Tell me I'm not crazy.
This comment was left in my Xanga...well, one of two. The one that my friend Dylan knows about.
"yep. that's it. you're fault compleatly. what the fuck maggie? no! it's not. it was no one's fault in the begining, and i dug myself into a nice little hole later. if this is about me saying that we needed to talk, because we do. you know why? because i was wrong. i can't just say 'i don't like you any more' and hope that we start talking again. it doesn't work that way and it's not true.... i care about you more than anyone else. i just wanted to tell you not in a comment or an email. but i guess that's out the window"
This is after a huge long deal that I feel not like discussing. And this was my reply. (By the way, I must've made him mad, because this guy doesn't swear. Not like me anyway, and I have a sailor mouth)
"if you care about me more than anything else in the world than you need to get out way more often. trust me. there's plenty more people out there more worth your time than i. really. once you leave little ol' conservative northern michigan you'll see that"
Now, just from that, you straight out tell me nothing's wrong with me. Nothing at all. Zip. Zero. Zilch. The Big Goose Egg.
That's right, you can't.
I must be fucked up in new ways unimaginable. I don't know how, but I must be. Someone smack me, I'm nuts!
Yeah, this poem/song has nothing to do with anything, but it will make me feel better and I need that. It's a Sting song (probably my favorite artist) but his stuff....most of it is just pure poetry set to music. This is my favorite song/poem of his. I love it. It's called Children's Crusade. Enjoy while I go crazy. Er.
Young men, soldiers, 1914
March into countries they've never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a Children's Crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of Belgium and France
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of England would never be slaves
Their trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The Flower of England face down in mud
They're stayed in teh blood of a whole generation
Corpulant generals safe behind lines
History's lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
Midnight in SoHo, 1984
Fixing in doorways, opium slaves
Poppies for young men, such bitter trade
All for of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
"yep. that's it. you're fault compleatly. what the fuck maggie? no! it's not. it was no one's fault in the begining, and i dug myself into a nice little hole later. if this is about me saying that we needed to talk, because we do. you know why? because i was wrong. i can't just say 'i don't like you any more' and hope that we start talking again. it doesn't work that way and it's not true.... i care about you more than anyone else. i just wanted to tell you not in a comment or an email. but i guess that's out the window"
This is after a huge long deal that I feel not like discussing. And this was my reply. (By the way, I must've made him mad, because this guy doesn't swear. Not like me anyway, and I have a sailor mouth)
"if you care about me more than anything else in the world than you need to get out way more often. trust me. there's plenty more people out there more worth your time than i. really. once you leave little ol' conservative northern michigan you'll see that"
Now, just from that, you straight out tell me nothing's wrong with me. Nothing at all. Zip. Zero. Zilch. The Big Goose Egg.
That's right, you can't.
I must be fucked up in new ways unimaginable. I don't know how, but I must be. Someone smack me, I'm nuts!
Yeah, this poem/song has nothing to do with anything, but it will make me feel better and I need that. It's a Sting song (probably my favorite artist) but his stuff....most of it is just pure poetry set to music. This is my favorite song/poem of his. I love it. It's called Children's Crusade. Enjoy while I go crazy. Er.
Young men, soldiers, 1914
March into countries they've never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a Children's Crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of Belgium and France
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of England would never be slaves
Their trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The Flower of England face down in mud
They're stayed in teh blood of a whole generation
Corpulant generals safe behind lines
History's lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
Midnight in SoHo, 1984
Fixing in doorways, opium slaves
Poppies for young men, such bitter trade
All for of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade