when you're born to run

Wed, 08 Oct 2003 20:24:32 GMT

They remind me of wind up cars in motion. The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions. And I want to scream out that it is all nonsense. And that their lives are one track, and can't they see how it is all pointless?
But then, my knees give under me. My head feels weak and suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has lost my self-identity. As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve. And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me. And everything I have is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.

taking a hiatus.

Fri, 13 Jun 2003 21:26:57 GMT

Okay, so I went through and disadded a load of journals that don't get used anymore. If you think I disadded you for no reason other than my own stupidness, cause I'm dumb like that and 60-something names is a lot for one functioning brain cell to deal with, then feel free to yell at me. Trust me, I only tried to take off the journals that weren't being used. If you write in your journal and you're not on my list anymore, PLEASE say something cause I would miss you, okay?

Sun, 01 Dec 2002 16:42:03 GMT

When I grow up, I wanna be a moron, just like Tony Blair.

Therefore, I'm making a start by privatising everything.

Yup, it's all locked up.

Sorry.

You want in, add me and I'll most likely add you back.

[edit]: I will add you if we have quite a bit in common, okay? If not, ta-ta. Oh and NO I don't have any fucking LiveJ codes for your little sister's best friend's uncle's pet dachsund's vet's son's daughter's cousin, okay?