People

Kind of Dr. Seuss, but what the hell?


With some people it is better if you both just let alone.
With some people you can stop and say "hey".
With some people you can walk into the same coffee shop
acting as different characters every day.

Some people are nice to hug.
Some people need to take showers.
With some people you can talk
until all of night's 1oo, 200, 300 hours.

Some people you can beat up for fun.
Some people you can tease.
With some people you can argue
over the best kind of cheese.

With some people you can cry.
With some people you cannot.
Some people will cry with you
and they never mind your snot.

Some people tell you secrets.
Some people tell you lies.
Some people tell you everything
before saying there goodbyes.

Some people are good for talking.
Some people are good for a laugh.
Some people you can tell
that they look like a giraffe.

Some people stay for a day.
Some people stay forever.
Who knows when people will leave you, really?
Some people don't, however.

The people who leave are pointless
The people who stay are gold.
The people you seem to want to stay
sometimes leave before they get old.

Some people make you dinner.
Some people make it well.
Some people make it not-so-well,
but still make your heart swell.

Some people break your property.
Some people break your heart.
Some people break your spirit.
Some do it simply when they depart.

Some people you should cherish.
Some people you should let go.
Some people you should just thank God
you had a chance to know.

For some people, you thank friends.
For some people, you thank your mother.
For the joys of some, however,
you have yourself to thank, and none other.

Mildly What-the-Hell

Kaylie isn't good when she's sleepy. I tried to write something, but it turned out like this. I thought it was funny enough to be worth sharing. This is why sleep is important, boys and girls.

The Bible is X-rated. It is. I don't know why Christians give everything G-ratings. They keep it G-rated because they can't offend anyone. It's very sad, because our message is so exciting, yet, because of our fear of offending, we are now boring. I'm so tired of daisies-for-brains Christianity. Don't think about it and faith is easy to come by, but it's when we study and think about things it is when our faith is strong. It is when we ponder the Bible that it speaks to us. The Bible is not G-rated at all, so why are Christians? Good people aren't just uncool people because there are so many times when excrement occurest to nearly blameless people. I for one am very attractive, but every story addresses this. This story was not summerizeable. I don't like the self-righousness of so i don't know what's the Japan and I need to sleep junk food fix the it all. I am so tired. I need caffine and to stop stressing! This is probably an interesting class, but my brain is trying so deperately to shadow. I blame pineapple. Why? I think that nice a piece of music because they all have the right chords, but the peices that play the wrong ones and nobody will be able tonally it and they'd love it despite the bad pile of shit under Omelas bad. Instant answers to religious questions is pansy ass and will get you nowhere. Where religion dies and a true relationship with Jesus Christ begins is where things get turkeybutt the moose you ponder Christ the closer the you come to him! The hard stuff is what makes him so great! If being a Christian is easy, you're doing it wrong. Its the faith battle in your head and the desire to grasp that makes Christianity worth it. If your faith is based in fairytale churchland themes then your relatinship with him will be just as empty. You get out of everything by not thinking but you, in turn get nothing back. Intern. That's a funny word. A God you can understand would be less than yourself.

So...I think I had a point...maybe?

Things I Hate Hearing

"What did you do to your hair?" - Can you really not tell? I usually respond to this by telling them that I did the opposite, such as when I cut my hair short and dyed it hot pink, I'd respond to this question by saying "I got extentions and bleached it blonde. Can't you tell?"

"What are you reading?" - Obviously if I wanted to talk to you, I wouldn't be reading. I'm in book land. Leave me alone!

"Calm down." - Ugh! If I'm upset, there's a reason. Try calming me down instead of ordering.

"I know you better than you do." - Do you? Do you really? I sure as hell don't think so.

"Manga? Aren't those those comic books they print backwards?" - Okay, if you don't know what's wrong with this one, you're beyond hope.

"We live in America. America is a Democracy." - We live in the United States of America. There are two Americas and they contain quite a few contries, some of which are not democracies.

"So anyways..." - Anyways is NOT A WORD! "Anyway" is a word.

"Where's the ___ at?" - "At" is a preposition. "Pre" meaning "before". Therefore, if you end a sentence with it, you are wrong. Besides, "Where's the ____?" is a perfectly acceptable sentence. WHY DO YOU NEED "AT"?

