You were never my friend.

Like it's our job to lose our minds

2010-03-19T03:04:49Z

Hi. Sorry I've been gone so long, I've missed you, oh online journal of mine.
How've you been?
I know this is long, ~~but read it if you want to know why I haven't been on here doing shit for a while.~~

This entire process is tiring me out. I'm losing sleep over every little thing that people want me to do, everything I need to sign, to search for, etc. I'm far past my breaking point. Have you ever put a bottle of water in the microwave and had it explode when you try to get it out?

I'm afraid that I might burst and explode because I've been super heated, I'm so close to breaking out one way or the other, and hopefully it'll be successfully unnoticed and not catastrophic in any way shape or form.

But every day it seems that although I can wow people with my writing, there's nothing left worth fighting for. I mean, yes I wat to go to college but I'm starting to question why. What's the point if I'm just going to get beat out by someone much more talented or skilled or smarter or better than me? This world just hasn't got the time for those less the perfect people who fall behind and slip into the cracks-those unnoticed 7/8ths of the iceberg who're hidden beneath the surface but have no extraordinary knowledge to bring.

I'm one of those people who will blend in to the background, the hum to daily life and the mundane society that I choose to surround myself with. It's a slow, painful process of killing myself with the most excruciating sort of pain, the kind you can barely feel yet you know is there.

I don't deserve suicide. I'm much more worthy of suffering through my bad choices in life, through every mistake I've made in recent years to try and put myself ahead; every little thing that I've done wrong is just another mosquito bite that will add up to my eventual death.

But I digress; I plan to kill myself before I hit 30. Mostly because my family has the worst kid of history for people past that age, mental illness, physical anguish, addictions--thankfully I've been able to keep myself away from the drugs and shit my friends think are so fucking fantastic. It won't be fun when you're sucking cock for money, and It's not fun now when you OD and die at 17.

I know exactly what everyone will think, what crosses everyone's mind when they read this. Nearly no one will cheer me on, most people will think I'm lunatic, a narcissistic asshole who deserves to be offed by some ungodly force, or maybe they'll pity me. I love those people the most.

The people who look at me, and my pain and my self-disgust and shake their heads, folding their arms over their chest as if I'm the ultimate sin. thinking aloud that I didn't know any better, poor thing she was just a child.

Apparently, their lives are so fantastic they can look down on other people. Kudos to those people who had the gall to hate a suicidal person, they really have the balls to survive in this world. They might be one of the people who beat me out for a job.

This is just too much for me right now. I'm going to look at more colleges and begin the slow mental decline that AP, ACT, PSAE, and my junior theme will inflict on my mind as they each come to pass and drain me of any knowledge and will I have left.

Then it's off to Japan, where I will most likely discover that hey, japanese people don't like black people either. and God knows I don't want to go back to Africa, where the constant fear of rape, abuse, or kidnapping, etc is rampant.

I just think about everything that's happening everywhere and it starts ticking faster, making my heart sweat and my skin beat out a fast tune as I get my feathers riled up for another thing I can only protest and complain about.

So many things in my life are just going wrong, and once I exclude my personal self from the equation, the puzzle gets even more complicated. I can't do anything about how people take a second look at me on account of my a) skin b)sex c)sexual orientation d) religious affiliation or lackthereof e)writing style/preference. I'm the one white assed moody black chick who gets off on cutting herself and automatically thinks every woman is nectar of the gods.

But lets face it, I totally do, and who doesn't love good emo kid?

For future reference, that above statement was a lie. I do not like every inch of skin that walks by, I do not enjoy cutting myself, I do it for punishment, and I act like I have some goddamned sense, not white-just like I don't want my shit exposed to everyone so they'll "like me".

I don't think I can complain anymore today, and sorry this wasn't writing for those of you who actually like what I write (all three of you!) so see you next post for my college search update/writing.

Writer's Block: What is your life sentence?

2010-03-05T02:08:58Z

How would you describe your life so far in a six-word sentence? How often would your 'life sentence' change?

Submitted By xxsexyfangsxx

View 2125 Answers

Why does this happen to me?

Writer's Block: Ten years to the day

2010-02-25T03:31:57Z

What do you expect to be doing ten years from today, and where do you hope to be living?

View 1754 Answers

I want to be a paperback writer :D

well, actually I do want to be a writer. I'd love to have my own little half mil closet in So Cal working a dead end job that fuels my passion. And a tiny black cat that I will call George. She will be my best friend
How's that answer?

You can't be too careful anymore.

2010-02-23T04:22:31Z

My friends are slowly but surely driving me insane.
So to celebrate my induction into the insane asylum, I come forth with....*gasp* POETRY?

Here you go~

Every time you say “I’m right”
I feel like falling over the edge,
Tripping on my own two feet
Hoping to god it’s the end

Too sad to speak, too shocked to say a word,
My lips are sealed as yours are overpowered.
Droning out in dull hums,
Giving blessings to those who knew and blessing more than just you.

Cracked a smile on my face with one slit in the clouds,
Poured rain down my ankles to feed the ground.
Hung syllables up where you could see,
Wrote stories of useless things to everyone who loved me.

Anger died on your tongue,
Because you knew what she’d done,
When she left a note on your desk and
Stood between the exit and the beginning and hung.

Writer's Block: Arts v. smarts

2010-02-21T18:27:36Z

Given the choice, would you prefer to be a world-class (visual or performing) artist or an intellectual genius? Which, in your opinion, would facilitate a more fulfilling career and social life?

Submitted By numbartist

View 1205 Answers

Artist no doubt. Although, I believe that artists of any field are genius, and a genius in a field that requires skills like math and concept understanding are also artists in their own respects.
Basically anyone who can do what they do well, and has their own personal style to it is an artist, whether it be the accountant who countsoff with synaesthetic properties or a world renowned painter who composes in cow blood, both are different forms of expression in my eyes. So therefore by picking Artist, I am not throwing away the possility of genius, just the notion that the two must be separated.

But you know I know when it's a dream.

2010-02-15T01:00:45Z

Is it wrong to want someone to gun you down while walking to 7-eleven?
Is it bad to have that thought, to pray for someone to take your life because you're too much of a coward to do so yourself? Everyday I walk by strangers, staring them down, hoping I'm their next target, praying to God they chose that day to end my life but they never do. It sounds crazy, unreal that someone prays for death, but you know what? I've had 16 years of living and I don't like the taste too much.

So hey, I wrote this for me and since this is my journal it goes here. read if you like, if you don't then I won't force you to. It's probably the most straight forward thing I've ever written.

The rich avant-garde pulley and lever the truth
Aristocrats riding with horses on their backs, taunting the media with
Phony accents and peckish hats.

There over the border lies a village of lore,
Telling stories I sold to the county for beads and pennies.
Her haggard breath matches with the cold concrete as she sets up another one,
Taking it in her lungs before shoving it in the arms of the lovers of art.
It’s trashy,
That’s chic,
It speaks to me, they say,
But they don’t understand
The man tries to invade their lives and implant the seed of controlled creativity
But she seeks it out,
Breaching the trust of her benefactors with one too much.

The lustied looks of her artifacts made for too much of a good thing,
Her swings rusted and squeaked as she spun round to get a grasp on reality.
Ten to two,
Her heart rips,
Spewing degraded lullabies out for the devout to devour in their beds.
Her arms are in separate countries,
Bending and stretching at conformist ideal until she herself become what she sought out to be.

Smiles burnt dull under the thick lights,
Heated tastes and waning lights melt the plastic bodies,
Warping and buckling until they can’t even see anymore,
Until they’re nothing more than pools of washed up deities who can’t get a job.

She sucks,
She spews out lies and takes in the studied protraction of her mind while it spins and turns in her head,
Banging around until she finally breaks through and comes out all alone on the other side.

It’s not like she wanted,
It’s not like she planned it and
She can’t understand why she wanted this.

