by shirley jackson is a very creepy story i am wondering why the lit teachers always pick such creepy stories D8 hello like ummm dude, for our eyas, you’re giving us stories about 1. a guy who purposely made a couple thousand people contract hepatitis and 2. a lottery where the prize is getting stoned by the rest of the village???

yeah and i don’t know what to do for lit pt D: at least according to mr chew i have practically completed my SS pt because i actually handed up the proposal and put Thought into it

also boon tat says i won’t fail which is Dubious but.. i kinda feel like i might not fail this next math exam but if i do that means i’ll be really disappointed and shit

yes and what is important to me now is that ha ha i can play the guitar yay and i made my own capo!!! save ten bucks with a pencil and coupla rubber bands thanks muchly kester(’s dad) for lending me the guitar which isn’t actually bad.

and now because i thought it Important to learn how to play Say It’s Possible i have not showered and i’m supposed to leave for violin class like now oh crap bye

no words. just, wow.

a(crossroads)

you are an island
bleak cement desert
lonely desolation

morse code
traffic lights in Technicolor
flashing stop slow go

city fire headlights
blazing trails of long exposures
highlighting my way to you

one crossing too far
yearning, standstill
do not move I am here

wherefore art thou
green man forever?

original draft alongside lit notes.

dwayne is totally my type.

and holy crap paul dano is hot stuff.

he acts, plays guitar, and sings. which admittedly a lot of other people do but not as win as he does.

i’m awfully available
in so many shapes
waiting for you to light me

broken-bee/mook
http://www.myspace.com/mookband

p.s. i hate my mother. obviously they made a mistake at my birth and secretly my parents are reasonable people who let me go to school to collect my bio log so i can study for the bio spa and go to people’s houses especially since i actually asked and she said yes at first.

fuck if she wants to “help” me go and get it cause whose fault is it that i cant go in the first place?

i don’t need her help and i don’t need her to bitch about my grades to my fucking violin teacher. besides what does she think i’m doing staying back in school til 5.45 everyday? I KNOW I’M SHOOTING HEROIN AND BEING A JUNKIE AND TOTALLY NOT SLAVING AWAY OVER THE STUPID MATH ASSIGNMENTS.

and do i look like i care how much my mom studied when she was young? because excuse me but i don’t see where all that studying got her. if i am mistaken do correct me but i was under the impresion that people don’t need to study to end up as a housewife in a sad marriage who doesn’t really do anything except not do the laundry and not cook.

i mean if she actually took the scholarships she claims she was offered and like made a lot of money instead i dunno, marrying my dad, having me, divorcing him, marrying my stepfather, having Cara, threatening to divorce him..

maybe i would be more inclined to respect all that studying she did when she was in school.

you think?

yeah you’re right. i wasn’t fucking cut out for this.

floating in the sky in the atmosphere
i try to find old Pluto from here
and the dogs keep barking out my name
but i’m no magician like David Blaine

when can i come back down to Earth
tell me when you learn how much i’m worth
i’ve intertwined my body with the stars
so i’m spinning on and on through the dark

it’s forever the third of november
i can never come back home, i’m all alone
i’m all alone

fiction was too late to try and save me
i follow the constellations in my orbit
trying to call out to the other sputniks
my heartbeats keep steady at 103

it’s forever the third of november
i can never come back home, i’m all alone
i’m all alone…

in memory of Laika
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laika

(8:49 PM) -tim-: heh have you ever seen indiana jones?
(8:53 PM) take a helium ta: no):
(8:53 PM) take a helium ta: i want to though!!
(8:53 PM) take a helium ta: and i need to return your phone
(8:53 PM) -tim-: ah yes
(8:53 PM) -tim-: and i mean the older ones
(8:53 PM) -tim-: not the recent one
(8:53 PM) take a helium ta: i know
(8:53 PM) take a helium ta: i want to watch dem too
(8:53 PM) -tim-: ah my phone
(8:54 PM) -tim-: thats right
(8:54 PM) -tim-: how?
(8:54 PM) take a helium ta: magic!!!
(8:54 PM) take a helium ta: im beaming it over to you
(8:54 PM) -tim-: the internets!
(8:54 PM) take a helium ta: by alien satellite telepathy
(8:54 PM) -tim-: omg file corrupted
(8:54 PM) take a helium ta: ok, by the internet then!
(8:54 PM) take a helium ta: oh okay
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: by the alien satellite!
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: wop wop wop weeeaaaooowwrrrngggg
(8:55 PM) -tim-:
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: do you see it!!!!
(8:55 PM) -tim-:
(8:55 PM) -tim-: looks like a weather balloon
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: no?? let’s try again
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: wop wop wop wwwweeeeeeeooooooowwwwrrnnnggggggggggggg
(8:55 PM) -tim-: government denial!
(8:55 PM) -tim-: there is no phone!
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: ): oh no i have no Special Kung Fu
(8:55 PM) take a helium ta: ):
(8:55 PM) -tim-: >_<
(8:55 PM) -tim-: y so lamee
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: where is my Special Kung Fu1!!
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: because of whose line lol
(8:56 PM) -tim-: is at laundary im sorry
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: … oh dear
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: laundry
(8:56 PM) -tim-: here have some of mine
(8:56 PM) -tim-: oh dear
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: ya, yor Speshal To Fu of Bad Speling
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: i mean, special kung fu
(8:56 PM) take a helium ta: …
(8:56 PM) -tim-: better run a spell checker through my fu

