im so lonely, lonely, lonely.

im not an addict, baby, that's a lie.

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 03:28:10 GMT

TESTS TOMORROW OMG.
1st period - vocab test.
2nd period - bio test.
3rd period - leadership project & studying at lunch.
4th period - christmas quiz.
5th period - vocal instruction paper.
6th period - history test! AHH!
7th period - geometry notes on fucking polygons.
8th period - latin test.

& apparently Mr. Powers has the slightest bit of respect for Panic! At The Disco & myself? ORLY?! so he DOES have an inkling of optimism inside of him somewhere?
and heeeeey. christmas tree. you're the only thing holding me together. xD

OMG FUCK YOU, SUNDAY.

Sun, 16 Dec 2007 21:04:49 GMT

OH MY GOD. ihateschoolsofuckingmuch. apparently, i have a history test tomorrow that i didn't study for, and i dont have my books home with me. ... and i failed the last history test. WELL HI SUMMER SCHOOL. *waves awkwardly* ...
& if i have to play frickin "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" on piano and LEARN it, ill shoot myself. i bring in fifty billion sheet music books to my teacher, and he chooses fucking ELTON JOHN. sorry, but, like, no. if it has to be oldies, can it be Queen? The Beatles? Bob Dylan? The Eagles? PLEASE?! id rather shoot myself than listen to the yellow brick road song and attempt to learn four-finger chord inversions. GAH. AND MY LESSON'S TOMORROW. he'll kill me if i haven't "mastered" it. not to mention i havent even STARTED practicing guitar for Tuesday. killmekillmekillmekillme.
oh Christmas season, where art thou? it seems like every inch of my existence is made up of stress, stress, stress. the only time ill get to enjoy Christmas is Christmas fucking Eve, when all the stress finally stops for one second and i can sorta kinda breathe. it always helps that Mr. Bowen is like, "you think you're stressed NOW? it only gets worse from here." GEE, THANKS FOR THAT INFO. *&%$#@!!
well, i should go study for 983267458357349574 tests and do a couple projects and a bunch of homework assignments.

where are you, Christmas? why can't I find you? </3

Imaginary Friend

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 21:23:07 GMT

Title: Imaginary Friend ;; Prologue
Author: Caroline :: rain_calamity
Rating: PG for now.
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon.
POV: Brendon's.
Summary: In my fantasies, I could play violin masterpieces and pass geometry theorems tests. When my eyes were focused on the ceiling, I could drive motorcycles, ride flamingos, and hitch a ride with a traveling circus. In the safety of my own mind, I could search a haunted house with nothing but a flashlight and a prayer.
Disclaimer: yeah, dont own anything, unfortunately.

It’s an everyday occurrence for me to hear an adult tell me that I have a wild imagination. School, especially, seems to be where I most often slip into my “imagination station”, as Mrs. Signorello in fifth grade liked to call it. That moment where, in an instant, I’m in a new sort of reality – like a whole new world, and I’m the only person allowed in; the key, ready and waiting, is resting behind my ear, relentlessly pining for that moment of boredom … or, well, freedom, I guess. When I’m paying little enough attention to have a clear mind – a second of ignorance – before I fit the key into the lock inside of my ear, and suddenly, the world isn’t the world anymore. The world that I see the moment I open up that door is my world, somewhere that’s full of things for me and me alone.

And me, I call it, “Thinking.”

Teachers call it, “Daydreaming.”

Teachers call it, “Pay attention!”

Teachers call it, “Brendon, will you stay after school this afternoon?”

And nobody really understands my imagination station. Nobody understands how it feels to nearly roll your eyes back into your head, that vision pressed against the inside of your forehead too vivid and enticing to simply ignore. Nobody really understands that I’m not crazy and I’m not weird and I’m not the biggest freak in school. Nobody understands that my imagination station is the only thing keeping me from cracking under the pressure of reality. I can’t carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I can barely even carry the weight of my backpack on my shoulders.

And really, as important as my imagination station is in the fantasy aspect of life, it certainly doesn’t help much in reality. Those little voices - my shoulder angel and devil and whatnot – they’ve danced me right down the hall into detention. The amusement park between my ears has earned me sixteen notes sent home to my parents, asking them, Is your son seeing a doctor of any sort?

And the drawings – the scribbles and doodles of everything I see behind my eyes – they are the trigger on the gun of every mocking mouth in my entire high school. The words and people and pictures floating around my mind, making up these stories and scenarios without my consent …. well, they didn’t make me the coolest kid in school.

In fact, that made me the un-coolest kid in school. Nobody even gave me a chance.

I was “That Weird Kid Who Talks To Himself”.

I was “The Freak”.

“The Creep”.

“The Dweeb”.

“The Nerd”.

And most of the time, I didn’t let it get under my skin. Most of the time I didn’t have much of a problem being alone in the lunchroom, watching people around me bat their eyes at me for a moment, just to get my attention before they turned back to their friends, giggling and whispering, as if I was nothing but an animal at a zoo. On display, every day, everywhere. Me, alone; I was the only display in a one-man freak show. Step right up! See the amazing Brendon Urie – the misunderstood boy with no self-esteem, no friends, and no real life of his own!

But the bad days were few. Most of the time, it was just a glimpse of frustration and panic, weaved through those giggles and whispers, before I slipped back into my imagination station; devil and angel, amusement park, drawings, fantasies. Every day when I woke up, every night as I went to sleep, and every moment in between. It was the only thing I could do; it was the only thing I liked to do.

In my fantasies, I could play violin masterpieces and pass geometry theorems tests. When my eyes were focused on the ceiling, I could drive motorcycles, ride flamingos, and hitch a ride with a traveling circus. In the safety of my own mind, I could search a haunted house with nothing but a flashlight and a prayer. I could do back-handsprings and play screaming electric guitar onstage with the Rolling Stones. I could play Frisbee with a talking dog, fly next to planes with a pair of plastic wings strapped to my back, and cook myself a delicious gourmet dinner in the span of thirty seconds. In my daydreams, I didn’t have glasses, I didn’t have braces, and I wore James Bond tuxedos all the time. I had six tattoos, leather shoes, and a gun in my back pocket. In my dreams, I drove ice-cream trucks and ate all of the sweets stored in the freezer. I had rockstar friends and movie star girlfriends. I drank martinis, flew airplanes, and ate pancakes for dinner. My friends called me “The Terminator”, and I had sixteen different types of sports cars.

And really, for a long time, my parents didn’t mind the phonecalls home and the C’s on tests, because I was “adjusting to high school life”. They didn’t mind my active imagination, because I wasn’t getting hurt in some dangerous sport or eating my brain cells away on mindless video games. They were just happy I wasn’t complaining about Mom’s cooking or harassing my sister. They were happy that I was coming home from school alive, mobile, and with my arms still locked into my sockets.

Well, at least that’s how it was for the first quarter of my freshman year. It was two days after I got my first D on my report card for, yes, geometry. It was that night, for some strange reason, while I was shoveling mashed potatoes onto my plate, that my mom asks me, “Brendon, sweetie, have you made any friends at high school?”

My sister, Jill, eyes me with a sarcastic smile before she takes the potatoes from my hands and whispers, “Good luck.”

I roll my eyes at her before I straighten up my posture nervously, my fork tracing circles in my mashed potatoes. “Um, well … ya know, some kids were … I haven’t exactly … I don’t really have too much time between classes to talk to anybody, you know? But there are a couple … um, maybe, like when … in biology class, there’s … ya know, a few.”

Jill masks a giggle, and I elbow her hard in the side. She doesn’t let it faze her; she simply clears her throat and takes a deep breath, laughter still caught in her throat. While I wait for my mother’s reply, I feel the steam from the hot potatoes fog up my glasses, turning my windows to the world into nothing but a gray, indecipherable blur. Not that my view of the world was much different with my glasses clean.

“Oh,” Mom says, clearing her throat awkwardly as Jill passes her the potatoes. “Well, it’s been about two and a half months. I just thought maybe you’d have some friends over here sometime. They could come over here after school if they wanted to.”

I sniffled, scratching the back of my neck nervously. “Uh, that’s okay. Really. They’re …”

“Non-existent?” Jill interrupts, snorting with laughter as I elbow her again.

And the way Jill said that left this gross, awful, uncomfortable bubbly feeling in the bottom of my stomach, as if somebody had pink-bellied me hard and then fed me a mouthful of potatoes - which were, incidentally, on their way down to my stomach at the moment anyway. And, incidentally, that feeling was volleyed right back again when my mom said something about me needing to “make friends”.

Something about “finding a crowd” or something. I dunno.

And that whole night, I felt like I was going to be sick, so I stayed up in my room through dessert. I curled up on my bed, glancing out of my window that looked out onto my backyard. And the iciness and fierceness of the trees and the moon made me want, more than anything, to slip into my imagination station. Unfortunately, for a reason unknown to me, my head seemed to be clogged up with something, forbidding me from any fantasy I may have had normally. The amusement park and the circus and the sports cars were nowhere near my head.

But the goddamn shoulder angel, he was there. Devil boy was there, too. Two little versions of myself, sitting on each of my shoulders as I stretched out on my bed, my cold hand pressed against my sore stomach.

“So, no friends, huh?” the devil-Brendon said, half-smirking. He plopped down to a sitting position, pinching my shirt between his fingers carefully.

“Shut up,” I whispered back, sniffling. “I have friends.”

“Oh yeah?” devil-Brendon asked, his eyebrows raised, creasing his forehead. “Name one.”

“Uh … Jill.”

“That’s your sister. She doesn’t count.”

“Um … J-Jon. Jon Walker.”

The angel-Brendon’s ears perked up immediately, his grin spreading to a full smile in the span of an instant. And really, I think that angel-Brendon was just the kind of person I wished would comfort me rather than give stellar advice, but either way, he was the only figment of my imagination who was giving me any sort of helpful remarks. “Jon Walker, huh?” he asked, smiling. “Who’s he? Where’d you meet him?”

My eyes fell to my twiddling thumbs. As soon as I started to think about the answer to that question, my stomach tightened up to what felt like nothing, causing my nose to scrunch up for a second. And then, ta-da, I spit out the reply. “Well, he dropped his pen today in English class. He sits next to me. And, like, since the desks have that thing holding them up on the one side, you can’t pick up the pen from that side … so I had to pick it up. And I did. And I gave it to him, and he smiled. He was like, ‘Thanks.’ And I said, ‘You’re welcome.’ And then he turned to his book and kept writing. And … yeah.” I smiled weakly, my stomach twisting and turning with every breath I took.

“That’s it?” The devil-Brendon asked as the angel-Brendon sighed and plopped down onto my shoulder, spreading out his legs in front of him. Devil-Brendon, laughing and laughing and laughing, he was standing up and patting the back of my neck. Angel-Brendon had taken devil-Brendon’s sitting position, disappointment and hopelessness etched all over his stupid angelic face.

And angel-Brendon was like, “Your mother’s right, you know. You have to make some friends. Besides your sister. And Jon, who you barely said two words to.” He paused, waiting for devil-Brendon to interrupt, but he stayed silent, laughter still on his lips.

“I don’t need friends,” I retorted, tears clouding my eyes.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have one, would it?” angel-Brendon replied reassuringly, kicking his heels against my shoulders lightly. “Maybe you should make a little more conversation with this Jon guy?”

“Nah. I don’t really-”

“Brendon, you have to eventually make a friend, you know. Do you want to be a loser for the rest of your life?” And it seems, in some weird way, that even angel-Brendon, my fucking guardian angel, thought I was a total loser.

And no matter how many times he apologized, my eyes just grew my tearful, and my stomach just kept getting scrunchier. My own conscience, both sides, working against me. My own conscience. My own being, somewhere inside of me, fighting. Man vs. Self. The phenomenon of the human mind.

And I only have to say, “Shut up!” loud enough for them to go away.

So I say, “Shut up!”

So it’s just me, conscious-less and angel-less and devil-less and mindless. Confidence-less and love-less and dreamless and hopeless. But there was life, somewhere deep inside of me, aching for another chance at this whole “reality” thing. Aching for a new approach to this “friend” phenomenon. In some cosmic, freaky sort of way, I felt like right then, the iciness of my windowpane was the only thing talking to me. Telling me to get the fuck off my ass and talk to somebody before I’m pushed into society without a who, where, how, or when.

And maybe, I thought, I could get over this. Maybe I could find my own little Brendon-way out of this. Because, Brendon … me, I wasn’t like everyone else, and I knew that. I couldn’t speak like everyone else or walk like everyone else or think like everyone else. I talked less, tripped more, and thought forty-billion times more. And, hey, who said you needed to talk to meet friends? In fact, who says you even need to meet friends at all?

Who says you can’t create a friend?

The Creature; PART THREE.

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 01:01:21 GMT

The Creature : Part Three.
If You Think You Belong Enough.
[ a f i c t i o n s t o r y rain_calamity ]

if you think you belong enough.

