting beat up just for the way they dress and act," and other people just laugh in my face, like it's a joke! What is the deal with you people?! Why do you even have to reply to that, if you think it's a joke!?
God. Now, I'm on a role.
I hate it when people laugh at you for the things you like. I know I already said that but I think I need to say it more. I hate it when people think your young or stupid or don't know any better because you think something is cool. Or they're like, "What the fuck? Why the hell do you like them? Their the suckest people alive!!" But what makes that bad about me? I like that band, so what?! You don't have to talk to me like I'm smoking and you can't breathe.
And when people talk badly about your friends and family, when they don't even know them. They say mean things like, "Ugh, so-n-so is so ugly. I wish she'd go die in a well.." or "So-n-so is the worst guitarist ever. He stinks and I'm so much better than him.." Well you know what?
THEY HAPPEN TO BE MY FRIENDS!!! AND I HAPPEN TO THINK THEIR COOL! AND THE MORE YOU HATE ON THEM, THE LESS I LIKE YOU!
See? See what this is doing to me? It's causing me to yell.
But this is the last rant I'm going at today, for the sake of you people:
Okay. I hate it when people try to change you, just so they can be happy. No, I don't want to change me, and don't make me feel guilty about it, or try to bribe me! I'm not changing for you, no matter how important you are in my life! That's not me! That's you! That's what you want. I happen to like myself this way.
- Where?:Bedroom
- Feeling:: annoyed
- Listening To::Silence.
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chasethestars
chasethestars