A gentle monument is always engorged.
The monument is always male.
The tough guy is always African American.
The fatherly anvil is always feverishly ached-after.
The freelancer is always busty.
The confidante with clogs is always big Momma-having.
A hoarse consciousness is always oily.
A garden gnome is always round-eyed.
The greasy smile is always self-righteous.
The sacharine is always rumpshaking.
The apartment of a sucker MC is always gentle.
A sucker MC is always peaceful.
The crank call from a sucker MC is always kind.
The sky beside a beefy lipsyncer is always beefy.
The blue-balled kind is always wrong.
The blue-balled nutcase is always sweet.

busted custard!
ahhhhhh shiiiit. got meself into major crap.. so earlier on i was bitchin to my dad... ummm he kinda saw the convo i was having about him with sumone else.. so yea.. i got into major shit for it.. he printed off the convo and is goin to show my mum! SHIIIIT i actually made him cry.. he was 'hurt' about wat i had sed.. i couldnt believe it! I MADE HIM CRY!!! i feel so bad now.. im so heartless... god damnit.. im prob not allowed out tomoz night now.. gRrrrrr i betta jus shut the uk up and be good for the rest of he night.. xoxo shelly.

I was a small boy in a big place, full of faces I didn’t know and overwhelmed by everything around me. It was my first year in high school and I had no idea what was happening.

When I think about it now, I really don’t remember much before then, but everything that has passed before my eyes since they first gazed at her has been perfectly clear (almost painfully so). She was taller, wiser, and happier than I was.

I lied to everyone I knew to be alone with her for one night. We went to a dance club and didn’t dance, choosing to sit in a dark corner and share even darker secrets. The night ended at her empty house, lying parallel on her bedroom floor –- her stereo softly playing the second side of "Ritual de lo Habitual". It was there in that dark room that I performed the bravest act of my life: slowly and deliberately moving my hand against hers and gently taking it in mine. When I awoke, our hands were still clasped.

I sat up and felt like ... actually, there aren't words in our primitive ape-minds to describe the sense of wonder and life that I experienced in that short moment.

We shared everything in the following year -- secrets, fears, and our own bodies -- but I never felt the way that I did that first night. I don’t think that she did either, but I never had a chance to ask.

After a year she went away to college. I wrote letters explaining that I missed her, and she wrote letters back repeating the same thing in a different way, but in the end they were all just words poorly spelled on college-ruled paper.

I called her one afternoon from a pay phone two years after that first evening, and she didn’t have to explain that she had found someone else. I already knew.

It’s been six years now since I hung up that phone. I moved away, went to school, and moved back again in those years. Sometimes, when I am sitting by myself, I catch myself staring at the phone before I can figure out just who it is that I want to be on the other end when it rings. It is at that point that I realize her voice won’t ever be there when I answer it.

That is the pain of losing your first love, and no matter how much time passes, or how much love I find with someone else, that pain never goes away.

 

I am certainly in a talkative mood these last few days. And I find I am using one blog more than others. I think I am just falling back into the habit of keeping a journal and the thoughts, feelings and emotions are flowing. I want to capture every single one, duplicate it, save it, preserve it. As if by writing it down, putting pen to paper (so to speak), makes it more real somehow. The thoughts are flowing faster than the fingers can keep up with. I realize most all of my posts are rough, unpolished...but I believe there are diamonds within them. And after all, what I believe is what matters to me. I have read some very eloquent postings in other persons blogs, I have read very thought provoking ones, posts about issues that should be addressed, social concerns. Intelligent thoughts and conversations of other people. I do not write like that however. And I find that I am either very inadequate at expressing myself or I ramble on till the point is lost to others. Even if it still makes sense to me! Even if others do read my blog, I have to remind myself; I am writing for me
Nothing else should matter. So I continue to ramble, continue to post my thoughts, my way.
I think the main reason that anyone who writes online writes so that someone else can read it. A paper and pen journal kept in a drawer is wonderful, but sometimes we all want another person's opinion on what we wrote. And it isn't easy to leave a paper journal lying about for a stranger to read, write a comment in and then return to you! Sometimes it is the opinion of someone we wrote about that we want, sometimes it's just a general opinion we want....but I think that by the simple act of posting our thoughts *outloud* so to speak, we are admitting the desire to be heard. Who doesn't like to express their own opinion every once in a while?
I really don't know how to express much of what goes on in my head. It isn't as if I just sit and ponder on the same thing all of the time. Thoughts wander in, I check them out and they wander on their way. Sometimes staying around a while quietly, sometimes popping in and out again to see if I feel differently and sometimes never returning. So it's hard for me to say that I feel a certain way at any given time or place. I might right then, but later I might not feel the same way. Minutes later or days later I could feel totally different. And just because I say that I feel this way right at this very minute does not mean that I will ever feel this way again. Sometimes just expressing a feeling is the catalyst needed to get rid of it forever. I am tired, my life is in shambles, I ache, I am empty, I am so very alone. Yet I cannot write all of what I want to here because I have chosen to be heard should anyone want to listen. Sometimes it really is too private to discuss here. Even my other blog, the one with more personal thoughts, the one I would NOT want my mother to read, it isn't locked away private, it is open too. Maybe a sub conscious desire for approval on those thoughts too?

Someone the other day said that they felt that blogs and people who blog are are representaion of the sad state the world is coming to these days. I can understand part of what he was saying though. It is sort of like reality TV, makes one feel a bit like when driving past an accident, even though we know we should look away, we always want to look at what happened anyways! Morbid curiosity? Anyone with access to a computer can now become an online writer and express whatever they want to on the internet. Then again, is it really different than writing Memoirs like Hillary? Or is it just because blogging is so readily available that it somehow cheapens it? Writing and publishing a book is no easy accomplishment. however writing and publishing a blog is fairly easy. So does it make it less worthwhile to read simply because of the ease of presentation to the public? Conflicting thoughts here on this one. I still hold that online journal writers really do want to be heard. They just want to select their audience by allowing strangers to intercept their thoughts and maybe a few close friends or family members rather than have every person they know in their lives read their innermost secrets. Even if the audience is their closest circle of family and friends, they are still only saying what they want them to hear. They are still seeking someone's approval, thoughts, something on what they have written. Coming from strangers or familiars, they are still seeking *something* by posting online to the entire world.
Did Salam Pax really intend to become as famous as he has? Or did he simply want an easy way to write his thoughts, look for his friend and maybe gather a few opinons along the way? I suppose everyone is entitled to his or her "15 minutes of fame"!

One day perhaps I will organize all of my thoughts in one place and not have these bits and pieces spread out through my life like I do now. Combine the two or three or ten paper journals that I have started, gotten halfway through and then abandoned for another, combine all these blogs into one, combine all the posts to my personal computer journal into one, combine all of these into one complete work where it can be read by anyone?

Perhaps one day I will be brave enough? Strong enough? Not care enough? Stupid enough?? Smart enough? That I can compile all of my thoughts into one and not give a flying fig what anyone else thinks and let the world be damned! My thoughts, my opinions, my feelings, my emotions, my words and actually say EVERYTHING and not care who hears it?