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divorced's Journal

History

27th November 2001

5:43pm: poop
yes indeed...this is my first journal entry...and well i am sick of writing....but....I have this funny story that I wrote a while to go. Basically just me ranting about things i dont believe and pretending i am ghandi...well forgive me i was listening to portishead and that does strange things to a girl... here i will paste it in ...ignore the spelling, i chose not to fix it...hehhhehe okie dokie here it is: Well here we lie, in a bed of apple pie. A bed of apple pie, shall we not die. For here we lie in the bed of apple pie. An eye for an eye. Here in this bed of apple pie. Can a bed of pie be that exciting you ask with a smirky grin. Well pie can be exciting a macademia supreme pie, or a strawberry torte maybe? But does there really have to be any excitement? Can we live with the as is? Can we live with what we have been supplied? Till the day that we must die? What is that famous quote or maybe its just one of those things that everyone says, no real set quotes. One of those things that just arrives to you one day, making you feel like an genius, yet you are simply one of those thousands who acomplished this bliss of finding the real deal. Well off my, in Jessicas words, rant and back to that so called quote. The only thing in life that you can count on( or be sure of , oh well I forgot) is your death. How morrbid can we be that we all come to the same horrid conclusion? Well I am sure that once it will rain, that my sun will rise again. I am sure of many things, you me we. I need a me, I wish I had you. I want a we. Poetic arent I? Well look at me I claim to want a we. Yet truelly arent we all kinda looking for a we? Wouldnt that be the sure thing? That once in a while we will all look, want, or need a we? So many ideas that block my brain for engulfing in this bliss. This thesis. I dont worry about the correctess in grammer, but only the correctness to me. I am as of now, fumbling for my keys. Yet, this thing we call a keyboard, with its unenvasive keys, is so much more true than my hands with a pen. Music, muse, these are cognates. Music is my muse. I always say I want to sing but suck. No one disagrees. They should. I may say that I am a new talent. A kind unknown to all. The type that sings in silence, alone, with her eyes closed. The kind that simply is lulling her silenced and insignificant pains. A girl of her age shouldnt know it all yet. Can she handle it us it? Well she can handle it all she is a super power released only on a blue moon. Are there such things as blue moons I wonder? I wonder like most a lot. A lot, a word I loathe. It comes out when you lose your train of thought and try to find it again. One of those unexplainable bo boos that are looked down upon by the other books and words. I love all who even show a smigin of chance of returning the feeling. How is it that in this whole wide yet snail small world we feel alone yet like this is it. Well scratch that no one thinks well maybe they think but they dont know. That they have seen all there is to see in this freak of a planet. Life goes by much to fast. I am afraid of life and afraid of death. We rush through with our worries then worry that we are going to fast. Sometimes when I am feeling a little bit nerotic, I can feel my self age. Can you imagine the fourteen year old feeling her little self age? Peole assume and suppose many a time dont they. Dont answer that that is why I didnt put a question mark, it isnt a question just a muse of my mixed up and musically mimiced emotions. Well how many crazily distributed pages of filth have I wrote and made you read so far? 2 wow that is pretty amazing. Amazing grace people sing it as thought they sing to Grace a woman? I think of it as grace not Grace, they grace of the lord. Or whoever you may pray to. In some cases I suppose you might be someone who prays to themselves. My dreams and hopes and fears seem to find their way into being a prayer. Silly that is. Imagine no fancy that. Can you feel this? This thesis. This silly thing I may call a poem to a man or a summary of my life to an adult? An adult sounds like a dirty word. Right then when I tried to type dirty, I kept typing diety. There are no accidents, who said that. Idiot. Well not idiot, did anyone even ever say that. Well I guess I just did. So there was just a waste of room for me to critisize my own made up quotes. Waste of space. A state that I feel as though I am suddenly yet always in is who cares. That state of not bitterness, but just no feeling because of all the feelings you feel. I feel fear all of a sudden. Protect me. Gosh I hate being home alone sometimes. Strangely I cried almost three times, I think, today. For no certain reason. Just hormones I suppose. Beauty is undescribable. Not in the eye of the beholder, but in the eye of the observer. I may see beauty as trash and trash as beauty. Can we surely say that all famous quotes can be analyzed. Analyzing literature is great fun and fascinating work, but what If we arent even doing it right. I read into all things much to much I suppose. Can you analyze all you see. I am too critical this I hear and believe. Yet they say it is jealousy or sadness to myself. I would simply agree, for those are human nature. Forgivable explainable. Yet I am simply one who seems to herself and others not to care yet I care so much. I put my cares to a purpose. I am synical maybe? Who will know? If not me than no one. Can I truly be understood? I already understand. That whole finding yourself can be silly. I used to think that I had lost myself, but I realized that all of those people I thought I was pretending to be to impress were all me. I am all of them, we are who we are. That quote sucks. Not to be rude but seriously it does. You can change who you are to the world and sometimes who you are to yourself. Wow three pages of mushy wisdom for you. Oh lover soulmate you. This I wrote for you. This sad music, these lit candles. All these sad muses for you and me. I am simply drumming all these useless thoughts and wisdoms into the keys. This may depress some. Dont worry, next time I will play cheery music and muse myself into a lovely frenzy. To lift you from this slum that the last three pages have put you into. Well apple pie is in my sky, and I still have time to sleep. Good night for now, my little questioners of the voids.
6:06pm: jessie the beanless one
dear void,

i absolutely adore jessikah, she is the bestest gal a friend could ever want...she is supa yet she doesn't tell me what she really thinks so things get disfunctional.


Shitaki.. i am not me. well it seems i am this girl..if i knew her i would hate her. why is it that i cant be me? silly. i am supa all the things that make someone supa..thats me. yet i cant be her..unless its just me or with my mama..strange how i can be who i am with my ma ... i love many...i love him.. the man-child...further entries shall explain but now i am tired and have honors history and english to do and then gilmore girls..soo bye void.
Current Mood: tired
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