tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36563911811237449762024-03-05T00:26:07.551-08:00compliquéeI'll cut myself apart and glue myself together.ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-44001067833800110342013-11-18T07:00:00.004-08:002013-11-18T07:00:54.606-08:00I have a bizarre habit of writing suicide notes - sometimes just one, directed at everyone, sometimes one for each person in my life. I used to save them but now I tear them up and throw them away.<br />
I wouldn't leave a note. There's nothing to write.ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-25913824075766833812013-09-24T00:38:00.001-07:002013-09-24T00:38:42.443-07:00On paradigm shiftsSome of the best things I've ever written, speaking as a narcissist, came out completely unexpectedly. Some of the best features I've managed to incorporate into a text were not intended when I started writing it. Some of the most interesting plotlines or simply word conjunctions were written without prior planning and in contrast to the general intention and direction of the piece of writing.<br />
Although I assume the situation is the same/similar for most people, I find this quite interesting. Is it the sheer act and volume of writing that has to be completed before an illumination, stroke of brilliance, clever juxtaposition comes along, or is it that the act of setting out to write itself that brings about an unexpectedly well written passage? More specifically, do you write to achieve these moments, or do these moments prompt the writing, but simply are not discovered before the writing is initiated?<br />
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From school essay experience, sometimes really good conclusions can be achieved in the absence of planning and without particular passion for the book. But from personal writing experience, it's the love you have for the story and the words that bring out a particularly powerful aspect of your language, uncharted by neither linguistics nor psychology. I'd call it the language of love if this phrase wasn't utterly pathetic and overused.<br />
I will call it spinal language - when words you yourself write send shivers down your spine, when you get exhilarated, aroused and depressed by your own sentences, when you become so organically involved in your writing that it stops being writing and becomes a transcendental experience involving not so much creation as it does giving birth to a sequence of words.ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-73583055751783048242013-09-23T00:23:00.001-07:002013-09-23T00:23:22.096-07:00About veganismDid a massive weekly vegan shop yesterday and bought about 20 pounds of fruit and veggies for about £11 - basically an insane amount of amazing home grown food for a stupidly small amount of money. I’m always amazed when people say being privileged or financially well-off is a prerequisite to becoming vegan when clearly tins of beans and veg could hardly get any cheaper. Although I do understand that some people do not have easy access to markets (and especially cheap ones), it’s about sending a message and changing the supply and demand chain wherever and whenever we can. Meat and dairy industries actually have quite <a href="http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/4093409?uid=3738032&uid=2&uid=4&sid=21102666935997" target="_blank">small profit margins</a> so even the smallest changes in consumers’ diets - and therefore purchasing power - are <a href="http://www.countinganimals.com/meat-consumption-and-demand-both-in-decline/" target="_blank">registered quickly</a>.<br />
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When it comes to boycotting<a href="http://www.peta.org/living/beauty-and-personal-care/companies/search.aspx?Testing=1" target="_blank"> firms that test on animals</a> to stop cruelty against animals, everyone vigorously nods their head in agreement. When it comes to boycotting the meat, dairy, and egg industries to stop <a href="http://www.raw.info/the-problem/animal-cruelty" target="_blank">cruelty</a>,<a href="http://milkiscruel.com/" target="_blank"> rape</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKaCFyGdazo" target="_blank">abuse</a> and exploitation of animals, everyone just kind of shrugs and cries about their right to eat whatever they want.<br />
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<b>The murder of sentient beings is not a right. </b>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-61638249850623064352012-10-11T12:24:00.004-07:002012-10-11T12:24:54.162-07:00flashbacks splashbacks<div align="center">
You know what's really disgusting about memory flashbacks?</div>
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The same thing that's so disgusting about bulimia.</div>
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You think you're done with something, you got it out of your system, it doesn't matter if the enamel of your teeth is completely worn off, it doesn't matter if everything stings and hurts and aches, you got it out, <em>finally.</em></div>
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But then the splashback hits you in the face.</div>
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And your entire day is marked by that mixture of disgusting water slapping you in the face. A cold shower you never even knew you needed.</div>
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That's what's so disgusting about memory flashbacks.<em></em></div>
ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-78896191611409925732012-10-11T12:22:00.001-07:002012-10-11T12:22:10.558-07:00random book quote of the day<div align="center">
"Randomness - events occurring unpredictably without apparent cause - has been seized on to rescue the nervous system (or rather our view of it) from being a machine without volition or free will."</div>
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<br /></div>
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- Richard L. Gregory, Eye and Brain</div>
ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-75476856978878123382012-10-05T11:56:00.000-07:002012-10-05T11:57:07.177-07:00Sometimes I wonder about people's background stories and why they say the things they do the way they do.<br />
I think there's something profoundly sad in the way our lives unfold - it's a closed book with filled pages for one person and the imprint, but absence of a wedding ring for another.<br />
Long sleeves and bitten down nails or plastic-filled lips.<br />
A messy bedroom or a chronically clean kitchen.<br />
<br />
Failed intentions and unsaid words or explosions of emotion that leave nothing but dust behind?<br />
<br />
We all have stories we don't want to have.ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-9612277163906086592012-10-05T00:10:00.000-07:002012-10-05T00:10:35.510-07:00random book quote<div style="text-align: center;">
"Distorted body images are common and demonstrate that there is a difference between the body image and the body itself. Anorexics experience their bodies as fat when they are on the edge of starvation; people with distorted body images, a condition called "body dysmorphic disorder," can experience a part of their body that is perfectly within the norm as defective."</div>
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<br /></div>
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- N. Doidge: The Brain that Changes Itself</div>
ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-81003159310341592692012-09-30T12:50:00.001-07:002012-09-30T12:50:55.629-07:00random book quote<div style="text-align: center;">
Opened first book I saw randomly.</div>
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'"No center. It doesn't exist. All of us - look at our lives: We have an acceptable level of affluence. We have entertainment. We have a relative freedom of fear. But there's nothing else." I felt I was getting the bad news I'd been trying to avoid for so long.'</div>
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<br /></div>
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- Douglas Coupland: Girlfriend in a Coma</div>
ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-7315828827654267612012-09-30T12:44:00.003-07:002012-09-30T12:44:36.882-07:00Sweetbitter<div style="text-align: center;">
Okay so every once in a while I think about what my life will be like in 10 years.</div>
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Lately, I've been thinking about this a lot.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But every time I daydream about it, or dread it, or fantasise about it, it's never the same. And I can't decide whether that's good or not.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It could be a good thing because it meant all my options are open, life is full of different possibilities and I'll never know what's in store for me until it actually happens.</div>
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But it could also be a bad thing because it meant none of my desires and hopes will play out and happen - I'll stay where I am right now and not grow any further as a person.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There's a clear film in my head, involving a big house, a kid, bagels and bananas for breakfast, scented candles and fresh flowers on Sunday mornings, bedsheets with crayon marks and research papers with coffee rings on them, read after the night light has been plugged into the wall of a messy but heartwarming room down the hall, cuddles on the couch with a glass of wine, making stupid remarks about an even stupider movie.</div>
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Sweet?</div>
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<br /></div>
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But there's another very clear film in my head, involving planes and hotel rooms and fruit and rigorous exercise regimes. Presentations, computers, constantly missing someone but being fulfilled by who I am as a person and by my impact on the world. Again, the research papers with coffee rings on them, but it's a different kind of coffee rings, a serious kind representing the discipline and strength that went into re-reading things long into the night.</div>
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Passionate talks and whispers and lipstick stains on hotel sheets bought in upscale department stores, no strollers in sight and whenever possible, long nights of talks and drinking red wine.</div>
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Sweet?</div>
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The only reality I'm actually afraid of is that I'll become stuck in between these two.</div>
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Bitter?</div>
ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-66185040237396451822012-09-30T01:18:00.001-07:002012-09-30T01:18:25.435-07:00<br />
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I like how people (including myself) tend to restart everything - over and over and over again. </div>
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I honestly do like this - it signifies hope and belief in better times ahead. Why would anyone restart anything if they didn't believe things will turn for the better?</div>
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<br /></div>
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(because we were programmed to survive)</div>
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</div>
ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-20397564953318217672011-01-02T15:42:00.000-08:002011-01-02T15:49:49.491-08:00Icy eyes<div style="text-align: center;">I have always wanted to have eyes made of ice.<br />That way, they would thaw whenever I cried and pour down my cheeks. And it wouldn't be until I get back on my feet and regain my cold stare and icy smile that I could see.<br /><br />Because it's easier to go blind in sadness and despair.<br />It's easier to close your molten eyes and wait for a gust of cold reassuring wind.<br /><br />Unfortunately, my tears are all too transparent and have a tendency of distorting everything in sight. So I watch. And I cry. But mostly I watch - and try to think of icy eyes.<br /></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-76418057469556023492011-01-02T15:37:00.000-08:002011-01-02T15:42:28.087-08:00I have this sewn onto my forehead<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNVUamIzL2QMEyeJ96IfgKt1pXHXiagXHY1y6vtrx0mYtlXCuTYYGpeW_JsI0_i0CN5GoMG9uJilyx9e81q9LaXo5x0rIgJZwftnr3u38XgnRL4Sucyrc9z0uJddgYmNthBhdA2R0YqWS/s1600/Owlme.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNVUamIzL2QMEyeJ96IfgKt1pXHXiagXHY1y6vtrx0mYtlXCuTYYGpeW_JsI0_i0CN5GoMG9uJilyx9e81q9LaXo5x0rIgJZwftnr3u38XgnRL4Sucyrc9z0uJddgYmNthBhdA2R0YqWS/s400/Owlme.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557736934881557586" border="0" /></a>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-55080056919730833242011-01-01T12:30:00.000-08:002011-01-01T12:33:30.608-08:002011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1bD92BGQA3e7z4oUEXN5FICKWPGrF0v1WDqDx3PJhUYkB5ZZRGMV0B5FsLldgKRoNUl72srZglS96ApCZ3Y38baZOJbRMjjQlxDQtBS9gWvkXThDllC7SibH5A-eI6jwdaNxnMHMBhBW/s1600/enhanced-buzz-22799-1279033727-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1bD92BGQA3e7z4oUEXN5FICKWPGrF0v1WDqDx3PJhUYkB5ZZRGMV0B5FsLldgKRoNUl72srZglS96ApCZ3Y38baZOJbRMjjQlxDQtBS9gWvkXThDllC7SibH5A-eI6jwdaNxnMHMBhBW/s400/enhanced-buzz-22799-1279033727-3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557318205315182354" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">2011 brought it on, brought it way on.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">New Year's party was actually not bad at all, as weren't the 4 hours I managed to sleep during the day since I got none of that during the night. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It might be a good year for us owls.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-17610226780050469072010-12-28T15:44:00.000-08:002010-12-28T15:50:27.142-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://7.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kw1s6bt5iW1qzcso1o1_500.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 275px;" src="http://7.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kw1s6bt5iW1qzcso1o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-left: 2em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; "><b>Lisa Rowe</b>: You know, there's too many buttons in the world. There's too many buttons and they're just - there's way too many just begging to be pressed, they're just begging to be pressed, you know? They're just - they're just begging to be pressed! And it makes me wonder, it really makes me fucking wonder, why doesn't anyone ever press mine? Why am I so neglected? Why doesn't anyone reach in and rip out the truth and tell me that I'm a fucking whore, or that my parents wish I were dead?</dd><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-left: 2em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; "><b>Susanna Kaysen</b>: Because you're dead already, Lisa! No one cares if you die, Lisa, because you're dead already. Your heart is cold. That's why you keep coming back here. You're not free. You need this place to feel alive. It's pathetic.</dd></span></span></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-50854586457812155212010-12-28T15:41:00.000-08:002010-12-28T15:44:21.398-08:00We are<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.listal.com/image/1184631/500full.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://img.listal.com/image/1184631/500full.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br />It's only after we've lost <i>everything</i> that we're free to do <i>anything</i>.</div><div style="text-align: center;">- Tyler Durden, Fight Club</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-26670543223762692432010-12-28T15:35:00.000-08:002010-12-28T15:39:28.730-08:00Won't you.<div style="text-align: center;">No matter how hard I hit, you'll always hit me harder.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Won't you?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">--</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter how many pills I take, I'll never fall asleep.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter how many words I read inside my head, I'll never write them down. Not anymore.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter how many times I tell myself that I'm okay, I'll always realize just how much I am not okay.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter how many times I cry, new tears will always pour out.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And at the bottom of it all...</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter how many times I smile, I'll always be chewed up from the inside. And nothing will ever feel right again - ever. </div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-73124602456574035572010-12-20T13:44:00.000-08:002010-12-20T13:53:26.498-08:00Account<div style="text-align: center;">It's 3 a.m., I must be lonely.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Except that I am. And exactly a year ago today, I was not lonely. Not at all. I was as close as I ever was before - to anyone.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But today I am lonely.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am drinking a bottle of wine by myself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am embracing papercuts, bitten-down nails, split-ended hairs and runny mascara. I am embracing the <i>me</i> that wreaks havoc inside my brain. I am embracing cigarette butts inside my chest, I am embracing forgotten moments and meaningless conversations.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am embracing being normal, I am embracing drawings on bathroom tiles when it gets foggy. I am embracing slips and I am embracing wounds.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am embracing loneliness and I am embracing freedom. I am embracing myself and I am embracing alienation from the person I think I am. I am embracing the world and leaving myself behind. I am never letting go.