[some red handed sleight of hand]
For whatever reason, maybe it's the monroe, or the varied obsessions of Trent [Oh, darling Trent, lovely Trent, I think I need who you were thirteen years ago now more than ever] or Doc Hammer, but my little Gothic Heart is taking over. In a very mainstream, I-really-just-want-to-wear-corsets-and-lace sort of way, I suppose. Maybe I just want to be a total history nerglet...
I'm not sure what I want, actually. But, uh, I know I will never be as bad as these guys: http://www.infrarot.de/index.php?page=home-a-3185027 and if I am, please somebody shoot me. Oh, and uh, don't click on this unless you want your eyes/ears to rupture and bleed simultaneously. It was a last.fm excursion into the terrible little regions of some goth chick's favorite band.
I accidently wrote 'slick' instead of 'click' which could be a freudian slip into the slipperier bits of my wee little brain. For wee, indeed it feels as of late. Like I can't do much right, like I'm tripping upon myself, am incongruous with my self [but how can one be incongruous with one's self you may ask? I have found a way]; my fingernails are all chipping, my teeth rotting, my mouth watering, my tongue zealously, furiously working to explain something, anything! all for naught! I actually spoke, all for naught, outloud in description to someone the other day, and I don't think they knew quite what I was saying. They probably quirked their head a touch to the side as if to say... well, I don't really need to go into that.
Things are just as weird here in college life than in regular life, although, albeit, slightly amplified or fishbowlified, I suppose. I may in fact be the only one still keeping a livejournal that I know of at least, and god, I can't imagine sorting through the shitty mind of my fifteen year old self. not that I've grown leaps and bounds, but I'm slightly less....uh, melodramatic? Although, I still can see walking through campus on a bright, hot autumn day, the creamy nape of a boy's neck dappled with soft green leaf shapes as he sat on a bench pouring over his computer. I suppose that's the sort of life I want, and when I write, yes, I will still impose. Impose drama if not melodrama. More so, probably, since declaring myself an English Lit major. Who knows if I'll stick with it.
I spent three or so hours today organising my secondary hard drive, so the music is all in its right place. I feel a tad ocd now, though.
I really want chocolate milk. I've got milk, but no chocolate. Suck.
I've been staying up until two in the morning to watch Cowboy Bebop. Is it wrong I think Spike is super hot?
I'm not sure what I want, actually. But, uh, I know I will never be as bad as these guys: http://www.infrarot.de/index.php?page=home-a-3185027 and if I am, please somebody shoot me. Oh, and uh, don't click on this unless you want your eyes/ears to rupture and bleed simultaneously. It was a last.fm excursion into the terrible little regions of some goth chick's favorite band.
I accidently wrote 'slick' instead of 'click' which could be a freudian slip into the slipperier bits of my wee little brain. For wee, indeed it feels as of late. Like I can't do much right, like I'm tripping upon myself, am incongruous with my self [but how can one be incongruous with one's self you may ask? I have found a way]; my fingernails are all chipping, my teeth rotting, my mouth watering, my tongue zealously, furiously working to explain something, anything! all for naught! I actually spoke, all for naught, outloud in description to someone the other day, and I don't think they knew quite what I was saying. They probably quirked their head a touch to the side as if to say... well, I don't really need to go into that.
Things are just as weird here in college life than in regular life, although, albeit, slightly amplified or fishbowlified, I suppose. I may in fact be the only one still keeping a livejournal that I know of at least, and god, I can't imagine sorting through the shitty mind of my fifteen year old self. not that I've grown leaps and bounds, but I'm slightly less....uh, melodramatic? Although, I still can see walking through campus on a bright, hot autumn day, the creamy nape of a boy's neck dappled with soft green leaf shapes as he sat on a bench pouring over his computer. I suppose that's the sort of life I want, and when I write, yes, I will still impose. Impose drama if not melodrama. More so, probably, since declaring myself an English Lit major. Who knows if I'll stick with it.
I spent three or so hours today organising my secondary hard drive, so the music is all in its right place. I feel a tad ocd now, though.
I really want chocolate milk. I've got milk, but no chocolate. Suck.
I've been staying up until two in the morning to watch Cowboy Bebop. Is it wrong I think Spike is super hot?