The unveiling happened on February 2^nd. It was so inexplicably unexpected that the doctor didn’t even take a moment to invite Landon to the occasion. Because, in all honesty, it was not much of an occasion at all.

Out of the three of them, Amie, Gregory, and Landon, Landon was clearly the heaviest sleeper, they supposed. It had been about midnight, a pitch black, moonless midnight, and Amie had been restless, sitting at her window, mixing honey into her tea. Sometime during her third sip, the drizzle had turned into a downpour of rain, followed by several claps of thunder. And then, as she could see faintly from her house only six blocks from the laboratory, the first bolt of lightning seemed to light up the sky, stopping in what seemed like mid-air and sucking into whatever it was that had caught onto it. The sound was obnoxious; like a doctor using electricity to jolt a patient back to life. And suddenly, like a brick banging onto the top of her head, this realization jolted into her mind as quickly as that lightning bolt had hit the earth. She thought, Damien?

She thought, Frankenstein?

And, knocking over her tea in the process, she jumped from her seat and grabbed her coat on the way out, only to find Gregory outside of her house, his eyes bright. And, as predicted, his cold, chapped lips formed the words, “I told you he’d use electricity!”

“Gregory,” Amie said in a louder voice than she intended, “it’s not the time, really.”

“Do you think that was it? Do you think he did it?”

“Gregory!”

“Should we get Landon?”

She barely even heard his words as she buttoned her coat up and galloped down the street, Gregory close behind, asking the same endless questions. “Do you think it’s some huge monster? Do you think that Damien can tame it? Do you think it’s gonna have an able brain, or are we gonna need to teach it? Do you think it’s a girl?”

At the last question, Amie slowed her pace and turned back, one eyebrow raised. “Would it matter?”

Gregory just laughed, his curly red hair damp from the rain. His eyes sparkled as the curve in his lips grew. “Well, it would be awful nice if it was a pretty girl, yeah?”

Amie managed a laugh herself. “For you, maybe.”

“What? Would you rather it be a boy? You know, for you?”

Her cheeks darkened without her consent, but she didn’t give his comment much of a thought. “Let’s just get to the laboratory, okay?”

Gregory laughed at her sudden change of subject as he lagged behind, his feet carrying him in a much more sluggish pattern than Amie’s. In fact, she nearly lost him in the long run, but she didn’t wait for him to catch up before she opened the latch to the laboratory, scampering inside, her head spinning.

“Doctor?” she called, turning a corner and nearly slipping from her wet shoes. “Doctor? Are you alright?” Her damp hair sticking to her face, she managed to pin it back as she scampered to the main laboratory, her heart thumping obsessively in her chest. Makeup-less and in nothing but her pajamas and overcoat, she stopped short at what used to be “the sheet”. She stopped short at Damien, bright-eyed and dazed, staring at his creation.

And, oh, his creation was so much more than a Frankenstein! It was a fully-formed, flesh-colored human lying on that bed, eyes closed, as if caught in a deep sleep. The only sign of life was the chest, moving up and down slowly, clarifying each breath.

And by the time Gregory had caught up, Amie had memorized the features. Nearly everything had been laid out in front of her, as if this somebody had been set up for investigation; the sheet only covered his waist down now, and his toes poked out from the bottom. Ten perfect human toes and toenails. Ten perfect human fingers, two perfect human arms. A choppy, piecey head of hair, dark hair brushing his closed eyelids and complimenting his pale skin tone. A button nose and a pair of lips, all right in front of her. And, with the exception of the fact that the physique was much thinner and lankier-looking, it resembled so much that picture. The picture that Damien had drawn, over and over and over, when Amie had been wondering, What is this for? Well, this. Alas, this entire time, the doctor’s obsessive drawing had come to life.

And, naturally, in this moment of glorious silence, Gregory spoke first. “So. It’s, like, a guy.”

And, as usually short with Gregory as he was, the doctor seemed to change his attitude. He smiled over at the both of us, glanced back at his creation, and mumbled, “Yes, Gregory. Indeed, it is a guy.”

“Is it alive?” Gregory stepped forward, closer to it, and Amie felt a prickle on the back of her neck.

The doctor, seemingly overcome with sheer joy, threw back his head and laughed silently for a moment before he replied, “Yes. Yes, Gregory. Indeed, he is alive.”

Overcome with as much excitement as the doctor, Amie nearly felt her knees buckle as she looked at this … this … boy. This boy, seemingly as young as she, nothing but what looked like an eighteen-year-old, sleeping on the doctor’s table. And, out of nearly nowhere, this desire seemed to flicker inside of her somewhere. For a reason unknown to her, she longed for this boy just to open his eyes. If, God forbid, this boy would only last for a moment, she just wanted to see his eyes for that one second of her life. It seemed as if, in some cosmic way, her whole life had been leading up to right now, when this thing would open his eyes. Because, though they’d never met, she felt like she’d known him all her life, just from that one glance. Sure, maybe it had been the thousands of crumpled drawings she had to clean up at the end of every day. Maybe it had been that picture, plastered into her mind, of what she thought this creature was going to look like. But here, finally, was Damien’s pride, and what seemed to be Amie’s beginning.

Damien, dearest Damien, his heart clearly swelled in his chest, just walked over to his “creation”, and brushed the hair off of his forehead, as if he was petting the head of his own small child. He touched the boy’s cheek tenderly, something that seemed so far out of reach from his normal characteristics. And they knew, Gregory and Amie knew that the doctor had never been prouder. They knew the doctor had never loved anything more.

His voice nearly choking, he whispered, “It may take days for him to wake up, so we’ll just have to wait … b-but …” He paused, looking at Amie and Gregory carefully. “But I might as well introduce you, right?”

Gregory seemed to be too childish even to play along, but Amie’s ears perked up, and she smiled at the doctor warmly. He smiled back, nodding his head. He turned to the boy, winked, and said, “Th-this is … these two are G-Gregory and Amie.”

Then, teary-eyed and smiling, he turned back to the two of them, his heart clogging his throat as he whispered, “Gregory and Amie, this is Project Boy.”

The Creature; PART TWO.

Sat, 06 Oct 2007 21:11:27 GMT

The Creature : Part Two
In Search Of Inspiration
[ a fiction story by rain_calamity]

in search of inspiration.

Amie could hardly ever bring herself to look at the doctor while he performed his experiment, for fear of both disrupting his concentration and the fact that she wasn’t too avid about what he was testing in the first place. Gregory, on the other hand, had no problem jarring the doctor’s mind with useless questions and insipid remarks. Gregory’s eyes, so different from Amie’s, could hardly stray for a second from whatever the doctor’s “creation-to-be” was. So Amie, lingering in the back of the laboratory, stared at the glare on the glassware and waited, always alert for any assistance she could be to Damien. Even Gregory, as usually flirtatious as he was, hardly seemed to give Amie a second thought throughout the first couple of weeks of the doctor’s trance.

Though, luckily, the weeks went fast enough for them to turn into months in what seemed like the blink of an eye, and Damien was as diligent as ever. As time went on, he stopped setting an alarm on his laboratory clock, therefore hardly ever wandering upstairs for supper or returning to his chamber for a chance to rest his over-worked mind a bit. Instead, he silently claimed the laboratory his only home, refusing to get a wink of sleep for weeks on end. Even Gregory slowly lost his energy for keeping up with Damien’s obsessive behavior, and he often went home early, feeling as if he was no longer needed. Amie, contrarily, only left the laboratory to sleep, and during those long days with the doctor, her curiosity slowly but surely grew about whatever he was working on under “the sheet”.

“The sheet”, pure and white, was nothing more than a tease, covering the whatever-it-was; Damien’s creation. It looked like a bed; and, as the weeks progressed, the sheet just seemed to elevate in a more detailed manner every day. By the 4^th month of the doctor’s obsession, it looked like somebody was sleeping underneath that laboratory “bed”. The doctor’s creation, whatever it was exactly, was slowly growing; becoming more intricate. And, as usually temperate and calm that she was, Amie grew anxious to enter the lab each morning, standing behind the doctor, bouncing on her heels, waiting for that fateful day. The unveiling, whenever it was scheduled to be.

And, in all honesty, whenever Amie said the word “unveiling” in her mind, it was like the bang of a drum, forcing her awake; jolting her out of any trance she may have been a victim of previously. Although fear was still the dominant power, the doctor’s persistence just tugged at something inside of her, and every day she seemed to stand closer and closer to that sheet, wondering, What is it?

Of course, there were rumors. Though Damien would never utter a word about his project, Gregory, Amie, and Landon often had discussions after laboratory hours were over. Since Amie lived farthest, and they certainly didn’t like the idea of such a timid young girl walking home by herself, they always walked with her, and they often spoke for the length of the trip. Even Landon, as usually laid-back and temperate as he was, couldn’t help but allow a jolt of electric curiosity into his bloodstream at the days that neared the unveiling.

And, on a cool evening in November, Amie, Landon, and Gregory bundled up their throats with scarves and their fingers with gloves, said farewell to Damien, and stepped into the brisk night air of their ever-interesting neighborhood. And, as they walked to Amie’s house, they spoke about the “creation”, hardly able to keep their anxiousness inside.

And it was Gregory, of course, that broke the silence first, his voice bouncing off of each colored leaf, springing into the air like the swipe of a blade. “Do you believe it’s a person?”

Landon, ever-poised, simply retorted, “Well naturally it’s a person.”

“How can you be so sure?” Gregory raised his eyebrow, his dark eyes like laser beams against Landon’s gaze.

“Because,” Landon replied, straightening his posture, “the thing under the sheet looks like a person under a sheet. You can nearly make out the features on the face.”

“Well, if you’re so sure that it’s a person, why are we acting like it’s such a mystery?”

“It’s not so much what it is as how the doctor is going to form this thing. This person. Like, how he could ever make a person is beyond me; how could you bring something to life like that? How could you make a human being without normal means of reproduction?”

Gregory shrugged his shoulders. “Well, maybe … I don’t know. Who taught us that we had to have intercourse to make a human?”

Landon rolled his eyes. “God did.”

“Who’s to say that God knows that?”

“God is all-knowing.”

“And you know that how?”

“Well, I’ve read the Bible. What have you read, Gregory?”

Gregory turned scarlet. Literature was certainly not his cup of tea; in fact, Amie often doubted that he knew how to read at all. All of Damien’s orders were verbal, so it was hard to tell if Gregory had an ounce of education. “Well,” Gregory said, embarrassed, “not the Bible. But …”

His sentence stopped there, as unfinished as it seemed. And Amie, becoming slightly uncomfortable, buttoned the top button of her coat and watched Landon’s guilt through the corner of her eye. Unfortunately, the moment quickly passed, and Landon didn’t get the chance to apologize before Gregory continued on. “It doesn’t have to be a human, you know. It could be something else.”

Landon, clearly wanting to move on from the subject, retorted, “It’s a person, Gregory. It can’t be anything else.”

“Yes it can!”

“Fine, then what could it be?”

“It could be …” He licked his lips, raking a hand through his messy red hair. “Hmm, maybe like one of those Frankensteins!”

“Frankensteins?”

“You know! Like that old myth! That story! The Frankenstein!”

“Oh yes,” Landon replied, remembering the name slowly. “What, that weird square-headed creature? You know, that comes to life through electricity?”

“Yes, yes! That one!” Gregory seemed awfully proud of his assumption. His stride picked up a bit, confidence clearly swelling in his chest. “It could be one of those.”

“I highly doubt it, though.” Landon shook his head. “That’s child’s play for Damien. He wouldn’t want to recreate something like that. The Frankenstein was a damn disaster, wasn’t it?”

Gregory frowned dejectedly. “It could be a Frankenstein.”

“Well, I suppose. I’m just saying that it’s doubtful.”

“But it could be! Maybe!” He turned to Amy, his dark eyes wide and hopeful. “Don’t you believe it could be a Frankenstein, Amie? Don’t you?”

Amie, uncomfortable with being acknowledged, felt her cheeks heat up as she shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Um,” she started, clearing her throat nervously. “Well, um. Yes, Gregory. I believe it could be a Frankenstein.” No, of course she didn’t. She believed it was nothing of the sort. Frankenstein was some hideous, bolted-necked monster, and all she could picture in her head was how the doctor could never create something that repulsive. Damien’s mind was so full of art and beauty, and she believed his creation would be no less than that. But she had surely never wanted confrontation, and she wanted to keep peace with Gregory so as not to get involved in any sort of quarrel.

“Thank you!” Gregory shouted, nodding. He sort of jogged ahead, crossing the road and scampering over to Amie’s house, a smile plastered on his face. “Hear that, Landon? Amie agrees with me. Amie’s smart.”

Landon puffed out a sigh and looked over at Amie with a sly smile. Amie just giggled discreetly and followed them both across the road. “I know Amie is smart,” Landon began, walking up Amie’s walkway, “but sometimes I think she’s just trying to spare your feelings a bit.”

