Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Last Day of November, 2010
Mumford and Sons are fucking AMAZING. They, unlike me and my vocab, are beautiful. They are eloquently and successfully describing my situation in almost every single song. Ugh, so cliche I know, but seriously. Every hit on that piano, that raspy voice, holy Christ, why is the lead singer not in my bed? Naked? I'd tap. Shit. I truly believe the love of my life will be an Irish man. I need to go to Ireland. ASAP. Didn't they make some chick flick about that? Leapyear? Yeah, I should watch that.
PS, I just posted one of their videos. I think it's the post before this one. Schweet.
Oh my god, I have so much to do. Ugh, two more weeks and I am free. I will miss my friends dearly though. Who do I have back home? No one. Ew ew ew ew. Oh what a sad revelation. Imma have to build some bridges FAST and make a drinking crew at home.
OH MY GOD. I forgot. I made a whiskey date with one of the people I'm going to interview. FUCKING STOKED. I think it's just going to be badass that I'm going to be in a pub with a tattooed huge ass guy. FUCK YES. Ugh, either way I'm wicked nervous too. But more so excited. Chyeah.
Oh and, I really hope for the best with this. I do. When you say so, I'll guess it'll be ok. I'll wait.
Dave. Seriously. I love you. I loved you. You were my all for three years. And I'm learning to cope. It's not easy, not at all. but you're not helping. Your incessant texting and your facebook messages and statuses...just no. Get out, get away, leave me alone. I'm done. Cry all you want, maybe it's your turn. I'm all cried out. I'm dried out. Just, fuck, leave me alone. I get excited about thinking about new people and whiskey dates and shit. "Tomorrow would have been 40 months". Oh fuck you, you never cared before! It's too late. I'm finally alive.
Fuck. Yes.
Alright, I have to get some work done. For real. EWIE.
Well, my piece today will be the mumford lyrics to little lion man. So fantastic. Seriously, get in my beddddd.
Little Lion Man, Mumford and Sons
Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?
Didn't I, my...
Tremble for yourself, my man,
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble Little Lion Man,
You'll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days Biting your own neck
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear? (x2)
Didn't I, my dear?
Ahhhhh......
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear? (x2)
Didn't I, my dear?
WATCH THE VIDEO HERE
PS, I just posted one of their videos. I think it's the post before this one. Schweet.
Oh my god, I have so much to do. Ugh, two more weeks and I am free. I will miss my friends dearly though. Who do I have back home? No one. Ew ew ew ew. Oh what a sad revelation. Imma have to build some bridges FAST and make a drinking crew at home.
OH MY GOD. I forgot. I made a whiskey date with one of the people I'm going to interview. FUCKING STOKED. I think it's just going to be badass that I'm going to be in a pub with a tattooed huge ass guy. FUCK YES. Ugh, either way I'm wicked nervous too. But more so excited. Chyeah.
Oh and, I really hope for the best with this. I do. When you say so, I'll guess it'll be ok. I'll wait.
Dave. Seriously. I love you. I loved you. You were my all for three years. And I'm learning to cope. It's not easy, not at all. but you're not helping. Your incessant texting and your facebook messages and statuses...just no. Get out, get away, leave me alone. I'm done. Cry all you want, maybe it's your turn. I'm all cried out. I'm dried out. Just, fuck, leave me alone. I get excited about thinking about new people and whiskey dates and shit. "Tomorrow would have been 40 months". Oh fuck you, you never cared before! It's too late. I'm finally alive.
Fuck. Yes.
Alright, I have to get some work done. For real. EWIE.
Well, my piece today will be the mumford lyrics to little lion man. So fantastic. Seriously, get in my beddddd.
Little Lion Man, Mumford and Sons
Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?
Didn't I, my...
Tremble for yourself, my man,
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble Little Lion Man,
You'll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days Biting your own neck
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear? (x2)
Didn't I, my dear?
Ahhhhh......
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear? (x2)
Didn't I, my dear?
WATCH THE VIDEO HERE
Monday, November 29, 2010
Here we are again.
Oh fuck. It's 1:12 am and here I am again on the internet. It's so senseless what I do. I stay up lurking and absorbing all this stupid useless shit that gets me riled up for no reason before bed. I should have gone to bed hours ago. What the fuck am I still doing up? AND I have work to do. FUCK.
Oh, yeah, hi it's me again. Not that anyone's reading? I do it for myself I guess.
I'm such a scumsucker. I'm like searching the webzzz looking for a fight. I swear to god, I'm such a pugnacious prick. What am I trying to prove? Or, more acutely, what I am trying to say? I feel like me arguing is cathartic to a point, but there's a bigger issue. I don't have the brain matter for this any more.
Yes, the conclusion is that everything that's happened is my fault. Well, I'm getting over it.
Oh yes, I broke up with Dave and he won't leave me alone. Jesus Christ, he's whining like a 12 year old kid. What pisses me off the most is everything he says to me is about HIM, how he wants to prove HIMSELF to me, how HE can make me happy, and how he doesn't understand how someone who loves him won't even see him. Fuck, um, so you're not doing this in the prospects of loving me? Ugh. I'm so done. I broke up with him for ME. And it's wonderful. Bitter and lonesome. But wonderful. I got my girls, my drankkk and my two step. Fuck off.
