the song i'd play at the love scene in the movie of my life. this is when me and the leading boy lean in and seal the deal. i am the dreamer. will you be my dream? This was also in the love scene of The Comebacks. stupid but sweet movie.

check it out. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xt9xin15tv8&feature=related and then, after you've listened to that. he even did an acoustic version. i know, man. i've never seen an acoustic version done of a techno song either, ahah. he looks like a grown-up Micheal Cera(Super Bad and Juno), does he not? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LkOdRRLKgo oh, and by the way. i'm considering scarring a kiss on the back of my hand with lye and saliva. circa june. hey, actually. i'm going make a band and call it 'circa june'. what an amazing idea. read Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk to understand the chemical kiss. read Me to understand circa june. read Yourself to sleep, because i've smoked out my voice for cheating on me with your heart.

i stopped running away but now i'm stuck with all the hearts i break. but i don't really care. i'm not sure what i'm getting at. but this is more just for me. i'm not chasing after anyone. i'm just sort of pacing back and forth. killing time and hope, because they shot me first. and you know what revenge feels like; both sides of it i bet. you punch me and expect me to take it like jesus. i swear i tried, but in the end, no one makes my fists hurt like you do. besides, you always wanted to be the victim. i couldn't be the hero, so i decided to become an understudy to the villain. we're both better off this way. i'm too tired to explain. maybe figure it out for yourself just this once. all the fuck-ups end up with the assholes. and you're nothing but a fucking bitch. don't be so selfish. i'm not writing this about anyone. not her. not you. not him. not even them. no one deserves to be written about anymore. so i guess i'm just emptying out all my fill-in-the-blanks without following any of the instructions. i'm getting by, for now it's all i need. i know you don't care. but you need to know; i do, but i'm just too annoyed for the effort. to make it simpler on your jumbled thoughts, i really don't care at all.

this is quarantine from anyone who ever meant anything. but i'll be honest. only one comes to mind right now. and she's an ocean away. it's funny how insecure i've become. i'm pretty sure i had an upperhand somehow. though right now it's just my foot in the door; holding it open this time, instead of trying to leave. she said "we're friends, even though you might not think so." and i'm not sure how important that statement might be. it's just one of those things you're not sure you really saw or heard. like that long time ago on the phone with helena. like how i couldn't make eye contact with that guy when he said the same. like all the songs and people you loved make you sick after a while. this is 'the pros and cons of breathing' amplified through my heartbeat. "...spitting on lottery tickets and breaking the hands of palm readers... currently trying to get over myself, but i never really was one to take the high road. so its proving to be quite the challenge. - xo" only you know exactly who wrote that. the truth is i'm terrified that we're very good friends. and i guess this is me stuttering out is that okay?

nobody really wants to see dirty laundry but they always steal pages out of diaries. it's the same. i'd rather see an empty journal, just like i'd rather see the lipstick washed off that collar. no updates. it's starting to work. my bestfriend's gone. woak. i guess i'm my own better half. whatever. shit doesn't reach the middle of the ocean. and i'm too tired to give a fuck about anything. just no.

i don't want to have to pretend to like people anymore. public relations. i keep my radar on full blast at all times. so i don't miss anything. any body language that might lead to something more or less. makes me paranoid, though prepared. i'm tired of you. but mostly, i'm tired of me. any story i read.. fuck it. i'm through. i had this huge monologue planned about how stories are just hopes and tragedies dipped in ink. but whatever. you already know. and i'm too tired. right, sorry. i should have all the energy in the world. because i'm a teenager and teenagers have everything. we're undeserving assholes though, right? sure. i'm done. this is where i know. i don't fucking need them. i don't fucking need you. maybe i did before. hell, i wouldn't have made it through without you. but not anymore. perfection doesn't last. so i chose metal. anything you said wasn't real. but that's no fucking problem. because i'm a blurry pedestrian in the movie of my life(starringyouinsteadofme). i don't want or need anything to do with anyone anymore. and i'm doing just fine, thank you. get the fuck off this page now.