"Why are you so proud of being a freak?" - I am a freak. I accept this. I am proud of who I am. This does not mean that the two things corelate. I do not do strange things so that I can live up to my "freak" label. I do unorthodox things because I like them better than the normal way.

"Don't make a scene" - I'm an ACTOR for Pete's sake! Besides, making a scene is fun!

"I don't listen to the words. It just has a nice beat." - Really? No. You are listening to something promoting the objectification of women, homophobia, racism, and a whole other lot of bad, therefore, in a way, you are promoting it. The fact that you are to lazy to pay attention to the shit that you put in your head does not excuse you from what it portrays.

"That movie's old! I don't wanna watch it!" - This one just makes me sad. So many classic movies have great scores, acting, stories, messages, directing, and so much more! Just because it doesn't come in high definition or have some "hot" actor in less clothing than is nessecary, just because it's sound quality is slightly less and won't come across on your super sub-woofer does not make it unwatchable.

"I want to get married, because I don't want to be alone." - Nobody is alone because they don't have a significant other. Seriously. There are so many wonderful people to reach out to; friends, family, mentors, heck, even animals are all there with you and you can do so many effective things in this world with or without a ring on your finger. Enjoy yourself, and if love comes, let it. If it doesn't, move on.

Thoughts on Thoughts

I wonder what I'd do if I could hear people's thoughts.
What would people do if they could hear mine?
Probably they'd all become bitterly depressed,
because I'm 1) a constant downer in my head
and 2) usually thinking about how stupid most of them are.
That's one that people argue about:
Are people inherantly good, or inherantly evil?
I reject both claims and supposit my own:
that humans are inherantly stupid,
and that is what we must overcome.
I wonder if listening to people's thougts would confirm or deny my claim.
Would I realize that I had completely misjudged, or would I see in actuality that people are run by greed, lust, and ignorance?
Sometimes I think my whole disestablishmentarianism bit gets old to people.
Sometimes I wonder if it's actually going anywhere and based on truth,
or if I'm just kicking up dust because I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't.
Is saying "everything is wrong" really making me right,
or do I just assume too many things about the world?
Take my fiction proffessor, for instance.
I totally misjudged him.
I thought he would be a total Republican jackass.
Not to say that all Republicans are jackasses,
in fact, there are several points on which I agree with Republicans,
but, well, we all know the type'
the war-is-God's-way-America-is-the-best-country-in-the-world-we're-all-burning-in-hell-because-of-those-damned-homosexuals type of Republicans.
Don't lie. You know at least one.
Who would have thought that in actuality,
a middle-aged Catholic priest has the same biews on war as a gothic college-aged rebelious heathen.
Crazy.
I didn't know there were other Christians like me;
ones who think;
ones who are pacifistes,
especially outside of my demographic.
I am pleasantly surprised by my miscalculation.
Maybe there is hope for His will to be done on earth if there are some of us here who believe that God's battle is not slaying other human beings.
Also, take for instance this really bubbly sorority girl in my poetry class last term.
I automatically saw her intense gaze at me all throught class as an obvious sign that I was being judged, as I have been in the past, as a good-for-nothing freakazoid with no feelings to hurt.
Little did I know that she was watching me write, because she saw "Ask me about Jesus" painted on my backpack and knew I was a writer/composer,
and she wanted to know how to ask me to help her write a worship song.
With my life of being judged,
I now automatically judge others by labeling them as judgers.
Anyway, this rant is going nowhere.
I guess what I really wanted to say,
is I wonder how much of my wizard angst is founded in truth against the poison of humanity,
and how much of it is me being cranky and pubesent and taking it out on people I should like.
It'd be nice to see what others think of that.

The Pointless and Very Heavy Things We Carry

If this offends, disreguard it, but I must vomit words or they'll corrupt me into further convulsions of sociopathological misanthropic apathy and somebody might end up missing a limb or a reason to stay alive; maybe both. (I aim for the crotch.)

I was reading a short story recently by Tim O'Brien, a Vietnam veteran, called "The Things They Carried". It is as story about his army unit in Vietnam. I then got to a part where he said, and I quote,

"They carried the soldier's greatest fear, which was the fear of blushing. Men killed, and died, because they were embarrased not to. It was what had brought them to the war in the first place, nothing positive, no dreams of glory or honor, just to avoid the blush of dishoner. They died so as not to die of embarrasment. They crawled into tunnels and walked point and advanced under fire. Each morning, despite the unknowns, they made their legs move. They endured... It was not courage, exactly; the object was not valor. Rather, they were too frighened of being cowards."

