Happy Meal.

Just some 5:09 ramblings.

I do not understand alot of things.  I do not understand why people wear v-neck tshirts. But then again, most people dont understand why I wrap my c**k up in lettuce and stick it in other people's salads.

I'm totally joking of course, I would never put lettuce anywhere near my c**k.

 

And I wonder why noone ever takes me seriously.

 

I always think il enjoy the gentle buzz of a laptop and the sound of someone else breathing next to me, but then I realize its making my lap a little too hot and the breath in my face is rather stinky.

I think I'm better off alone.

 

Physically, anyway. There is absolutely nothing I would rather be doing with my Wednesday afternoons than spending them alone, in my car, on an abandoned road, in complete darkness, driving to Elliott Smith or Kevin Devine or Say Anything or Brand New. Absolutely nothing, besides possibly in a sweaty disgusting moshpit.

 

Mentally, however, I'm a f*****g wreck. I can't help but think that there is noone in this shithole of a  town that can possibly understand that love means more than a week long relationship and when I ask you what you want to be when you grow up, I want you to spill your guts and tell me exactly why God put me on this earth.

As if anyone could really tell me that. A for Effort, I suppose.

 

I hate the fact that I can't change anything. I can't change the fact that I'm no closer to doing anything with my life than I was April 9th at 9:57 of the year 1992. I will never be able to change how I feel about anything. I will never completely master the drums, and I will never meet anyone I'm completely happy with for any long period of time.

 

I'm utterly insatiable.

 

And now its raining, which is so cliche it doesnt even deserve a mention. But this is just a rambling and I don't expect anyone to read it anyway.

 

So why do I still go to church alone? Why do I still wake up at 9 oclock every sunday morning to walk to church and sit in the back pew all by myself? Well, for one, its interesting as s**t.

And for two, if I could just find one thing in this world to believe in, I think I'll be alright.

I keep having this weird Deja Vu s**t where things that happen in my dreams keep happening in real life. I'm not pyschic and im not claiming to be psychic, but seriously. It's scary.

It does make me feel better though. Like, when things happen exactly like they did in a dream I had 6 months earlier, it makes me feel like I did things right. Like maybe I did things exactly like i was supposed to and things are going to be perfectly fine.

 

I hope things will be perfectly fine.

 

F**k the gangster boys down the street, f**k stupid s***s and their scrawny legs, and f**k shallow b*****s.

All I wanna do is listen to good a*s music.

(And put an end to my swearing problem.)

 

 

 So yesterday we decided to clear away the cobwebs and put that pretty purple frisbee to good use. We decided to do this on the windiest day of the year. As luck would have it, a tornado fired up right in the middle of my pass, sending the pretty purple frisbee halfway across a f*****g cornfield. We live in Illinois, I might add, which is made up of mainly cornfields and liqour stores.

Is it ironic I hate corn? Or just bad luck? Probably both.

So I walked all the way out to the middle of that god forsaken cornfield that had given us a place to hide when the parties got busted and the cops came, and I realized how big the earth was.

I realized that I could walk five thousand miles and I would still be Chloe Taylor, with an oversized a*s and a bright blue lipring. I would still feel the same way about the same things, no matter where I was.

Although my feet would probably hurt like a b***h.

So I walked back to my manly, beerchugging, immature but hilarious friends and told them I wanted to take a roadtrip.

 

They told me once I had money for gas they'd go wherever the hell I wanted.

I decided to stay in buttfuck nowhere.

 

 

I'm really tired of playing one-woman drinking games.  Everyone tells me to hate the game instead of the player, but the fact that I used to love the player keeps me bitter. I really am sorry she didnt get the attention she expected, and I really am sick of her trying too hard to be cute.

So I'll continue the play Resident Evil 4 and pretend I don't hear the sucking noises from the backroom.

I really would love to meet the person that can take 8 gunshots to the grill. I f*****g hate zombies.

 

"The road to Hell is littered with good intentions."

Is it weird that I heard that on a porno?

 

So Saturday after work I had to meet my gay uncle's new boyfriend , Dan. My uncle is from Chicago, cause I guess when your gay you go to Chicago. Anyway, I was kind of pissed off because I really loved my uncle's old boyfriend, Michael. So, though Dan was extremely nice and didn't deserve any kind of bullshit from his new boyfriends niece, he got some. Well, kind of.

I was still a little dizzy from the fumes from my work, so I told them that.

Oh look, heres some dialogue.

"Why are you dizzy?" - Gay Uncle's New Boyfriend

"Oh, you know, hittin the crack pipe a little too hard." - um, me. So of course, everyone stared. and stared. Except for my Grandma, who is crazy and silly and Catholic. She just laughed.

"I'm totally kidding, dude. Crack would be really bad for the baby." So I watched his eyes get wide and decided not to tell him I was kidding about that , also. Unfortunately, my uncle did.

So they got back in their car and drove back to Chicago, without a goodbye or even a wave.

Oh, I'll live. =(

 

 

I love my grandfathers barber shop. Theres this humungus floor to ceiling window where you can see everyone on the outside. I love watching all the creepers and hookers and whatnots walking by the window. Springfield is a crazy place. 

But I'm kidding, theres no hookers. That I know of. Other than myself.