i can't smile at will anymore. and i have nothing to smile about. make me laugh about everything that went wrong. because i can't with this nausea taking over my stomach. hey, listen to mrs. potter's lullaby by counting crows. fuck everyone who never loved me enough. fuck me for loving everyone too much. slowly sawing through the chains of unconditional love. sending every gasoline truck to this bridge. just in time for the fuse to burn out. what's it like knowing soon you'll be completely alone? and being too scared to ask one person who seems to be the other half. kindoflike the best friend who never showed up to your first playdate. what the fuck is that like? until i find out. i'll walk around downtown holding God's hand. because no one else will. it's kindoflike being the odd one out in a group activity. but an ocean away. Sir. my partner's absent. and doesn't need me anyways. what's it like having a sign on your heart saying, 'under construction'? so everyone walks by and wonders what it will look like when it's finished. i know what it'll look like. it will be metal and cold. terrible for the environment. butnooneknowsbutme. i'm invisible though. that wrecking ball would go straight through me. don't cry.

'hi, my name is charlie bartlett and i am no longer a virgin.' go see Charlie Bartlett. it's absolutely amazing. i'm going to see it as many times as i can. i finally got a hold of Donnie Darko. twisted shit, right there. it was sobeautiful. i had a pretty good day today. a friend came over. we went to starbucks, we rented movies, we bought a shitload of candy. we rode busses around the city. we watched Charlie Bartlett and ate saltandvinegar flavoured popcorn. we got sugar high and still drank way too much pop. we laughed too hard in the movie theatre. this bus driver gave her a free day pass because of me. it was her(the driver's) last day before her vacation to Barbados. i didn't need one, i had a bus pass. then we came to my house and shdjhsaklh. crashed a high. she made me watch The Big Lebowski. which is a really slow-moving and idiotic movie. her mom came. and they made fun of my new eyes. they left. i watched Donnie Darko one and a quarter times. i have a headache right now. i don't like her very much. enough. but not much. she doesn't hear a word i say. she's too busy planning on telling me all these random facts that i don't need to know. and she repeats them. over. and over. i love my eyes. both pairs. but this new pair is golden. really. tomorrow. please don't come. i hurt my wrist. caught right-handed. this girl asked me about The Perks Of Being A Wall Flower. i told her it was about infinity. and it is. i'm through with drive-by smiles. my heart's decided to pollute society. switchingtogasoline. and 'fuck you's. i just wanna close my eyes right now. wake up in.. read Fight Club. there was a book before the movie. i swear. blueblueblue. it's everywhere now. in the sky. in the water. inhiseyes. under my skin. i'm living red though; with bloodshot eyes and a racing heart. true dreams, yea.

'hey, what's it like being invisible?' idontknowidontknow. half a second of painful blue-eyed contact, i'm/it's/he's not that important. insecurity has been tattoed to my forehead, but i drew over it with a 'fuck you' and i keep my eyes stuck to the floor. breathing slow in the dark, telling myself how many times how many people have felt and not cared about all this. welcome to "whatever" and "i miss you" on a blind date. matchmaker, matchmaker. help me burn up western civilization. oh palm reader, if i paint my hands baby blue. will i have a better chance? or will i only be able to draw the sky. which is better in the end? an artist's hand or a lover's hand? but no, you don't have any answers. eyes stained with the green/d of money can't tell the future. i know this is belated. but [i] love you back. be my valentine?

"One last question, the Mariana Trench is the world's greatest ocean depth... what is the relevance of the name for the band? Well it's relevant as far as this: When Matt and I were sieging the fortress of Saint Marie, we faced our own mortality. WE lost many brave soldiers out there that fateful day. Then we decided to get on a bus and teach children to read. Which was definitely a challenge because I myself, don't read. But I am a proud member of the Reading Rainbow. OH wait, that's IRRELEVANCE. " lmfao. http://www.mindyourmind.ca/personal-stories/celebrity-gallery/marianas-trench.asp