Something in the way (S)he moves.

2010-02-13T15:25:31Z

Sorry whoever requested this that it took so long, my life right now is kind of hectic.

Something
Pairing: GSF, Spencer/Ryan, Spencer/Brendon, Spencer/Jon
Rating: NC-17, PG at the end.
Summary: He slid down to the floor and tucked his chin into his knees, folding up a fortress to protect himself from the pain that was to come; the questions with no replies and the heartbreak that was inevitable because they were tired of him, they didn’t want him around anymore, not as anything other than hired help.
Warnings: Nothing but a sad Spencer :(
AN: I really hope I got what you wanted,
Title from The Beatles's Something. (:D)

The sheets were too stiff, scratching against him as Spencer tossed and turned, his mind unable to turn off after the third consecutive Wednesday in a row he’d left them huddled together to go lie by himself.

But he couldn’t be in there, he couldn’t when they whispered sweet nothings everywhere but him, and the kisses were short and tepid. He was starved for affection, for anything, but they wouldn’t give, and he didn’t dare budge.

He just painted on a smile as he walked past them out to do anything to distract him from himself.

-

They needed groceries, they always needed groceries, so he stopped by Dominick’s to pick up a few things, something for dinner later and something for breakfast tomorrow. He tried not to flinch at the myriad of happy couple littering every isle, pulling him further into his own mind as it reeled with questions about things he’d rather push away.

“They love me.” He tries to convince the incessant voice, but it harks out a bitter laugh, telling him just how ridiculous he had to feel for believing that. He shoves those thoughts out of his mind as he pays for the food and leaves the happy couples draped over each other.

He counted to ten then back before starting up the car.

-

If there were ever a day that the front door decided to hate Spencer, it had to be today. He struggled with his armful of bags and just barely made it through without any help from the other three occupants of the house. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe, just for a split second, they didn’t even realize he was gone.

But that was silly.

He put everything away, by himself, and got started on brunch while beating down the voices that just got louder and louder. Of course they didn’t even know you were gone, why would they care?

No. Not now, he wouldn’t let it get to him. He tried to concentrate on the recipe book in front of him and not the nagging little voice that was so obviously right. He blocked out the sound that drifted in from down the hall too; everything was just a reminder of how little anyone cared.

-

He knew it was useless, carding his finger through Brendon’s unruly hair in an attempt to usher those three, beautiful words out his pouty little mouth but all he got was a sleepy body half covering his own and a crick in his neck.

He bit back a groan and shifted from under him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before sulking out of the room and back to his own to be alone.

-

Spencer tried Jon, he tried lugging around his ass-heavy equipment and shit around while he found ‘inspiration’ and stopped nearly every five minutes. It was wearing thin of Spencer’s patience, and his arms, and all he’d gotten in return was a thank you. Seriously, just a thank you and a peck on the cheek.

He was close to giving up, he was almost there and ready to jump but Ryan could pull him back, right?

-

Spencer trekked back to the house, leaving Jon all alone in the winding path that led to the woods behind their house and started on diner feeling worse than this morning.

Ryan walked by twice before he even noticed anything was wrong, and that was the final straw. “…Spin?” He couldn’t keep it in anymore; he couldn’t stop that stupid little voice that was so right from telling him everything he needed to hear.

He slid down to the floor and tucked his chin into his knees, folding up a fortress to protect himself from the pain that was to come; the questions with no replies and the heartbreak that was inevitable because they were tired of him, they didn’t want him around anymore, not as anything other than hired help.

“Spencer, look at me.” He couldn’t, he didn’t want to leave Ryan yet, he didn’t want to leave any of them despite being shut out from the most intimate part of their lives.

He shook his head and forced Ryan to kneel beside him and envelop him with his gangly limbs that did their job for the most part. “What’s wrong, Spence?” He spoke softly and Spencer couldn’t even answer him his sobs were so hard.

As if God didn’t hate him enough, Jon chose that moment to barge through the back door grumbling something about being ungrateful. Whatever it was it literally died on his tongue as his dark, decadent hazel dropped to the ground where half of his quartet were huddled.

“What’s wrong with Spencer?” he hurried his words, nearly tripping over five syllables with anxiety bleeding through his face. Ryan shrugged, neither of them knew and on cue Spencer curled up even tighter before sucking in a harsh breath. Two down, one to go, and Spencer was a wreck inside and out.

“Talk to me, please, Spencer.” Ryan’s voice trembled with an almost noticeable twinge of fear as he brushed his fingers along Spencer’s lengthening strands, feeling completely helpless and too confused to think.

Spencer, however, couldn’t turn his brain off, couldn’t stop the overload from crashing his system and sending him through a loop of breath, sniffle, sob, repeat. His sleeves were nearly soaked before he got his breathing to a normal pace.

But the tears kept on coming so cue Brendon, strolling in as if he hadn’t heard the sobs and scared voices asking useless questions. “…Spin?” in about a fifth of a second Spencer had three sets of finger running through different parts of his hair, three different voices questioning, and three arms wrapped as tight as they could go around his shoulders.

The voice didn’t stop, it kept going and tried to get louder but eventually Brendon got past it; then Jon, and Ryan paused for a bit, incredulously, and pressed a kiss to Spencer’s ear, whispering just what he needed to hear. “I fucking love you, Spencer. Is that what this is about?” Spencer shrugged, it was like some twisted sort of deja vu role-reversal but neither of them could find the urge to care.

“I love you so much, and so does Brendon and so does Jon, Spin; what…w-why…” Ryan stroked up and down Spencer’s back trying to find the right words but failing every time he open his mouth. He sighed, frustrated, angry, and crushed, and Spencer turned to him, his tumultuous blue eyes stained red with heartbreak and despair. Ryan cracked a smile and pressed his lips against a blotchy red cheek, giving Spencer a totally of three second before he turned to give Ryan his mouth.

“What the hell made you think we didn’t love you, Spin?” Brendon reproved, feeling the loneliness in the messes and tangles of Spencer’s hair, and made short work of them, pulling them all out one my one.

He felt a bit stupid, but Spencer knew he was right, they had to shape up. “How many times have you said it in the past month?” And of course they all floundered and opted to stay quiet; Spencer was right to feel shitty, they were shitty boyfriends.

“Fuck, Spencer…” Jon exhaled into his neck, sending shivers down his spine as his hand joined Ryan on his back, inching along to try and comfort him.

Saying sorry doesn’t excuse murder, now does it? Spencer was unconvinced, and held his ground. “And when you kiss me, it’s like you don’t even want to and it hurts.” Three simultaneous nods egged him on and it pained him so much to talk about these things, to actually say them aloud, but he knew it was necessary. “And then I feel like when I’m not here you guys don’t even care, you don’t notice, you don’t do anything. I felt like if I didn’t pay the bills, or make you breakfast you wouldn’t even need me around.” He broke into tiny stifled sobs and flinched at the fingers on his face, dabbing at the fresh tears that just kept going. He felt Jon and Ryan’s breath bouncing against his neck and shoulders, keeping him grounded as he rips out his soul and put it on display for them to dissect.

“No, baby, it’s not like that. You know we love you, of course we want you here, where else would you go?” Brendon whispered just loud enough for Spencer to hear, and he shrugged.

This was not Spencer’s fault, the guilt that built up in his chest shouldn’t have been there—this was not his fault damn it. “Stop it, just stop it. You keep saying that but would it have killed you to say it to my face?” Again, they stayed quiet.

No one said a word as Spencer rose to his feet, leaving them alone in the kitchen with half burnt dinner on the stove.

-

The sun finally drew in and moon peered out from behind the corner, and it was time for everyone who had something to do the next day to get some rest and leave the waking world for a while.

Spencer strolled past them to his room and shut the door behind him, no longer feeling the dying thirst for their attention. It was so painfully obvious that they didn’t care enough about him to even prove how much they loved him, so he left them to their own devices and mentally packed himself up to leave.