But there are alot of pedophiles.

 

and smelly hobo's.

 

 I think theres entirely too much good music in the world for there to be war's and s**t.

 

Hardcore dancing is ridiculous. If you don't know what this is, come to springfield and go to a metal show and watch the kids dance. It's intense, its painful, and its also stupid. Can you flail? Do it with rhthym and your hardcore dancing. One time my friend Mat (who got my full name tattooed under his left n****e because hes a f*****g dumbass) donkeykicked a girl in her vagina. I think he broke it.

Speaking of broken vagina's,

I think George is back on the scene, so hooray for that.

 

 

Molly Oxman (5:30:51 PM): We could hand out candy to kids

Molly Oxman (5:30:54 PM): and then get wasted.

ChloesCrackKills (5:31:00 PM): WOO

ChloesCrackKills (5:31:03 PM): or do both.

ChloesCrackKills (5:31:05 PM): at the same time

Molly Oxman (5:31:05 PM): Because my skank darth vader outfit

Molly Oxman (5:31:08 PM): is the balls

ChloesCrackKills (5:31:13 PM): damn i dont have a costume

Molly Oxman (5:31:16 PM): I dont want the cops to be called on us.

ChloesCrackKills (5:31:17 PM): il dress up as a fat naked girl

Molly Oxman (5:31:19 PM): lmao

Molly Oxman (5:31:27 PM): I'll make you a costum.

ChloesCrackKills (5:31:42 PM):  i don't need one , shugga tits. Have you seen my black girl a*s?

 

It really is large, leme tell ya.

 

 

 

Biology is the study of living things, so thats what I did. I studied a living thing. I studied a girl named Dana that I've never noticed before, who sits at her desk and takes her notes quietly and only raises her head to read the board. She does not make eye contact with anyone. She tucks her hair gently behind her ear, and continues to write her notes with her left hand. She's got long , skinny legs and no clue how to  use them. If she swallowed an egg hole and didnt choke to death, she would probably look like she had a giant egg-shaped tumor in her stomach. I can't recall seeing her talk to anyone besides a teacher. She probably hasn't been noticed by anyone else since the third grade. When the notes are done she just stares at her desk . She stares and stares and stares. When Mr. Eaton asks everyone to get into groups, she continues to do the same. He does not complain. Her head remains bowed as she pulls out a book, and eventually, she puts her book and her head down on the desk. I cannot see her face, it is shielded by a layer of red, scraggly hair; but I don't need to.

 

I always thought I knew what it was like to be alone.

 

 

I am not scared of death. Not mine, anyway. It's other peoples deaths that terrify me. It's their deaths I have to live with.

I am not too you to know what love is. You are just too old to remember.

I do not break hearts. I dent them and tear them and make sure they remember me.

I am not leaving you any time soon. I am only going crazy.

I am not a civilized person. Fall break means living in the same tshirt for days and smelling like a farm animal.

I do have self respect. I put please and thank you's in notes to myself, and I appreciate the fact that my body never takes a break.

I am not a s**t. The sun may go down, but I will not. I will never be the girl that blows someone behind the carwash.

 

 

Did you ever notice how Sex in the City is kinda like Golden Girls? They should change it to sex in the cemetary.

 

You know those jars of "ashes" that teachers sometimes have on their desks that say things like, "Ashes Of Disruptive Students" cause they want us to believe they have a sense of f*****g humor?

Yeah, One day I'm going to smash that s**t and when they ask me what I'm doing, I'll tell them I'm setting the m***********s free.

 

 

I notice that if you lie to boys, they tend to believe it. Or maybe they just dont care enough to question it.

 

It's a little too late for bed.

 

 

 

 

I guess I'm happy about alot of things, too.

I'm happy my mother hasnt changed his room yet.

I'm happy Zatoichi signed his name as "Joe" instead of "Z" for once.

I'm happy great music is still pulsating through my stereo system,

and blood still pulses through my veins.

I'm happy to be alive.

and I'm willing to be.

 

 

 

If noone sees the rainbow, what happens to all the riches?

 

How many licks will it take to get me home on time?

 

If croutons are already stale bread, why are they in a air tight bag?

 

The houses are holding the ground down and the muffins are eating the sky,

while a tub of "It Really Is Butter" watches at a safe distance.

If you can't believe its not butter, its probably solidified pee.

Re:Tired
When your younger they try to convince you Santa is real. Then you grow up a little bit, and the television tries to convince you wrestling is real. Then you get a wee bit older, and the churches try to convince you to believe in God, as well. Then you grow up even more, and the teachers try to convince you to believe in yourself.

"If seeing is believing, then believe that we have lost our eyes."

And I do not know how any of this is relevant to anything.

 

So Grandpa sat with his organic cigarettes and new wife,
wearing a hole in the faded blue fabric of his favorite armchair
to mumble and grumble at teenagers these days,
and how we're all just a bunch of couch potatoes.

Okay, Grandpa. I'll tell you when the nurse is here to give you your sponge bath.

 

I've noticed I have multiple personalities.

One day, all I'll want is sex, food, and sleep, in that order.

The next, All I want to do is lay in bed and spill my brains out onto paper, in the shape of pencil sketches and roughly made poems, and want nothing to do with boys.

