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Literature Text
It's been a week since my last entry, my dear Journal, and sorry, but it's not like I can write any more often. Work and school seem to be consuming everything.
Well, the English teacher assigned this stupid-ass exam paper to analyze James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Dear god, sometimes I just want to stand up and beat his ass down in the middle of class. Still, I don't need to give the superintendent a reason to expel me, so I don't.
Besides, the book has to be some of the driest reading I've ever sampled. Granted, introductions are usually pretty boring as it is, but... Damn. Does it have to explain every damn thing possible? Really? Thank god for Cliff's Notes.
Besides, it's not like I'm trying to fail, it's just that never in my life have I ever wanted so badly to not write anything. No offence to James Joyce, but seriously, that dude who wrote the introduction needs to really just go away. Far, far away.
Mom and I haven't exactly been getting along lately, since she's complaining that I never babysit my little sister. And it's not like I don't want to, but I need the money I get from my job. And unless she's willing to pay me to babysit, it's not like I have much of a choice in the matter. Besides, my little sister's smarter than most of my co-workers anyway.
I mean, one of the guys brought his PSP to work and was showing all the other guys there (including me) pictures of the hot babes he'd screwed. Some even had close-ups on their naughty bits. My guess is that most of the photos were taken from porno sites, but... If he's lying, it isn't worth it, and if he's not lying, well, then it would be a waste of time to argue.
Well, Journal, remember how I told you how I have no friends? Well, that girl I mentioned last week has become bound and determined to make me have more friends. That's never going to happen. There's a reason why I sit alone all the time, attack everybody around me, and constantly make sure other people go as far away as possible.
When all you've seen is knives hidden behind smiles, you start to enjoy breaking the smiles to see exactly how their little plans fall apart. Besides, when people can't get close, they can't stab you. If people don't know you, they can't hurt you.
When you've been betrayed several dozen times by the people you hold dearest, you come to realize that if you don't hold anybody dear, you won't get betrayed. And I don't mean betrayal as in not fulfilling a promise or something. That's just what humans do, and it's not something I can change instantly.
I mean betrayal as a conscious and malicious act. Like a friend spreading your secrets across the school so as to improve their own social status. That, to me, is a betrayal. Something that goes against any normal person's principle or what would be considered "beyond the pale."
Journal, you'll never betray me, I can tell. Because you don't know how. And if you did, you'd betray me too. Still, after a while, you, like everything else, are going to leave me behind, since that's what happens.
Well, the English teacher assigned this stupid-ass exam paper to analyze James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Dear god, sometimes I just want to stand up and beat his ass down in the middle of class. Still, I don't need to give the superintendent a reason to expel me, so I don't.
Besides, the book has to be some of the driest reading I've ever sampled. Granted, introductions are usually pretty boring as it is, but... Damn. Does it have to explain every damn thing possible? Really? Thank god for Cliff's Notes.
Besides, it's not like I'm trying to fail, it's just that never in my life have I ever wanted so badly to not write anything. No offence to James Joyce, but seriously, that dude who wrote the introduction needs to really just go away. Far, far away.
Mom and I haven't exactly been getting along lately, since she's complaining that I never babysit my little sister. And it's not like I don't want to, but I need the money I get from my job. And unless she's willing to pay me to babysit, it's not like I have much of a choice in the matter. Besides, my little sister's smarter than most of my co-workers anyway.
I mean, one of the guys brought his PSP to work and was showing all the other guys there (including me) pictures of the hot babes he'd screwed. Some even had close-ups on their naughty bits. My guess is that most of the photos were taken from porno sites, but... If he's lying, it isn't worth it, and if he's not lying, well, then it would be a waste of time to argue.
Well, Journal, remember how I told you how I have no friends? Well, that girl I mentioned last week has become bound and determined to make me have more friends. That's never going to happen. There's a reason why I sit alone all the time, attack everybody around me, and constantly make sure other people go as far away as possible.
When all you've seen is knives hidden behind smiles, you start to enjoy breaking the smiles to see exactly how their little plans fall apart. Besides, when people can't get close, they can't stab you. If people don't know you, they can't hurt you.
When you've been betrayed several dozen times by the people you hold dearest, you come to realize that if you don't hold anybody dear, you won't get betrayed. And I don't mean betrayal as in not fulfilling a promise or something. That's just what humans do, and it's not something I can change instantly.
I mean betrayal as a conscious and malicious act. Like a friend spreading your secrets across the school so as to improve their own social status. That, to me, is a betrayal. Something that goes against any normal person's principle or what would be considered "beyond the pale."
Journal, you'll never betray me, I can tell. Because you don't know how. And if you did, you'd betray me too. Still, after a while, you, like everything else, are going to leave me behind, since that's what happens.
Literature
Dream #1
So this dreams starts off that I went to a store with Jamie (friend) and his dad, but there was no significant dialogue to remember. We went to a small shop that sold all kinds of things, from soap to used "ds" games. I didn't know the name of the store, but I did know that my art teacher and my teacher from fifth, sixth, and seventh grade was working there with someone else that didn't look familiar. For some odd reason I was really tired and was unable to keep my eyes open, but after awhile I had infinite energy but by then Jamie and his dad had bought what they came here for.
After that I don't remember seeing their vehicle, it just tr
Literature
Melancholy trees
An overwhelming torrent of emotions flooded my mind.
Indescribable events turn happiness into melancholy.
A bed of roses for you, ascending to the land of the deity's, the human cage no longer bounds your soul.
Memories proceed you, one truly inspired because of you, is myself. Ways you showed, the old tools of the trade, intellect and brain.
The bound may exist for the body, but never exists for memories or souls, for they are but the souls possession alone.
Eternal slumber greets you with a welcome smile, and the promise of peace.
Literature
Dreaming
Once I had a dream so crystal clear
it washed my dream-filled crystal eyes
bright blue.
Once I had a dream about another
and of walking shores on white-washed sand -
so far.
And over hills of pure bright green
and under halls of deep red stone
and through the heart of all there is
we went.
But by sunlight, crystals turn ashen;
the touch of your hand slips
like sand.
But through work-hours and play-times
and realistic views
I’ll be fine.
I will through all my days
I will through all my hours
scratch your words into stone-slabs
and deeds into bone
in my mind.
Suggested Collections
I've been needing to work on my prose lately. I just haven't been able to find inspiration for my major projects, so... What the hell, why not continue this like I said I would?
And I know it's been over a month since I wrote the first entry, but do know that the journal entries are going to occur on a "weekly" basis in the speaker's life.
And I know it's been over a month since I wrote the first entry, but do know that the journal entries are going to occur on a "weekly" basis in the speaker's life.
© 2010 - 2024 Nghts1lk3r
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