-

Ryan couldn’t sleep. He twisted up in his sheets and curled underneath the covers but nothing felt right, and he knew exactly what it was. He shoved the covers off and trekked out into the hallway stark naked, feeling more compelled to see Spencer than cover up.

Spencer couldn’t sleep either. He was laid up in his bed, staring off into nothing while the tears kept assaulting his cheeks. Ryan nearly stopped in his tracks, his heart dropped into his stomach in remorse because how many nights has Spencer spent like this?

He crawled up the bed and under the covers where Spencer lay nearly motionless. “Spin…” He whispered into Spencer’s neck, curling an arm around his soft waist before draping his fingers along the soft curve of Spencer’s stomach.

“I love you, Spin.” He murmured into the thick tresses as he rolled Spencer over, wiping the fresh tears away before diving in for a kiss.

A real kiss. A kiss Spencer hadn’t gotten in what seemed like forever. He tucked an arm under Ryan’s thin waist and pulled him in even closer, hands wandering over Ryan’s body like he’s never felt anything so precious before.

Ryan dug his fingers into Spencer’s hair, tugging him even closer before they both broke off for air, and were left gasping at each other’s lips, staring straight into the other’s eyes. Ryan made then next move, swinging a leg over both of Spencer’s to lie completely on top of him. Spencer slid his hands down Ryan’s back, resting on the small before inching his finger down to curl around the soft curve of Ryan’s ass.

“I was stupid, Spin. I love you…so much.” Ryan mumbled against Spencer neck as he pressed tiny pecks up the prickly trail to his mouth and claimed his prize as a lone finger probed between his cheeks. “I missed you, so much.” Ryan groaned as Spencer turned to the nightstand, bringing back lube and a condom.

“Do you want to?” It was like treading on thin ice all over again, inching closer to what they both wanted but with way too much inching around the subject. It was like the first time, only this time there was no rush, no hiding from murderous eyes, no sneaking, nothing keeping them from being together. Ryan nodded and grabbed the lube from Spencer’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

Spencer rolled them over, pressing Ryan into the starchy sheets as he took the lube from Ryan, dripping it onto his finger before rubbing them against Ryan’s hole. Ryan tugged him down by the roots of his hair, bringing him down to smother him with a burning kiss before turning him loose at the first twinge of Spencer’s finger. “Breathe.” They hadn’t done this in a while, at least not the two of them, and it was a lot to take in, a lot to get used to as opposed to Brendon or Jon.

Spencer was different. Ryan loved how slow everything was, how he could enjoy every thrust and every curve on Spencer’s body, every hushed word etched into his skin when they lay curled up in each other; everything was so much more intimate. At least, that’s how he remembered it.

Ryan sucked in a hard breath as another finger joined the one already inside, pressing and pressing until it fit and moved along his insides with the other one. He rolled a moan around in his mouth before letting Spencer have it as his fingers curled inside of him, taking control of his body.

Ryan groaned low in his throat as Spencer drug his fingers out and coated them again, this time coming back with three rubbing at his entrance. It was almost too much, but Spencer willed him to relax, curling his other hand around Ryan before leaning down to lap at the shining head.

He missed the bitter sweet tang, he missed the hot, heavy weight on his tongue, he missed every part of Ryan but most of all he missed the thick, throbbing organ in his mouth. He pressed his fingers in as he sucked on the head, tonguing the slit before swallowing down any pre-come that dribbled out. Ryan’s head hit the pillow as his back bent and arched off the bed, as Spencer swirled his fingers inside of him, brushing, curling and rubbing against him. He felt the heat swirl in his stomach as the heat crowded his cheeks—he didn’t want to come his early, he wasn’t fourteen anymore.

“Spencer, stop…I can’t…” he gasped as Spencer’s mouth and fingers left him simultaneously, leaving him empty and wound up tightly at the same time. He struggled to get his limbs to obey him and roll the condom on Spencer’s leaking cock, but he finally did and left the rest to Spencer.

They were both nervous, but more importantly they were pushing over the edge, itching to crawl out of their skin with the tightly coiled lust they shared. Spencer pulled Ryan’s gangly knees apart, leaning over level to Ryan’s face, and pressed in slowly.

It felt like forever between the two of them the wait was unbearable but Spencer finally sunk in completely, his hips pressing up against Ryan as they both adjusted to the feeling. Ryan tried to drown out the pain with deep, harsh breaths but it didn’t work. Spencer wrapped his fingers around the slightly softer cock in front of him and brought Ryan’s attention off of his backside as he slid out.

Ryan moaned as Spencer built up a steady rhythm, pushing in and out as his hand moved just a hair faster. Soon enough the pain curled into pleasure and as Spencer shifted his hip the pleasure shot-gunned through Ryan’s body before coming to rest in his stomach.

Spencer groaned at the tight, hot heat that coiled up in him as he thrust in and out of Ryan’s. He was getting a little sloppy, a little messy, and before he knew it he broke his rhythm and snapped his hips up against Ryan, feeling the urgency overcome him.

He squeezed Ryan, twisting on the upstroke, and before he knew it Ryan was striping both of their stomachs, his ragged breaths spiraling into moans as Spencer kept hitting that spot with every stroke. Spencer followed not even five seconds later.

Ryan groaned as Spencer pulled out and tied off the condom before tossing it somewhere else, laying down next to Ryan to soak in his post-orgasm glow. Spencer pressed open kisses on the back of Ryan’s neck, curling a hand around the flat, taut stomach to bring back the intimacy that they lost. “I love you, Ryan.”

Ryan nodded, turning in Spencer’s arms to face him, grinning a tired smile as he returned the sentiment.

-

Brendon’s approach was actually thought out, if that was even possible. He bribed Ryan with a fat stack of cash and told him to go buy himself something nice, and He promised Jon he’d buy the best shit on the market and told him to split for the day.

He had Spencer all to himself. He barely contained his excitement as he stripped down and dove under the covers with Spencer still knocked out next to him. He snuggled into Spencer’s arms, feeling his hot breath roll on his neck as he slept.

The first thing Spencer noticed when he woke up was that Ryan was a hell of a lot smaller, and that his hair got miraculously shorter, and that he felt like Brendon. It took him about five seconds to realize that it was Brendon before the surprise made him back away from the warm body in front of him. “Morning, sunshine.” Brendon groaned as he rolled over and stretched, having fallen asleep himself.

“Morning. Where’s Ryan?” It’s not that he really cared at the moment, he was just curious. Brendon grinned at him, tugging him down for a heartfelt kiss as he pushed the covers down off of them both.

“Shopping. And Jon’s out with Tom so it’s just me and you.” Spencer barely resisted the urge to tousle the hair on Brendon’s head as he beamed with pride that his plan had actually worked. He bent down and pressed a peck to Brendon’s forehead instead.

“Alright, what do you want to do?” Spencer grinned, feeling better than he had in nearly three months, since the trip to the cabin. Brendon didn’t exactly have a plan after getting everyone out, so he shrugged and decided to let Spencer take the lead.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He breathed into Spencer’s neck as he wrapped his arms around Spencer’s torso. Well, there wasn’t really anything Spencer wanted to do today but catch up with Brendon; it had been a while since he’d spent more than fifteen minutes alone with any of his boyfriends.

Spencer snaked his fingers through Brendon’s hair and rolled over, pinning him against the still stiff sheets. They scratched along Brendon’s back a bit, but he got used to it, instead he focused his attention on Spencer and making him happy. “Do you want to go out?” Spencer shrugged his shoulders and leaned into a slow kiss, his hands wandering all over Brendon’s body albeit hastily.

“Nah, I don’t feel like leaving the bed today, do you?” Spencer grinned, his insane lust for his boyfriend instantly rekindled. Brendon smiled in return, sitting up level with Spencer before grabbing Spencer’s hands in his.