and also

you can’t see through the darkness
and there’s nobody at home
where are you gonna go
so you don’t keep waking up alone

everyone is watching, waiting
for something to explode
I don’t know where your mind is going
but don’t hang up the phone

I am so far away from you
someone tell me what to do
I just want to feel you, just want to touch you
so why don’t you come home?
‘cause I am here, I am here for you

the stars are twinkling brightly
I think they’re calling out your name
will you heed their call and fly
or will you keep me sane

everyone is contemplating
silence and despair
but nobody is gonna judge you
so why do you still compare?

but I’m so far away from you
won’t you tell me what to do?
‘cause I just want to hear you, just want to see you
so why don’t you come home?
‘cause I am here, I am here for you

written 4 June 2008, 1:22 am

It is two days past the Click Five concert and my mind is still filled with those boys. I fantasise about them and being with them and put these fantasies into words.

The day, promisingly started with filing, gradually deteriorates into an attempt at rewriting my Lit essay, and then writing slash that is firmly engraved in pure fiction. Between my brief, futile efforts to be even mildly productive I let my brain revert to a languid state that comes with reading.

Today the book of choice is rather appropriately titled Descent, written by a woman sharing the same first name as my cousin (Sabrina) and a last name that is either a joke or simply insane (Broadbent).

In this manner I waste my day away, making a last ditch attempt at arranging math tution sessions with another cousin. He is apparently busy. I have the feeling that I should be, too, and think guiltily about my miserable 2.13 gpa and the three projects I am supposed to be juggling but am currently doing nothing about.

What is so attractive about non-productivity?

After I am forced into shutting this addictive computer down I resist the withdrawal symptoms by concentrating my attention on Descent. Somewhere in the midst of Chapter Twenty-Eight, page 285, I start to cry, experiencing a feeling of intense sadness that may or may not be connected to what I have just read i.e. “[Peter] was a little boy, and [Wendy] was grown up. She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman. Something inside her was crying Woman, Woman, let go of me.” (Quoted from Descent by Sabrina Broadbent and subsequently taken from Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie)

For the rest of the book (of which there is not much left) I cry approximately once every fifty words or so, give or take a few pages. Broadbent’s writing unleashes an indescribable unindentifiable feeling in me which I do not understand. I think of my own writing and wonder if someday someone might read it and feel like they do not know themselves anymore.

I nurse a tissue and write this journal entry in my notebook, clutching the 0.38 pen like a talisman. Looking at the Borders 25% discount voucher lying crumpled and forlorn on my desk, I resolve to buy Descent tomorrow.

In the aftermath of the book, some emotional residue leaks out in the form of tears and sniffles. I wonder why I seem to start going hysterical past 1 am and as usual come up with no particularly coherent reasons.

I think I might be going insane.

When was it that I started to slowly lose control?

What tenacity and intelligence did I possess, that is no longer there?

“I give in. There is a perverse relief in letting go. Of you. Of your impossible dreams. Of our hopeless, unspoken histories.

You have always been careless with your possessions. Lost more wallets, sunglasses and jackets than I can remember. An endearing lack of concern about material things. But now you seem to have mislaid us. Such bad timing.

Didn’t you notice I was already losing it?”

- Descent, by Sabrina Broadbent

p.s. Bothers Borders did not have Descent as in they did not stock it, so I bought If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor, finally caving in over the fuck ugly cover, because apparently only the library has the pretty one. (Credits to Eden for the endearing name of Bothers Borders.)

credits to Amelia

Exhilaration.

Kyle spins around the stage, strutting for what it’s worth, playing his guitar at the same time. It’s all choreography and nothing else, this intricate dance of the rockstar. He does almost the same thing every show, but somehow it hasn’t gotten old. Yet.

He prances back to the microphone, placed smack in the center of the stage. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a girl in a god-ugly green and black striped shirt being dragged onto the stage by the bouncers, apparently fainted from lack of oxygen, too much screaming, or perhaps both. He thinks What the fuck are you on, woman? but then takes the thought back.

