Timeless.

Personal Journal of Harold Elijah Less, Private in the Militia Enforcement

Bookfour.

Dayonetwentyfive, the days are drifting together. They were once separate but are now one. It's no longer Twenty four, seven. It's Now Twentyfourseven, Onesixtyeight. Things aren't looking the same either. They don't smell or taste like they used to. I just am, but nothing seems to want to be.

Dayonetwentyseven, and I don't know what time. It's light out but I can't remember if it has been for some time. When you have no one to rest for, nothing to rest for it's as if you don't need to anymore. I don't go out at night anymore. It's not safe anymore. Ever since Noah didn't return I was left to fend for my self. I search for scraps when I remember I'm supposed to eat. This occurs when I lose hours of my day, but know I haven't slept. Where do they go? Where did everyone go?

Dayonethirty, I think. I remembered. I was reminded what it was like to be with another. They were warm to the touch. Soft, mostly. This won't last long.

Dayonethrityfive, I know I'm writing. I know their watching. I'm not safe. I'm in hourfiftyfour/houronesixtyeight since my last blac--

Dayonetwentynine, I've gone back. That's where I go. I don't know how I know; I just know I've gone back. It's not the first time. That's why I am no longer able to maintain a sleep regiment. Sleep is for those that wake in the future. Sleep is everyone's personal time machine. My mind is mine.

Dayonethirtyseven, Where have I been, I wish I knew. Honestly. If only I knew where I was, I could find out were I've been all this time and why I'm here. I miss the feeling. Any feeling really even pain. I can't feel anything and I miss that.

Dayonefourty, I haven't seen it. It's been missing since that entry. I can't think straight, not anymore. There's a link, someone is in my thoughts. I'm alone and I'm being watched, but I AM alone.

Daytwelve, Listen me. I'm here. I'm with you. Wake up! It's not to late to escape. Jude can be saved. As well as Noah. You just have to break away. You control the scope of things. Take yourself away, bring yourself back. Look back. Don't log blindly, look at what you write. Look at what I write. There is no sequence. They make there be no sequence. I feel you taking hold. Look back! Loo--

Dayonefortyone. I don't think I belong here.

End Journal, Bookfour

Up somewhere

My plans feel through today and I made the most of it. I didn't get to hang out with someone I wanted to, but my defaults are always there. I love my core of friends. Happy all parts are back together.We watched Alien today. Alien was, well it was made in 1979 and Sigourney Weaver has not aged since. I think she's a ... dun, dun, dun, ALIEN!

I don't have much to say, I'm in a good mood, wish I had the opportunity to cheer others up. And also, Avatar was good. Not AMAZING! It was however enjoyable. Same with Sherlock Holmes. I want to see "Up in the Air."

Addiction

Addiction

Here is a particular tale, of a man in love. A genre writhing with experience yes. This love story is however a compilation. A tale of a man. No scratch that, a boy. A boy in love with not one, but man that becomes a man who is unable to his true love. His charm, is a charm that’s irresistible, a whit that is unmatched. He keeps companionship often, but finds true love never. It is because when someone loves almost anyone, how is he to find the one that is meant to be.

Ever since a young age, an attraction to the opposite sex was present. From love notes to puppy love he had the pick of the litter. As he grew so did his willingness to indulge his romantic tendencies. However, as he began to flourish, his heart began to wonder. Faithful in body, he was absent in mind. A single girl was unable to obtain his attention, not as if he was unwilling to bestow it upon them. In his time of passion he was in full blown love. In time of solitude he was in constant discontent. In search of his next, but not likely his last companion.

Through his youth, he was unsatisfied. Whether they be play dates in his childhood or a casual get-together in his adulthood, he was unsatisfied. With each love and there in loss of said love, came an even greater disappointment. It not being “the love” of his life, rather “a love” of his life took a toll on his heart. By the half point in his life he had fallen in and out of love to often to recall, but he knew his love would always remain. In hopes of saving his heart from additional torment he attempted to maintain a simple life, showing no sign of feelings. He however could not fight who he was.

After years of trying his chance at love he finally tried his chance at life, but a life without love, left him empty. He wanted a wife, he wanted kids, and he wanted a family. But life had passed him by and those he did love knew how special they were. He had not gained the family he wanted, but he did warrant the love he desired. In his passing came a remembrance from those he once loved, those he truly, always did love. He could not stop the passing of his life just as he could not stop the love he had created. He lived, in spite of his best attempts, in a constant state of love, just as he will be remembered.

Representing Seven Games

Representing Seven Games


Atop a hill, overlooking what had happened she was safe now, not a fear in the world as he kissed her. He was complete then, not a worry in the world as she kissed him. Not always had they been worry free. Not always had they been fearless. Let’s go back. Back to when fears and worries ran rampant. Lets go back.


It’s now six days till today and he’s working late. No, he had no fancy job. Assistant fry cook he was. Seventeen years old he was, fueled by sex and hate. He was. It was nearing the end of his shift when he sees her. She was a vision among visions. How has he never noticed her? He thinks. She enters the restaurant, friends at her side, and phone to her ear. She’s oblivious to him, he’s nonexistent. It’s 8:07 and she places the order, she asks for a Number three with no tomatoes and a large fries. He remembers this, she doesn’t even notice him.


It’s now five days till today and they’re in school, they’re unaware of each other’s presence, she more than he of course. He walks the halls and notices her once more. He doesn’t know how he‘s never seen her. He asks his friend who she is. The friend’s answer comes almost immediately, but each second that passes feels like hours of waiting. “Her name’s Jocelyn or Chaplin or something.” He laughs, “Chaplin, what are you fucking retarded, what kind of name is that?” “Hey Chaplin!,” he hears someone screams from across the hall. He feels embarrassed. “Ha, dick!” His friend replies.


