...a little boy, standing around a fire, holding a gasolene can.

I can flare it anytime. All I have to do is flick my wrist, and watch the fire burn with hatred. All I would have to do, is step back. The fire can't burn me.

Heck, why not throw everything I have at it, if only to see the can explode within the fire, and watch the intensity of it rise, as if to push everyone away from it. Nobody wants to be close to a burning fire so big.

I wonder if the fire ever knows, if it can ever see the gas coming; or if it is simply the physical reaction caused instantly by a combustible hitting flame.

I really want to do it, though there is a piece of me that really wants to say I've grown up and that I am bigger than all of this.

There once was one of three amigoes who was the only one to clean up. The other two amigoes were dirty and messy in general.

One of them hadn't even moved into his new home until last week.

But alas, a grand cleaning effort had been commenced, and one of two messy amigoes cleaned up, inside and outside of his new home. Some people admired him for the clean up act.

The first amigo, who is clean, hid some money under the soap, so that the dirty amigoes wouldn't find it. And was then surprised to find it missing the next time he cleaned.

Sucker.

Is not letting go. I can do that, no problem. The hardest part has to be recovery.

Graveyard is not fun. Yea, you've heard it before. But hear it from this perspective: Not only did I never sleep. I never dealt with anything. In fact, graveyard has made letting go so incredibly easy. Now, I have year-old issues that I have ignored, and must now deal with.

The hardest part for sure has to be getting up from the mess. Pushing yourself up, from being entrenched in mud--from the cold, wet, breathless, bloody slaughtering, to get up and face it all over again.

Issues never stop coming. They will keep at it. It's a good thing they're inanimate or they would too easily adapt. Kinda like Borg. They just don't give up. Thankfully I don't have to deal with any of them. But really, if I can't deal with year-olds, how can I deal with today?

I feel a bit of relief today. Maybe some encouragement from the fact that I have pushed myself out of the mud just enough to breathe. Though, it hasn't been on my own strength. There is a hand on my collar, pulling me up.

I hope this keeps up.

In honour of our beloved friends, lost to the world of anti-privacy, i present to you,

Top 5 Things to do Instead of Studying

1. Talk to girls on MSN messenger. Preferably cute.
2. 7-11 trips, J's Pizza trips, and Starbucks trips. All done seperately. All done subsequently.
3. Watching movies. "Constantine" is a bad choice.
4. Check e-mail. What, it only takes you 30 seconds? Do it again.
5. -=With a bullet=- Clean things.

Honourable Mention: Write blogs reminiscing about better days, in creative formats, to preserve the tried, tested and true methods of friends now scattered.

I miss you guys tonight.

....SCATTER.

GOSH.

With no light but a glow, he sits and writes. He ponders the metaphysics, the metacognitions of his mind. He envisions banging his head on a drum--on the inside of a drum. He is trapped inside. Every attempt to escape is only an entertaining cosmosecond in a song called "Life".

He can not rest, no, not even these green pastures to which he is led will not make him to lay down. He fears a loss of control to the subconscience; will he be fed more images of entrapment; does he fear loss of motor control, while the temporary paralysis of sleep does its work.

Nor can he communicate. He is isolated, he is feared, he is fearful. Actions and deeds have landed him a title. This title is thought divinely inspired, and guarded dearly by those who speak it. But it is for this title, for the distance in between those around him that he chooses never to speak, never to reveal.

He does however feel. In fact, he feels very much. He wishes, longs, begs to reveal. Though, finds that when he has worked up the courage to speak, that the listener has lost courage to listen. They will ask a question, and will not hear the answer. Nobody wants to hear how a bad day has gone.

When he rereads what he has wrote, he cringes at the thought of having to resort to such blatant means of discretionary revelation.

It's just that he is so lost. If he could pack and go home, he would. He doesn't know where home is.

Homeless, hopeless, restless. He is a wreck.

What can I do with my obsession
With the things I cannot see
Is there madness in my being
Is it the wind that moves the trees?
Sometimes You're further than the moon
Sometimes You're closer than my skin
And You surround me like a winter fog
You've come and burned me with a kiss

And my heart burns for You
And my heart burns...for You

Ok so i just got this e-mail...

I GOT THE JOB!

I am Lucas Academy of Music and the Arts' new drum instructor! :D I have four students, and I start next wednesday. How sweet is that??

To celebrate, I have bought a DRUM SET! Well, the details are still in the works but it's happening for sure. I am fully excited.

EEeeeeEEEeEEEE!!!!

I am disgusted.

If a perfect heart, at the beat, glistens and pumps shiney red blood to arteries connecting this way and that...

...then my heart is flakey, having dried up through major perforation, and taken on a lifeless, charcoal, indifinitive shape.

To go through life and point out all the messy things going on is fruitless, but to turn from them and to God and give it all up is where we find joy.

This is not to trivialize these messy things: it is only to objectify them, and walk away from them. We are hurting, and there is only one delivery from it.

So aparently these really cool things called ZPMs operate on the theory that one can contain in a space a unique space-time continuum; a reality and universe of elements and energry of its own. This Zero Point Module, is the ultimate power source.


Or is it?

I would dare argue that there is more power to be had from a lighter than say, these fictional ZPMs. With a lighter you can create fire, and with fire, eat food, and with food, grow stronger, with strength, conquer nations, with nations, eat good food, with good food, get fat. And on it goes...

To make a long story short, ZPMs are a far superior method of transporting random military (and the odd lucky civilian) personel, aliens and cool space ships than a lighter is, however, in my hand right now, I hold three lighters. How way cool is that?

Aint she pretty? Much cleaner, much more reliable than that shifty, no good, dimension gussing div buildup of a last randominion.

Anyways, a prettier site is a site more visited. I was getting fed up with the sidebar that randomly appears at the bottom of the site. So this is a permanent fix for that. I still have yet to update ranDOMpoetries, so hang in there.

I promise better posts, too. They have been lacking in frequency and in quality. What's with all the ranting lately? This is not JUST a blog! BLEH!

Get it off AHH GET IT OFF.

For real, I had two empty coke cans here, and they have been magically re-filled and re-sealed. I have been blessed by the Coke-god! Err... Where's that battle-axe of blasphemy, anyways...

Anyways... Here's lookin at you, kid(s).