She Must've Used A Perring Knife
2001-05-03 - 6:54 p.m.
I not be missin� my Lucy nomore :)
I got a new e-mail addy from some wanna-be anarchists, and I�ll be dumping my hotmail account, eventually.
Dream: It�s 1952. A oddly tanned guy (viewed from first person), maybe a Latino immigrant, elopes in the woods. The bride and groom are wearing little more than bearskins. Very Tarzan-and-Jane-ish. Only four people observe the ceremony: her mother, her father, her best friend, and his best friend / drinking buddy. A few days later, the groom and his friend are at a bar.
Friend: *looks up from his almost-empty glass* �Man, you at least gotta gimmie this: why the woods? Don�t you think that�s a little informal? I mean, you could have afforded so much more...�
Groom: *takes a drink* �It was a wedding that shows who we are. The reality is that we�re still children. The hope is that we always will be.� *leaves his drink on the bar and walks out, smiling*
Revelation: I hate people who use the word �hturT� (�It is reversed Truth, twisted and counterfeited beyond recognition and shows the hidden and sometimes invisible hurt in doing so, with the greatest hurt in the end.� -Christian organization on the internet)
Revelation: I really get a kick out of driving. I just think that it�s so hilarious that I do such stoopid things. If I was ever semi-paralyzed from the waist down, I�d laugh at myself constantly, because my walking would be so...�creative and original�. Come to think of it, I could walk like that without needing to be semi-paralyzed...how funn.
I wanna receipt fer time. Just a little paper that tells me how much of my life was spent doing things that don�t make a difference at all. And there could even be a tax attached to the bill, stating the approximate time that you would loose by reading the receipt...
�I was walkin� in the park one day, in the merry merry month of May...I was caught by surprise by some dirty Russian guys in the merry merry month of May...� -US History Teacher
There�s a girl here at my school that�s left-handed. I know that she�s left-handed because she has gashes all over her right arm. Upper and lower, but none so deep as to touch the ulna. What surprises me is that she�s wearing a tank-top today, as if she�s trying to show off to everyone that she�s suicidal. I would normally involve my brain in the psychological complications that this implies, but I just don�t care anymore; this is not really my home anymore, this place has nothing for me. And I, in turn, refuse to involve myself in the petty problems of the people whose names I won�t remember one year hence.