This reminded me of exactly what I hate about the world. Really? Is pride really so powerful? I mean, I know it is, but this reminder is excruciating. Man! I hate that! All the shit that's going on in the world? All of it is to fit this macho-man image? We've killed and are killing millions of people all over the world, because we have to fill the image of "bravery". We can't fail. We have to fight and kill; murder and commit suicide on the battlefield because nobody's willing to say "Hey, I'm not going to do this," because we're all afraid of showing meekness? Really? Gah! I can't express how angry I am! Humanity is so dumb! Maybe I'm just an angsty college kid, but still! Gah! I could puke right now I'm so hot in the brain. This can't be good for my blood pressure. Still. Am I the only one who sees how moronic this is?

No One

No one should be too cowardly
to admit to fear.
No one should be so macho
as to resent peace.
Nobody should die
to avoid the shame of living.
Nobody should be too pretty to be above character.
Nobody should be too strong to hug
or to lean on another.
No one is too wise to hope.
Nobody should be too proud to love.

The Kind of Realism that Doesn't Suck

Oh, the reality of reality!
Love,
Life,
Grass,
Dirt,
Cars,
Blood and Toothpaste!
Pain,
Joy.
They're all so real!
Feel them while you can.

...Happy Earth Day?

Could you just step back and look a little?
Look at the world.
Dying.
Who knows how to really fix it now?
Because we're all dying too.
It's crazy like that,
to think that in a few breaths we'll all be gone from here.
Leaving it's poor, withering leaves to share our fate,
and what of the future?
Think past your own, for just a second.
Think to the future beyond your futile, minuscule life,
and then continue to pollute the air, the web, the sky
with all of your trash and hate.
Are you that egocentric?
Can you really not care?
Think of your ansestors who did all that they did to get you here
to the fortunate place in which you now lazily sit.
Look at the screen you're staring at now and think about it.
It's there for a reason. So are you.
So, are you actually going to not do anything about it?
Really?
Get over yourself. Or does stepping back to look strain you too much?
Poor baby.
Poor generations of babies.

"+100 exp. lvl up."

I knew she was coming. Her shift started at this time every day, and she was never late.

I heard her before I saw her; the clomp-clomp of her feet clad in more duct-tape than actual black boot. I saw only the thick soles remaining below every neon color I knew existed. Never before her had I seen so many colors on one person, yet they were all perfectly in place and still shrouded in darkness by her leather jacket and black angel tatoos. Still, what caught my attention about this girl, time after time, wasn't her devil-may-care attitude or the way she always had her hands on her hips, no, it was that amidst all the color and devil-may-care manner, her eyes lined thick with black never crinkled, and there was never a trace of a smile on her red-painted lips. Ever.

"Hello!" I said, completely unsure as to why. I believe that my toungue was forced to move by the secret powers hidden within its new painfully acquired peircing.

She just stared. Well, why shouldn't she have stared? Here was some strange dungeons and dragons nerd that got his toungue peirced because he fancied the goth girl that worked at Starbucks just walking up and saying "hello". Hell, I'd stare at that, and I am unable to make eye contact for more than five seconds.

What had I been hoping for? I don't know. Maybe she'd think it was cute. Maybe she'd think it was the stupidest thing she'd ever seen. Maybe she'd leap across the coffee counter, knocking over foamy cappuccinos and smearing her elbows through customer number seventeen's espresso con pana, just to beat me up for being so dumb. I'd be okay with all of those things, as long as she looked at me.

I don't know what I had been thinking when I got the peircing. All I knew from the first time I saw her long black and purple hair flick across her shoulder as she handed me my vanilla-hazelnut steamer was that I had to do something. The peircing was just the first something that came to my mind.

So, the next thing I knew I was walking into an innappropriately dark and smokey shop and signing a release waiver saying essentially that if I died, it wouldn't be their fault. Shortly, a big, surly, grey-bearded man with arms covered in naked-mermaid tatoos was strutting out and saying in a gruff voice, "I hear 'yall's wantin' a peircin'!" I could have sworn his smile was mocking me. Oh, well, no use backing out now, I thought, so I followed him into a back room that appeared to be sound-proofed and sitting in a leather chair. "Stick'er out!" tat-man ordered, so I obeyed, and too-late closed my eyes after catching a glimpse of a needle thick enough to give Shamu his shots. Her shots? I don't know. Why was I even thinking about a stupid whale when I was about to be skewered by Dog the Bounty Hunter?