“There’s time for that later, Spence. Right now I just want to spend some time with you…” And it was true, sex was always nice but Brendon missed doing things with Spencer.

Spencer shrugged and rolled over to get out of bed so they could get dressed. Brendon followed suit, arms encircling Spencer’s soft waist as they walked in tandem to the bathroom.

-

They went down to the pier for a little date, like they used to before, and played nearly every game twice, ate every flavor of cotton candy and even made out in the tunnel of love. Spencer wrapped a warm arm around Brendon’s naked arms in the chilling air, pecking him on the cheek as they cycled on the Ferris Wheel, circling up so that the entire boardwalk was lit up like Christmas lights, and it made both of their hearts race.

“I love you Spencer.” Brendon whispered, clutching his giant teddy bear. The whole thing would’ve been too cliché, even for Brendon, if either of them cared enough about originality to give a damn.

“Fuck, I love you too, B.” He leaned over on the way down and smashed their lips together, feeling the urge burn at the bottom of his stomach. By the look in Brendon’s eyes he was feeling just the same. “Want to get out of here?”

Brendon was out of the cart before the Wheel came to a stop, tugging Spencer along with him as they raced down the long walk to their car. Spencer smashed Brendon up against the car, digging round in his pockets for his keys. He just barely got the door open when Brendon arched up against him and his mind raced.

“Fuck, Spin…” Spencer swung the door open and shoved Brendon into the backseat, crawling on top of him before shutting the door behind him. “Now? Spence…” Brendon’s actions betrayed his words as his fingers tangled in Spencer’s hair, dragging him down to stifle his moans.

Spencer groaned into Brendon’s mouth, palming his too tight jeans before digging around the backseat for anything they could use. “Fuck, Bren.” He turned up empty handed. Brendon, however, did not care as he sat up, pushing Spencer down to give him another kind of pleasure.

-

When they finally got back both Ryan and Jon were asleep, and the house was swathed in darkness. Brendon got down off of Spencer’s back and raced past him to get inside first; poking his tongue out in a mocking jeer as Spencer shut the door behind him.

“I had a lovely date with you, Spencer Smith. Take me again sometime.” Spencer grinned as Brendon pecked him on the cheek before spinning on his heel to get ready for bed himself.

-

This time when Spencer awoke, he had a grinning Jon Walker peering over him with an array of foods in front of him. “Morning, Spin.” Spencer grinned, sitting up in bed as Jon set the tray across his lap, pressing a slow, loving kiss to his lips before he snuck into bed with him.

“It all looks so nice, Jon.” He grinned and draped an arm across Spencer’s back, curling it around his waist before pressing soft kisses against his neck as Spencer ate. He was barely done with his crepes when Ryan poked his head in, leaning up against the threshold.

“Crepes? Jon you dirty sneak.” He feigned hurt before crawling up the bed, sitting directly across from Spencer, stealing grapes off the tray as he crossed his legs underneath him. “I hope you made crepes for everybody, Jon.” Jon gave him this look before popping a cantaloupe cube into his mouth.

“Eating breakfast without me? How dare you Spencer Smith—you stole my boyfriends from me.” Brendon grinned cheekily as he climbed into bed with everyone else, stealing Spencer’s breakfast piece by piece. “How’d you sleep?” Brendon asked no one in particular. Spencer answered a tad bit groggy but still happier than he’d been in months.

“So this is going to stop next week, right?” Spencer inquired, once he’d finished the bowl of fruit and everyone was stretched out on his bed. They turned to him, giving him disbelieving looks but it was unfounded. Sure they’d be lovey-dovey right now, when the wound’s still fresh but after it’s healed how much attention are they going to pay to him?

Ryan was first to speak again. “Are you serious? Spencer we fucking love you, just shut up and enjoy it.” He replied, pressing kisses to Spencer’s stomach. But he was still a bit wary, until the next week when they showered him with even more affection and sappy oversaturated gifts and things, showing him every day just how fucking special he was to all of them. He almost wanted them to stop, but it just felt too good being the apple of all of their eyes.

Writer's Block: Sweet and solo

2010-02-12T19:32:09Z

Have you ever made up an excuse to avoid a social obligation so you could spend the evening by yourself? Do your friends and/or family understand when you need some quality time alone?

View 1250 Answers

So many times!!! but I'm a teenager, and all of the people I hang out with are seemingly stupid and do nothing but stupid things. I'd rather be by myself than possibly breaking the law. So I've lied a couple of times to get out of parties I didn't want to go to, mostly because of the people there and partly because I'm perfectly fine with being by myself. I'm not one of those people who needs to be constantly doing something, in fact I'm happiest when everything around me moves slowly, and I can have a weekend to breathe instead of a couple of hours.

If that makes me weird, whatever. I guess I'm weird then because no matter how many people tell me I'm antisocial/ a loner/ whatever I know it's just them being jealous of me being able to enjoy time off and not having to cram ten things into a weekend just so I can enjoy it.

Writer's Block: It wasn't me.

2010-02-06T03:40:58Z

Did you ever do anything in your youth that you lived to regret? Do you think you ultimately learned from it or do you wish you could go back in time and do it over?

Submitted By jambamkaplam

View 916 Answers

Tons of things, pretty much everything I've done as a child I regret, I was kind of a bad kid. Kind of a really, REALLY bad kid. I stole, lied, cheated on tests, etc, and worst of all I was a manipulator. I got everyone around me to do whatever I willed them to do. And even though I knew the shit I was doing was wrong it didn't stop me from doing it anyway. It was almost on autopilot that I just turned into this evil thing whenever I was uncomfortable or just plain bored. I was a monster, at least to me; I was someone I didn't want to be then and someone I don't want to own up to now. But I guess I'm going to have to, to just get over the shame and embarassment I brought upon myself to move forward. Or something poetic like that.

Hold me tight, let me go on loving you.

2010-01-29T13:02:45Z

I hate chicago. I really, really,
hate chicago. I'm about a fraction of an inch away for leaving this frozen hell hole for good. I just have to graduate, then I can move away somewhere, anywhere; I'd move to vegas if it meant I'd be away from Ill.

I don't care uf I have to get the shittiest little closet apartment on the worst side of town, I'm leaving. I just hope that once I leave, i'll be able to make myself stable period. I don't care about having the best anything; I just need to leave.

Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com

What did it ever do for me?

2010-01-22T22:44:36Z

I'm on a roll this week, so here's something else for whoever cares. And yes, I do love messing Ryan up. It's like, projection or something. Or like, cheap therapy XD but seriously, on to the depressing writing.

Ryan never cried.

He would never admit it, though, there were times when he came close, when he was frustrated, when his words wouldn’t move around in the right places and make lyrics, when he couldn’t get his point across, when he felt cheated, lonely, and stupid; there were so many times where he was just constantly being pushed almost too far and he’d thought about giving in.

But he would never get that far; he’d lock himself up or block the world out and blast unrecognizable tunes in his ears loud enough to drown out his mind long enough for him to think clearly.

He stared off into nothing sometimes it was the ceiling, sometimes it was a pillow, sometimes it was the mirror, but whenever he got that close he would just stop.

He’d stop and think.

He’d stop think and try to sort out what his problem was before trying to fix it, which almost never worked.

He was left in his proverbial funk until someone pulled him out and got his mind off of himself for a bit, and usually that someone was Spencer.

…5…

It was different now.

He had a girlfriend, a person who needed his attention more than Ryan, at least that’s how he interpreted the shaky words passed through chewed off lines and the dirty phone.

Ryan understood, though, and he made sure Spencer knew he understood before leaving him alone and sliding back down on the floor and back down into his mind once more to think.

…4…

When there was no one there, sometimes, Ryan would wrap his thin arms around himself, curling in on his spindly limbs in a pitiful attempt to comfort himself, to bring the warmth back to his body using his own body; but that never worked.

He just ended up sore in every expanse of skin and he hated that feeling, so he’d stopped trying it.

