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my site: ICQ: them: websites: |
Listening to: Dido, I'm No Angel It's the only CD, I have bought in like forever, and I am really glad I did. I am actually sitting here singing with it. A great one to turn up and just mellowly get dressed, or work on something. And, I only got it for that song from Roswell, and the Eminem song, which sounds better in the eminem song, than her version of it. But, I love all the other songs too. Damn, now I sound like a cd reviewer. and, now I have to get ready for work. but, afterwards I'll be having another Queer as Folk marathon. I love this show... thought I would be uncomfortable watching it with my friend. There we were lying on my bed watching it, I turned to her and said, I'm so glad you're my faghag... and she said, I'm glad your my fag... ok, maybe it didnt sound exactly like that... but it coulda been like that...
instead of mailing this out to everyone I thought, what the hell... since you are all pretty much my friends. Are you tired of all those mushy "friendship" poems that always sound good but never actually come close to reality? Well, here is a "friendship" poem that really speaks to true friendship and truth itself!
My Friend... When you are sad... I will get you drunk and help you plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad. When you are blue... I'll try to dislodge whatever is choking you. When you smile... I'll know you finally got laid. When you are scared... I will rag you about it every chance I get. When you are worried ... I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining. When you are confused ... I will use little words to explain it to your dumb ass. When you are sick ... stay the hell away from me until you're well again. I don't want whatever you have. When you fall ... I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass. This is my oath ... I pledge till the end. Why you may ask? Because you're my friend!
You have got to email me or icq me and tell me what you think. PLEASE!!! Papa gave me this book when I turned 11, he thought it would be a good place to record all that went on in my tortured adolescence. He was joking when he said it, but then he doesn’t live in this skin, does he? As you can see, I don’t hold myself too firmly, well actually I suppose I hold myself too firm. I don’t have a high tolerance for stupidity, and I realize how stupid everyone around me really is. Elke for instance, we were discussing opera’s and the final aria. When the soloist is singing with her last breath, and how beautiful and ethereal it is. I tried to tell her that it wasn’t possible, that when someone is stabbed, there is no way she could sing that way. That the blood mixes in their trachea, and instead of a trill on a high note, it’s a gurgle on a scale that doesn’t exist. She slugged me, said I was odd and ran the rest of the way home, never looking back at me. Odd? I am not odd I am just practical. I think things out, look at what is being presented and go from there. In my mind, the opera singer has flooded the stage with her blood, not some red silk that blows in from the wings. I have decided to prove my point, I’ll get Elke after choir practice in the back room. I’ll ask if she can run through the last stanza, through the scale that I’m having difficulty with... and then I’ll prove to her my point.
5pm... I pulled the body to the back of the closet, slid my hand through her hair and slipped the knife into my book bag, and slowly walked outside. Accidentily, licking between my fingers as I waved to Herr Knefler and have been writing this outside the train station.
Well it seems as though I have become the, "help me with a page" guy. Just put another one together for someone else, and I have to thank marjorie for the use of her layout. Thought it would be wrong to do another copy of nik's site. I promise I'll do some more writing, as a matter of fact, thinking about doing a little vamp writing... OH MAN, OH GOD, OH MAN... violaine baby, I'm a bigger wuss... I freaked when they ripped the tooth from my mouth...so, I totally admire you for having someone shove the needle o'novocane in your noggin. EVERYONE! Tell Violaine how much you love her now that she survived the moleduction from her haid.
it's me... I am still here, alive and well... and spent my vacation doing squat. That squat including no writing and just sitting on my ass playing EverCrack, yes I know I swore I'd never put money into that evil addiction again, but I did. I whined when my shaman finally hit 20th level and then was ambushed and killed, so I played with this little gnome wizzie... loving the guy... he's so close to 4th level and better spells. Maybe that's where I'll be. So, if any of you people who read this play EverCrack, look for me on the Luclin server as Aerick or Gorman. I have other characters, but I never seem to play them. Ok, the other cool thing I started playing was this. You gotta check it out, I mean you decide.. does Jennifer Lopez's ass or napster best reflect the underground sensibility. It's just been fun, I started it because one of the websites I visited often, had Michelle Yeogh as a contestant.. and we are doing really well with her, if you havent seen it yet, you gotta check out Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Ok, well... Perry Mason just came on, and I have to continue entering books in my database... talk to you all soon....
do you really like the Anne Rice witches series? Never got into it that much... hell, can't even get into Merrick. But, then I hate those characters, young david and whiny louis. I'm an evil Santino man through and through. I really need to start writing again, I feel like Im wasting away here... spent the last 6hours trying to get to level 20 in the god damn game, evercrack. But, hell isnt that what vacation is for? ok, so tell me what you think...
The killer...
I’ve found him… he is me, the look in his eyes is similar to the one I had when I was his age. I will introduce myself the next time I see him, and I will broach the subject of his following my path. I am lucky not many in this country have heard or remember what I had done in my youth, nor would I expect them to. Who passes on such stories? Who want’s to relate tales of veal they had eaten?
If they only knew…
I wonder how I came to this place in my life, how I linger and search and need and hunger to be a part of him. The doctor’s asked me again and again, how I was able to live with him. How I was able to ignore what he did, how I was able to sit downstairs and wait for him to open the door.
What I didn’t tell them, was how I use to kneel before the door and peek in the keyhole. How I use to breathe deeply of the scent of blood, or how I would bounce when he’d give me a slice of youth.
Herr Haarman, tantalized my imagination… The way he sauntered around the train station, looking for the new arrivals. Seeking out the boys, with strong arms and bodies, who were willing to do anything for a meal. I’d lean against a wall and grin; biting the tips of my fingers, as I pointed out a well-dressed lad, slumped on a bench.
The biographer....
Some pages are filled with names, the color so faded you can barely make out the words. On others, they are as crisp as though they had been written today. But the paper that they are on disproves this fact, for it is yellowed and crumbling. There are only names on the hundred or so pages, and Hans grasps it in his hands day and night.
adalric aldous axel bernard dieter herman norbert clovis gilbert volker ellard walfred heinrich gilbert allard charles hans kurt kurt peter fritz karl oscar
it went on forever, page after page of names. I was uncertain what it meant. There was no order to it, and like I said before, old. It would be one of the questions I would be asking him.
He sits rocking in place on the park bench, his jacket hanging off his shoulders. His face a map of wrinkles leading nowhere, and his feet tap to a beat only he hears.
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