Sweating bullets, I'm sure, I whimpered, "Is it too late to back out?"
"Son, I've had one fella' back out o' this chair in my thirty years o' doin' this, and he was nine."
So, shivering, I thought to myself, what would Sephiroth do? Needless to say, I stuck my toungue out again, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and...

I only cried for ten minutes. The pain was worth it though, because I now had a silver stud secretly sealed away behind my teeth to remind me that I was no longer a chicken-livered geek. There, I thought, I did something. Hopefully something to give me the courage to say "hello".

Well, it did that. Now what?

Still, that blank stare from those cool blue eyes.

"Uh, that's all I got," I explained pathetically.

Dejectedly, I was about to book it out of there before those gorgeous eyes shot lasers through my heart, when the most miraculous thing I could have ever asked for occured.

There it was! Her lip slowly began to curve! In that magical moment, what only I could recognize as a smile was born across those angelic lips.

It was fleeting, gone in a moment, and replaced by her usual blank mien, and then the lips parted to say, "My shift hasn't started yet, but I'll get your usual once I get behind the counter," the same way she would have said, "I'll scrape the bunyons from that elephant as soon as I'm done shoveling dog crap," and she turned away.

Then, however, that shiny hair flowed from one shoulder to the other as she once again turned her face to me.

"Oh," she said with an almost-smirk, "and hi."

Norovirus: day two

ugh...my aching me!

make it stop.

why?

so many classes to make up.

blargh.

had to cancel my job interview, as well.

I was going to be modeling for one class for an entire term.

Steady work? Nope. Go vomit some more. Do it.

...sigh...okay...

Fever Dream

Disclaimer: I have Norovirus. Ignore this post if it disturbs you.

The sky is blue and open. We are all there, on the roof, just laughing. Laughing because there is nothing better to do. Not because there is nothing good out there, but because laughing with friends and loved ones takes the cake as far as good things to do go.

One by one they leave, with various college-ey things to do, but it's okay, because you are there, and we talk on and on about everything wonderful, just as we always do.

Eventually you leave, because at some time everyone must, and I lie alone to watch the sky. I watch it, and it turns purple, like a bruise. I get to the sidewalk, and everyone is talking about a tornado. I look on the horizon, and there it is.
Obviously a tornado.
Obviously deadly.
Obviously headed straight towards campus.
Doom.

I head inside the house, and he is there. He follows me around as I frantically try to call 911 for some kind of help. No connection. And old friend calls, and I beg her to stay where she is, away from Corvallis, and to stay alive. I try to call you. No connection. I try again. A woman answers. I hear laughing voices in the background.
"Hi," she says, "We're having fun right now. He can't get to the phone."
"Please," I beg, nearing tears, "please, it's an emergency!"
She hangs up.

I pace frantically, not knowing what to do. In the living room, I see party decorations being set up. Out the window, I see the cyclone coming closer. I dial your number again. No connection. Again. This time, I hear you answer.
"Hello?"
"Hey! Oh thank God!" I reply.
You start to say more, but it gets quieter and quieter until I hear nothing.
"I don't know if you can hear me," I start, the tears flowing now, "but please, we are in danger. Look at the storm and get to somewhere safe." I am sobbing now. "Please, please," I beg in hysterics, "please don't die."

Nothing.

I overhear the head of the house and some of the snobbier girls talking.
"What is this party about?"
"We've got to distract the girls, so they don't know what's going to happen."
"Right. I'll get the music started."

Girls come downstairs, all dressed up and start to dance. Beats from the bass pound knives into my brain. I collapse, helpless.

He turns my head up and tries to dry my tears. I don't let him. He says "you keep begging people not to die, but I won't. I will never die. I will never leave you."

Of course I don't believe him, so he leaves.

Oh, well, I think. I might as well go get ready, so I head upstaris to put on my dancing dress.

So Often We Forget

I've been feeling for a long time - years- that God has been trying to tell me something big, but I could never hear the words he was telling me. They were simple: "Hey, I made a world! Check it out!"