…3…

It had been days, almost a week since he’d eaten, since he’d talked to anyone, including himself, but he wouldn’t budge until he could get out.

He’d been on the verge for almost a week now, straddling the fence of frustration and pride and he was getting sick of having to bite back the tears that threatened his sanity.

…2…

Ryan’s left foot twitched and he barely registered it as he drifted in and out of consciousness, his throbbing head dropping as his eyes finally gave out and he was finally out.

He awoke not even ten minutes later to the incessant ringing in his ears of his head connecting with the hardwood floor.

He felt the pain bubble up and burn at his eyes, but he sucked in a heavy breath and curled in on himself, hiding away from the dimming light of the sun falling past the horizon and choked out a thin sob laced with 20 years worth of pent up rage, sadness, and frustration.

He tried to blink away to blurred vision but the dull hum of his head proved to be more than enough to set him off and he forced out a shaky gasp before bringing it all back to give away again, this time in an actual cry.

He felt the sickness curl up into a ball inside of him as the sobs forced him into convulsions. Ryan felt the fear well up inside of him but there was no one there to yell at him, to hit him, to do anything to him.

...1…

There was no one, not anyone in his house, in his mind, in his life who could do anything to him. The thought almost scared him; it brought things to mind that he’d never dared dream of thinking, not for anything in the world.

Ryan didn’t know what to do anymore.

His life, everything he’s known, felt with the muted emotions he allowed himself to have, everything he’s done has been based on fear, the need to survive, the fight to keep the will to live alive; without that Ryan was lost.

He wasn’t a religious man, he didn’t believe in god, he didn’t have a master plan for himself; he didn’t have anything.

He cried harder, feeling a new sort of fear spiral out of control inside of him as realization of being alone took the place of abuse in the deep recesses of his mind.

It sent him so far out of his mind with anxious energy that it mutated into wretched desolation that would ultimately swallowed him alive when thetime was to come.

These are dangerous things, young minds.

2010-01-22T04:44:30Z

Hey all, I know I haven't written anything in a while.....so here you go!

Everything Can Change.
Rating: pg?
Warnings: Anorexia nervosa, allusions to suicide, suicidal thoughts.
Pairing: if you can find one in here be my guest; Ryan's POV.
Summary: I didn’t dare look myself in the eyes. I didn’t want to see a failure first thing in the morning
AN: um...I don't know why I love messing with him so much XD This is just practice, though. Hopefully someone will like it?
Title from Fly by Hilary Duff

I tried not to catch a glimpse of my wavering body as I fell to my knees and gave a little back to the earth. I coughed up the rest of last night’s dinner, and stuck my index down once more for good measure, seeing as how I can’t obey my own mind I’ll make it work for me.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” my acid-washed voice rasped shallow in the minute expanse of the empty bathroom. I felt the urge to purge my body of everything that made me imperfect once more, and I lurched my soul into the porcelain bank, hoping that once I’m done depositing I’d get something in return. I felt my sides curl in and the pain of my stomach folding in on itself prick at my eyelids, so I thought it was safe to stop for now.

I didn’t dare look myself in the eyes. I didn’t want to see a failure first thing in the morning. I rinsed out my mouth and brushed my teeth, running a pasty hand through my hair all while avoiding my own gaze.

I caught my hips out of the corner of my eye, the naked bone jutting out against the skin and I almost retched again, feeling the logical disgust burn at my mind for a bit before the more insane portion took over and gave me a pat on the back because that’s what it takes to be pretty.

I took a long, deep breath and let my gaze travel up to meet my sickly dull hazel eyes and I quirked a twisted smile as I tried to pinch at my sides and came up short.

I was so close. I let my hands travel further down, to my thighs, and of course, there was the problem.

I couldn’t even breathe; I was so horrified that after everything I’ve done, I still couldn’t make the flabs of fat go away. I felt the hard salt tears ambush my cheeks and swarm around my chin before diving off in a pitiful attempt to jump of this vessel of failure.

I ducked out of the bathroom and averted my eyes down to the carpeted ground of the bus and refused to talk to anyone. I didn’t deserve to.

-o-

I was messy. I messed up my chords, fucked up my own lyrics, and I couldn’t remember the names of songs we’ve played ten thousand times before. I apologized to the crowd, flashing them a pretty little smile before walking off with everyone else with the weight of guilt bringing me down with every step.

“What the fuck was that, Ryan?” I shrugged; I didn’t even register the voices anymore. They were faceless words that followed me around and popped in every now and then to make sure I was eating (which I wasn’t) and that I was sleeping (which I never do).

“I’m sorry.” Was all I could muster before a pair of strong hands grabbed my thinning arms, encircling my entire biceps with minimal resistance.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Ryan?” that probably wasn’t the best way to go about helping someone but hey, I wasn’t in charge or curious here. I shrugged and tried give them a tiny smile but I couldn’t.

“I don’t know.” They huffed and turned me loose, obviously I wasn’t worth the time or effort it took to get a good answer. Figures.

-o-

I turned and turned and turned and twisted up in my sheets, pleading with my body to let me sleep, to give me just five minutes but no. I was left to stare at the bunk above me as the peaceful snores of everyone else on the bus taunted me ruthlessly. I felt the tears of pity and futility prick at my eyes, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of falling, not now.

I struggle to get out of my bunk, for a minute the little hallway was buzzing, and my vision blackened a bit but I recovered.

Score one for me.

I trekked the short walk to the bathroom again, this time to grab at the nearly empty pill bottle in the cabinet and dry swallow three, no four pills before making the journey back to my bunk to get maybe two hours of sleep in before the meet and greet and interviews we had scheduled.

-o-

I stopped pinching the fat on my body because there wasn’t any fat to pinch. I was perfect, I could finally stop torturing myself and enjoy my perfect body; at least if I were anyone else I could.

But no, Ryan doesn’t deserve to have nice things. Never had never will.

I couldn’t remember the simplest things, but I got better at faking my way through a show; soon I just stopped thinking about them altogether. It was almost as if they didn’t happen period. I rushed through it all, through the interviews where my terse replies satisfied no one and the meet and greets where many a fan has praised me about one thing or another and I brushed them off.

I stopped thinking and I was falling, but no one wanted to catch me.

-o-

I didn’t care about the band. I didn’t care about anything anymore, not about my perfect body, not about my so called friends, not about myself, nothing.

If anyone showed any interest in me this time, I gave them a taste of their own medicine and sent them home with more than a mouthful of their own textbook psychology, hoping they wouldn’t come back for the world.

I tried to convince myself I wasn’t losing, though.

It just took me this long to realize I didn’t have anything worth fighting for.

Writer's Block: Do (political) opposites attract?

2010-01-21T13:58:43Z

Are there any political issues, such as abortion or capital punishment, that are so fundamental to your core values that you could not respect and/or trust someone who held a contrary view?

View 849 Answers

You can't control someone else's body; that' what irks me the most about America. Whether we really know what we're doing or not(we probably do) we subconsciously control everyone's body image through the media (What a surprise) and through things we say based upon that media (i.e. why can't I look like her/him?)

It's sick, especially when we're not even subtle about it. I don't think anyone, man nor woman, should have the right to chose whether or not anything I do to my body is legal or not. If I want to dice my self up and feed my body to the fucking wolves it's none of their damn business, just the same as If I wanted an abortion (or rather needed one) THEN I should be able to get one without these people who don't even know me telling me I'm wrong.

Who the fuck are they to tell me what's right and wrong? What if I was raped, the victim of incest, or I could financially support a baby? What If I knew I had a dangerous gene, and ther was a 100% chance of me passing this gene, which led to a disease, onto that baby? I'd rather stop it before it has the chance to ruin that child's life. And livivng with a disease is not fun, regardless of whether or not it's treatable with medicine, etc.