On another day, I'll listen to music until my ears bleed and pound on my drums until the neighbors complain, or at least until I care about them complaining.

I don't know. Maybe this is normal, maybe not.

 

I got new pastels as an early Christmas present. When I started High School, I was forced against my will to take Spanish rather than Art. I was furious, but I moved on. But the pastels reminded me how I used to spent 75% of my time. I took in one of my favorites and the art teacher at my school actually accused me of getting someone else to do it. F**k her.

 

We're all tied up and wrapped around and useless

in a useless, state of mind

and at the same time we're still young.

 

I will cry and I will wail,

and pound my fists on the floor

ask like a selfish child,

why I am not your favorite anymore.

 

I'll just float around the ceiling of my room

like the ghost haunting my linen closet.

spare thoughts sans hue

dole out rightful wrongs chat with yellow breasted Icteria.

I will not make it through the Winter.

 

Tear apart the nearest Nebula, and paste the stars in your eyes

So you can see where your coming.

 

 

I have a pregnant friend. Her name is Mallory and she is the toughest girl I have ever met in my entire life.

"Someone tell that Witch Doctor to get that navel string out of here."

is it strange that I hear little things like that in my head when I think about little things like that?

what??

 

Tunnel Vision

In Fear and Faith

In Fear of Faith

Keep my eyes open long enough to see this coming together just as it shouldnt

or stand in the shower with the water off, flood my head and cut myself out of the picture.

I will not make it through the Day.

 

Speak so softy speak so softy

of things that I never said

Watch the room flip until I'm standing upright again

shadows dancing with monsters on my graffitied, colored walls

write until your brain runs dry .

I will not make it to the telephone.

 

Yesterday I went to Walmart, and saw a worker that looked like an older, more strung out version of Max Bemis.

If you know who this is, that will be amusing to you

because Max Bemis is already getting kind of old, and hes strung out, and probably doomed to work at Walmart

But my God he's an amazing musician.

 

I am drunk and a little high even as I am writing this to you. I have realized several things in the last 24 hours. One, is that all men are sexist, it just depends on how many beers you give them. Chad tried explaining to me the difference between boys and girls. I tried explaining to him that the onlyd ifference was that I had a vagina between my legs and a brain between my ears.

 

 

I have found my favorite drug. Xanax is utterly amazing.

Xanax is also scary. I'm not sure what goes on. Either my heart is going normal speed, and my brain is just too slow to keep up, or my heart is really slow and my brian is fast

I don't know, but it feels like my heart is going to bust out of my skin and eat me.

I forgot how easy it was to sleep when your on drugs. You could lay for two hours and not be completely sure if your awake or asleep.

"You can die and still breathe- prolonged xanax use will turn you into a zombie"

I can die and still breathe.

I will die and still breathe.

If I can still breathe, I will die.

If I breathe, I can still die.

If I can die, I can still breathe.

 

I choose to breathe.

 

I need pills to sleep and pills to wake up.

I know somethings wrong when I really honestly question my sanity.

Eyes tripping over truth about a liar,

FrankenChloe has left the building.

 

I can hold my liqour, but not my tongue.

Being sober at parties is no fun. Kids who seemed as blazed as you were magically sober up when their parents call, and its like 3rd grade awkward for the kids who have any amount of self respect left.  You go back a week later and you can still smell yourself on the sheets. Random quotes of a sober Saturday Night:

"We need some weed so we can understand eachother."

"Oh come on, I take s***s bigger than that dick."

"I just want to choke people."

"You know that hot dogs got you drippin in your panties."

 

I never noticed how many friends I had until they all called me at 6 in the morning to wish me a Merry Christmas.

 

This next part is going to be very personal. Do not read it if you don't want to know anything dramatic, personal, emotional, or cliche about my life.

 

Dear Father,

F**k you , leave me alone.

 

 

I’m Like A Snickers Bar, And You’re All On The Rag.
I’m feelin like a keg at a toga party:)

 

I like to listen to Eleanor Rigby by the Beatles while I'm playing Runescape.
"Ohhh look at all the lonely pee-pullll"

Oh, I'm clever.

The music they play on their is so lame. But I think theres some message that if you play it backwards it says : play me for six hours straight and neglect your real friends.

HA.

"Do you believe in God?"
I never know what to say to that question.

Two days ago I had to go to Schnucks with my Mom. I stayed out in the car because: I didnt have money for cookies, I'm too big to ride in the cart anymore, and I can hold a longer conversation with a dying cell phone and ipod than I can my mother.
So I was sitting in the car, and this song came on by a band called TAT. Know them? Of course you don't. They play Warped Tour and their actually really good, but unsigned. Anyway, they have this song about somebody staying up all night with them when things get hard. WOW, originality!
Anyways. If you live in Springfield, you know that there is a big a*s pointy church across the street from Schnucks. I thougth back to one of my overly-religious friends talking about how Jesus is ALWAYS there and he's there at 2 in the afternoon and 2 in the morning if you need him to be.
Then... I looked at the car across from me and the license plate was "Believe"

Freaky, right?

Right.