PS, being Polish is so complicated. Me being Polish doesn't equate me to being "pro life" or any of that conservative shit. Plus, Catholicism is a sinking ship and deeming myself one is like tying a millstone around my neck and jumping into the Atlantic with my arms tied. Fuck no, thanks. So, do me a favor, and don't assume. Don't assume I'm Catholic, don't assume I'm straight, don't assume I'm gay, don't assume I'm a crazy liberal, don't assume I'm this, that and a fucking IQ point off of being mindless. Just, don't. I hate assumptions, you have no fucking idea. Yeah, I'm talking to YOU.
I've decided to be active and aggressive. I don't care where it gets me as long as it gets me out of here. PS, fuck highschool man. Because a telephone call, a fucking TEXT, would kill you? What the fuck, were you all fake with me to begin with? Ugh, over it. ON TO THE NEXT ONE. And yes, I actually do like Jay Z, I don't care what you think. He's the fuggin menggg.
OKay, bye. I have to do my CST proposal. It's due tomorrow. And, it's fucking awesome. Like me.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
diseased fingers clutching backboned brushes,
your hair falls in clumps, and dumps, and lumps.
silly, we hold on to elementary school rhymes in hopes
of somehow preserving an
innocence
we shall never know. I am envious of those
learning to walk, when all I know is how to
run, run, run and fall. sewing buttons on this
jacket, this old musty thing, i try to piece
together something I knew of myself. I apologize.
What does that mean?
I am hungry. Hungry for a word.
But you are right not to feed me. I am a
traitor. Traiter? Traitor?
Spell that with an 'o'? I like the 'e' better, it's like a sharper
tone, a knife. Nevermind the buttons, I must plan on
escaping being a wife. Silly, silly rhymes...
Whatever happened to those days where the sun
beat hard on our freshly sewn backs
freckled in our mother's hue?
I liked peeling the burns off, you liked
stealing my shoes.
I was blessed and I took it for jokes,
or perhaps I am cursed, and was all along,
but was too miserable to notice.
Chalk dust. Sunscreeen. Powdered juice.
I'm so silly. So silly.
My back is hardened now. With scabs that itch.
The plague has come after all, these buttons,
these goddamn buttons,
are the first on the sacrificial list.
Oh, yeah, hi it's me again. Not that anyone's reading? I do it for myself I guess.
I'm such a scumsucker. I'm like searching the webzzz looking for a fight. I swear to god, I'm such a pugnacious prick. What am I trying to prove? Or, more acutely, what I am trying to say? I feel like me arguing is cathartic to a point, but there's a bigger issue. I don't have the brain matter for this any more.
Yes, the conclusion is that everything that's happened is my fault. Well, I'm getting over it.
Oh yes, I broke up with Dave and he won't leave me alone. Jesus Christ, he's whining like a 12 year old kid. What pisses me off the most is everything he says to me is about HIM, how he wants to prove HIMSELF to me, how HE can make me happy, and how he doesn't understand how someone who loves him won't even see him. Fuck, um, so you're not doing this in the prospects of loving me? Ugh. I'm so done. I broke up with him for ME. And it's wonderful. Bitter and lonesome. But wonderful. I got my girls, my drankkk and my two step. Fuck off.
PS, being Polish is so complicated. Me being Polish doesn't equate me to being "pro life" or any of that conservative shit. Plus, Catholicism is a sinking ship and deeming myself one is like tying a millstone around my neck and jumping into the Atlantic with my arms tied. Fuck no, thanks. So, do me a favor, and don't assume. Don't assume I'm Catholic, don't assume I'm straight, don't assume I'm gay, don't assume I'm a crazy liberal, don't assume I'm this, that and a fucking IQ point off of being mindless. Just, don't. I hate assumptions, you have no fucking idea. Yeah, I'm talking to YOU.
I've decided to be active and aggressive. I don't care where it gets me as long as it gets me out of here. PS, fuck highschool man. Because a telephone call, a fucking TEXT, would kill you? What the fuck, were you all fake with me to begin with? Ugh, over it. ON TO THE NEXT ONE. And yes, I actually do like Jay Z, I don't care what you think. He's the fuggin menggg.
OKay, bye. I have to do my CST proposal. It's due tomorrow. And, it's fucking awesome. Like me.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
diseased fingers clutching backboned brushes,
your hair falls in clumps, and dumps, and lumps.
silly, we hold on to elementary school rhymes in hopes
of somehow preserving an
innocence
we shall never know. I am envious of those
learning to walk, when all I know is how to
run, run, run and fall. sewing buttons on this
jacket, this old musty thing, i try to piece
together something I knew of myself. I apologize.
What does that mean?
I am hungry. Hungry for a word.
But you are right not to feed me. I am a
traitor. Traiter? Traitor?
Spell that with an 'o'? I like the 'e' better, it's like a sharper
tone, a knife. Nevermind the buttons, I must plan on
escaping being a wife. Silly, silly rhymes...
Whatever happened to those days where the sun
beat hard on our freshly sewn backs
freckled in our mother's hue?
I liked peeling the burns off, you liked
stealing my shoes.
I was blessed and I took it for jokes,
or perhaps I am cursed, and was all along,
but was too miserable to notice.
Chalk dust. Sunscreeen. Powdered juice.
I'm so silly. So silly.
My back is hardened now. With scabs that itch.
The plague has come after all, these buttons,
these goddamn buttons,
are the first on the sacrificial list.
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