Luckily, Gregory didn’t notice Amie’s nervous laughter. He just waved his hand, as if to rid the air from Landon’s ridiculous assumption. And Amie, still blushing, managed to break the slight tension by mumbling a quiet, “Goodbye. I’ll see you both tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Landon agreed, nodding. “I’m pretty sure I’ll stop at the lab tomorrow.” With that, he gave Amie a quick hug goodbye, but Amie’s arms remained stiff at her sides. Landon was always trying to crack her open somehow; whether it be a kiss on the hand or a hug, just to let her loosen up a bit, but she never seemed to acknowledge it. She was not one who loved to be touched by any means, and it often made her uncomfortable when he’d do things like that. But she was too shy to say anything, so the hugs persisted. Luckily, all Gregory did was wink goodbye this time, causing her to echo a friendly smile back to him.

And, as she watched them walk away, the evening sky morphed to a darker and darker purple. It nearly engulfed town into a complete veil of darkness until, luckily, the street lights flicked on, and she finally breathed enough fresh air to open her front door.

i'm unaware that you've opened the blinds and let the city in

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 22:45:50 GMT

OMG DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD IS?!
when somebody turns around, bright-eyed and sorta desperate, and they ask, "do you have a history partner yet?"
and you have to go, "yeah, sorry."
and they lose the smile, and they're like, "oh ... um ... that's okay." and they keep turning their head around and around, trying to look for someone else.
ohh GOD, it just haunted my day. </3 'cause i have had that happen to me, and WOW is it awkward. didnt help it was one of the sweetest girls in school; JESUS I FELT SO FUCKING BAD.

All Aboard Memory Lane

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 01:04:09 GMT

ALL ABOARD MEMORY LANE ;
so ... *clears throat* ... Ryden? well, without further ado ...

It feels so wrong, watching the world pass me by through a train window. Like a stopped stopwatch; a loose thread that pulls the fabric apart, clean in half. It’s like tipping my hat to the girl standing by the tickets, like she’s going to care. Like she’s going to react like Keltie did, way back in front of the marquee at that movie theater in Delaware. When I winked, and she told me two months later that right then, she fell in love.

Have you ever snapped your fingers and believed that when your thumb and ring finger collide, they cause that noise? That little snap that could pull somebody out of a trance; bring somebody back to life. And then, four years later, your best friend tells you, “No, actually, the physical snap is when your middle finger hits the palm of your hand.” And you change your belief system. You gape, snap your fingers again, and you realize, Oh. The unity of your fingers is supposed to mean nothing; your two fingers have no significance to one another. The only way they make something of that movement is if the taller one falls past, hitting whatever comes next, which turns out to be the palm. The two fingers, they bang into each other, but there’s no sound. All of your life, you believe that they trigger that noise, but it turns out that they did nothing but collide for that split second of ignorance. Yet, somewhere inside of you, you know that you felt most pleased when that ignorance had a hold of you.

Coffee loses its taste when you’ve been in fake love two times in a year. The printed words on each page of a newspaper seem to bleed into one another when you’ve been straight and gay … and now straight. That’s what I tell her, I tell her I’ve changed. Back then, what I did, it didn’t mean anything. I was young. I was foolish. Repercussions, they meant nothing to me.

And sometimes, on those good days, curled up next to me in bed, she tells me we’re gonna get married someday. And I tell her, “Of course.”

The woman sitting across the aisle on the train reminds me so much of her; blonde hair, captivating eyes, slender form … and the girl in front of her, hey, would you look at that? She looks the same. A girl about three rows in back of me, sure, her hair’s a little shorter, but it’s basically the same. And I tell Keltie sometimes, I tell her, “You’re one in a million.” And, really, she’s one of a million. And then you get to know her, and she’s even less than that. And every day, I tell her I love her.

Sometime an hour later, I fall asleep against the window, the train rattling enough to wake me immediately. Really, I’ve never slept more than ten minutes on the train, but before I knew it, I let myself sleep longer, each doze lengthier and lengthier, secretly praying to miss my stop. Just miss that one station. Wake up conveniently just after that one goddamn station, and then I’d be at the next one … I’d be with the man I said I “fake loved” first. The thumb to my middle finger. The fake snap to my hand.

-

“Ryan, really. It’s early. Just tell Jac that … you were, like, stuck in traffic or something. So it’s convincing. It doesn’t matter.” He traces my bare hipbones with his pointer finger, my heart pitter-pattering like the Energizer bunny, bang-bang-banging his drum inside of my chest. And looking at him, oh yes, staying … that seems conceivable.

“Brendon … I …” He cuts me off with a kiss, soft but compelling, and I feel my joints turn to mush as his hand makes its way into the stray strands of hair on my forehead. “Brendon,” I repeat when the kiss is broken, more firmly this time. “I have to go. I know… I wanna stay … I just …”

His hand, brushing the hair out of my face, it’s so much firmer than Jac’s touch. It’s this perfect mix of callous and softness, so new, so fresh, so … different. Enticing. His eyes, chocolate brown, they stare at me like I mean something to him, such contrast from Jac’s transparent gaze. And, softly, he says, “Ryan, you don’t have to stay. I know that Jac’s waiting for you, whatever. It’s just …”

He pauses fast, his eyes breaking their intense gaze on mine. As he looks down, the contact is broken, and I can feel my heartbeat returning to a healthy pace. My joints still feeling like Jello, I ask, “It’s just what?”

And here, it’s his bed, the last stop on the train. It’s blocks from where Jac lives; an excuse to haul myself all the way down here. Here, it’s me and Brendon, free and rebellious, realizing, no, there’s nothing wrong with this. We barely know each other, and all of a sudden we’re like this, making hiding impossible and secrets null and void. Brendon, softly and timidly, his hands still tracing my hipbone, he whispers, “It’s just … Ryan, don’t freak out. Please, please don’t freak out, but I think … I think I really, really, really like you.”

-

I blame it on the lack of sleep from the night before. The drinks with Jon and the endless hours of West Side Story, looping in and out all evening on TCM. Tony, singing to Maria, telling her, “There’s a place for us.” Somewhere, where the world would allow them to be together. Take my hand and we’re halfway there, hold my hand and I’ll take you there, yada, yada, yada. And Jon, drunk and disoriented, he asks me, “Is Keltie your Maria?”

I was drunk enough to say, “No. Brendon’s my Maria.” And we had a good laugh, both of us sure that was a joke, though nothing these days could’ve been more uncertain.

And, okay, maybe I was just a little bit fake-sleeping when I heard the call for Keltie’s stop, where she’d be waiting for me at the station. Bright-eyed and bright-haired, little black dress and little black hat and little black coat, all cute and perfect, waiting for the kiss. Waiting for the “I love you” at the train station, like every classic movie. Trouble was that we replayed that goddamn classic movie every Saturday, and I was sick and tired of it. So, in conclusion, yes, maybe the last stop was a little bit more of playing pretend than an actual dream. It was like just before you slip between reality and fantasy, falling into that abyss, what you want to dream about coming into your mind before you start actually dreaming about rabbits eating your limbs and your mother turning into an alien. When you before-dream about driving in your new car, performing like a rockstar … even maybe falling in love. When you before-dream about what you think you want, rather than what your subconscious gives you for your little midnight movie. And, fake-sleeping on the train, I dream about Keltie sucking on my bottom lip. I dream about Keltie’s hands on my inner-thigh, but they feel like Brendon’s hands. Her lips, they feel like Brendon’s lips. Her eyes look like Brendon’s eyes. I pop my eyes open, hoping I wasn’t breathing hard enough for the Keltie-look-alike to worry about me.

And, by that time, Brendon’s stop flashes on the screen above the door. The stop that I used to read and think, Oh, good. My dear Jac Vanek, waiting for me at the train station. The stop that I used to think about Jac before I thought about Brendon; before I met Brendon. Before Brendon hurtled down the cluttered drawer of my mind, smashing into my subconscious and taking over my whole world, just when that was the last thing I needed.

And, actually convincing myself that I’d been startled for falling asleep, I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial Keltie’s number, the words on my lips reaching their destination as soon as I hear her voice on the phone.

“Hello?” she asks, her voice seeming so far away. “Ryan?”

“Keltie,” I say hoarsely, clearing my throat loudly afterward. “Sorry, sweetheart … I fell asleep on the train.” I hear her sigh disappointedly over the line before I continue. “Um… I promise, I’ll be back in … like, two hours?” I clear my throat. “I mean, three hours.”

Her voice sounds startled as she exclaims, “Three hours?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but …” I clear my throat again, remembering my voice teacher’s words. “Clear your throat as little as possible in your everyday life, because your vocal chords are flopping together, getting abused. They’re making more mucus to lubricate themselves, and then you’re congested, and your next gig is ruined.” Back when I wanted to be a musician, back when I thought I could make something of myself, I didn’t clear my throat for months on end. Now, in a single conversation with Keltie, I cleared my throat over eleven times, either from discomfort or just spite for the life I didn’t succeed in. “Uh, well … maybe … I thought maybe I could catch up with a friend while I was here. I promise, I’ll be back tonight, and I’ll stay an extra day, okay? I just remembered that my friend lived here when I woke up and I …” I stop short, realizing that was the worst excuse for her to hear. Clearing my throat again, I finish up with, “So, I’ll see you tonight, okay? I love you.”

She sighs again. “What friend?”

I clear my throat yet again before I lie to her. “His name’s … Brad. We went to school together.” I stand up, watching the door of the train as I walk toward it, my eyes straying to the Keltie-number-two hurrying past me, clearly in a rush. And, as I peek through the window to watch her run, she jumps into a boy’s arms … a blonde guy, no taller than me, his strong arms wrapped around her like he hasn’t seen her in years. And she … she’s just like my Keltie. And he’s everything I’ll never be. Here I stand, fragile and lost and ready to crack, and that guy, he’s clearly found what I always thought I wanted.

“Brad?” she repeats, thankfully convinced. “Oh. Okay. So, three hours?”

I clear my throat, realizing my voice teacher was right; no matter how many times I do it, the frog in my throat gets worse and worse. “Three hours.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I hang up just after the “too”, the words on my tongue like poison. And, my eyes still watching the boy with the Keltie-look-alike, I step outside into the November air, tightening the scarf around my neck and shoving the phone back into my pocket, deep enough for me to ignore any of Keltie’s calls. Lonely and cold, I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, taking one last look at the train before I decide to search for my Maria.

-

“Can I borrow your phone?”

It’s August, hot and blistering. Every t-shirt sticks to every chest, and every flip-flop smacks against every heel. It’s three o’clock, the hottest point of the day, and, sweat glistening on my forehead, I’ve realized I’ve left my phone on the train – and the train just took off. Now, under normal circumstances, this would be somewhat of a relief from the constant ringing, but I had promised Jac that I’d call her right when I got off the train.

“Me?” the black-haired boy asks, pointing to himself. “My phone?”

I nod, brushing the wet hair off of my forehead. “Yeah. Please? I really need to call my girlfriend, and if you don’t mind …”

“No, no, not at all.” He smiles, reaching into his shorts pocket before he pulls out his cell phone, his chocolate eyes squinting in the sun. And this boy, he could be anybody. He’s average, he’s normal-looking … he could be somebody I’d forget about by tomorrow. He could be the face I’d see ten years later, and he’d remember me, but I’d pass him by. He could’ve been on TV someday, and I might’ve not even realized he’s familiar.

He hands me his phone and I take it gratefully, muttering another “thank you” before I dial Jac’s number, my fingers slipping on the buttons from the sweat on my hands. I put the phone to my ear, brushing my bangs off of my forehead again, waiting for the voice.

“Hello?”

“Jac.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Who’s phone are you on? The Caller ID says-”

“It’s … this guy.” I look over to the black-haired boy, a smile gracing his lips as I sort of nod over to him, signaling for him to tell me his name. He smiles wider and says, “Brendon,” his grin as perfect as a professional picture.

“Brendon,” I say to Jac, smiling back at the boy still. “Brendon lent me his phone. But, um, just wanted to tell you that I just got off the train, and I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

“Okay.” She pauses before she asks, “Do you want me to pick you up and drive you here so you don’t have to walk?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll get there.”

“It’s so hot, Ryan …”

“Jac, it’s fine. I’ll walk. I’ll … get a taxi. I’ll figure something out.”

“Are you sure?”

I look over at Brendon, and he seems to have words waiting for me, but he just stands politely and patiently, his eyes attentive. “Yes, I’m sure,” I assure her, smiling. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be there soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too!”

“Bye.” I hang up, wiping the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand before I hand Brendon’s phone back to him, thanking him once again.

And that smile that spreads over his lips, it was a smile I’d remember if I walked away and never saw him again, contrary to the first impression. I didn’t want to admit it, but that smile, it was more captivating than Jac’s. It was just perfect; but I didn’t let myself think that. I had a girlfriend. Brendon was a guy. So, instead of, “You have the most beautiful smile,” I actually say, “So, I guess I should get going.”

