i dunno. i had stuff to say and now i don't. i'm in a good mood, surprisesurprise, but i feel like i need more everybody's on the verge of pissing me off. gah.

i hate my old entries. i deleted some. i'll go back and delete some more. i can't explain how unhappy this makes me. god DAMN IT.

i think i've already posted today, i'm not sure.. but i just need to vent. I think I'm really fucked up. for some reason, EVERY person I've EVER met, I think they're harboring a great, deep secret from me. and only me. And that just makes me want to rip them to pieces and uncover the truth even more. I hunger for truth. I think it's because i'm so skeptical to trust first. I want to SCREAM, "I know what it's like!! You can trust me!!!" but... like always, I sit back quietly and become an innocent bystander to people's welcoming path of insanity. I crave perfection, when I am far from it myself. I want so badly to believe that I will lead a normal life, BUT!!! I have BIG plans, though I couldn't tell you them. Yet. Time will test all. Everyone has FUCKED UP expectations for me, but my mom especially. Holy high standards!! I'm so scared that I will fail her, so I refrain myself from doing anything to get her hopes up. It's even gotten to the point where I PURPOSELY get bad GRADES so she won't expect anything more. I don't believe in myself and I PAY FOR IT EVERYDAY. It's funny, isn't it? How a simple sentence can turn into an extraordinary rant. How a simple phrase can turn into a mantra: "Dear Friend: Don't Ever Give Up." I have a big, big dilemma at the moment, and I can't ignore it and it sure as fuck ain't going away. I need help from someone but I'm not sure who to ask. I want to post it on here but it would take a lot of opening up. I might later if I go insane. There's not much longer to go....

i feel like i've been viciously awake for days. didn't sleep last night. insomnia is kicking in again. goodbye sleep-filled nights and calmed emotions. hello weed and benadryl. i finished the bukowski book. i want to say it was amazing, but i'm not sure what i think of it, yet. could be the best - or worst - poetry book i've ever read. people as flowers such singing's going on in the streets- the people look like flowers at last the police have turned in their badges the army has shredded its uniforms and weapons. there isn't any need for jails or newspapers or madhouses or locks on the doors. a woman rushes through my door. TAKE ME! LOVE ME! she screams. she's as beautiful as a cigar after a steak dinner. I take her. but after she leaves I feel odd I lock the door go to the desk and take the pistol from the drawer. it has its own sense of love. LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! the crowd sings in the streets. I fire through the window glass cutting my face and arms. I get a 12-year-old boy an old man with a beard and a lovely young girl something like a lilac. the crowd stops singing to look at me. I stand in the broken window the blood on my face. "this," I yell at them, "is in the defense of the poverty of self and in defense of the freedom not to love!" "leave him alone," somebody says, "he is insane, he has lived the bad life for too long." I walk into the kitchen sit down and pour a glass of whiskey. I decide that the only definition of Truth (which changes) is that it is that thing or act or belief which the crowd rejects. there is a pounding at my door. it is the same woman again. she is as beautiful as finding a fat green frog in the garden. I have 2 bullets left and use them both. nothing in the air but clouds. nothing in the air but rain. each man's life too short to find meaning and all the books almost a waste. I sit and listen to them singing I sit and listen to them. Steven got his own apartment. it's glorious, wonderful, marvelous. and also quite roomy. i hope he decides he wants to stay. so, call me technology stupid, but i just discovered the Shuffle button on itunes. oh my. it has done wonders for me. i've rediscovered music that i haven't listened to in years. (or one or two, ha!) therefore explaining why i am re-in-love with Rites of Spring, Reversal of Man, 1905 and Index For Potential Suicide. those bands did fucking wonders for me when i was 11 and 12. am ever so happy. vacation is coming up soon. the good thing about my parents being seperated is two vacations, ha! (see also: two christmases, two birthdays, two easters, etc..) with my mom, we're either going to Mexico, Florida, or just somewhere local and getting like, 400 bucks each to shop with. either is fine with me. with my dad, we're going to Chicago, no doubt, hands down. I'm so excited, i love Chicago. it feels like my home everytime i step foot inside the city limits. god, i'm so excited. by the way, i realize how selfish it sounded what with me being happy my parents were seperated because i get two of each holiday, but oh well. i wouldn't want them back together for the world, anyways. (although i could do without their significant others for the time being. ah well, so it goes.) the birthday's comin up soon, oh baby baby. july 20, here i come. although i guess i shouldn't get too excited, last year i was entirely pumped and got let down so bad. everybody seemed to not care near as much as i did about my birthday, and i had to go babysit for my aunt (who didnt even tell me happy birthday) and accused me of looking up porn on her computer. fucking bitch. well, i guess i should get ready and try to get out of this shitastic mood before company arrives. so long!