Then I watched this old guy try to find his car. I guess he forgot what his car looked like, cause he thought about 8 of them were his.
Maybe he was just a robber. A 70 year old robber?
I think that's what I'll do once I'm old. I'll just rob people.

I think I heard the funniest thing in the world the other day.
Daniel Tosh:
"Hey man, you wanna go smoke some pot?"
"No, I don't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not in seventh grade and I have things to do. Grow up and do coke like an adult."

hahhahhahhha.

 

You know, I still have trouble sleeping at night. I get in this weird half asleep type thing. Where I'm dreaming, but I'm awake. You know?
The weirdest most random things play out in my head and I have very little control over them, yet I still know I'm not asleep.
It's like theres one little brain cell hiding behind an artery or something thinking, "Holy s**t this is fucked up. How the hell did we get on the topic of Toe Jam and Toast?"

 

I think I'm going to marry Peter Pan. He's got it all figured out.

 

The other day I told this a*****e my friends hang out with to kiss my a*s.
He said it was too fat and that his lips might get sucked into the dark abyss.
Just kidding I just made that up, he said "F**k you, b***h" and later told my friend Wesley I gave him a blowjob
Now I don't know how much you know about me, but for one, I don't give blowjobs, and definitely not to him.
Point blank f*****g period.
Also, I like to get my revenge.

 

So I took a picture of my a*s, printed it off at the library, wrote Kiss My Fat A*s on the left butt cheek,

 

and spent 5 dollars and 60 cents making copies of it.
Copies are about ten cents. :)

I bought duct tape, and me and my friend duct taped them EVERYWHERE in his house.
EVERYWHERE.
The bottom of his sock drawer.
The back of his shower.
In his fridge.
In his dishwasher.
In the back of his closet.
Under his pillow.
Behind his window curtiain.
ALL OVER the walls of his room.
Under the couch cushions.
Behind the tv.
EVERYWHERE.

 

I want him to be seeing my a*s for a loooooong time.

 

f****r.

The T and the R are sticking on my keyboard. Just a warning.

I love my Grandparents, and they love me, despite my body piercings and pink hair and older boyfriends.
One time I walked into the shop and asked my Grandma for a tampon. All my Grandpa heard was, "do you have.." and he handed me a twenty dollar bill.
 

Do you think when warriors went into battle, their commanding officers were ever like,
"make sure you relieve yourself first, I don't want to have to help you out of that chainmail again"
Or if they ever got hiccups when they were duelin it out
Or if they ever made small talk with their enemies?
I think they should play crazy rave music when they fight. Or any music at all. Maybe they would pack up their s**t and be like, "Hey, you know what, let's just talk this one out."

 

Note to self

sharp as pain
Marching Clouds
a long time, maybe two
settling stomach acid
Relationship based on orgasms
.

 

A movie that to this day scares the hell out of me is Skeleton Key. I will not tell you why, but when I'm alone in my room and I see a mirror sometimes I just freak the f**k out and I have to call someone.
But when I think about it, why are we scared of ghosts? Cause they all say the same thing, tell us to "get out"?
I think we need to get some thugs in those ghost investigator(sp) teams to threaten them.
"Do sumthinnn".
The most pain I think they've ever caused someone is slapping them.
Yeah.
A b***h slap.
Ghosts 1, Humans 0.

 

"I got a flask inside my pocket,
We can share it on the train.
And if you promise to stay conscoius,
I will try and do the same.
Well we might die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain. "
 

- Lua, by Bright Eyes. The newest addition to my playlist on my profile. I absolutely love it, as morbid as those lyrics sound.

 

My mom is a huge Obama fan. When he ran, it was the most excited I've ever seen her get over politics in my entire life. She HATES politics.

So I watched the Inagural(sp) Ball with her, and I said, " Do you think all the people that hate him are watching this right now? You think their pissed?"

(No , I didn't really say pissed. I have respect for my mother and I don't swear at her.

Unless she went and did something crazy, like, wash my SIGNED Against Me! tshirt and wash off all the signatures.
*Cough. Thanks Mom. anyways.)

She said, "No, I'm sure they've already had their diapers changed and put to bed. It's a little too late for the kind folk of the nursery home."

I thought it was funny.

 

The best advice I ever got was from Mat. Yes, Mat-I-have-Chloe's-Name-Tattooed-Under-My-N****e Mat.

He said, "If anyone ever tells you to look at yourself, don't do it. and never fart naked."

 

He was so right.

 

 

[IMG]http://i198.photobucket.com/albums/aa98/ChloeCausesChaos/107_0242.jpg[/IMG]

I made my dad pull the car over so I could take this picture. I wish you could see the way the creek twisted and turned. I loved how it looked. When I got back in the car my dad was telling his friend on the phone how there weren't any scenic things to take pictures of in Illinois, but his daughter had found one.
This is bullshit. I can't go down the street without seeing something I'm just itching to take a picture of.
 

Instead of a much needed car I'm getting an expensive camera for my birthday. About two more months, and I can take pictures of whatever I want without a crappy camera getting in my way.

 

I just saw/heard a mouse.
Let's get one thing straight: I'm no p***y. I firmly believe that in a battle to the death, I could take a f*****g mouse.
But it was scratching around in a vent and it sounded like a dragon and I almost wet my pants.
Eventually I figured out it was a mouse. Then I thought, Mice usually don't make that loud of noises, and not in vents. It must be a rat. A rat on some coke or something.
So I grabbed the nearest projectile spray can I could find (a can of shaving cream) and drowned the m**********r.