And Brendon, bright-eyed and cheerful, he asks, “Well, do you need a ride?”

I raise an eyebrow. “A ride?”

“Yeah, well …” He gets awkward immediately, tensing up and looking down at his shoes. “I just got back from work, and my car’s parked out here … you said on the phone that you needed a ride, right? You don’t wanna walk or get a taxi … it’s pretty damn hot out.” He pauses again, taking his focus off of his shoes and looking back up at me. “So … what do ya say?”

My mind is swarming with possible answers. My subconscious, it’s telling me that this guy, he likes me. This guy is trying so damn hard to hit on me. This happy, smiley little burst of sunshine, he definitely doesn’t have a gal back home. And all I can think about is Jac, and how I turned down her offer for a ride. All I can think about is that I’m supposed to love her, and I’m not supposed to be staring at the beauty that was this kid’s smile. I wasn’t supposed to look at boys like that. I wasn’t supposed to feel butterflies in my stomach, because Jac was supposed to be my soul mate.

“Um, well, sure, actually. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a ride. Thank you.”

-

Branch Avenue, house number 34. Five blocks away, Jac was curling up with her new boyfriend, snuggling the way she and I used to. Whispering lies; whispering “I love you”, like she used to whisper to me. Now, a year later, I know she never meant it, and neither did I. Now, a year later, I knew that this karma was for the best.

And here, here at house 34, this is where I’d go when Jac would fight with me. Here at house 34, this is where I went when I first met him, when he first offered to drive me to Jac’s house … when he asked me if I wanted to get a cup of coffee at his place beforehand. And, his smile forcing the words out of my mouth, I’d said, “Okay.” I had called Jac up and told her something about how I’d be there in a half hour, I needed to get some water and something to eat, blah, blah, blah. The Caller ID still read “Out Of Area”, so I guess I was in the clear.

And now, a year later, it felt so wrong to be here. It felt so unreal to be here ten months older from when I’d seen him last, asking him, “Hey, remember me?”

Telling him, “I have a different girlfriend now! Funny, right?”

And while I’m there, pondering over whether to walk away or not, I hear feet rustling in the leaves, and I practically jump out of my skin, falling back a few steps on the stoop and ending up barely-balanced on the brick walkway. My heart in my throat, I turn my head to the yard, watching Brendon’s form trotting to the lawn from the side of the house, a rake in his gloved hands. He doesn’t see me, so I keep quiet until he lifts his head up.

Though I know that he’s aware he has somebody in his yard from peripheral vision, I just wait there, pin-straight, breathing him in. Brendon, so similar to how I left him. So similar as to how he looked when I told him goodbye for the last time … desperate and pleading for me to “just stay for a couple more hours”. That day, when I told him it might be the last time. Brendon, empty and constricted and … broken.

And, watching him rake, knowing that he has seen me by this point, I say, “Hey.”

He keeps raking, his voice scratchy as he mumbles back, “Hey.”

And his voice, his presence, it’s like rebirth. Keltie, I can barely remember what she looks like. I barely remember the taste of her lips, the look in her eyes … because memory, it’s stronger than anything, and right now, Brendon was the only thing worth remembering.

And I feel like crying, but instead, I ask him, “Need help?”

-

“Ever kissed … a boy?” His voice is unsure, shaky and delicate, so different from the strength it possessed just moments ago. His hands, they’re covering my hands. We’re pulled over on the side of the road, two blocks from Jac’s house, our last chance for anything to happen. Two cups of coffee each inside of our stomachs, we suffered through awkward conversations and uncomfortable silences, and here we were, maybe the last time we ever got this chance. Maybe the last time for a kiss goodbye.

I shake my head, my heart racing as I felt his fingers touching mine. It’s so unfamiliar that it’s nearly compelling enough for me to drop my belief system; just let it fall into the dust and start over. Because this, this right here, this is so much better.

And, just as shakily, I reply, “Um, no.”

He smiles seductively, his comfort growing. He asks, “Ever thought about it?”

And me, the stupid idiot that I am, I ask, “Before right now?”

He laughs. “Yeah, before right now.”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

I panic, because he lets go of my hand for a moment. I’m afraid he’s backed away, feeling as if we lost the momentum, even though my heart has never beaten faster. My eyes wide and my thoughts nervously circulating, I’m just about to ask him if there was anything wrong … and then he lifts his hand up to my jaw, his palm flat against my neck.

And his breath and my breath, coffee and coffee and Brendon, it’s a ticket out of reality. I tell myself that this isn’t real; this doesn’t count as a part of life. This, this right here, it was just an impulse. His lips nearing mine, his hold on my neck compelling enough for me to bow down in his presence, this is nothing but a fleeting chain of events.

And the kiss, it’s soft. It’s beautifully soft, both of us nervous enough to keep our lips closed. And, contrary to my first thought, he slips his bottom lip just under mine, sucking at my lip gently, and I’m trying so hard not to lose my mind. His tongue and my tongue, like long lost friends, they greet one another. They collide and take turns, like a dance. His tongue, asking the wallflower that was my tongue for a simple waltz.

The kiss breaks gradually, and it’s unreal. his eyes staring at mine, his hand returning to his lap … it’s too strange to be true. Stuff like this, it only happens in movies. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to be real, so I shrug it off as nothing. As much as I want nothing more than another kiss, I tell him, “Okay then … uh, Jac’s house is just another couple blocks away, so…”

He laughs and nods, turning the car back on. His lips red from my kiss, he licks around his mouth and starts to drive. Wiping his taste off of my lips with the back of my hand, I blush. I attempt to get rid of the red mark that the warmth of Brendon’s hand left on my neck with my freezing cold fingers.

I turn to Brendon, and I want to thank him, but instead, I say, “Her house number is 74.”

-

“So, how have you been?” I ask as he hands me a rake from his garage. He forces it more than hands it over to me, and I can feel a splinter prickly against my finger. I swallow the feeling down, following him back up to the front yard, where he’d angrily raked up the monstrosity of leaves until he finally acknowledged my question.

“I’m … fine,” he answers half-heartedly. His pile is larger than mine is, his gloves protecting him from the splintery handles. My hands, unfortunately, were burning by the end of my small pile, but I keep going, for fear of what he’d say to me if I stopped.

“Same stupid job,” he continues, raking the ground hard enough to bring grass up along with the leaves. “Same stupid house. Same stupid-”

“Does that Spencer guy still live here with you?”

Brendon looks up briefly from his work to mumble, “Yeah. ‘That Spencer guy’ still lives here.”

I can tell he was offended by the way I’d said that, so I try my hardest to defend my words. “No, no, I didn’t mean …” I clear my throat yet again, my splintery hands weighing out the pain of my vocal chords. “Spencer. I meant Spencer. How is he?”

Brendon, raking like a madman, he replies, “He’s good. He pretty much just sticks around since I can’t pay all the bills. I need somebody to …” He looks up mid-sentence, his eyes catching with mine heavily before he brings them back down. “I need … a roommate, or I’d be homeless, pretty much.” By this time, he’d raked so fast that there were no leaves left; nothing to distract him from me. So, rubbing his eye with his gloved right hand, he backs up and leans against the tree, staring at his Converse sneakers. “Yeah. So. How are you?”

My voice hurting more than it should’ve, I answer, “Uh, I’m good, I guess. I mean, I still live all the way-”

“Why are you here?” His words are harsh as he literally slides down the length of the tree, continuing down until he sits there, nearly curled up into a ball of animosity. “Why’d you come all the way down here?”

His hurt eyes, though still focused on his shoes, are enough to make me regret coming back here. Enough to make me regret fake-sleeping and fake-dreaming and lying to Keltie, all just to get my heart broken all over again. “I c-came down … b-because …” I literally feel tears, imagining the repercussions of my next statement. “Because my g-girlfriend lives a town away, and I …” I trail off, my throat hurting from tears rather than the effects of clearing my throat sixty times a day.

Brendon sniffles mindlessly and nods, unbending his knees and letting them stretch out in front of him as he leans his head against the oak. “Oh.”

I want more than anything to tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never came back and I’m sorry I got a girlfriend. I’m sorry I pretended to be in love with someone else just because I couldn’t settle with the fact that I was in love with a boy. I couldn’t sleep knowing that I was making love to a guy when everyone was supposed to think I was in love with a girl. And Brendon, lost and broken, he was just like me. For the first time, I see myself inside of him somewhere, and I can barely hold it in before I ask, “Did you ever …?”

He looks up at me, and I pretend his eyes are just puffy from the cold. “Ever what? Ever see other people?” He closes his eyes tight for a moment and laughs sarcastically. “Of course, that’s what you wanna know. Well, Ryan, no, not really. I fucked around with Spencer for a while, but that was nothing.” And he laughs again, so I don’t know whether to take that seriously or not.

“Well, I’m sorry then.”

“Don’t be.”

His words are still harsh, and I barely know what I’m doing before I walk over to him and sit down next to him, leaning my head against the tree as well. I spread out my legs, just like him, allowing the fabric of my jeans to touch his sweatpants, two layers of fabric in between that heavenly touch of skin. And Brendon, unsure, he winces as our legs touch, his eyes glossy-red. He says, “You shouldn’t have come down here.”

His hand is just there, just sitting there on his thigh. And my hand, it’s aching for warmth. I can’t help it, but before I know it, I place my hand on top of his glove, and he doesn’t move. He doesn’t wince. He sighs, but it’s more thoughtful than disheartening.

My voice is barely a whisper as I reply, “Why not?”

He swallows. “You don’t wanna … you don’t wanna hang around me.” He sniffles. “Last time you did, you … y-you got into trouble with Jac, and you guys broke up, and you d-didn’t come back here for eight fucking months. Y-You don’t wanna get in trouble with this new girl. W-what’s her name?”

I barely notice I’m practically massaging his fingers with my splintered ones. “Keltie.”

“Keltie,” he repeats, looking down at our hands. “This Keltie. She means a lot to you, right?” I expect him to keep talking, like that was just a rhetorical question, but he waits for my answer.

And it’s weird, but I don’t say, “Yeah.” Instead, looking into his chocolate eyes, I mumble, “I’m not even sure anymore.”

He tries not to let that faze him, but I can tell he’s a little shaken up by it. But, instead of turning into goo, he keeps his cool and wiggles his fingers underneath mine before he says, “Well, whatever. If you hang out with me, she’s gonna find out, and you’re gonna break up, and you’re never gonna wanna see me again.” It’s like a movie all over again, and I can feel unspoken words at the surface of my memory as he says, “Then you’re gonna break my heart again.”

-

“Jac. Jac ... hey.” That’s the only thing I can say when I roll down the car window, Jac’s wide-open mouth gaping at both of us. And Brendon, shirtless and panting, he’s trying so hard to keep calm as he reaches his hand through the window and says, “Hi, nice to meet you, Jac. Ryan’s told me so much about you.”

I’m trying to forget that she could’ve just seen Brendon guide my hand down the waistband of his jeans. I’m trying to forget that Brendon was sucking my neck moments ago, and I rub at the mark it left, hoping to God she’d faint and forget the whole thing.

Brendon, his hand still reaching toward her, he’s resting his other hand at his crotch, trying to hide anything to enforce him as the suspect for the mark on my neck.

And Jac, she winces, clearly never, ever, ever, ever wanting to touch Brendon’s hand because hell knows where its been. Brendon timidly returns his hand, smiling awkwardly as he fishes around for his shirt, pulling it over his head as Jac says firmly, “Ryan. Get the fuck out of the car.”

It’s one of those situations that I don’t even know what to expect. I don’t expect screaming, because this is too surreal for her. I don’t expect her to forget it, so there’s no chance of a non-awkward conversation between us. Brendon, blushing and trying to mentally suppress whatever was going on below the waist, he stays in the car, looking like he was about to vomit.

And Jac, she grabs my arm and pulls me out of the car, her eyes like fire. It’s not nearly as trivial as I thought it would be as she asks, “What the hell was that?”

“Well … um … he was just giving me a ride to get to your house. Why are you here? Why aren’t you at home … ya know, waiting for-”

She asks, “You’re gay?”

I tell her, “Um, no. No. No, no, no." I smile. "Jac, I love you.” Wrong answer, and I knew it.

“Oh, fuck you, Ross. Who the hell is he?” She nods over at the car, to poor Brendon, watching us through the car window. As he catches Jac’s gaze, he turns away immediately, blushing a deeper red.

I blush as well, replying, “He’s a friend.”

“He’s your fuck-buddy, isn’t he?”

“Jac, he’s just a friend.”

“What’s his name?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay? He’s just-”

She presses her pointer finger to my lips. “Ryan. What’s his name?”

I swallow, my throat seeming to close up as I choked out, “Brendon.”