Which leads me ultimately to my final point, my best friend for in middle school was a devout catholic. I was questioning my faith at the time, and we got along just fine. Well, until I came to terms with my sexuality and she totally turned against me. That pretty much sums up my feelings about people who hold different views socially, politically, what have you, than me; it's fine until it crosses the line and completely clashes against my beliefs. I mean, I can't exactly befriends with a white supremacist/racist bigot, now can I?

I can't force myself to be friends with or want to be friends with someone who just dislikes me for who I am and who I love.

Wow, this turned into more like a rant about my views than an answer. Oh well.

Writer's Block: A rose by any other name ...

2010-01-21T13:18:57Z

How did you choose your LiveJournal username? Is there an interesting story behind it?

Submitted By sun_star_n_moon

View 3041 Answers

That's a funny story, my name, abstract_lives, is more of a parody than anything else. I wanted something tha seemed so different and unique, but upon naming myself I realized that nearly everyone had a "unique" name so I essentially became a part of the mainstream.

So it's a parody of Uniqueness, taking something that might've been interesting and original if everyone hadn't been beating it to death with their "Individualism" and such.

...but the easy answer to that question is "Why? Because Life is an Abstract Concept, of course!"

(It's 7 AM I'm allowed to be corny, damn it."
I'm also allowed to fail at punctuation (see above)

Just something.

2010-01-13T13:39:12Z

I'm sure most of you have heard about the 7.0 magnitude earthquake that hit Haiti, and I'd just like to let everyone know that although I don't usually pray, I'll keep them in my thoughts
My best friend since before I could speak's family is over there, so please, if you pray, pray for him if you don't, just keep them in your thoughts as I will.

I truly hope that his family is alright and no one ielse s harmed, but that's foolish thing to wish because in natural disaters of this magnitude, there's bound to be casualties and there have already been cofirmed. I just hope that he'll be okay.

As she sheds her skin on stage

2010-01-09T03:20:10Z

Hi! I know I don't put a lot of writing on here anymore, and I'm sorry (TO all two of you who actually read my stuff) so I wrote something for ~~you~~ me to enjoy. It's roughly based on But it's better if you do (big surprise there) and well. It's got femmeslash in it. no sex though, just tall!sexy!Ryan and butchy!Brendon, which is a nice change from what I've seen.

But's It's better if I do
Girl!Brendon/Girl!Ryan
um....probably pg-13 there's no sex but slight descriptions and junk. nothing too bad
warnings: Sexy BRENDON IN A CORSET!!!!! and sad(ish) Ryan.
unebta'd so read at your own risk!

I waited, and waited some more before I was sure she was off to her real job and snuck into the back room, the room deemed only for her. It was filled from its breadth to it’s width with sleek, voluptuous corsets, stockings, garters and a bounty of wigs styled to match her look. Everything exuded such a fancy aura that I didn’t dare touch anything the first time, I merely looked, then got a whiff of her make-up stand with the naked bulbs circling the dulling mirror.

Everything looked so vintage, so unlike things today that I half expected the lipstick I grabbed to crumble under the weight of my fingers. But it didn’t, instead it made its way to my mouth where it rolled on a thin coat, thin enough to rub off but deep enough to stain my lips a sultry red; it was a strange feeling.

I took a seat at her stool, her cushioned, perfectly pleated stool, and took a good look at what surrounded me. Masks, some with elongated noses ad exaggerated features, some a simple solid color; all of them exquisite in their own respects.

The make up, however, was anything but. The caked on stains that graced the stand were ground in by years and years of usage, but somehow the distressed wood seemed much, much better with the make up satiating every crack and crevice.

It felt real. Everything about this room gave the faraway vibe of some seedy night club, but the minute features gave it a once over with a more tangible feeling taking precedence. It was like out of a story, a fantasy even, and god did I love it.

I snuck out just as she pulled into the driveway, and fortunately for both of us she said nothing about my sullied lips.

The day I worked up the courage to go back into her room, I found a music box. It was a small little thing, barely fitting into the curve of my hand, and when I wound it up it played this tune, a tune I’m sure I’ve heard before.

But I couldn’t place it, and left it alone, after all there were more important things in this room, and set off to find what I needed.

The smallest corset she had was of a deep maroon hue, with lace fitting into every curve and swell. It was marvelous, and before I got the thought into a coherent form I was stripping my top layer to slip it on. It fit like a glove, caressing every soft curve of my body like a second, much more beautiful skin.

I slid out of it and snuck it into my closet, debating whether or not to find a bottom and heels before she came home, but her key in the door decided my fate for me.

She stared at me with this look, the kind of look that I’ve seen on her once or twice before, and it scared me a bit.

“You smell different.” She said, trapping me between the counter and her front side, leaning a pointed nose down to sniff behind my ear, precisely where I dabbed the perfume in the dragonfly bottle, and exhaled a moan as her hands slipped from the counter to my waist in a mater of seconds.

“You smell good.” She mouthed into my neck and of course, me being me, I melted into her, letting her lick and suck my neck into her own little piece of artwork.

The heels weren’t that hard to find, the bottoms, surprisingly, weren’t either; the garters and millions of straps that went nowhere, however, were hiding from me for some reason, so I went without.

I slipped my own clothes off and shucked off my old persona before stepping into the three inch heels, sliding the lacy maroon panties up on my hips, and lacing up the corset the actually gave me a rack. The make up was a bit simple, but very sophisticated in a dancer-not-stripper sort of way. I didn’t dare touch one of her wigs, though. I don’t think I could’ve afforded to replace one if and when I’d ruined it.

I stood in the cool august air that blew through the windows and never left, and felt the Goosebumps prickle along my skin as it got colder. I thought twice about getting a jacket, a robe, something, but I decided against it because tonight wasn’t about me.

Tonight was August 30^th. Today was her birthday. Today she worked overtime and probably had the shittiest birthday ever. Tonight, she’ll have me; it’s the perfect gift.

All I had to do was wait.

Her car finally pulled up at around ten-ish, and I nearly jumped from my spot on the couch where I’d dozed off, and rushed to get in place wit the music and everything cued up for when she crossed the threshold.

My heart pounded in my throat as she cracked the door open and gave her half-hearted greeting before doing a double take, giving me the one over and nearly dropping everything she had in her possession, including the heart that was probably in her colon right about now.

“Do you like? I tried to find something you know, special to give you today but I couldn’t think of anything…but me.” Her jaw damn near dropped and I took that as a compliment as I sauntered over to her as best I could in heels, and wrapped my thin arms around her neck, hips swaying thickly with every beat of the song.

“…Bren…” I pressed a firm finger to her dull lips, shushing any objection she might have with a full on kiss, stealing her breath before pulling back to twirl and tug her further into the house. “B, you s-shouldn’t have…” her barely suppressed grin told me otherwise.

“Ah, but that’s why you love me. Always thinking of others, you know. Real philanthropist.” I tugged her close and spun her around till her calves hit the bed and she sat down, golden honey eyes still connected with mine. I kneeled just above her lap, pushing her back further and further until she got the hint and lay back, and let me grind and twist out a half-assed attempt and a dance, before she stilled my hips and brought me down to her.

“God you suck at this.” She murmured under her breath and I couldn’t help the giggle that burst from my rosewood lips as she tracked her long, thing fingers up and between the lacing, tugging at it until it fell and the corset loosened, leaving me peeking out over the top.

She untied it completely and it spilt in two separate halves, leaving me now completely exposed to her eyes only. She grinned up at me and crawled her fingers up to tease me, prodding, palming and twisting me until the little pleased noises dribbling out of my mouth like spittle turned into moans, louder than I really wanted to be.

I stilled her hands, pushing them down by her head before leaning over to lock her lips in mine, taking her bottom lip and rolling it around on my teeth before pulling back again, this time to unlace the panties.

I relinquished my grip on her wrists and moved to untie the silk ribbons, but her hands beat me there, tugging at them gently before they fell apart and they too joined the corset on the edge of the bed.