There is so much beauty here that I'd been overlooking!

The smell of the tulips
A grandma sword-fighting a five-year-old boy
High-school-aged kids drawing narwals and girraffes with sidewalk chalk in the park
A rastafarian homeless man playing two trumpets at once
The glorious cream filling of a chocolate eclair
A bearded old man with a high-pitched laugh
The longing we all- yes, even I- get to be emotionally close to each other
As the Calipooia would say, "Ixt Tumtum" - We are all one heart.

Why do we take so long to remember just how great it is to be alive?

Silence

Today is the day of silence, on which thousands of people world wide will say nothing for a day in order to bring attention to the millions of people who have remained silent about who they really are because of bullies and intolerant people in the world.
Being quiet has been good for me. It brings me back to my early teen years during which I said very few words to very few people. I kind of missed it. There's a peace that comes with listening to everyone around you and not being expected to imput. At the same time, when people are callin out to you "Why are you participating in 'gay day'?", it is very difficult not to verbally tear them to pieces. I guess that just shows that we're really better than them - that we can have a peacuful protest without saying hateful things to others.
Anyway, I haven't posted a poem in a while, so here:

"Disgusting Love"

She met the love of her life six years ago.
They instantly became great friends.
Now they are all each other has.
She clings to her love in times of deep distress,
and when she is joyous, she shares that with her love as well.
They will be in love forever.

Every time she reaches out to hold the hand of her love,
the people surrounding her give her distasteful glares.
If she gives her love a kiss, those glares turn into words of hate.
"That's disgusting!" they shout bitterly.
She has fallen deeply in love, and for it she has been labeled a lowlife,
promiscuous wretch.
Why? Why would anyone oppose something so beautiful so publically?
Simply because the love of her life is another woman.

Metal

So my trusty friend Baine and I were sitting around figuring out how to play the intro to "Enter Sandman" on his bass guitar, Lucy Cielo, when the constant erotic imaginings of his masculinity deduced that there should be more "Hot Chick Rockers". I concur. There should be more of us. Well, correction, there should be more "Attractive and Mentally Stimulating Female Rockers", as I neither have an elevated temperature, nor am I poultry. I don't know when this became about me, but hey, I do believe that in my role as insecure goth girl I am allowed one egotistical moment a month.
Anyway, girl rockers are awesome for many reasons.
One: Black lipstick on somebody who has the presence to wear it. On a bleach blonde sorority girl trying to be "different for a day" it is the most annoying thing ever, but come on, who doesn't love night kisses, where everyone knows from where it came.
Two: Long hair is way better for headbanging. This is why I am madly in love with the cellists from apocalyptica, but our country's need for more long-haired guys is not the purpose for this blog. Since we are not in Norway, females make great headbanging alternatives that can be quite aesthetic.
Three: Short-styled hair just says succincly, "I kick ass."
Four: If more girls start rocking, we will have fewer Brittany Spears', Fergies, and Taylor Swifts on the market. 'Nuff said.
Five: They are not impressed by your stupid Abercrombie and Bitch-oops I mean Fitch- polos. A man will actually have to be a man to get one of these women, or else us queer chicks are all the luckier.
Six: There is nothing like the smell of empowerment in the morning. (It's the lipstick)
Seven: They actually took the time to get good at a skill. Not any skill-music, and not just any music- ROCK!!!!
Eight: Guitars are just sexy.
Nine: Drums. Let me spell this out for you: she has sticks in her hands, and she hits things hard. As a drummer, I may be biased, but honestly, I feel 10x less of a mediocre cliche when I'm laying out a solid beat.
Ten: The occasional fedora.
Eleven: Rock concerts mean lots of bodies. Sweaty dude = gross. Sweaty girl = awesome.
Twelve: I'm sure nobody can tell, but I am in fact an advocate for non-traditional clothing. (See, there's that scarcasm thing I was talking about.) Different is cool. When will people learn this?
Thirteen: Flyleaf does NOT COUNT!!!! Take the black dye out of her hair and that CHICK is Lindsay Freaking Lohan. (I put this because Baine wanted me to mention her rock scream)
Fourteen: Heart, Within Temptaion, and Nightwish are all proof that average-looking women become hot when they rock out. Evanescence is proof that hot women make the rest of us want to hide under a bag when they rock out.
Fifteen: (this is Baine now...) Bassists, there are few thing more worthy of the title "fearfully and wonderfully made". Seriously, all other instruments are over rated. What is more....how should I say this....glorious? Than a woman rocking out to a rhythm she played down herself, moving her body to a heavy beat while fingering one of the sleekest instruments in the world. Allow me to be male for a moment.....drooooooooooooooooooooooool........
Okay, well, now that I've wrestled my computer back, I think I've proven my point, and now I'm off to eat the brains of mortals - It's humans VS zombies week at OSU.
Loli out!