god. i am so disappointed. i don't even know why. it's terrible terrible feeling. anyways, yesterday Stephanie, steph's friend, steven and i went swimming in this creek. it wasn't so bad, i had to go in my bra and steven's boxers coz i was totally unprepared and stephanie's friend needed my shorts, but the water was nice and it was a good time UNTILLLLL i was getting ready to get out and steven was sitting behind me and rubbing my leg and then he just stopped and was like "what.. the fuck is that?" and i was like wot d00d, and he pulled on something, and i felt a sharp pain in my leg so i was like wtf dawg that hurts, so i stood up and it was a fucking LEECH. A LEECH GUYS. EWWW. i'll admit, i overreacted, but holy nastiness. i freaked out. so bad. i ran out of the creek and up the hill to the car. steven and stephanie followed me and tried to pull it off, but it was so utterly disgusted. i can't even stand picking ticks off of my self, let alone a giant, juicy, nasty black leech. god. ewww. so eventually they held me down and held a flame to it, although that apparently didn't work so stephanie just grabbed it and ripped it off. holy ow. i bitched for like ten more minutes and then got over it. but goddamn. a leech. *shudders* on a lighter note, i got my Charles Bukowski book yesterday. it's a book of new poems, The People Look Like Flowers At Last. hope i like it, i guess. well. i should try to go to bed. I have to go to work in 5 hours. guh. bye guise.

thought this was totally cutesy wootsy: WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father's middle name) Lynn Glen hahaha. i would so get made fun of. NASCAR NAME: (first name of your mother's dad, & father's dad) Rich Bill hahaha sounds like a Pimp's name. STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first) Dilki lol. wtf. no comment. DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal) Purple Cat the next sherlock holmes!? SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born) Allison Lake St. Louis hah. shitty. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning) The Red Hydrive lol.. i'm here to.. save.. the day? FLY NAME: (first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name) Kion ROCK STAR NAME: (current pets name, Street your on now) Cigarette HWY CC bahahaha, wtf. STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav candy) Glo Bliss haha um. yum? PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on) Mama Kitty Millwood LOLOLOL.

i went to the doctors and BEGGED them not to give me a shot. they give me 5 pills to take a day instead. that's 4 pills of steroids and one of a fancy name for Benadryl. the benadryl makes me so sleepy, yet the steroids pump me up. thus explaining while i went to bed at midnight, i'm wide awake now. 3:42 A.M. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut arrived in the mail today. word, bro. I've read Sirens of Titan so i'm anxious to see how this one compares. I can't stop eating popsicles. The kind in the plastic holder that you have to coax out by breaking a piece off and feeding it up to the top of the plastic and into your mouth. "would you stick your head in fire if I told you you could see Hell? Meanwhile, you too stupid to notice you have a demon's head stuck up your asshole screaming, 'Holy Miss Moly! I think I've got me a live one!" House of 1000 Corpses. hahahaha. He (Otis) is also responsible for my favorite quote in The Devil's Rejects... "I am the devil! Here to do the devil's work..." hahahaha. gah, i usually hate Rob Zombie, but House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil's Rejects are two of my favorites. (The Devil's Rejects coming in first although it is the sequel. Saw August Rush the other day. Wasn't as good as I thought/hoped, Check out the Pink Mountaintops... I'm always skeptical to check out people's suggestions on here, because some of y'all have the worst music taste ever, buuuut it's such a good band. You should really first listen when you're high though. It's no Pink Floyd experience, but it's definitely worthy of Crosby, Stills Nash and Young listeners. Get "Tourist in your Town" and "Plastic Man, You're the Devil"

http://www.songmeanings.net/journal.php?uid=17251001 go to the entry about love. be enlightened, motherfuckers! so i'm fucking COVERED HEAD-TO-TOE in poison ivy. oh my god. it's on my ankles, my shins, my knees, BEHIND my knees (guh the worst place) basically everywhere my body bends. luckily my crotch,stomach and chest were spared, but it's COVERING my arms and my face is so swollen. hahaha. my eyes look like a got punched in the face by a baby. god, this sucks so bad. i hope to get a shot of cortisteroid today if i go to the doctor. it's in the butt though (i said what what? in the butt!) , and i HATE those shots. guh. /kill self

Man, I really have no idea what to write about. I've been thinking, man, that maybe I shouldn't think so much anymore. It takes away character, you know? It takes away the simplicity of life and the ignorance that I can find so much comfort in. Like this whole religion thing. Goddamn! It was easy when I just blindy believed, had something to trust in, security, something to look forward too...But no, I can never be satsified with simplicity. I can never be content with easy facts (or opinions? I don't know :(), so I questioned, and here I am. I smoked weed yesterday, it wasn't any sort of epic experience or anything, but it made me miss it. How pathetic is that? I miss a drug. Even more pathetic than that, I miss not feeling anything at all. Everyone's fucking dying, man. What the fuck! Even people younger than me. That's not supposed to happen. Fuck. FUCK!! And of course, with death brings doubt, right? Whenever I believed in God (those fucking glorious days... what I would do to get them back.) everytime someone close to me or a family member died, I'd be like, "what the fuck, God? Seriously man, knock it off." But even so, whenever someone passed, I always figured they were going to heaven. But now it's like.. Great, dude. We get to stare at another soul-less body and hope to fucking Christ that they really enjoyed life, because there's nothing there, now. I don't know, man. It's like, the only reason I want to believe in God is because I want my loved ones to live on. The memories, they're not fucking enough. No matter how many times somebody says it, memories suck, man. Really. Sure, they can bring happiness for a split second, but knowing that there is no possiblilty to ever make memories again with that person... fuck dude! That's enough to make me physically sick. FUCK memories. And yeah, I do doubt God's existence, every single day. But not to the extent that you think. I always though that, I dunno, I'd have a big role in missionary work or something, hahaha. Maybe I'm just being conceited. Maybe I'm not. I fucking hate the christian lifestyle though. And fuck the Bible. Who are you to tell me how to act? I'm a hardass, I do woteva I want. (shiiiiiit.) No but seriously, the Bible honestly always seemed like a bunch of mumbo jumbo 2,000 year old religion jewish bullshit. I don't know, man. Idon'tfuckingknow. I guess lately I've just been started out my entries rambling like a motherfucker. Eventually it all rolls together, though. If you can understand this, congratulations, haha. 'Cause I'm not really sure what the fuck I'm talking about right now. AND If my mom's boyfriend has caught me doing so much, WHY doesn't he fucking tell on me? Stop frontin', Mike. I'm not retarded. You would sell me out so fucking fast if you caught me doing half the shit you claim you do. And I never jumped off the roof, you fucking idiot. That was a lighter that flew out of my room. Goddamn, you've pissed me off ever since I started dating Steven. I didn't steal the newspaper, I didn't walk through Marty's crops (why the FUCK would I be back there?!!?), and I SURE as FUCK didn't go through your nasty fucking porn stash. God, FUCK YOU MIKE. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!! I liked you so much at first, man, but fuck! I can't even pretend anymore. You may treat my sister like a princess but you fucking demean me and Tara like a motherfucker. So she made some bad choices, big fucking deal. She's got her own job and apartment now and is obviously living well. Stop saying it's not going to last long and stop saying I'm going to end up just like her :(. JUST because I DEFEND my SISTER? If I said HALF the shit you say about Tara about YOUR sister, you would probably deck me. I can't believe a GROWN man can't act better than a fourteen year old girl. Maggie, my other sister, is my best friend. Honestly. I love her so much, she's such an amazing person. So you think, when you talk shit about me to my sister, my BEST FRIEND, she's not going to tell me? You're a fucking dolt. Just an ignorant fucking hick. You can polish my fucking shoes when I'm crushing you in the near future. Piss off, asshole. (didn't mean to make that so long about Mike. sorry. =\) I guess that concludes it. I'm so very much filled with anger lately. I am so sorry.

Okay, you know that whole last entry about religion? Well, fuck all that. The funeral today it was.... something. It was definitely something. And I know evvvveryone's been posting about death lately, but fuck all of you, Quit_Lollygagging said it better than any of us could. But hey, I wanna write about this shit that happened today, and (obviously) it was mainly about death. Although it also included talking about Dane Cook at the dinner, re-enacting so many driving memories, smoking weed and drinking beer with my grandma sitting right next to me. What a wild, wild night. Back to the whole melancholy death thing, though. This funeral was kind of a new experience, the was a preacher there (unlike the last three I've been to), and that wasn't so unordinary.. but what WAS unordinary, was that it was my old preacher. The one who turned me away and ignored all my questions. The one who pushed me away from God, rather than enlighten me that God loved me as his child, too. I looked at him when he first walked in, thinking maybe he just showed up to be polite, but no, it wasn't long after he had overstayed his strange welcome that I realized that he was going to be in charge of this memorial. It's not that he was ever BAD at PREACHING in front of the congregation, (although he was properly boring) he's just one of those people who are afraid to be called out on something they aren't educated enough about. And sorry if I offend anyone on here, but Baptist preachers don't know shit. Really. Truly. Everytime my little fragile ass would bound into his office, mind filled with questions, he would immediately shut me down or send me on my way. I couldn't understand, so one day I just stopped going. Just like that. I still see some of the old ladies from church every now and then at the store, but they just give me that stare, you know? The one that says "We understand but we can't show it." I understand, too. They have a reputation to maintain. My grandma is the same way, although she allows herself to be seen with me in public. In a little town like this, it's basically a crime to not attend church. I could safely say I am the only teenager within a 2 country radius that doesn't go to church. And believe me, people let me know. My once-preacher, Gary, did a outstanding job at the funeral tonight though. Not only did I cry from grief, but I think it was also from a... a higher being beckoning me? Haha, it sounds so surreal saying it (typing it?) but believe me, I know what it's like to cry from grief, and this was.. something different. I can't really explain it. I felt so..vulnerable? I felt like something was tearing away at my wall, my shield I've carried so well these past few years. Maybe it's just that the more people die, the harder it gets to hide your tears. Gary also said something about tears being like an airbag, the cushion you in times when it really matters, but I think that's a fucking boldfaced lie. I've learned to despise my tears and I curse myself everytime I cry now. I think I cry far too often. More than you'd think. The fact that tears are your "cushion" mean nothing to me. Tears now just remind me that people are getting ripped from me everyday it seems and there's nothing I can do about it. Absolutely nothing. I'm nothing special. Nobody is, anymore. And that's what sucks about life. And death. Everyone's dying lately; it's the new fad.