And she repeats it. “Brendon.” She remembers the name, but she tries not to, her tears rising to the surface. “Brendon. He’s … Brendon.” A tear rolls down her cheek as she backs away, and I try to stop her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward me. She jerks away, shaking my hold off of her as she turns around. She says, “Brendon,” yet again as she walks away, and its only a matter of time before she meets me two days later to tell me we’re finished. To let me know she never wants to see me again. To let me know that she’d never tell anybody, and she promised.

-

“What’s Keltie like?” Brendon asks as he pours me a cup of coffee, taking out the milk from the refrigerator before he places it on the dining room table.

“Well,” I start, pouring milk into my mug, “she’s … blonde.”

Brendon laughs, sitting down across from me. “Right. Always. They’re always, always, always blonde.”

I laugh, winking, barely realizing what I’m saying before I mumble, “Well, except for you, eh?”

The house is just like I remember it, small and cluttered and homier than any house should be that was owned by two untidy boys. The dining room table cloth was non-existent, mug-rings and water stains ruining the wood that was probably flawless when they brought it home. And, as I place my mug on the table, I realize it was nothing more than another ring; I’m leaving another mark, etched into the wood, just like I’d done on the first day, when I had timidly asked, “Do you have a coaster or something?” And Brendon, blushing a little, he had asked, “What’s a coaster?”

There’s an awkward silence, which is covered up with useless conversation. Like my dead-end question: “Is Spencer home?”

Brendon shakes his head, pouring more sugar into his coffee than anybody should. “Nah, he’s out at the store. He’ll be back in, like, forty-five minutes.” He blushes, clearly remembering the night we’d first made love, when I’d called Jac while Brendon was leaving bite-marks on my neck, and I mumbled to her, “I’ll be back there in, like, forty-five minutes.” I’d said the train was late. I’d said I’d get there as fast as I could.

Out of the blue, Brendon asks, “Well, you’ve changed. Like, you look different.” He clears his throat as I blush, defending the statement with, “Oh, but no, you look good, though. Like, better than before. Really.”

I don’t know what to make of that, so I stay silent, waiting for him to make a move. Just smile at me, hold my hand, do anything. I don’t say a word … I just pray with every inch of my heart that he’d initiate something, so that these three hours could be of use to us. So that I wouldn’t get back on the train empty-handed and brokenhearted. So I’d have a reason to think maybe, just maybe, Keltie and I were reaching the end of the road.

And, answering my prayers finally, I feel Brendon’s sneaker brush up against my ankle. I almost believe that he’s doing it unintentionally, but he doesn’t back away; he snakes the toe of his shoe just underneath the bottom of my jeans, and I feel my stomach jump up to join my heart inside of my throat. Then, fluidly, he returns his foot back underneath his chair, laughing through a sip of coffee. He says, “You should see your face right now.”

-

“So, what’s Jac look like?” Brendon asks slowly, kissing softly just below my ear. It’s one of those nights, toward the end of the road, where I started taking the train down here when Jac didn’t ask me to. When I’d spend the night at Brendon’s, making excuses to him, like, “Well, I have to be at Jac’s early in the morning, so can I just stay over here? It’s already late, and I don’t wanna barge in on her.” And Brendon, giggly and flattered, certainly allowed it.

“Um,” I start, clearing my throat a little bit as I feel his palm stretch out on my bare stomach. “She’s … blonde … and she’s … pretty.” I sort of laugh to myself as he looks up at me, doe-eyed and sincere.

“Prettier than me?” Brendon jokes, smirking at me with laughter on his lips.

I shake my head, unsure of how else to answer. I take the question more seriously than I should’ve, resting my head on his shoulder as I whisper, “Um, no, not really.”

Brendon laughs, and it’s like Jac doesn’t exist. He touches me, and the world outside doesn’t exist; the train, the street, the house – it’s gone. He says, “I was just kidding, ya know. I didn’t expect you to … like … answer.”

I laugh, blushing from my own stupidity. “Oh, right.”

Silence envelopes us both into somewhat of a fog, passing the time with fingers on fingers, thighs on thighs, lips on shoulders. It’s midnight, and exhaust isn’t even an excuse not to stay awake with one another for the length of the night. The hours roll along before Brendon even gets the nerve to say, “I love you, Ryan Ross,” muttering it for the second time today; second time ever. Only an hour ago, thrusting into me, Brendon mumbled in my ear, and he wasn’t sure if I heard it through the fog of my own thoughts. And then there it was, hanging in the air, waiting to be volleyed back into his ears.

And, for the first time, I say it, too. My mouth is dry as I reply, “I love you, too.” I swallow, a cough visible in the bottom of my throat. And I repeat it, because it widens his smile, the one thing that makes me sure these words are true. “I love you, Brendon. I really do.”

-

“So … it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Spencer asks, taking his first sip of coffee while I’m reduced to an empty mug. Brendon’s in one of the back rooms, either in the bathroom or getting changed; I can’t remember what he said. And Spencer, after he put away the groceries and poured himself a mug of coffee, he decides to attempt to hold a conversation with me, the runaway.

“Yeah, it has,” I reply slowly, clinking my spoon inside of my empty cup. “About nine or ten months, I think, actually.”

I look down the hallway, aching for Brendon to come out of wherever he was hiding for the moment. It’s always like this; when I was sitting here with Brendon, I wanted anybody to walk through that front door and save me from the pure awkward hell. And now, discomfort was catching like wildfire all over this stupid water-stained table, all because Spencer decides to sit down and talk. And me, I’m dying inside, praying: Please, please, please let Brendon come back here. Please.

I think Spencer is feeling just as awkward as he takes another sip, racking his brain for a topic of conversation. He pauses to look at me carefully before he decides to shake things up. He thinks: Heartbreak is better than discomfort.

He thinks: This guy’s a prick, so let’s mix it up.

“You know,” he starts, placing his mug on the table and inevitably leaving another stain, “Brendon was pretty fucked up when you never came back here.”

I clear my throat. “I did come back.”

“Yeah, ten fucking months later.”

“Regardless,” I say, sweat forming on the back of my neck, “I did come back, okay? That’s why I’m here. To say … I’m sorry. To say that I was just screwed up then, and I couldn’t deal with the fact that-”

“That you’re gay?”

Red rushes to my cheeks. “Yeah, I guess so.” Admitting is the first step, isn’t it? And the only person I’d admitted it to, honestly, was my own reflection in the mirror. So, really, this was progress, wasn’t it?

Spencer takes another sip, allowing the hot coffee to make its way into his system before he keeps the thought rolling. “Whatever, though. All I wanted to tell you is that you really broke Brendon’s heart. He’s still all shaken up about you. He won’t … he can’t even see anybody else like that. He can’t look at a person and want them, because he just thinks of you… and how unfinished it was, ya know?”

I wanna ask this guy, Are you Dr. Phil or something? Jesus. But, instead, my cheeks a deeper shade of scarlet than before, I mumble back, “Well. I’m sorry then.” There’s an uncomfortable silence before I get the nerve to ask, “So, did he really fool around with you while I’ve been gone?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee for a moment. “Did he tell you that?”

“Apparently.”

Spencer laughs a little bit before he straightens up his posture, another gulp of coffee making its way down his throat. Awkwardness fades with the smile on his lips, and he chuckles and says, “Jeez, I can’t believe he told you that.”

-

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m so sorry.” Brendon’s holding my hand in the arch of the door, his eyes considerate, his words too real. His eyes, staring at me like he expects me to jump back into his arms; now that Jac’s out of the picture, just scoop him up and fit him in my pocket, and we’d be together forever. And, though I couldn’t admit it to myself, I wanted that as well.

“Thank you,” I say with a nod. “But that’s not … necessary. Really, it was … supposed to happen.”

“This is my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” It’s only a moment before I turn around and try to leave, his grip on my hand too strong for me to get away. His hold on my hand was too much for me to even barely look away, just to see that there in fact is an outside world. There is somewhere besides Brendon’s house and Brendon’s skin and Brendon’s eyes. Somewhere besides Brendon’s bed and Brendon’s shower and Brendon’s love. And it hurts too much, being here with him, trying to make things okay.

“Wait,” Brendon says, yanking me forward a little bit. “Can’t you just, like, stay for a little bit? Please? I mean, I have no plans tonight. Maybe we could … watch a movie or something. Get your mind off of her.” His eyes, sincere and ready for a positive reply, it’s hard to say no, but it’s my only choice. Or rather, what I thought was my own choice.

“Sorry, Brendon. I have to … go. I can’t just … maybe we can … but I don’t know if I’ll ever …” I stop, realizing that my attempts mean nothing if I don’t just come out and say it. I say, “I can’t be here tonight. I have to go home. I gotta catch the train.”

Brendon just nods understandingly, barely ever grasping the fact that, no, I’m not gonna come back next week. No, he doesn’t have my cell phone number, and no, I’m not going to write him any letters. He doesn’t realize it’s the end, and I don’t have the heart to tell him, because he’d done nothing wrong to make things like this. “Oh. Okay,” he replies, faking a smile. “Whatever you want. I guess … I’ll see you later then, okay? You need a ride to the train station?”

I swallow, forcing away tears as best as I can. Even his fake smile is so much more beautiful than Jac’s real one could ever be. Better than Jac’s, better than mine, better than everyone’s. “Nah, I’m okay. I sorta need the walk … it’ll clear my head a bit.”

He nods and kisses me, and it’s the last kiss. He rests his hand on my neck, and it’s the last touch. He tells me he loves me, and they’re his last words. I watch his smile fade a bit, and it's the end.

And, walking down the steps, I stick one hand in my pocket before I turn around and say, “I love you, Brendon.” I smile at him, hoping it’s dark enough for the tears not to show.

He nods and waves to me, his eyes on me all the way down the street. The light in his window, the light of his eyes, watching me until I turn the corner, and I don’t look back.

-

It’s the end of hour three before I say I need to go. I don’t tell him why; I don’t tell him my girlfriend’s waiting for me. I just tell him, “It’s getting late. I should probably get going.”

His eyes, they’re less than sincere. They’re less than understanding. They’re hardly even hearing my words, strung out on too much caffeine and ruining any chance of reunion. A part of me, I couldn’t lie, expected a kiss far earlier than a kiss goodbye. A part of me, somewhere deep down, expected a touch of skin to skin; tongue to skin. Somewhere far, far, far down inside of me, I expected some sort of way to seal the deal, say, I know you’re sorry, and I forgive you. Something like, Let’s start over. But things never happen the way I want them to, so I let it go.

“Alright,” he says, standing up and walking over to the door. “Yeah, it’s getting sorta late. You’re going back to the train station, right? Need a ride?” He swallows his words down, each one clearly reminding him of ten months ago, a decline; closure.

And, contrary to before, I say, “Um, that would be great. Thank you.”

It’s a jumpy feeling in my stomach when he pulls his arms through his coat, having enough trouble for me to help, listening to him mumble an embarrassed, “Thank you.” It’s a dryness in my throat as he swings the keys around his finger, opening the from door for me and leading me outside, down the steps, into his car, like days too long ago for me to dream about clearly.

It’s the silence as he starts up the engine, steering us down the street, the windows fogged and frost clearly white against the black color of the hood. Our eyes: on the road. Our minds: on each other.

And we both know that this isn’t the end; that it’ll never end. That once one of us snaps our fingers, once one of us forgets the stupid middle finger against the palm nonsense, we can somehow live in that blissful ignorance of thumb on finger. Pretending rather than knowing, living rather than speculating, belief over science. We both know that I’m going to fake-sleep on the train next week, and the week after that. And the car, it’s filled up with our discreet but heavy breathing, intoxicating both of us, the crack in Brendon’s window the only thing keeping the two of us alive.

And I don’t know where this comes from, but I say, “I miss you.” And I can’t believe it.

He doesn’t reply, he just nods, turning away a little bit. And, arching my neck just right, I can catch that little smirk in the corner of his mouth. He says, practically inaudibly, “You don’t even know the half of it.”

I laugh a little bit, trying to suppress the heat in my cheeks. Brendon, my Maria, my thumb, he’s turning the corner to the train station, time running out. Somewhere, Keltie’s waiting for me to call her and assure her I caught the next train. Somewhere, Jac is having sex with her boyfriend, the image of me and Brendon still prominent in her subconscious. Somewhere, Jon was watching endless hours of Gone With The Wind on TCM. And here, here in this car, the thick tension was traveling out of the crack in Brendon’s window, “I miss you” curing anything that an empty “I love you” couldn’t.

And really, in essence, it’s nothing more than a friendly kiss goodbye when he drops me off at the train station. It’s nothing more than a peck of lips; me promising I’d see him again as soon as I could. Promising him I’d “miss my stop” again, and he laughs, wanting more than anything to believe me like he used to.