Utopia

I've been reading a lot of stories about utopia, and I'm wondering if, what if, our society magically turned into one? People never read stories that have no conflict, if there are any out there. They wouldn't be beliveable or accepted. Why? The sad truth is that nobody will accept the fact that there is true happiness, because people find happiness either stupid or booring.
My friend Baine has a sticker on his guitar case that says "If you're not enraged, you're not paying attention." I'm not saying that I disagree, but isn't it true that a lot of us look at people who are peachy keane with the world and assume that they are just too dense to see the horror in the world?
Also, think about it. If everything is fine, humans don't know what to do with themselves. I was accused recently of not being able to relax because I would just come up with something new to stress about, just for a sense of normalcy. It's kind of true. Have you ever just taken a day, two, or three without thinking of something upsetting? I've also found in myself and in others the constant mistrust of homeostasis, let alone euphoria alltogether. When everything is fine and dandy, we wait on our haunches for the other shoe to drop. I know I for one am extrordinarilly guilty of this. I don't trust this "peace" thing, and as for rejoicing? That's right out!
It's all a bit sick, really. It's just a commonplace conception that a utopia cannot be there without some kind of horror. I partially believe that. Everyone has monsters in their heads, yet I am beginning to question why there must be darkness to be light. Do we create evil just to make happiness possible? If that's so, what would happen if all the evil went away? What would we do? How long would unceacing joy last before someone snapped and broke it up with something terrible just because he/she couldn't handle the joy? Would everyone be on edge, just knowing that it will end? Would we end it just to make things right?
This is, indeed, a most intriguing paradox.

Fairy Tale

I was asked by a proffessor if my life was a fairytale, and wheteher it should be or not. I am absolutely not living in a fairytale. Fairytales are not tragedies, and my life is one giant string of sucky events with no end in sight.
I am not a fairytale heroine. For one thing, has anyone ever heard a fairytale heroine use scarcasm? No. So there goes that delusion, if anyone reading this made it past one conversation with me with that one still intact. They make pills for that now, FYI.
I am not pretty or kind or fair. I am an average looking, blunt, scarcastic, cynical psychopath that likes to hear other people's happy stories and that shit happens to for no reaon apperant to me. I am all of the former things because of the latter events. The crazy thing is though, I like that. I'd like to allow myself the ego to think that I am much more interesting than any two-dimentional fairytale heroine could be. I love my dark attitude and my quirky demeanor, and God bless my scarcasm. What would I do without it? If I danced around a house singing and cleaning and talking of how wonderful everything was all of the time, well let's just say that the story wouldn't end like a fairytale and would involve a sawed-off shotgun.
In fact, I am pretty sure that a fairytale would ruin my life. The shit that life throws at you lets you know when to take a shower.
If this was a fairytale, I might be a bit more encouraged, because in fairytales all of the crap happens to the heroines in the first part, but because she dreams hard and works harder, everything works out for her all right. My dreams are powerful and I work for them harder than anyone else, but I know that in reality better people by far than me who make me look like a lazy blob get screwed over every day. It's not fair. Nothing in this world is fair. That's why all fairy tales take place far, far away.
Besides, my prince would't be riding in gallantly on horseback or, for goodness' sake, sparkling in the sunlight. He'd run in smelling like trees and sweat, carying an M14 and yelling "GET OUT OF HERE, FOR GOD'S SAKE SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!!", prefferably in a scottish brouge.

Zobmie Apocalypse!

So I was supposed to write a short story about a time that I was horribly shattered and disilusioned. Well, this week is Humans vs. Zombies, so I figured since this class is already a crock of shit I might as well have fun.