“....is that my make up?” She said, sitting up to get a better look at my face. She held my chin in her hand and twisted it around, inspecting ever mark before smirking as she turned the tables. Like I would’ve put up a fight anyway.

“Oops?” I said as I hit the plush bed beneath me and she towered over me greedily. She could barely contain my excitement, just like I could barely contain the groans that spilled from my lips as she unbuttoned her button down and shrugged it off her shoulders.

“Hmm let’s see. What exactly does my present come with?” She inquired, leaning down to lap at my pulse, and I shrugged, snaking my arms around her neck as she pulled back.

“Anything you want, I guess.” I don’t think she could’ve faked the surprised and incredibly aroused look she got on her face, and I don’t think I could’ve stopped the incessant grin a giggling that hung on mine, but neither of us really cared.

“Anything?” She breathed into the heated air between us. I nodded, propping myself up on my elbows to reassure her with a kiss.

Needless to say, she didn’t exactly need reassuring.

My face itched something fierce when I drifted back into a conscious state of mind, slowly registering everything in place around me. The warm blankets, the bony yet endearing arm centered around my waist, the soft puffs of air on my neck, the pitter patter of summer rain; everything felt so nice, so familiar, so safe.

Except the make up. Never wearing that again.

abstract_lives @ 2010-01-07T21:22:00

2010-01-08T03:22:53Z

I'm so happy!!!!

I finally got a drummer, and a rhythm guitarist, and

I'm GOING TO JAPAN!!!
This summer. I can't wait.

sorry this post is so short, but I'm swamped. With damn finals...

Writer's Block: I'm with the band

2010-01-03T06:12:00Z

If you could be a member of any musical group, past or present, which group would you choose and why?

Submitted By baleheadmel

View 1141 Answers

OH MY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!?!

If you know me, you know just who'd I pick.

Well, there's two.

no wait, three!

Numero UNO:
THE MOTHERFUCKING BEATLES!!!! Everyone knows why, because they are amazing, they made such amazing music, and I love John Lennon, rest his soul, and George Harrison and his sitar, Ringo=Apples, and Paul. Well, he's a walrus. XD

Numero Deux (haha french):

The Young Veins!!!! Notice how they come before Panic at the Disco(who's not even on the list XDDDD). Yes. This is ~~partially~~ mostly because when I came back from California, the social black hole of a state (XD) The first thing I did was catch up on P!atd, only to find that they broke up. I cried, literally cried(Mj's funeral was also on the same same day but w/e) and as if that wasn't enough, I heard the Studio version of New Perspective. I spent that weekend freaking out with my friend because it was fucking mass-produced pop-shit, and it made my soul ache. So Panic at the disco got taken down a peg in my book. Luckily, TYV, i.e. Ryan and Jon, were there with Change to make my heart whole again with the kind of music I didn't even know I was missing. Yes.

So...I'm a hardcore The Young Veins fan as of late, and yeah. The Other girl is currently the most played song on my iTunes.

Number Three:

Fall. Out. Boy.
I've been obsessed with FOB since I was twelve(12). Not even kidding. (Take THAT Ross, I win) But lately, my hardxcore lust has been dwindling, and well...It's Pete's fault!!!! He settled down just when I was getting old enough to really dig them, and....It's HIS fault, damn it. XP

But yeah....I hope that somewhat answers the question...

Writer's Block: Holiday blues

2009-12-14T14:06:28Z

What is the most emotionally challenging aspect of the holidays for you? Do you enjoy this season more or less than you did as a child?

View 822 Answers

I guess it'd have to be the sight of all the people having a kick ass time with their family, I definitely can't even begin to pretend that I like my family, for various reasons, or they even care that much about me. Unless, you know, there's food involved.

But it's probably all the togetherness that I hate, and I know I sound anti-social or whatever, but I like being by myself, and I'd appreciate it if everyone didn't constantly tell me not to be a loner and to spend time with my family(that I dislike/dislikes me) or go out and see my friends (who I’m quickly growing out of, to the point that I don't know why I'm around them at all when we hang out) and I tell them to fuck off, but that only perpetuates the whole "anti-social" crap.

The thing is, and my therapist agrees with me, is not that I hate being out with people that I can have a good time with, I love doing that. But I can't do that for two, three, four days in a row like some people can. I need a break and this constant barrage of "TOGETHERNESS" which basically forces me to spend more time with people than I feel comfortable or happy with and that makes me angry/sad/frustrated. Then when I finally do get to distance myself, I'm suddenly like, the estranged relative, so my family doesn't like me when I'm not constantly social like all of them are all the time.

So then I feel even worse for just trying to do what makes me even a little happy, which is the main reason why A) I don't like spending time with my family, B) I don't like Christmas as much as I used to, and C) I'm kind of insane with emotions around this time. I'd rather feel nothing than go through the constant cycle of emotions, which also goes for most of the year, and well...that's another story for another time

It sucks, and I'm quickly warming up to the idea of hating the holidays(all of them) like my Dad, which would be one of the two things we'd have in common now. Oh joy.

She's not a girl who misses much.

2009-12-03T22:06:34Z

God, I love High-school girls.
They're so stupid :P (not excluding myself, I do some dumb shit too)

but today, in floor hockey this preppy girl (Not that I have anything against preppy girls, some of my friends classify themselves as "preppy")
but this one girl was just stupid. Like seriously, we were playing them and it's no secret that we suddenly rocked ,we meaning my team, and we beat them. So as we were walking back to the main gym thing to get reassigned teams for the second half and I made an off-hand comment, I mean I was talking to someone else saying we beat them, again, and she flew off the handle. So what did I do? I was like "well maybe if you weren't texting the whole time..." and left it at that but she kept going, and pretty much everyone, including her team was agreeing with me, saying how she does nothing all the time.

well, she wasn't having any of that. Somehow she got my weight involved and I just had to say 'bitch please' because she was this tiny little thing and if I were a different person I could've fucked her up; like I had a foot and 50 pounds on her.

so i dropped it and people were actually congratulating me on not beating the shit out of her. it was hilarious, because after class when we were putting our equipment away, she was like 'I'm only in this class because of my sport' and I was like 'and doing nothing is helping your sport how...?' and just walked away, because she was not even worth te effort it took to argue with her. I hate girls like her.

I know she's gonna drag it back out tomorrow, she and her ugg-boots friend are like a mini clique and I just know I'm gonna have that 90 pound chick on my back. Oh well, at least the class is on my side for once.
I just felt like I needed to vent.

PS!!!! Next year's gonna be sweet!

I'm taking like, twenty math classes and english classes!!!!!! AND ART CLASSES!!!!!!and band practice....
but no history, I'm sick of History classes .

Breed a pack of lies for me?

2009-12-01T15:38:10Z

I'll try to keep this short since hey, I'm at school with the ass-fuck slow connection and nosy neighbors.

Placebo, David Bowie and The Young Veins. Have I traveled back in time? back to when my parents were young and in love, before the hardships came and tore them in twain; I felt kind of sad actually.

I'm listening to Without you I'm Nothing, reading reviews for Take a Vacation and doing comp apps work all at the same time (Because I'm a beast) and I can't help but think, what if I could, in fact, go back in time?

I'd probably warn my parents, tell them not to try so hard to have the perfect life living in the suburbs with tons of kids and a white picket fence because that life doesn't exist. I'd tell them that they need to take time to figure out if they really love each other, and to make them think twice about marriage since they obviously weren't in it for the long run.

I'd tell them, give them back all the wisdom they've instilled in me and make sure that they both end up happy because now they're anything but. I know I'd never exist, but I think it'd be better that way, if they didn't have a kid to tie them to their sacrificial institution of a prison. It'd make me happy to know that they'd be happy, even if it was without me.

Which sounds depressing as hell, I know, but it's the truth. Thank you Ryan Ross, somehow I knew I was going to tie him in here. I mean, I have no connection to him and yet I feel like he's my older brother, the guy who fucks up for me and makes the mistakes so I don't have to.

