a word to my comrades.

I would like to say that 1984 Day is nothing special. It is no different than any other day of my life. Except now I won't be condemned as a "commie" for saying "comrade", even though the word's origins are that of my own blood.

You're all morons by the way.

Oh and I'm alone, all all all all alone. How bloody unfortunate, right?

Orion is no longer in the sky. I feel as though the glue that has held my bones together has dissipated.

yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever, never.

Backing up the orchestra tonight. Approximately 6 solos. Um.

"and i don't need to satisfy tonight"

1984 Day tomorrow. Exciting? Sure.

"this will all blow over in time"

I've got all these things and people and place floating around in my head. Dreams numbers and words, les mots les mots les mots. But let's not stop there. MES mots. Mes mots mes mots mes mots. Lost at sea lost at sea lost at sea. I can't add up because I don't divide quite right, but maybe that's the question. The mistakes I've been making are putting irrationality between me and my future. But does anything really hold your future? You, your hands, and the ridiculous cal you spew to my mind. You have this immaculately unfortunate power to ruin everything with one glance.

"i must believe there's more above us and below / i must believe stranded with this bitch called hope / it keeps me here when all i wanna do is go / it keeps me here when all i wanna do is disappear"

I want you to cry, I want you to hurt, I want you to know the pain of being the reason for the downfall of the person you love more than anything else in the world. I want to see you smile, hear your laugh, be there to laugh at you when you act stupid and to return the favor.

"if i'm tired i'm tired of tellin you / i'm never tired / i'm always better than you"

So I guess it's in my hands to fix this now, n'est-ce pas? Well guess what, I'm always right. And I always win. And I always come out on top. So suck it up. This IS going to suck, and you aren't always going to like it. Nope. But maybe if I fix you, we can fix us.

"i can't crack / we're on top, we're on top / we bring the bump to the grind, oh ho i don't mind"

Oh. And you. Not the you aforementioned, but a separate you. How about we don't make Danielle feel like crap? And how about you just figure out what's going on in your ever-so-much-more important life before you act like you care about me. Peace out.

"the fallen are the virtuous among us / walk among us / yeah we're all damned"

psa: strength.

I have to be strong because of who depends on it. I have to be the example. I must pull through, and not just barely survive, but thrive and live well.

The differing standards aren't fair, but this is what it has come to. This is who I have been, who I am, and who I will always be. The one that will be there when you need her, even if she wants nothing to do with it. You get your advice and your model. Because on the outward I am even and smooth, with a vague sense of reality, a taste of normality.

I am breaking inside, but thank God for an outer layer. Because I'll confess, I never changed the rules back. They are still bent and broken, a disarray of my life, from the last time you swept through the shattered remnants.

Please be here when I wake.

helping.

My life has become a general conglomeration of a few different aspects: reading either Clockwork Orange or something by Bukowski; listening to Born Ruffians and whatever comes on Pandora, I seem to have the ability to fall in love with all of it; feeling absolutely useless; considering different ways to fix the current situation; writing pieces; stressing over nothing--as in seriously nothing.

If you would just see that I'm right, this would be much easier.

Oh. And while we're at it. I'm really tired of not being important. So if we could work on that, that would be great. Really just peachy. Thanks.

At this very moment, I am at peace. The world around me has sat down, and maybe not shut up, but at least changed their tone to one more to my liking.

Surrounded by half-completed precalc assignments and French that will go unstudied, sitting upon my Tinkerbell sheeted bed, life is just fine. Pandora sings to me, of Ruffians Born that way, a Band of Spintos, Kids from the Cold War, and Wombats singing bits about Joy Division. My shirt depicts a politician who deserves respect for his work in the field of his titlesake, and is soaked with piercing antiseptic because of my precise clumsiness. The guarana from another drained bottle of vitaminwater pierces my veins and keeps me going strong; the bizarre vibrate indicates a new piece of hope via text, piercing straight to my brain.

I'm having two conversations with the same person, just in different places. Why? Because. They are two unrelated conversations.

New Pornographers come on and I want to dance. But I really just want to write.

I want to write because while my heart is light and contented with the state of misery I am subject to at all times as a sort of repentence, the blood dries with the ink. I am free to wash away all with the sweeping shorthand, the Phonenician symbols meaning more than any actions I could ever perform.

Trust me.

This is it.

I'm blogging too much already. Fantastic.

Pandora: Born Ruffians, ofMontreal, Franz Ferdinand, & Myriad.
Eat cookies. They're good for you.

"would you believe me if i said the elephant in the room was YOU NOT BEING IN MY BED? & you'll never know, you'll never see until you're dead."

ychismb.

So I guess I changed some things around. I guess I sucked up everything I had left. I hope I choke on it, just to prove to myself once again that I can't do this.

when will stupid learn fire's gonna burn / think of consequence, then you move when it's your turn

But we must not forget that impatience is a virtue, and my most prominent at that.

Alors, life goes on. With or without your consent, life moves forward for an agility that will make your head spin and your heart stop. There is no permission slip. This ain't no merry-go-round field trip, cowboy.

I feel so restricted out of fear of writing something too profound in front of everybody. Almost every one of the lines above is from a piece. If you would care to peruse the original text, let me know.

But to the point, back to me... I made a decision today that's going to change everything: I gave myself up completely. I lost myself in giving myself to someone else. Someone else's cause, to absolve the charges of someone else.

I'm imparting my own self into those around me who are less than deserving. And in this I am finding my own true identity. I don't know if I like it. But what else can be said?

let's dance to joy division and celebrate the irony / everything is going wrong but we're so happy.

I'd like to think that this is what is going to make me happy. I have things to lose and things to gain. But I guess part of the valor of losing is knowing that you have something to lose.

you could have it so much better if you tried if you tried if you tried if you tried / and you got up on your own, get up on your own.

There's my fatal flaw and most perfect principle: I get up on my own. But I never fall alone.

Oh and in case you were wondering. I was in love with you, but you threw that away. To reiterate my monotony, stupid never learns fire's gonna burn.

artlove.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vrU0MBWrhXLxLto6qEBdHWRyuETIhNaFfyr93NXn2dtdWhm-lENFO8M20B273M0qHxri5LUdPhsuGgOQROUJ_8gE-TPlhq0NOnYI3XaJ2UE6tNK53mZoqAppjuFHxRbz9pL0XunTMtE/s320/Aldhils+Arboretum.gif

This picture quite possibly makes my life.

Also, Woman in Moscow by Kandinsky, Soviet propaganda, and Sergey Larenkov's photos: http://sergey-larenkov.livejournal.com/

Can anyone find a theme? I have invisible ties. Threads that don't exist.

"No matter where we go / We're always touching by underground wires"

Funny how that came back to ofMontreal. Maybe less funny than ridiculously set on a course that I can't alter. Off to write.