 

Was that wrong?
Yeah, and I'm a vegetarian. ha.

 

I am gorgeous.
Beautiful lips to suck the will from you
Because kissing you sucks
Sucks worse than sodomy,
being critically sunburnt,
or not being me.
I am charming and witty,
cunning and smart
and I'll have you laughing until you choke.
I make the sun stand still in the sky
And I absorb every bit of it
I glow and glow
So you can see me
See me make a fool of you
Because I've fooled you all again.

 

This is not me at all.

 

My eyes are squeezed tight, but I wouldn't open them anyway. The blinding white light overhead makes my eyes water. At least that's what I'm blaming the crying on for now. I feel needles in my mouth and cold metal on my tongue. I imagine myself choking on penny's as I taste the iron in my blood. 

"It's okay. It won't last forever."

I squeeze my eyes even tighter against the bright white light, and pretend to be somewhere else.

 

Bright headlights shine into the truck. It's cold, but I'm enjoying the warm glow from her cigarette. Her fingers shake as she lifts them to take another drag. Desperate. Inhale/exhale. Breathe.

I try to, but the farther we drive the more nervous I get and I can't take a panic attack right now.

She brushes stringy hair out of her eyes. Skinny, scrawny knees pressed awkwardly against one another.

We drive.

"She was by the side of the road. Skinny, scrawny. She needed... she needed help."

I hear a slowly draining tire flap along the road. We continue to chase white and yellow lines in the road. Hum Hum Humming down the road.

"She was the sweetest dog I ever did see. Beautiful. Big brown eyes. She just didn't know it was time to go home."

Another shaky, unsure exhale. I love the smell of smoke. I breathe it in. Her eyes look sad, and scared.

"She was in horrible shape. But so was I. I rescued her. We rescued eachother."

 

A stab in the roof of my mouth yanks me out of my daydreaming paradise. My eyes water until I can't make out their faces anymore. My fingers curl around the the arms of my chair, until I think my fingernails may break off. I whimper and he sighs.

"I need you to keep your mouth open."

I see blood on the instrument he passes to the nurse.

and I try to fade.

 

Josh smiles and wipes the blood off my forehead.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you?"

He grabs my arm and yanks me back into the moshpit. The lights flicker and the bass beats in my chest, and I'm lost. Completely lost.

Someone grabs at my waist, and I slide against every other sweaty body desperate for a Tuesday night escape. We move and move and move and I feel my feet blister and my knees buckle

until I can't feel anything at all.

Yes, Max Bemis. Let the purple sky explode.

I feel familiar hands against my skin, and we scream the words.

scream and scream until my voice cracks.

 

I stifle a scream as the attack on my mouth continues. The muscles in my stomach tighten until I think I might throw up. This can't be happening. I would rather give birth than go through this anymore. Metal-against-tooth noises make my ears want to bleed, and I shudder. And I shake. and I still can't shake the feeling this will never be over.

"It will all be over soon."

 

 

Twisting my hands around the wooden pews

listen to her giggle.

feel my insides be torn apart

struggling in the pit of my stomach.

his shoulder against hers

and I try to breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

I forgot how.

and it's time for communion

and I still can't loosen my grip on the seat

and my eyes stay low

and watery

and I let everything else wash over me like the relief that never came.

 

 

 

He looks like s**t.

I get into the car and notice his stubble is going for a full-blown beard. He asks me how I am, 
I try to sit still and try not to talk.

We drive and drive. I listen to the bottom of his car drag against gravel.

"The brakes are going out in the front, that's why I have to do these rolling stops."

He makes me sick.

I listen to his fingertips tap restlessly against the steering wheel, to the absence of music.

Am I that annoying when I do that?

My stomach turns. I f*****g hate him. 
I hate his collection of beer cans,
and the fact that I have to wear sweats when I'm around him
"because if I don't lose some weight soon I'll never get married."
I hate how selfish he is
and the fact that he only wanted a son
and has no problem in letting me know.

I think about our unspoken family motto: Play an instrument or get the f**k out.

I consider wiping the smirk off my face. He gave my Mom 40 dollars last month, afterall.

No. F**k that. Remember remember remember,
everything.

"Welcome To Buffalo!
Where Family Matters!"

I hold back laughter.

He blows past a stop sign and I hate him even more.

I search for my cell phone. It isn't there. 
Great. I'm stuck with s**t-man the barbarian with no lifeline.

We pass by the Church, and I realize I forgot to go.
joshjoshjoshjoshjoshjoshjoshjoshfuck

I hate men.

 

We pull up in the driveway and I consider the sky.
I pray to God it doesn't rain in case I should have to walk home.

I walk to the front door, and let the wet earth cling to the bottom of my pants.
My Goodwill pants. Thanks, Dad.

"Oh, did I tell you the computer doesn't work?"
"No. No, you didn't."
"Well it's okay isn't, we both know you came here to see me, right?"
A joke we both know all too well.

And then I look at him and then we both smile and then he's forgiven all over again.