It’s tipping my hat to the woman in back of me, allowing her to pass me by through the train doors as I watch Brendon drive away. It’s the Keltie look-alikes crowding the aisles, blonde and blonde and pretty, one of a million. It’s the lack of anybody even close to that smile, that black-haired burst of sunshine, in a car blocks away, never anywhere else. Brendon, one in a million, and believe me, I know the difference.

And someday, Brendon and I will spend the night with one another. Somewhere in the near future, me and Brendon can say, “I love you.” It’s knowing that somewhere, somehow, we were going to be together again, or at least hoping. Leaving the doubt behind; the possibility that I’d wait another ten months … I didn’t let myself consider something like that. Not with Brendon depending on me again. Not with an “I miss you” between us. Brendon, my memory, we could be together if we tried.

And Keltie, one of a million Keltie, she could’ve been on this train, blonde and blonde and pretty. Keltie, waiting for me back home, waiting for an “I love you” and a kiss, waiting for a proposal someday. Keltie and I would pretend for a little bit longer, just as an excuse for me to sleep an extra seven minutes on the train. I’d pretend-love Keltie just long enough for me to get used to the fact that, yes, visiting Brendon without an excuse was okay. I just needed to get off my feet a little bit.

And soon, I’m drifting into that before-sleep, dreaming, falling, falling, falling down. The train rattling beneath and around me, I’m falling, falling, falling into his arms, and Keltie, she’s just a girl. Keltie’s just a stop on a train, the palm to my finger. Keltie, she’s my ticket to one stop ahead, where Brendon would always be.

And Brendon, my thumb, my Maria, we’d meet again.

The Creature; PART ONE.

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 01:34:30 GMT

The Creature :: Part One
We Might Create Life Someday.
[ a f i c t i o n s t o r y by rain_calamity ]

we might create life someday.

At first, it seemed like all the doctor had been doing was drawing pictures, over and over and over on his sketch pad. The same picture of the same boy, strong and agile, as if he had looked into a mirror and visualized what he himself would’ve liked to have been. He drew with such intricacy, every barely-visible pore on every inch of this boy’s skin, it seemed as if he had developed some sort of obsession with this somebody who may or may not have ever existed. And, indeed, he did have quite the obsession.

It didn’t seem like much, when he would throw his notepad aside and Amie would catch a glimpse of that well-built human staring back at her on the thin, lined paper. It looked like it could be anybody; a face in a crowd, but not even … like some perfect, unobtainable human that could only be formulated in the mind of somebody imperfect enough to want it. And the doctor, flawed and certainly far from perfect, he clearly wanted this … whatever it was. And after long hours in the laboratory, Amie would want more than anything to work up the courage to just ask the doctor what this man symbolized, even if it was nothing at all. Just so she could clear her mind and move on with it; so she could finally concentrate on her own life, rather than the imaginary life of that boy in the paper. The boy on every paper … every paper that the doctor could get his hands on. Every time he found a pencil, he’d draw the same boy, each time getting more intricate with his artistic vision.

And, as the weeks progressed, he started to only draw an outline of the boy. He’d just draw the outer shell, and then started to draw the organs inside of the shell, as if the boy was put through an x-ray. He drew every bone, every vein … he drew so perfectly that it nearly looked like a medical photograph, and Amie, once again, could hardly contain her utter curiosity. Because everyone in town knew that if there ever was a genius on this planet earth, it was the doctor, confident and disturbed, locked up in this laboratory with her, day in and day out. The doctor, Amie, Gregory, and on occasion, Landon. Gregory, nothing but a foolish sidekick, followed the doctor wherever he went, nearly copying the doctor’s every move. He hardly did anything but knock over test tubes and flirt with Amie, but the doctor refused to get rid of him, for fear of the change in his habit of daily life and experiment. Landon, nearly the doctor’s equal, often seemed to be lingering around the laboratory, breathing in every chemical bravely and frequently asked the doctor about his recent experiments, which made the doctor more than fond of Landon’s visits. Landon was more intelligent than most, but it seemed as if he never put that intelligence to much more use than having those spirited, in-depth discussions with the doctor. And then, in all her small, shy beauty, was Amie, timid and afraid of most everything that occurred around her. Amie, pale-blue-eyed Amie, she seemed to be nothing more than a third wheel around the doctor and Gregory, tagging along and trying not to break any of the glass. She seemed to always be bordering on ghostly white, either from heritage or just from the fact that she thought of every inch of the laboratory as something terrifying and unknown; the only thing that made her comfortable was the doctor’s concentration, as if he wanted everything to work perfectly, and he’d never let her get caught up in anything terrifying enough for her to lose faith in him. She seemed to always be the quiet observer, flinching every time Gregory knocked a glass beaker to the ground; Amie, her pure, straight black hair resting against her shoulders and only whitening her pale skin more so. And while she thought she was only in the way, the doctor and Gregory seemed to be totally lost when she was too ill to show up at the lab. And, kudos to Landon for discovering it, it seemed as if the doctor fancied Amie as quietly as possible; too subtle for Gregory to catch. The doctor, though often plagued with a cluttered mind and a raging subconscious, was a notably hospitable person. His features resembled Amie’s somewhat; pure black hair and pale-white skin, but his eyes were a maroon-brown, a color that seemed too stunning to be natural. The doctor, his name was Damien Opaque, though even his closest friends called him Doctor. He loathed both of his names, claiming “Damien” was nothing but the devil’s name, and that Opaque was not close to fitting as a last name, and, ironically, he was nothing close to opaque. If he was a solid, steady thinker, he wouldn’t have such a marvelous laboratory, and he would be nowhere near as impeccably famous as a human being. The fact that he was not opaque was what made him deliciously interesting, and rather bipolar in many instances, usually during his most rigorous experiments. The doctor, a genius and an obsessive thinker, he was often what Gregory called “the only intelligent person who made absolutely no sense at all.” And, in all honesty, Amie had to nearly fully agree.

It must’ve been about three months since the doctor had started drawing this familiar figure that Gregory finally spoke the words that Amie had been too timid to say. Gregory, loud, obnoxious, and completely void of human etiquette, he kept the lack of innocence in his voice as he approached the doctor’s constant drawing and asked, “Who’s this guy you keep scribbling?” Amie had remembered when Landon had first noticed the drawings, asking Damien, “Are you having an affair that I’m not aware of?” Only that comment could have been as uncalled for as Gregory’s scratchy question.

And the doctor, raking a hand through his black hair, ripped the page out of the notepad and, in what seemed like an instant, crumpled it up, popped it into his mouth and swallowed it. Amie flinched, knowing that the doctor was in no mood for Gregory’s tomfoolery, and just the fact that Gregory had interrupted the doctor mid-drawing meant that his must’ve not been thinking at all. Not that Gregory often does.

“My drawing,” the doctor said carefully, the veins in his wrists elevating as he clench his fists, “is my next experiment, Gregory.”

It seemed a fitting time for Gregory to get back to sweeping the laboratory; it seemed fitting for Amie to continue to polish the glassware, but she could hardly look away from the enticing circumstances. “Well, sir,” Gregory said, clearing his throat to gain some of his composure back, “may I ask, um, what is the experiment?”

The doctor smiled, causing Amie and Gregory to simultaneously let out silent sighs of relief. Since his current drawing was traveling down to his intestines, the doctor flipped back to one of his earlier pages; one of the first times he had drawn this mysterious boy, in all his perfect, flawless glory. He tapped his finger on top of the page, leaving a lead fingerprint on the drawing’s bare chest. “This is the experiment, my boy.” The doctor smiled up at Gregory, as if he had morphed into a different person in the two minutes of conversation between them. “This is my next project. Well, I hope so. Hopefully, and soon, this will be more than just an experiment, in fact.” He paused, looking down at his drawing fondly. “Hopefully this will be my … creation.”

survey addict? what?!

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 02:32:11 GMT

What is on your desktop wallpaper?
it's a blendy wallpaper thing that i made of Panic! At The Disco, primarily Ryan and Brendon for this time around. It's pretty snazzy, i must admit. ive gotten rather handy with Adobe Photoshop.

What is your favorite zoo animal?
ELEPHANTS! not to sound like a dork, which i sorta am, but elephants have been my favorite animal for as long as i can remember.

What was your favorite toy as a child?
Beanie Babies, probably. and i was really a tomboy, so i had a lot of X-Men action figures and stuff like that.

What food do you eat too much of?
pretty much every food known to man. it's a wonder i'm not fat.

What kind of hairstyle do you have?
it's sort of a shag ... and it's really dark brown. i asked for the Hayley Williams haircut, so i guess it SORT OF resembles that ...

What was your favorite activity in gym class?
NOTHING. I HATE GYM LIKE POISION. the end.

What is on the shirt you're wearing right now?
a silhouette of a dog, from the Black Dog in Martha's Vineyard.

What is the picture nearest to you of?
okay, this could take a while since i have a corkboard in front of me, so let's go. first, on my far left, there's a collage of Brendon Urie pictures that my friend Sam made for me when i first got into Panic! ... then there's this "Life On Mars" mini-poster thing, with all weird art stuff on it, then there's another picture of Brendon from RockSound magazine, then there's a paper full of icons that I printed out, then there's a picture of me and Erica, a couple pictures of me and Emily, a picture of The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Pants, a picture of Clay Aiken that i've forgotten to take down, a picture of me and my friends at Halloween, a picture of the beach, a picture i drew relating to Invisible Monsters, a Jay Leno quote, a calligraphy paper of song lyrics, a comic from the newspaper, a picture of me and Kevin, a picture of me and Raymond, a picture of Ross and Rachel from Friends, an index card that says "Ryden Dirtay!", a picture of Brendon from TRL, a picture of Ryan from Carson Daly's New Year's Eve thing, a picture of Brendon changing that looks like a stalker took it, a picture of Panic! from the making of the "Lying" video, a picture of Ryan just, like, sitting there lol, and a picture of Brendon from a meet and greet. WHEW.

What kind of salad dressing do you like?
italian caesar, all the way baby.

Whats your least favorite food?
i dont think i have one. possibly chocolate pudding, honestly.

What do you do on a Sunday night?
well, it's a Sunday night right now, so i guess i fill out pointless surveys.

If you could only use one condiment on your food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
that's hard ... probably salsa. im sorta obsessed.

What color are your sheets?
currently, they're green plaid. but that's just because my white ones are being washed and whatnot.

How big is your computer display?
what do you mean? like, my monitor? ... it's sorta big i guess? im not gonna, like, measure it.

What pair of shoes do you wear most often?
my Etnies, 'cause im just so old school. bahaha.

What is your favorite game?
VIDEO GAME?! GUITAR HERO 2 OR ANY SPYRO GAME!! YAAAHH! ... sorry, obsession right there.

What is your favorite Thanksgiving food?
well, my mom makes mean macaroni and cheese at Thanksgiving. but traditionally, mashed potatoes.

What is your favorite pizza topping?
pepperoni, baby.

What time do you plan on waking up tomorrow?
PLAN on waking up tomorrow? well, the dream would be noon, but the man says 6:30, and i ain't got the guts to stick it to him.

What is your favorite day of the year?
im gonna be gay and put Christmas, 'cause it is. or Halloween! ... or maybe just any Saturday, because school sucks ass.

everything reminds me of you.

Sun, 16 Sep 2007 04:46:25 GMT

Do you have any pets?
yeah! i have a cat named Benjamin, Benny for short. & my mom keeps talking about getting a new little kitten, so i have my fingers crossed these days. =)

What color shirt are you wearing?
it's sorta gray-blue.

Name three things that are physically close to you:
my journal (physical journal, not LiveJournal, haha), A Fever You Can't Sweat Out liner notes, and one of those stuffed Yankee monkeys that have velcro hands ... he's holding onto the bar above me.

What is the last book you read?
Survivor by Chuck Palahniuk. and everyone's gonna pounce on me, but i was disappointed, i must say. i mean, he's amazing obviously, but the character was way too similar to the main character in Choke and i just felt like the writing was just all a repeat. i mean, ive ready about six of his books before that one, all in one summer, so i guess i just got tired of him. (yet im currently reading Stanger Than Fiction, haha.)

Are you or were you a good student?
well, i currently am. i mean ... i was before summer. now im back in high school, and it's too early to tell what's gonna be going on this year. it doesn't help that EVERYTHING IS HARD.

What's your favorite sport?
i love to swim, and im actually good at it, which doesn't happen too much with me and sports. but i love baseball and i love tennis, too, so i don't know.

Do you enjoy sleeping late?
um. YEAH. if i wake up before 12:00 on Saturday, there's something wrong with me.

What's the weather like right now?
beautiful night. cool and breezy.

Who tells the best jokes?
im not gonna be gay and say Dane Cook or Kevin James or something, lol. i'd say my friends Ryan and Raymond. they're both pretty damn funny, not gonna lie.

What was the last thing you dreamed about?
actually (and im seriously not lying), i dreamed that some studio recordings of Panic! At The Disco's new record got leaked onto the internet, and they were GREAT. like, they weren't emo, they were all happy, but they were ahh-mazing. and i sooooo wish that dream comes true, really.

Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?
nope. no driving yet.

Do you believe in karma?
i never really thought about it before ... but i suppose so. to some extent.

Do you believe in luck?
ohhh absolutely.

Do you like your eggs scrambled or sunny side up?
SCRAMBLED! all the way. i actually have never had eggs any other way ...

Do you collect anything? If so, what?
um. i used to collect action figures, actually. i have a whole closet full of them ... and an attic full of Beanie Babies. but currently i collect postcards, which is sorta cliche, but whatevah.

Are you proud of yourself?
for doing what? living? not really.

Are you reliable?
i'd say so. i mean, i'm forgetful sometimes, but im loyal.

Have you ever given money to a bum?
yes, a couple times. i hate when people just pass them by, as if it's the same as not giving a tip to the dude behind the counter at some pizza place. it's a person who has no home. like, c'mon.

What's your favorite food?
i used to always say pizza, but that sounds too predictable. i love pretzels, too ... and i have this thing about chips and salsa. i mean, they're just orgasmic after a long day at school.

Have you ever had a secret admirer?
PSH YEAH RIGHT. i wish!

Do you like the smell of gasoline?
that's a funny question, because everybody says they do ... but i don't. at all. i hold my breath at gas stations, seriously. my lung capacity has grown tremendously simply because of that.

Do like to draw?
i LIKE to draw, and people tell me im good at it, but i don't really think so. i mean, i can do decent calligraphy, but, like, tell me to draw a person and you'll see how sucky i am.

What's your favorite invention?
the computer? lol, no that sounds stupid. i'd say ... the piano. because the voice needs something to guide it along.

Is your room messy?
it usually is disgustingly messy ... but its moderate today. i mean, not "show it to the neighbors" clean, but not "i can't see the floor" messy, ya know?

What do you like better: oranges or apples?
damn it. that's hard. next question.

Do you give in easily?
i'd like to think not, but i don't know ... i can't answer that one honestly, haha.

Are you a good guesser?
BAAHAHA NO. im the kid in class, like, when the teacher calls on me and asks me to take a guess on how many miles is it from point A to point B, and i say, "five hundred," and the whole class laughs, because it's actually twenty.

Can you read other people's expressions?
most of the time. i'd like to think im rather good at that.

Are you a bully?
no! im nice, i promise.

Do you have a job?
no, but my dad's bugging me about that ...

What time did you wake up this morning?
well, i was forced to wake up early for an audition, since my allergies were bothering me and i needed a lot of practice time ... its the first time i've woken up on Saturday before 12:00 in about three months, honestly.

What did you eat for breakfast this morning?
a plain bagel and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter (though i can thoroughly believe that statement).

When was the last time you showered?
at some time yesterday im pretty sure. i lose track, scarily enough.

What do you plan on doing tomorrow?
going to the movies with my good ole buddy Raymond. then a night of studying US Colony History! Delicious! ... not.

What's your favorite day of the week and why?
Friday ... but that's too predictable. OTHER THAN THE WEEKEND, i'd say Thursday. it's so underestimated ... it's quite a nice little day most of the time.

Do you have any nicknames?
yes, actually. they're not really in much effect anymore, but Kaitlyn calls me "Car" and Mary used to call me "Carol" ... and Mickaela and Meaghan call me "Skittles", and Erica calls me "Rabana". longgggg story for that last one, haha.

Have you ever been scuba diving?
no, unfortunately. i haven't accomplished too much of that sorta stuff in my life yet.

What's your least favorite color?
my LEAST favorite? that's an interesting question. i guess ... pink? cliche for the emo girl, i know. maybe green, too. green's just obnoxious to me, as ridiculous as that sounds.

Is there someone you have been constantly thinking about? If yes, who?
i wish i had somebody physically in my life to think about constantly ... but i don't unfortunately ~~except for Brendon Urie~~.

Would you ever go skydiving?
NO. im quite afraid of heights and im just really ... like ... a wimp.

What toothpaste do you use?
Aquafresh, i think. but it's not just Aquafresh ... it's like, i dunno, "Extreme White" or something like that.

Do you enjoy challenges?
actually not at all.

What's the worst injury you have had?
ive never broken a bone, so i guess nothing. i get this nasty rug burn on my knee once that wouldn't stop bleeding ... oh god, i sound like such a loser, don't i?

What's the last movie you saw?
Two Nights In Paris. It was pretty good ... it's an indie movie. & im gonna see a movie tomorrow, too! whut, whut ...

What do you want to know about the future?
um ... well, i want to know my complete list of boyfriends, first of all, haha. i wanna know my profession, and i want to know the guy i fall the hardest for and the guy i end up with ... but at the same time, i dont wanna know that stuff at all. quite a sticky wicket, governor.

What does your last text message say?
sent or inbox? My inbox is from Meaghan, and it says "did you reply to my other one?", and my sent says "no, not yet." haha.

Who was the last person you spoke over the phone to?
um ... my dad? i actually don't remember.

What's your favorite school subject?
well, it used to be English, but English is hard this year ... & im really loving Vocal, obviously.

What's your least favorite school subject?
GEOMETRY. JUST FUCKING SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD AND CUT MY THROAT.

Would you rather have money or love?
love, love, love, love ... all you need is looove ...

What is your dream vacation?
Paris, Italy ... anywhere in Europe, i guess? everybody says it's so beautiful. I'd also love to go to California, since my mom said it was pretty awesome when she went there.

What is your favorite animal?
my favorite animal has been an elephant since i was born, i swear to God, and i don't even know why.

Do you miss anyone right now?
erm ... i dunno. i miss ... well, yeah. i guess if i cant think of anybody, im not really pining for them ...

What's the last sporting event you watched?
RBC football game ... Caseys kicked Falcon ass by the way.

Do you need to do laundry?
nope. i still live with a mother.

Do you listen to the radio?
not often since im really into indie music these days and there aren't too many indie stations ... but i will on occasion. i mean, i dont know WHY, because i just get mad when i hear stuff like "Hey There Delilah" on Z100 when it used to be a beautiful song and they just kill it ... but hey, that's media, right?

Where were you when 9/11 happened?
in my third grade math class, im pretty sure.

What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
i have yet for that to happen to me... but if it did, i'd just pound on the damn thing, i guess. what else could you do?

Have you ever caught a butterfly?
no ... and i don't know why i would, since they're better off being free. but hey, whatever floats your boat.

What color are your bed sheets?
white. ooooh. exciting.

What's your ringtone?
well, for texts, it's "Hang Me Up To Dry" by Cold War Kids, but it's starting to get obnoxious, so im gonna change it soon. and my ringtone for calls is Brendon Urie's voice tell me to pick up my phone, haha. it creeps people out so bad! whenever my phone rings, all my friends bang their heads on the ceiling.

Who was the last person to make you laugh?
technically, Leah Remini on King Of Queens. but as for people, it was Danika last night telling me that we needed to put a GPA on the roof of Julie's mouth. i don't know why, but i thought that was beyond hilarious.

Do you have any obsessions right now?
well, im the Obsession Queen. currently, Panic! At The Disco, obviously. i'm bordering on obsessed with Regina Spektor and Damien Rice ... and ohh boy, Guitar Hero 2, too. oh forget it, i could go on for hours. im addicted to everything.

Do you like things that glow in the dark?
yeah. a lot. when i get a glow stick, i can't stop staring at it, haha.

What's your favorite fruity scent?
well, if we're gonna get technical with the whole Bath & Body Works scents, then cucumber melon wins by a lot. but as just a fruity scent, i have a thing about oranges and pineapples.

Do you watch cartoons?
of course! youre an idiot if you don't! Spongebob and Jimmy Neutron all the way, baby! And my oldies ... like Hey Arnold, and the best ever, Scooby Doo. ohh boy. And Dragonball! oh man, i have a million, haha.

Have you ever sat on a roof?
yeah, several times, i believe.

Have you ever been to a different country?
pshhh. yeah right. ive never even been on a PLANE.

Name three things in the world you dislike:
sluts, guys who think they're cool, and SCHOOL.

Name three people in the world you dislike:
okay, im not gonna get personal. let's just say Ashlee Simpson, Keltie Colleen, and ... HAH. just kidding, just kidding. i wont answer this question, thank you very much.

Has a rumor even been spread about you?
not yet ...

Do you like sushi?
haha my friend Ryan randomly asked me this a couple weeks ago, just out of the blue. and i said, "yeah, i guess." and he goes, "WELL I HATE IT." and i just said, "okay," but i guess i said it really funny, because him and Ray laughed for, like, an hour. but yeah, that's enough of my little sushi story, sorry for boring you.

Do you believe in magic?
of course. i totally think time travel is possible, and im waiting for my teddy bear to talk back to me, honest. i wish on stars and 11:11. magic is real if you believe it is, as cheesy as that sounds.

Do you hold grudges?
ehh .... i dont think so. i can't remember. hah.

What Do You Have To Say? - Music: My First Favorite Band

Sun, 16 Sep 2007 03:44:09 GMT

What was the first band you became a fan of?

Brought to you by HP | Contest | Vote for Winners!

View 500 Answers

yeah, just wanted to answer this so i could say that Maroon 5 was my first band EVAHH and i still love them. A lot. i remember i thought i was soooo cool 'cause i had "Songs About Jane" and i would brag about it and stuff, haha. i mean, their new album is sorta disappointing, but "Songs About Jane" is just fucking genius. Really.
And then, my SECOND band .... Fall Out Boy ...

the weather today is slightly sarcastic

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 05:45:12 GMT

iTUNES. =P

How many total songs?
1582

Sort by Song Title. What's the first song?
(Hey Mister DJ) Send My Love To The Dancefloor - Cobra Starship

Sort by Song Title. What's the last song?
Zero - Smashing Pumpkins

Sort by Time. What's the shortest song?
Playground - Pray For The Soul Of Betty

Sort by album. What's the first song?
I'll Be There For You - The Rembrandts

Sort by album. What's the last song?
I'm A Believer - Smash Mouth

Sort by Play Count. What are the top ten songs?
1. Samson - Regina Spektor
2. Oedipus - Regina Spektor
3. Fidelity - Regina Spektor
4. Consequence Of Sounds - Regina Spektor
5. Iris - Goo Goo Dolls
6. Braille - Regina Spektor
7. Failure By Design - Brand New
8. Over My Head (Cable Car) - The Fray
9. Rootless Tree - Damien Rice
10. Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin

Sort by Last Played. What are the top 10 songs?
1. Let This Go - Paramore
2. Beautiful Love - The Afters
3. I Constantly Thank God For Esteban - Panic! At The Disco
4. (Hey Mister DJ) Send My Love To The Dancefloor - Cobra Starship
5. X Amount Of Words - Blue October
6. Karma Police - Radiohead
7. Wait For You - Elliot Yamin
8. Stand Inside Your Love - Smashing Pumpkins
9. With Or Without You - U2
10. Hotel Song - Regina Spektor

Search for "Death". How many and which is your favorite?
13
The Birth And Death Of A Day - Explosions In The Sky

Sort by Time. What's the longest song?
Sleep Don't Weep - Damien Rice

Search for "Sex". How many and which is your favorite?
3
Sex Changes - The Dresden Dolls

Search for "Love". How many and which is your favorite?
88
You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told) - The White Stripes

i tried to paint you a picture ...

Thu, 13 Sep 2007 22:33:49 GMT

bad day bad day bad day bad day.
it's days like these that i need you here with me, whoever you are.
it's bad enough i feel like im losing friends, but now am i losing my imagination? my imaginary friend?

dear mystery dude,

um. come and find me. thanks. bye.

all my love,
caroline.

and then we'll have him one, two, three!

Sun, 02 Sep 2007 04:26:24 GMT

alright. school on tuesday.
i wonder how life as a freshman is gonna treat me ...
i keep thinking it's gonna suck. 'cause this summer's been SUPER long; so isn't that, like, God's sign of telling me that my year is gonna totally suck? that im getting a good summer because my school year's gonna be shit?
yeah. i hope not.
anyway; my mom's yelling at me. ill post tomorrow.

purple rain.

Tue, 28 Aug 2007 05:37:20 GMT

so, okay, i doubt anyone cares (& i unfortunately donno how to make those fancy "icon journals") but i made some icons. =] um, i know i dont take the time to make any friends on here, but if you use any of these, please credit me. thanks.

they're mostly panic! at the disco icons, predictably. --prays the lj cut works-- sorry if they suck.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

dont hold yourself like that ...

Sun, 19 Aug 2007 06:05:55 GMT

& i couldve sworn that i got over this last time.
that i was past this, over myself.
what's there to be sad about when youre never upset?
what's there to lose when youre the one holding your hand?
it's lost in the ocean, underneath every wave.
every piece of nothing. everything i couldn't save.
& it's hard to be lost when i'm not meant to be.
it's hard to pretend someone's here with me.