Kyle knows lack of oxygen very well. He knows lack of oxygen very intimately, in fact. It comes when you just can’t get enough of someone, so that you spend nearly every moment wanting to kiss them or touch them where it is most indecent. In Kyle’s brain this manifests itself in the form of small kisses. Yes, just like that, a swipe of tongue, brief and leaving him wanting more, so that he just has to lean forward again, and again, and again.

He allows himself a small moment of indulgence as he relieves this memory in his head, short and overplayed. The fans see Kyle’s lips form a beautiful pout, dark and pink. Digital cameras and handphones smuggled into the arena flash, capturing his face in multiple angles and perspectives that will surely be all over the internet by the next day, along with keyboard smashes as captions and “dickherber’s so hot!!!11!!”. Kyle thinks they abuse his surname mercilessly.

Romans reads the forums sometimes. Kyle tells him to stay away from the slash fic that the fans write, products of their deprived minds and hormone overload, but Romans won’t listen. As such there have been many traumatized screams of dismay throughout the house, and Kyle listens to these and smirks to himself. The fics are full of the Ben/Ethan that the girls dub “Bethan”, Kyle/anyone, and the tween stories involving Charlie Guese, who is admittedly a heck of a lot cuter than Joe is, but Kyle doesn’t care. The fans don’t know Joe like Kyle does, hair brushing his neck and lips parted in that ever-present slightly vacant expression, sweat drops on his neck and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

There was that one time Joe picked up Kyle’s guitar, and shredded on it, testing out the feel. Now, when Kyle plays, he can’t think of much except the feel of Joe’s fingers, hot under his shirt; can’t bear to play the strings for fear that his own touch would erase the memory of Joe’s fingers; if he closes his eyes hard enough he thinks he sometimes can feel the imprint of Joe’s fingerprints on the fretboard, can hear Joe saying Hello can I play your guitar? I’ve been wanting to try it out, see how it feels. At that time Kyle was still pretty much new to the band, but now he knows Guese well enough to think that maybe if Joe tries that line on him again, he could come back with a Why, isn’t knowing how I feel good enough for you? He can never think of the good comebacks in time to say them.

The fans are going wild now, as Guese does his thing with the blue guitar, playing out his kickass wicked solo, head bent over the fretboard. Kyle thinks Joe looks slightly anaemic under the spotlight, but this is normal. He’s not sure if Joe’s trying to project sullen or shy or perhaps both, but the fans are loving every minute of it. The wide eyes and the parted lips that appear when Joe’s not staring down fixatedly at his fretboard are rare, but their manager tells them this is the kind of distracted rockstar look the fans like, and Kyle thinks perhaps for once this is not just a complete load of bull.

At one point in the concert Kyle struts over to Joe and bends over so he’s playing his guitar right next to Joe’s. Joe determinedly doesn’t look up from his playing, despite Kyle’s hair brushing his arm gently and how Kyle’s ridiculously pointy white shoes look, shoved next to his own black Chucks, the laces coming undone on one side. At one point, Kyle breathes out, right into Joe’s ear, and gives this little devilish delicious smile that says perfectly I know you know you want me, Guese.

But because slash on stage is not exactly part of their image, and also because the crowd includes more than a fair share of tweens, Joe cannot let go of his guitar and put his fingers to better use grabbing Kyle’s head and keeping it in place for a kiss, all tongue and maybe teeth (the stage is not the right place for gentleness).

So Joe settles for the next best thing- Kyle is bent nearly double to get down to his height, and if he angles his head, like this, he can lick Kyle’s neck. So he does. This is revenge like the gay boys do it.

Kyle gasps and fumbles a chord, even nearly plays it wrong, but Joe doesn’t think anyone notices. He thinks Kyle tastes slightly salty, probably from the sweat, and beneath that, a hint of mint and musk, partly from Kyle’s deodorant, and partly from his own distinctive smell.

Joe thinks that no one really knows what intense, wonderful exhilaration feels like until you’ve licked the neck of Kyle Patrick in front of thousands of other girls screaming his name, and gotten away with it.

Kyle spins away, dizzy from the moment, heady from the intoxication of being near Joe. When he finally gets back to the mike and sings the song like he’s supposed to, the fans reach their hands forward, trying to get just that little bit closer to him, but Kyle’s not concerned with giving the crowd what they want anymore. He knows who he wants.

So when he opens his mouth and sings into the mike You can love you can lust you can use me he knows who he’s singing it for, and it’s definitely not for the fans.

I’ll be here forever even if you leave
And if you look for something better
Soon you’ll say that you’re addicted to me.

(Addicted To Me/The Click Five)