Casper the Unfriendly

I met him the day after the first zombies were reported. I was walking behind the bushes, photographing. A risky job, to be sure, but since my infected roomate took over my entire residence hall, and since free food and ammo was provided for any photographers willing to take the risk of working for the zombie field guide, what else was there for me to do? So, while zombies were after my brains, I was out after their profiles.
There, I saw one. Well, to put it correctly, I smelled one, and then, after blinking the stench out of my tear ducts, then I saw it. Lurking there; dead. It sensed me, and I heard that spine chilling moan that anyone who's seen a George Romero film can only identify as a member of the undead.
It started towards me. Quick! Snap! Quick! Snap! Quick! Shoot. Hit the shoulder. DAMN! Cock. Fire. Head shot. Then once more, just to be sure. Took one more shot of the now once-again-motionless corpse, kissed my M16 and my Cannon 450 for getting through another one, and was stet to go take in my shots.
Hey, it was a dangerous life, but hey, what did I care? In a non-disgusting way, I also belong to the world undead. For you see, this is a shitty fantasy written at 2:00 am by a college student, so I am a vampire.
On my way up the elavator in the zombie press building, I heard a ding, and then the elevator stopped to let in the most bad-ass guy I've ever seen. Bleach-blonde hair thinly tried to veil his electric blue eyes. A small snarl escaped from him and in the process revealed a pair of unnaturally pointed canines, but his heaving chest betrayed that he was still among the living. My eyes crossed his leather-jacketed torso to the red band on his arm: Zombie Relief Force- and then down to his left hand where I discovered a very distinct pentagram.. He was a self-made werewolf.
So rielieved to meet another freak in the demented world that my life had become over the last few days that I couldn't hold myself back from introducing myself, I said "Hi, I'm Lolita; a photographer."
He looked startled at my direct eye contact, and then responded, "I'm Casper, the clan leader of the ZRF."
He followed my eyes to the mark on his hand, and to his clawlike fingernails. "A monster," he reavealed, "because it takes one to fight these damn things."
"I understand." I said.
"I'll bet you do." He responded ambiguously.
I couldn't contain my curiosity anymore, because I'd heard such horrible stories about werewolf transformations.
"So...," I pondered, "Does it really hurt badly?"
"Like a thousand bitches released from Hell itself," he answered gravely, "but not as much as watching everyone you care about die, so here I am."
I nodded, admiring his courage.
"If you ever need help," he added, "you know who to call." He gestured to the ZRF hotline number written on my hand.
Ding! And the ride was over, my courage soaring.
Over the next few days, I "fought" undead the way that a hawk "fights" the fish it plucks from the water. I knew that if I ever really needed, that I could have Casper there in seconds. With this knowlege, I slaughtered hundreds of the things, and felt better with each kill.
Then, three days later, I was walking back from my kills when I heard a sound like I'd never heard before. It was a low, gutteral, bestial moan like something you wwould hear from a Mayan death whistle auto-tuned by Daft Punk. I turned around to see a massive, hairy, undead beast raised to kill. Teeth bared in a snarl that went all the way up to the violently blue, dead eyes.
Casper's eyes.
Sometimes even tho most promising of heroes aren't enough to overcome your battles.
Wondering what it would be like to die a second time, I cocked my gun.

Here we go!

Today I am simply
and quite succinctly
the girl in the black dress
riding the red bicicle
contemplating the jonquills
behind the brick building.

Hey! I'm a blogger! Woah!

So, I've read some of these, and I don't know if I fancy myself a writer, but I'd like to be a better one, anyway. We'll just have to see if anything comes of it. I think I'll start out just with my poetry, because that's the only thing I really think I'm good at. We'll see if I get confident enough to write anything else. Maybe I'll even share some prose or some of the "dear diary" style stuff that other people blog that I love to read and hate to write. I guess I just want to get better at expressing myself in general, and this seemed like a harmless way to start. We'll see. I just want to get better at writing mostly, and the best writer I know is my cousin Samantha, so hopefully blogging has something to do with how good she is. Maybe. We'll see. Anyway, like Proffessor Looking Wolf says, "I'll tell you a story, if you'll listen."
Should I start by sharing a poem? Why not?

"\00b 4\g3l5"
There are angel interns
watching over my life
They screw up
but hey, I'm eveywhere I shoudn't be
yet here I am
so they did something right
or maybe not quite
but I think I preffer it that way.
Sometimes ice cream belongs on the ground.
The ants get a meal
and I get to watch.