& it's all i can do, just to keep things in line.
it's all i can do, just to break it, oh why?
oh how am i lost when there's nobody there now?
how am i gone when i dont even care now?
'cause it's all i can do to stop thinking this through.
& i could've sworn there would be "me and you".

it was supposed to be fine, it was supposed to be over.
like the song after spring, the snow after winter.
how do you live when he's living his life?
what's left of your heart when you give it away?
it's dead like last year, like the pen in my hand,
when you wrote my name here, wrote my name in the sand.
& it's hard to be lost when youre trying to be.
it's hard to pretend you existed with me.

& if youre feeling upset, you can tell me your name.
if youre feeling upset, i'll try to cry over you.
if youre feeling upset, i'll care about what you said.
if youre feeling upset, i'll keep you inside my head.

i love paris in the rain.

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 03:36:39 GMT

& if you are a deity of any sort, then please don't go.

OMGZ. well, first of all, im gonna stop centering stuff, 'cause it's annoying me and it sorta looks gay. but ANYWAY, more importantly, it sucks that summer's almost sorta over. i mean, i have to do a twenty frickin page math thing and read this book, "Make Lemonade", for my last thing for summer reading. i started it; i guess it's not so bad, but the way it's written is extremely unusual. i mean, when you look at it, you'll think it's a book of poems, but it's not ... i dunno, hard to explain. but YEAH, hard to compare it when i finished "Choke" by Chuck Palahniuk in the same day. i mean, it almost sounds cliche to read him anymore, since he's every Panic! fan's favorite author, blah, blah, blah, BUT I LIKED HIM BEFORE I LIKED THEM. so ha. don't think im just "one of them", 'cause i'm not. but, yeah, i guess he's just too popular now. all the "artistic people like him now. i mean, he used to be sorta indie-like, but oh, how times have changed. ya know who else used to be indie? REGINA SPEKTOR. why does everyone like her now? i mean, i dont care; but they just like her new stuff. the pop stuff. sorry, rant. wow.

ANYWAY. guess what? guess what, guess what, guess what?! IM GONNA SEE HER IN CONCERT ON OCTOBER 16th IN NEW YORK CITY. =) ohhhh my god. im so, so, so excited. 'cause she's my idol, and she's been my idol for, like, ever. well, not FOREVER, but it's been a while. i have, like seventy of her songs, lol, ive become quite obsessed. but hey, im going with my parents ... but at least im GOING. jesus, im so excited.

BTW. STUPID EBAY. or, well, it's my dad's fault. tried to buy the new Kerrang! with Panic! on the cover, and he gets the wrong one. but i dont wanna blame him, because he was being nice; he wasn't gonna get it for me until i came home from vacation, but i was so desperate for it that he got it then. BUT HE GOT THE ONE WITH TRIVIUM ON THE COVER. i mean, it has a nice Panic! article and some cool pictures, but it's from October '06. BLAHHHHH. i was so angry when it came ...

but enough of my bitchiness. i gots to go. im gonna have a bowl of cocoa puffs, 'cause that sounds intriguing.
farewell, loves.

they say, sir, do you gotta light?
and if you do then, you're my friend,
and if you don't, then you're my foe.

& it breaks my heart.

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 17:35:10 GMT

i've never loved nobody fully.
always one foot on the ground.

love&snakevenom.
myspace blog i wrote a little while ago, figured i should post it here.
even if only for me.
i know, a little palahniuk-esque. but hey, ive been reading him a lot lately. SUE ME.

And suppose I never met you.
Suppose we never fell in love.
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft.

Step back. Breathe. Panic. Repeat. You'll start to understand how it feels.

Poison seeping through those punctures in your skin ... teeth in your neck before you even get a chance to rip them off of you. And then, a twinge of toxication in your blood stream, you turn back to that bedroom and look at her there, her blonde hair resting against her flushed cheeks, blue eyes urging you to stare.

You don't even know how it happens, but you feel a lurch from within you. Something eating you from the inside out before you can press a palm to your heart. Poison on your inside, fangmarks on your outside, you're falling forward. And it seems like years and miles and planets away, but that bed is there to catch you. And there she is, still sitting on that mattress beside you, crossing her legs tight as your fingers start to twitch. Your eyes weave through the fishnet fabric over her thighs as the twitch moves to your wrists. Then your arms.

And you're jealous as you're lying there. Green with envy, literally, at this point. While your twitches make this bed feel like a stranger, it all seems to embrace her perfectly, each pillow and blanket supporting her for no reason at all. But you try to ignore it, because the twitching is at your shoulders now, raging into this unstoppable calamity, and she licks her lips and smiles down at you. And this is when, as the twitch enters your chest, you know what you wish you'd known before.

I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna fucking die now.

Her lips are red - suicidal red - and she runs her tongue across them again as she reaches the front of her bra clasp, letting the maze of lace fall to the floor in what seems like an instant. And you're still twitching, and she's laughing. Naked hysterics, right in front of you.

The twitching as at your waist ... below your waist ... and then you're in some sort of cruel and unusual pain that seems familiar, because it all came on a lot harder than you wanted it to. And she's still laughing, throwing her stockings to the floor and pouting those red lips, kicking her legs and being everything she wasn't. Everything she wasn't, and everything you always wanted her to be.

And just like that, her hands are on your twitching form, pushing you over and flinging you to the edge of the bed. And before you're sure the twitching isn't traveling any lower, she's straddling you, and you're screaming because you fucking want this. And all you can say to yourself seems to be summed up in an instant.

Thank the Lord for giving me one last fuck before I die.

Oh, but have you forgotten? That red staining her lips hasn't been lipstick for all the years you've known her, and it seems to all be figured out. You knew that from the beginning. She opens her mouth wide, and you recognize those teeth - the shapes piercing the crook of your neck.

And now you're screaming, begging for sex and life and death, because now it's all the same, melded into one. Your life isn't flashing before your eyes because this is life. Your fucked up life, in all its glory.

they taped over your mouth, scribbled out the truth with their lies.

Tue, 31 Jul 2007 06:12:59 GMT

nothing compares to a quiet evening alone.

HOME FROM OCEAN CITY.
thinking about posting some of my stories ... not sure though.
not that anybody would read them, but yeah.
kay. its late. im gonna sleep now; just wanted to update.

let's be more than this.

tonight the headphones will deliver the words that i cant say.

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 04:58:33 GMT

tonight is all about "we miss you."

hey. so ... sorry its taken me a million years to post again (and this post cant be too long cuz i bet my parents can hear me typing through the bedroom wall), but ive been ... occupied. with SUMMER. eh, or just being lazy i suppose. or writing. yeah.
anywhooo ... lately come to the conclusion that i am, in fact, emo. and yes, ive always hated that word and how they use it for people who cut themselves and all, but i dont do that shit and i still considering myself in that label ... to me, emo means "emotional". sure, it may be a fashion style and all, but i try not to think of it like that ...
oh, ADDICTED to the show Lost. Matthew Fox, i love you. seriously. marry me right now.
EDIT: wow, i dont know if anybody is gonna read this anymore, but im so surprised that people actually commented on this. like, im sorry, i really am ... i was being "whorey" i guess as somebody put it, and i apologize; after i read keltie's reply about the song, i actually respect her a teensy bit more. i guess it was stupid to post something like this ... but i dont really go on livejournal for friends so i didnt think anybody would ever read this, haha. i guess i should've thought of that before i posted something on the INTERNET. good job, caroline. =D haha. anyways, yeah, sorry.
these friends are golden.

it's not that we're scared ... it's just that it's delicate.

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 14:00:54 GMT

why do you sing hallelujah
if it means nothing to you?

i dont know why, but ive felt so lost lately. ive gone back to some old friends, and when we're together, the connection's there ... but then they start talking about what they're gonna do tomorrow - without me. theyve moved on. shouldnt i? but i dont want to, really. i mean, some of the best times of my life were with them, and now im just gonna get rid of that? especially when i have high school next year. dont know how im gonna deal with that ...
next off - i seriously just wanna lost ten pounds. for the love of god, PLEASE give me a little bit of discipline. i mean, c'mon, i cant keep a diet & im going to the beach tomorrow with my thin-ass friends. grrr ...
i wanna find him, whoever the fuck he is. i know im young and i know that it shouldn't matter so much to me, but it does. more than anything in the entire world. i just wanna see his face ... i just wanna touch him. im so tired of living where all i can love are people who dont even exist in my world. why am i obsessed with writing stories about people ive never met? why do i talk about them all the time, yet im scared to let people know that i sit up in my room and click away at my keyboard for them? WHY AM I SPENDING MY SUMMER ON SOMETHING I WANT TO HAPPEN BUT WONT HAPPEN EVER?
i need to know what it feels like to be loved by somebody.

why do you sing with me at all?

im staring at what once was the wall separating east and west ...

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 03:02:40 GMT

we have spoken everything.
everything short of "i love you."

okay, its summer, and the week went by so, so, so fast. and im kinda feeling shitty today, so yeah.
listening to A LOT of music ---> props to The Academy Is ..., i must say. Santi is an amazing album. also listening to a lot of Third Eye Blind ... Regina Spektor (as always) ... Damien Rice (always, always <3). and know who's ahhh-mazing? Obadiah Parker. (it's a band, not a person, shithead.) and they're superb, really. i cant get enough ... though they only have a live album and an EP, so i cant wait for a real album. i bet it will be awesome.
i got a polaroid camera for graduation, but film is fucking EXPENSIVE, so ive only taken two pictures so far. one of my mom, one of me holding a puppet. yeah, they're both kinda shitty ... but ive developed this fascination with photography. im more interested in dressing up all crazy with awesome makeup and having somebody take pictures of me. not glamour shots ... emotion shots. clever, artsy, emotional pictures of me. i dont know why ... i just feel like i wanna express myself in that way; not just writing. i need visuals, too, ya know? well, anyway, i dont think that'll ever happen, but yeah.

and who's to say it's wrong ... where we should be for now?

they were just two jerks playing with matches. it's all they knew how to play.

Tue, 12 Jun 2007 02:57:33 GMT

she was tracing her years in her fingers on her skin,
saying, "why don't i begin again?"

i was gonna make this a long entry, but i cant. something too huge for words happened.
i finished writing my book.
im crying. so hard. oh my god. this story is my life. gahhhhhhhhhh .... !!!

sitting here, just trying to decipher what's written in braille upon my skin.

all the things i didn't say to you before you moved across the country.

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 02:49:41 GMT

this fishbowl life is all they need.
it's everything i needed, too ...
until i heard the news.
they told me that you moved.

i have a couple pretty interesting things to say.
well, first of all, i went to the Honda Civic Tour the other night, and it was sooo amazing. Fall Out Boy put on one hell of a show, and i have a new undying passion for The Academy Is ... now. they've become my third favorite band, i believe. :D just ... gahh ... amazingness. and it was Pete Wentz's birthday, which brings me to my next statement ---> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETE. you're old. teehee. but i still love you.
next :: my dad had his second kidney stone, which kinda sucks. now he's all sick and stuff. but he's relatively healthy now ... just tired and feverish. you know what that means? i have to wait on him hand and foot. YIPPY. ... sense the sarcasm?
okay, next after THATT ... i had my last day of school today. and i usually dont do this, but im gonna go crazy with the big fonts here. this is gonna be hot; check this out.
SCHOOLS OUT FOR SUMMER!
chaaa baby! people were, like, HYSTERICALLY crying, and i was just like, "see ya fuckerrrzzz." haha, no, im kidding, though, it was actually really sad. they played a slide show of our class and everything ... i didnt cry (which is weird cuz i cry at EVERYTHING ...) but it was still pretty sad. it was sad, but still worthy of celebration. woo!

yay! cake!
okay, im gonna stop being gay.
anywhoo;; thats all of my news. let me just say that im sooo glad its summer, and i cant wait to just have NO STRESS. yeah, beaches are cool and all, but i think the happiest place on earth right now is HOME with no commitments. yessss. <3
its a good day, ladies and gentlemen.

so hang, its gonna be a hard day.
but don't panic, don't panic ... there simply is no need.

see that what i think is not what you taught.

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 03:01:13 GMT

i know all these words, and i play all the right keys.

wow, sorry i havent updated in so long, but ive been too busy BEING A ROCKSTAR.
sooo amazing. Rock It for kids - GAH <3 love. so much love. all of you ... amazing.
so much fun doing the show, even if i sorta fucked up Karma Police both nights, but whatevah, it was still fun.
i mean, YEAH, im mad about screwing up ... but still ...
and the "after party" was pretty awesome, too ... i made some amazing friends; almost won at guitar hero; play DDR for the first time; won a couple cards in apples to apples. good stuff, good stuff.
i loved being in this show with you guys! in fact, there just aren't any words, so ill stop. yeah. good times. =)
we played a kick-ass show, i must say.

but the question is - can i depend on you?
don't be surprised when you see that you've been deceived.