This is becoming way deeper than I really intended, so I'll save the rest for later.

It's not a matter if it isn't grey!

2009-11-29T21:52:57Z

Today is not a good day for me. Other than the fact that I have effectively pwned my writer's block for lack of a better word, and I'm finally getting back into this story I started maye two months ago, I feel miserable.

I have a terrible cold, and it's like a full body cold (whatever that means)

My throat feels like it's going to close up at any second and my nose fucking hates be because it decided to get stuffy AND to bleed all at the same time. blegh.

Did I mention I can't speak/sing at ALL??!?!? Because that's the most important part. It's like not being able to pee standing up if you're a guy; it's something I take for granted but I still do everyday and it's pretty much second nature to me.

Yes I'm comparing my singing to peeing, which is weird if you don't know how random shit in my brain connect.

So anyway, I'm super excited over this story I've been working on for a while. I mean, I was taking some serious risks and 99% of the time they blew up and I got stuck and I had to redo an entire chapter because I couldn't continue the story any further, but I think right now is a pretty good spot to be in.
so for whoever wants to read/is bored/whatever, here's an excerpt!
“One chapter? Is that it? Ryan, I can’t keep doing this.” I sighed and stared at the executive toy on the desk in front of me, although this place was anything but formal.
“I know it’s just—it’s been pretty rough on me, trying to get…over…You know what? Nevermind. I’ll get your fucking chapters in when I get them, alright?” I said ignoring the incredulous look I got from Spencer; after all he was just my editor. It wasn’t his fault I couldn’t fucking get my thoughts organized enough to spit out another chapter for this tried and tired plot that I couldn’t get into.

I nearly stomped out of his office, leaving behind a trail of fiery hot bitch in my wake, before running into someone, literally knocking her over.

“God, I’m so sorry, fuck. Let me help.” I reached a hand out to help the poor girl up, but she wasn’t having any of it. She batted my hand away; instead she gathered her papers that’d fluttered down by other people’s desks and cursed under her breath before clumsily making her way to her feet, giving me and indignant look before spinning on her heels and rushing off. I glared at her back before once again stomping off to leave this hell hole and go work on my work.

-

I sat as the black document in front of me bored holes in my inspiration, tearing down every idea I had going as soon as I transferred it from my mind to my fingers to Word. I must’ve deleted at least three chapter’s worth of material before I closed down word, instead I opted to pour myself a drink and relax with some TV.

One glass, one glass of merlot, some desperate housewives or some stupid shit like that and I’d be back to my laptop, writing up a storm I convinced myself every time, but of course I never go that easily.

One glass turns into two and two turns into half the bottle, and before I know it I’m not in my apartment, working on my paycheck; I’m at Stacy’s house, shoving a misguided tongue down her throat, grabbing at her expensive blouse and cajoling her into one more night we’d both rather forget.

-

I woke up to Stacy slipping out of bed, cursing under her breath as she slid clothes on.

“I can’t keep fucking doing this, Ryan.” She said jostling me out of the sleep I was falling back into, making me get up and get dressed as well.

“I’m sorry. I just...can’t—I can’t do without this.” she looked at me, bemused and a bit indignant, before grabbing her things and leaving.

“I’m gonna go pick up Sarah, and you better be gone when I get back.” Was all she said and I nodded, moving to retrieve the flowery bra I’d tossed to the floor the night before.

-

I drove back to my place, my head pounding and my body sore in all the wrong places, but that’s what I get for drinking instead of working on another chapter. I got home, kicked off my shoes, shrugged off my dress and slid into some sweats and a Modest Mouse tee from god knows when. I tried to force the last hours of my memory out of my mind and into the words on the page that signed my paycheck, and like every time before I did; successfully fucking my relationship with Stacy up even further until it would finally break. I tried not to think about then.

I wrote five chapters, pitched a couple new ideas, and got my money all in one sitting, and all without pissing Spencer off anymore.

“Why couldn’t you just do this last week, Ryan; I wouldn’t have to screw you over if you did.” He said and I huffed, cracking a smile as he re-read my stuff.

“You know me, Spence. Let’s just leave it at that.” I collected my payment from the almost scared looking assistant, who probably feared me for knocking her over, and noticed her for the first time—like actually noticed her.

Her hair was long and dyed slate black, and her rich brown eyes were hidden behind ridiculous red frames, I actually chuckled as she handed me my money. She glared but blew me off to answer the phone, and I thought nothing of it as I spun around to leave.

-

By the time I got home it was well after midnight since, against her better judgment, me and Stacy went out for drinks and ended up on her couch, sloppy kisses littering both our faces, necks, bodies until she just stopped.

“Stop. S-Stop, Ryan.” She said, pushing me away and sitting up before straightening her clothes.

“I can’t do this anymore; I can’t keep fucking around with you.” She said before she stood up, leaving me to leave on my own. I stormed off, slamming her door and waking Sarah in the process, before I sped off towards my house.

I got home and did what I always did to calm my nerves, one glass. And I kept it at one glass with some effort, because I wanted a clear head as the inspiration raced through my veins out onto paper and then up for the world to see. I wrote a poem, a simple little thing, about wanting nothing more than to just die, hell if I know why. Sometimes I just write, with no connection to my life and sometimes I write because something affects me directly and sometimes, most times, I don’t write at all.

Mother Superior Jumped the Gun.

2009-11-21T18:09:17Z

So I'm quitting gospel choir. I hate myself for just quitting something I don't like, like I've done all my life, but this I just conflicting with my own personal views and I don't feel comforable around them. I don't pray, I don' go to church, and I don't believe God has anything to do with our lives other than putting us here in earth.

They, on the other hand, believe god is actively involved in anything and everything they do. And when I don't feel like pretending to praise and shit, they stare at me like I'm the fucking devil.

Some christians they are.

So anyway, I'm quitting after tonight, after my big performance (it's just a monologue) and hopefullly they won't hate me.

Although I actually don't care if they do, i just don't want them to do anything to me "in the name of their lord".

I'm going to try out for the real choir, and quit taking the easy way out; and if i don't make it I don'tmake it.

Can you say Palahniuk?

2009-11-19T02:17:25Z

So I wrote this after practice when I was -ahem- supposed to be writing a speech for my history of chicago class, but I couldn't get into the mood without writing something first.

FYI, thanks to fucking choir and school, I haven't been able to write damn squat for three weeks pretty much. I hate it, I'm so frustrated!

oh well, I'm of to write my novella about Transgendered lesbian lovin :D

Fear trickled from eyes shut to the light

As minds collided on topics and things better left unsaid

Skinny-necked boys

Toy with words,

Unnerving the masses with the flow of their verbs,

Big boned women sit and listen

To the cheers,

Assimilating their fears into mainstream society,

Hoping they could be heard and needed.

When the salt of your tears bleeds like love in the pang of my memories,

Things we used to do don’t make sense

Like backwards antonyms,

Time changes,

Comes and goes in trends made for the young and the weak,

For those who don’t want to speak;

Fear falls from faces too scared to articulate to themselves,

To take the time to pick up their lives and face hell,

Too proud to ask for help;

They change with the subtle understatement of

‘Let it be’ dying on their tongues,

As walls crumble and they become one;

Tripping over words, spilling things better left unheard and

Crying out to nothing,

They leave their voice to die on the streets

Like hot fire under my feet,

Counting off a beat to pass the time,

Dicing out the time till fear comes and sends them back in line.

Writer's Block: Famous last words

2009-11-10T21:55:45Z

If you were close to death, what would you choose for your last words? To whom would you want to say them?

Submitted By whoismarion

View 1534 Answers

I dunno. They might be
"crime is naught but misdirected energy."

I believe that's so true, so, so true.
like my mother, and many more mothers have said before her,
Idle hands are the devil's playthings. so there you go :D