falon and i are enjoying the wind down of our first end-of-month in our apartment together ( Read more... )

fuck raymond. seriously.

Got a new apartment.
Email me if you want the address.

I've spent my entire life tired.
I'm in love with bits and pieces of everyone I'm close to.
I truly fear the people I love the most.
I'm terrified of dying, but want to be dead.
I'm judgmental and critical, towards most of all myself.
I cannot break old habits.
I am paranoid.
I am sad.
Sad and tired.

So I'm sitting up with a wonderful cold or something like it, I haven't posted anything in quite a while, not of any consequence. I've got a near internetphobic girlfriend who, while not overtly trying to do so, tends to discourage anything online related in favor of... Well... I don't know. Not really anything, I suppose ( Read more... )

Email me (scumhaus@yahoo.com) if you want me to have your cell or house #.

Falon lost hers too, so email her if you want her to have your numbers.

Thanks.

m!ke

Holding hands out inches above the rangetop turned up to orange glow with heat waves of don'tdoitdon'tdoitdon'tdoit radiating in gasoline shimmer waves. There's nothing to do except turn and run or lean forward and feel until it all goes numb and I can't make up my mind to do either or and neither nor seems like such an awful bore, "start stopping ( Read more... )

COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) -- John Hicks is trying to reach his mother, but a recording says her phone isn't taking calls right now.

It's 6 a.m., and Hicks has been up almost an hour. He's shaved, made his bed, gotten dressed and read for a while in his cell.

At 10 minutes after 6, he says he'll pass on the prison breakfast: toast, peanut butter, ( Read more... )

Falon's grandfather was in an accident, we may go to georgia. Or she may. Alone.
I'm sitting around, sort of just staring off into computer space. So I'll put on some music and pretend that I'm not miserable here.
I wish I knew a way to get us an apartment and a reliable car tomorrow...
:(

"Today I believe that man cannot escape his destiny to create whatever it is we make - jazz, a wooden spoon, or graffiti on the wall. All of these are expressions of man's creativity, proof that man has not yet been destroyed by technology. But are we making things for the people of our epoch or repeating what has been done before? And finally, is ( Read more... )