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am never crying again.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am stronger than anyone else I know.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >and weaker than myself</span></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-76884399439384665462010-12-20T13:41:00.000-08:002010-12-20T13:42:31.013-08:00Air<div style="text-align: center;"><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cgqOSCgc8xc?fs=1&hl=sl_SI"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cgqOSCgc8xc?fs=1&hl=sl_SI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">...</div><div style="text-align: center;">It's terrible to feel like a floating head on a string.</div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-71339553258262746562010-12-15T14:29:00.000-08:002010-12-15T14:31:05.235-08:00WinTHIS IS SO AWESOME.<div><br /></div><div>Just when I thought my life was falling apart, I completely surpassed my wildest expectations.<br /><br /></div><div>This is a night for smiling, even if there's a hint of blood on my teeth.</div><div><br /></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-67696768396673027702010-12-06T11:18:00.000-08:002010-12-06T11:19:31.420-08:00Wow... this was a hard kick. Right between my already broken ribs.<div><br /></div><div>I don't know what will come of this.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am lonely once again.</div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-81108359925201907172010-11-01T14:56:00.000-07:002010-11-01T15:01:20.851-07:00Slow<div style="text-align: center;">''<i>She was compelled by a confessional fever which forced her into lifting a corner of the veil and then frightened her when anyone listened too attentively.''</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>- </i>Anais Nin, A Spy in the House of Love</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This was a book I deeply enjoyed reading, not so much for the content itself as for the pure aesthicity (if this is, indeed, a word) of the writing. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Also, I've noticed that my bookshelf is slowly giving in to the weight of the books.</div><div style="text-align: center;">As much as I like the thought of this, scattered books and broken wood do not excite me enough to be willing to see it happen. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I guess.</div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-85070501214827795452010-10-16T11:02:00.001-07:002010-10-16T11:05:04.258-07:00Black<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxI6fs7j7VzmRQ5vTLDHkvSEykzcIMI1FHWjP-RYDFBAOKeU43bv7HAahoRMEtK-acU1EXsf-5xPyGjwnYobddov4XVt8-quyicGuC3BZe8v0W1erDXwiye3gObv7l6WDUnyvcbfAi0Y7/s1600/Downloads.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxI6fs7j7VzmRQ5vTLDHkvSEykzcIMI1FHWjP-RYDFBAOKeU43bv7HAahoRMEtK-acU1EXsf-5xPyGjwnYobddov4XVt8-quyicGuC3BZe8v0W1erDXwiye3gObv7l6WDUnyvcbfAi0Y7/s400/Downloads.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528706462169082322" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">''I hurt myself today</div><div style="text-align: center;">to see if I still feel''</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-28114957069609991172010-09-14T10:27:00.001-07:002010-09-14T10:29:16.925-07:00This<div style="text-align: center;">... is so fucked up.</div><div style="text-align: center;">All I want is to be needed and to be loved - not for what I might or could have been but for what I am, even if that is so far from perfection it shouldn't even exist.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I just want to be someone, not no one.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I am sick and tired of people calling themselves my friends. You're not a friend if you can't stand being pushed away.</div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-61180541572552224512010-09-07T10:46:00.000-07:002010-09-07T10:57:30.942-07:00The<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I had seven faces<br />Thought I new which one to wear<br />But I'm sick of spending these lonely nights<br />Training myself not to care</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">NEW YORK CARES.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">- Interpol: NYC </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'm just so sad right now. I wish I wouldn't be wishing for this for as long as I do.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wish I could be there right now. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wish changes could happen with a snap of fingers.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wish I wouldn't be so unhappy with everything and everyone.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wish I could be an exception.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But all I have are these books with empty pages that are falling on top of me and smothering me with their blankness. I'm swallowing static and sucking on air.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656391181123744976.post-7790359084367352812010-09-02T12:01:00.000-07:002010-09-02T12:02:50.514-07:00Tree<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81zg7oF-2HL0XtL0bF_c8xHTkRPKd76OeWA20iRRR30kRTDDKRgLmjjkl6uM2ZlR6guaViMfr-QPgnnaj8lZ0Pr9TskhKmql4-NZqZ1Wbhj6PXTj68SODPwjO5kE7eC0wgHE8dE_kJHVI/s1600/scan0058.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81zg7oF-2HL0XtL0bF_c8xHTkRPKd76OeWA20iRRR30kRTDDKRgLmjjkl6uM2ZlR6guaViMfr-QPgnnaj8lZ0Pr9TskhKmql4-NZqZ1Wbhj6PXTj68SODPwjO5kE7eC0wgHE8dE_kJHVI/s400/scan0058.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512393506951178114" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Right now, I'd do anything to go back to this particular moment in time.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Prague was so beautiful.</div>ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556199499851203027noreply@blogger.com0