 

 

How many licks will it take - to get to the center of a tootsie pop?

to get me home on time?

Staring at my hands in my lap until I make up my mind.

 

Phyne Me

Phyndd Me

trapped in the decimal system

in that lonely, quiet library

with that quiet librarian.

Counting library fees and pages turned,

until my research paper writes itself.

 

searching for truth in faded, yellowing pages

comforting and crinkled,

Security only we would understand.

 

I examine my tootsie pop,

like the homeless man examines me.

Sizes me up like a pair of shoes, that'll he'll never be able to try on.

The most handsome hobo I've ever seen;

keeping company with lonely librarians asking

what book this shelf is on

and just which isle he should take to get home.

 

 

 

 I need to write something. Seriously. I need to write something GOOD. and soon, or I'll explode.

But I am the ultimate queen of procrastination.

Is it possible to miss somebody you have never met?

Do you believe in soul mates?

Or aliens? Or Ghosts? or Heaven?

 

Let it be real

switching out your batteries behind the moshpit

lay your dreams down in a line and watch them fly up your nose

we spent too much time waiting around for eachother.

So I sat there, hating alot of things.

Sorry, I can't help you on this.

I want to know how to get through this.

 

 

I just want to keep the original:

 

F**k Geometry.  Barely stirring up a breeze. Glued to blue plastic chairs. Nightmare on F**k Street. Leprachauns outside a classroom window. School Janitors named Merlin. Warlocks in the broom closet. Wizards in my bedroom. Check your progresss/Check your zipper. A Constant layer of itch. Blow your f*****g nose. Elves that bake cookies in trees. Big angry hairy men that cut them down. Jordan's muscles. Biting my fingernails off. Fake bricks and a semester under a nailpegged roof. Not making sense. Find x and y. Find it. Find me/in the library. Fine me/for overdue books. Phynde me reading them. Backed up in s**t creek with spare geometry homework. Good thing I'm not hungry. Zombie yogurt. Yogurt: Fruit Soup. Solitude in a crowded room. Dander and eye itch. Explosions in the sky. Screeching chalk. 32-8-24. is not my locker combination. I'm lying. I'm not lying. That was also not an unlie. Try to look like I give a damn. Hailey Bitching. BitchBitchBitching. Her dog/boyfriend/mom/period/are you listening? I'm not listening.

 

1 2 3 4 girls at my locker.

 

Wesley in the hallway. Wesley on the piano. Weslwesw. Jelly Belly Jelly Beans. Jelly in my belly and scotch on my crotch. No recess? Pregnant girls. Weapons of mass abortion. Dallas's big nose. Jordans Muscles again. Posters in the cafeteria: Body By Milk. Body (found) By (the) Milk (man). Almost drunk. Not drunk at all. 3.89 3.89 3.89 Giant P***y Apparition. Grouchy Parking Attendant. Getting Physically Abused. God, Phuck Anything. Everything. I'm done. (I'm never done.) 2 and a half black kids. Mr Lamkey's talking mustache. Waking up on fire. Writerscafe in minkstinks room. Stink. Stinkbombs. I pledge allegience. I do not know what stipulation means. Making out in the hallways, and I hope she has bleeding gums. That aids is a b***h, huh? Hailey reading my text messages. Joshjoshjoshjoshjoshfuck.

Projectile learning. Scribble. Scrabble. Scramble. Scramble to Scribble on Scrambling children. Tiny Humans. Creepy cat balls. Revolution on Canvas. Stomach ache. Stomach acid. Warm chocolate milk. Milk for Corbyn. Geometry sucks. Sucks the life right out of me. My handwriting is horrible. Masterbation muscles. Mimicry. Mimi-cry. I saw mimi cry. Eyetwitch and blank spaces. Bounch my leg. Bounce through the ceiling. Bounce into the sky. Constant itch still. Wads of dusty paper. Tornado face. Tornado bath water. I hate Bree. Stop talking to meeeee. Yellow and black jacket, now buzz. F**k off. Once upon a time I was black, and nobody fucked iwth me when I put my head down on my desk. Another broken pencil. Monday again.

Fat women in flowered dresses. Naked structures. Bleeding foot bubbles. Remembering my nightmares. Four words on a line. Stop wasting so much paper. Stop wasting so much youth. Whale fingers. Knuckle popping. Tongue clicking. shutttupp. Brain - the newest vestigal structure. Look I said something funny, but did you get it? You didn't get it. Talkative time consuming attention craving f****r on a stool. Pouch. God rested on the seventh day. But what makes you think eh got back to work? Transvestite in heavy makeup. ORANGE. four times. Thanks. "No Planner? No Pass!" now let me pass my gass. Flatulate. I fart when I sneeze. On my knees. Nosy neighbor and whistling workers. Choking on feathers below the surface of my bed. I stopped breathing after round two. Obviously Oblivious, Duncan the dragon dracula drinking down dark dilluted drinks, drowning. Bob Nanna. Nana. Bananna. The weather will do us in this time. You cannot compromise with wind. This song is fatal. Illinois for now. Finding you on my way out. Twice as noisy. BLOW. You do. He called him a sand N****r. I told him I prefered the beach.

