|
|
I am the true vine.
I have finally found a place to belong. In a convent, no less. I have made myself useful to small children and pretentious assholes alike. And I got three major debuts today.
I've lost twenty pounds in a month.
I have a job.
I rock. Immature? Yeah. Pretentious? Probably. Cute? Hell, yeah.
As a good friend of mine loves to say, "Oh, bell."
Baby, you get the chance to, you sell out.
Hmm.
Mebbe.
Since we all seem to be going down memory lane as of late, I'll share my stories here and there as well. You care? Doesn't matter, really.
I remember packing plastic luchboxes with the Transformers on them (remember those?) full of toys and two pairs of socks, tying them together, and screaming at my mother, in her drunken, drugged out stupor on the bed, that I was leaving.
I was five.
Slammed against the head with a cast iron skillet for leaving water on the floor. Broke my nose. I ran away that time. I was twelve.
Yelling at my father through the crinkled phone lines that I was more of a man than he'd ever be. Told him to fuck off. Then, I got a brand new car.
I was seventeen.
Sitting at a bus stop in downtown, two a.m., freezing fucking cold, gone out of my head on heroin, bum looks over and says, "They're coming to get me."
Yeah. Me too.
I was eighteen.
I am the true vine.
Humility is so underrated.
God bless Mozart, and trees.
Heh. Bipolartarianism.
Grow up. He's goddamned right.
Boo hoo, my life is so bad, wah, wah, wah.
God fucking Christ, you've got food in your stomach (popcorn or otherwise,) a computer to read this with, hopefully you're clothed... fuck off.
Go get stuck in a convent, like me. Then you'll appreciate banana bread and Double Diamond cigarettes (Thanks Janine.)
Fastway Nine Artist... you rock, dude. Bring some flashlights next time, though.
Hope the band turns out well. I'm so jealous.
Faure's Requiem is great.
I'm starting to think God may actually exist. Or maybe it is just Bill Cosby.
Everybody, talk about pop music.
I'm still the true vine. If you know what that really means write to me at antigirl42@hotmail.com.
And I'm supposed to be anti-Microsoft? Gimme a break. Bill Gates is a rich mother fucker. It's not my place to judge him on how he made his millions. (Happy, bitch?)
Can I go trampolining sometime?
Kiri Te Kanawa is my idol.
But my hero, Imperialist... well, that happens to be Steve Reich. He's one of a few.
"La Mer" is a great pop song. Frenchies always get in the fucking way.
fuck mr. white fuck mrs. white fuck mexicans fuck canadians fuck los angeles fuck chicago fuck mozart fuck punk music fuck atlantic records fuck outkast fuck eminem fuck the bee gees fuck brahms fuck germany fuck gays fuck heterosexuals fuck parades fuck imac computers fuck woodwind instruments fuck radiohead fuck the commies fuck the hippies fuck drugs fuck being sober fuck gambling fuck religion fuck prostitution fuck gambling fuck typeos fuck bad dreams fuck stutterers fuck misspeaking fuck hate fuck love fuck luck fuck will fuck off fuck off fuck off
snow jockeys.
a mexican crossed with a black man equals a thief too lazy to steal.
HATTIESBURG!
set me as a seal...
I am so tired of fighting for an invisible cause.
Sometimes I thinks bums are on the right track. Why offer yourself to some(one)thing if they're not going to accept everything that you are?
I'm about to become the best thing since Cheez Curls.
And you knew me when. That's okay. To everybody that spoke to me now, when I wasn't cool... you all get cash money hoes.
And to those who (did or will) snub me... heh.
Bipolartarianism.
P T
Never in my life have I felt so defeated. Never in my life have I felt so used. Never in my life have I been so alone, as I am now. I'm so sorry, Sweets.
Maybe he was right.
the Infidel
the Chastiser
the Lover
the Hater
the Demander
the Child
the Whore
the Student
the Sap
the Faithful
the Diminished
the Minor
the Cracked
the Torn
the Bruised
the Kindly
the Acceptor
the Great
Yes, my dear... we all have our parts to play.
Shakespeare was so full of shit. Who can blame him? British fag.
"There is no love left in your eyes, there is lust between your eyes, roll over, say good night. I've had enough of feeling sick, had enough of feeling sick, the sugar never helps."
- Dave Navarro, "Rexall"
don't make me say it.
happy birthday to you.
everything is derivative.
this next one will be his best ever. wait and see. he's like fine wine.
i love you.
tuo vuo fa l'americano
kyrie eleison.
"lord god have mercy on our souls"
gloria patri et filio, et spiritui sancto, sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula, saeculorum, amen.
I'm telling you, children: bipolartarianism.
I will never, ever make you as happy as you deserve to be.