If ignorance is bliss you two must be very happy together. Quick notes and sore throats, they all mean the same thing. Kiss me. Get dressed. I'm done. You're drunk. I'm dying. Split these ends and get the hell out of town. out of strawberry vanilla. don't elaborate, i don't deserve to know. Mallory. Cor-bizzle dancing int he womb. Cracked out hotel and a crying pregnant girl. Please please please please stop. Pop Lock Barack it. Creepy cat clocks. spinning tree tops. now we're in the woods, no. smell makes my head hurt. girl is crying. Ten cents to a minute. Put my face on a kite so even planes can see how high I am. Your not ugly, pretty crying obnoxious girls. It's your personality that sucks. Is it cannabolism to eat your scabs? I'm still not sleeping. Shriveled up fruit loops. Say you won't care. Kill Kesky. Dusty Doug. Red party cups and areason to love.

Am I a little emo baby yet? I miss Cole. E.E. Cummings. Pluto the dog to help me sleep. This is more than I deserve. Shambles. Partial to the petitioner. Keep Quiet, I'm trying not to listen.
she still blames it ont he ringtone. big juicy snow flakes. drive until we find the sunlight again. yellow sky drains into blue. my body can't find the beat. lights go out and rely on senses. alcoholic cows. baby straight jacket. my eyes weren't as shut as i thoughtt hey were .

ambulance sheltered cough bubble pop i forgot what I was going to say I am ready now a boy does not define you.
 

Catch22

Catch22

Catch22

Catch22

Catch22

Catch me falling off of bridges, almost freezing. Honestly, your a lyan liar and I want nothing to do with you. no more december. Snot rocket to the moon. Hop on. All aboard. That's not a question. This isn't a decision. I don't want an answer. I'm not a martyr. Your not worth my time.

 

 

Drive faster.

 

 

I was thinking, and I realized I am every therapists dream patient. Abusive father? Check. Dead sibling? Check. Attending rehab for more than just pot? Check. Anger problems, anxiety, and insomnia? check check check.

I am fucked upppppppppppppppppp! You would think maybe God would even it out. Like, hey, maybe we should kill this girls brother off, give this girl panic attacks, and uh, why not give this other girl a father that enjoys watching his knuckles bleed. But no.

I am a stockpile of issues. But surprisingly, I'm not emolicious. I don't cut myself. I don't threaten to kill myself. I don't go around crying all the time. I may seem verydepressing on here, because this is where I vent, but in person I am a very happy person. Believe it or not. There was actually someone that accused me of not loving my brother because I acted happy everytime I was around people shortly after his death.

Maybe I'm just awesome at hiding things.

I don't know.

But I'm really in need of a cheeseburger. OH MY GOD do I want a cheeseburger. Being a vegetarian sucks a*s.

 

 

Do you go to church because you want to? Or because you have to? Are you regretting college? Was it worth it? How much of your time do you spend worrying? How much of the music that you listen to do you genuinely enjoy? Who are you trying to impress? Was all the time spent getting ready in the morning really worth it when you just have to wash it all off the next day? How often are you genuinely happy? Is this what you wanted for yourself? How much money/time do you waste on things you have only convinced yourself will make you happy? When is the last time you had an original thought? How often do you compare yourself to others? How often do you suppress your spontaneous childlike impulses? Was that girl right? Do you ever really feel older than fifteen years old? How much of your life have you spent cleaning/preparing/organizing/working/saving/complaining/worrying? Was it worth it? Is any of it worth it?

 

Spend a little time getting disoriented. Go with your impulses. Don't worry. Ever. Spending too much time behind a computer or television screen will rot your eyeballs from the inside out. You don't always get what you pay for. The most blissful things in life are free. Don't work for vacations and die, disappointed.

Everything will be okay.

 

I'll bring a hammer, you bring the noise. We'll break this silence.

My legs are falling asleep and my music is too loud. The window is closed but I can still feel the sunshine. I can still smell Spring. My thighs are aching and I have a horrible taste in my mouth. Everything itches and feels gross. But I'm alright. Honest for once. I'm restoring my brain. Hungry, but I won't eat. Won't move. My legs are falling asleep and my music is not loud enough. Empty yogurt containers and crumpled up loose leaf suffocate my stained carpet. Carly still hasn't texted back. I feel lame. Okay. Alright.

 

Stuck in November. I stopped eating right around the same time you stopped calling. Dishonest and dislexic. Spinning and spinning like a tornado tunnel of thoughts. Forcing them out;brainrape. Stuck between the lines - staining the paper

with malnurished teenage resentment

halfgrown and going under

growing up and unmaturing

 

My plant is dying. Another neglected part of my life.

 

Neighbor's granddaughter chases her paper down a windy street.

I consider helping, but I'd fly away.

too high. too too high.

Too busy snorting my lunch money and smoking my birthday cash/stash.

 

lacking the skills to write clever metaphors

suck down the flame til I feel it scorch my brain

wearing your pride like a promise

i'm not believing it.

Dumping the contents of my skull

don't waste time making it rhyme

just close the curtains and put your brain back to bed

stare at the back of your eyelids

and watch the shapes move around in your head

sweet and sour chicken and

dried rice.

 

Tracing my veins

cornering myself until the truth comes out

piercing skin with purple thumb tacks

light without a bulb

bulb without light.

Warm buzz from street lamps to keep me warm at night.

showering in crumpled loose leaf

lines that never flow

or even fit.

search the walls for holes

try to steal some oxygen from the outside

hear me coming down

riding on my goose bumps

wasting paper and too much time

going through the motions until the functions fail

starved and tired and frail

carving through skin like wax

what a sick, stupid habit.

faltering now.

halfway through, i felt the spin snap.

goosebumps that wake the hairs on my arm

scanning the room for something new

Visiting the bathroom just to have an excuse to leave the room

press on my eyelids for a free light show.

 

Bedroom made of music

walls plastered with photography and bass

the sick enjoyment I get out of feeling hungry.

The way it puts me to sleep

the stale taste of starvation

living in between

when the grass is green

but the trees still lack leaves.

Stuck in April but my Calendar still says February.

Falling out of bed, again and again

catching myself on fire at two int he morning.

Squeezing together words that enver really fit

not paying attention is harder than it looks

swing sets and school yards

write. write everything. write more.

leave your makr everywhere,

until they stop trying to wash it off.

 

 

 

 

 

I miss you.

 

 

 

Thinking up lines for him to sing on my guitar

and I know that this probably shouldnt be this hard

scribbling them down, and now I'm picking them apart

and now I'm exactly where I started.

 

I wonder if he knows

that every song I ever wrote

within the last six months

would really kinda blow

If I didn't have a drug addiction

or a scattered brain to fix

but still every cheesy line

makes me feel like I'm six years old.

 

He makes me feel like I'm six years old.

 

Barely remembering how to smile

passing out in the back

for half of a half of a half of a mile.

Add delete combime

not making sense half the time

Bust out the notebook

and scribble every line.

 

Come on, Chloe belle

you gotta write a clumsy song

we can criticise it later,

but we'll all sing along

we'll try to keep the beat

match the tempo with our feet

its no secret, we know

you don't mind missing sleep.

 

Stop right there,

I know exactly what you're thinkin

when we're on the edge

on the edge of the weekend

barely breathing hard

melting into my guitar

and I love it, let it go,

because this is exactly where I started.

 

I'm exactly where I started.

 

I am applying for a Summer job. Full time. 8 to 5 oclock. around 2000 dollars a month.

I can feel my entire universe shifting.

 

F**k.

 

 

 

 

F**k Twilight.

 

What is it that draws them all in?

 

Is it the dangerous boy with sharp eyes that can hurl them fourty thousand feet?

 

Or is it the giant wet spots in their panties?

 

 

Vampires are pale. Why are they pale? Because they don't have blood.

What can you make out of blood? A boner.

Vampires can't get boners.

 

As if the idea of dating a vampire wasn't far fetched enough.

 

Author's Note

Things I plan on using one day.
Or things I just want out of my head.

Reviews

[raining]

Well, welcome to it. whatever that is. I like the natural flow, unpretentious, confessional, stick the readers head right into yr life.
Expand (if you want to) which might be hard doing from this stories vehicle, but to take the same attitude and add a charactor? or a washing machine, or a dog to the mix and then it would be surprising to you. and the reader.
I meant, to do the story from the perspective of another story. and everyone has , (no not everyone, there are polyannas all over the globe who haven't) experienced angst. and i take it you are young, and so old people like me recall those days, living up over the street in a city, eating ramon noodles all the time. so take advantage of the searing pain and sightless numb debauckle of yr life and write and write so that others can hear you. aw... amen ...raining.

[An owl on the moon]

Some of the most amazing ramblings I have ever read... You have a depth as deep and blue as the ocean... Brilliant words, connected through a random stitch of time. Please don't ever stop writing...

[Zatoichi]

You know those jars of "ashes" that teachers sometimes have on their desks that say things like, "Ashes Of Disruptive Students" cause they want us to believe they have a sense of f*****g humor?
Yeah, One day I'm going to smash that s**t and when they ask me what I'm doing, I'll tell them I'm setting the m***********s free.

this has got to be the funniest thing i've read here at the cafe. i love your funny mind as much as a strange stranger can and i'm glad that you are happy to be alive. Joe

[Zatoichi]

I hate the fact that I can't change anything. I can't change the fact that I'm no closer to doing anything with my life than I was April 9th at 9:57 of the year 1992. I will never be able to change how I feel about anything. I will never completely master the drums, and I will never meet anyone I'm completely happy with for any long period of time.

i could tell you how wrong this perspective is, but this site is about writing so...
you capture just how funky 16 can be and feel with these lines. i remember telling myself @ 15 that i was determined to see the pacific ocean before i died. that's what this story reminds me of- how a person with so many years ahead can feel so doomed. "never" is too heavy a burden for teenagers to be carrying around on their backs. yet everything feels like now-or-never when you have such short history.
"never" is the worst swear word in this story because it's a damnable lie. you're certainly a better drummer now than you were 4/9/1992, for instance; otherwise your story is far more remarkable than my fatherhood at 11. More later- keep writing/drumming/thrashing/living. Z


i used to hate hearing "you can do anything you set your mind to." now i understand the truth of that statement, i hope you do before your youth is gone. time waits for no one.