It’s now four days till today and it’s raining. Chaplin hates the rain. She’s new to town, moved in with her cousin’s family because her mother passed away and her dad went to jail. She’s unaware of the latter of course. How she is filled with pride for her father, believing he is serving in the army, how naive. She makes her way to school alone today. Her cousin is skipping school, there’s a school-wide proficiency exam, and her cousin isn’t feeling quite proficient that day, so she feels lonely. She waits for the bus in the rain, no coat, no umbrella, she never did really get the chance to pack. She boards the bus, she feels as if she’s the center of attention. Three stops go by and a boy enters the bus, the boy from earlier, dry from head to toe. His mother drove him to the bus stop, he has a loving family, no dead relatives nor any convicted. She still pays him no mind. He too has been feeling rather un-proficient that day and was planning on cutting school. He exits the bus, not without with meticulous notice of the girl he’s infatuated with. He passes by her unparticularly, ever so slowly. This forces the bus driver to yell, and yell she does. “If you’re gonna’ get off the fuckin’ bus get off it already! Fuck!” He’s embarrassed, he’s forced to rush, he drops his umbrella near a certain girl. A certain girl notices and runs to return it but the bus door shuts. The umbrella has the initials “O.K.” as if to assure her the day is going to be fine. She smiles and for the first time that day, she’s happy.


It’s three days till today, it’s a beautiful day but Chaplin has an umbrella in hand, an umbrella marked “O.K.” She boards the bus, now in anticipation of the boy, the umbrella‘s owner. He never boards, she’s disappointed. That same day, some time after, the boy wakes. He’s dreary, then angered by a glance at his alarm clock, he’s late. He gets to school in time for second period, he can’t miss a second day in a row or the school will notify his parents, his parents wouldn’t like that. Periods go by, the school day is at an end. He gets ready to board the bus and he notices the girl and for the first time the girl notices him. His heart races, she begins to move toward him. He is now confused, but happy. He thinks, “why’s she coming to me?” She sees him, she sees him see her, she thinks “I hope he doesn’t think I stole this.” She moves toward him, her heart is racing. He stands still pretending not to notice, his heart is racing. She approaches him and taps him on the shoulder, he pretends to be startled, she giggles, he laughs. “I didn’t mean to scare you, my name is Chaplin Day.” Her name always embarrasses her upon introduction. “He’s got beautiful eyes,” she thinks. “She’s got a beautiful smile,” he thinks. He introduces him self, “Or--, Orlando Kelly.” His name always embarrasses him upon introduction. He then notices his umbrella in her hand. She realizes those are his initials. They start talking. They board the bus. Everything is O.K.


It’s two days till today. Chaplin happy and invigorated, ready to face the world. She makes her way to the bus stop. She boards the bus upon its arrival. She’s waits in anticipation for Orlando. Earlier that day, the alarm has yet to go off but Orland wakes with a purpose. Surprised at the time, he leaps out of bed. He gets dressed and rushes to the bus stop. He boards and looks for Chaplin. The second Chaplin sees Orlando she excitedly yells “O.K. over here!” They make eye contact. His heart beats faster in her presence. They bullshit about the weather, music and TV, each is euphoric. They get to school and it seems as if they are the only ones there. They begin to go their separate ways and suddenly there is a large commotion. She get’s scared, she grabs his hand, he gets worried he grabs her tighter. Suddenly the school goes black, and an announcement is heard, “Please report to the auditorium, all students report to the auditorium.” Growing up in a small town in the mid-west, they are accustomed to tornado warnings. This is no tornado warning. They cram into the small gymnasium, a makeshift auditorium for assemblies. They’re assembled. It was then a man who was not a school official takes the stage, which was nothing more then propped-up tables in front of curtain. Orland’s confused, he had experienced emergencies before, but none of this magnitude. Normally people would be talking about what was happening, no one was speaking. That is no one was speaking until the man began to speak, “Good Morning students of Will Rogers Memorial High School would you please be seated as quick as possible. It is vital that you learn more about the current situation,” Orlando hates that their school is named in memory of an actor. Chaplin has no clue who Will Rogers even is. The man wheeled out a TV, he turns on a newscast that was already in progress. “There is a serious matter at hand, that all of you must be informed of: at 8:07 this morning, the United States was attacked. It is said that attacks of the same nature are happening around the world. People are disappearing at random. We are unaware as of now if the threat is a form of terrorist attack or global warfare. Stay together and in one place, that is what we can offer. All we know is--” and with that the man turns off the TV. People begin talking all around. All Chaplin can do is grab Orlando. All Orlando can do is let her. The man continued speaking, but they did not listen. They were to spending the night in the school. Orlando is thrilled to spend the night with Chaplin, yet scared shitless of what might be going on. Chaplin is glad to be with someone who could hold her, she doesn’t have very many people left.


It’s yesterday. They’ve slept in the home economics classroom. For some reason they were the only ones in that particular classroom. There were oven mitts they could use as pillows along with aprons they could use as blankets. They wake to people screaming. They locked the door the night prior, Orlando’s idea. When they hear the screaming they run to the door. They can’t see anything. And as suddenly as the screaming began, it stopped. They’re confused. Orlando ran to the teachers desk, but it was locked so he took a rolling pin and began beating in the drawer. Chaplin’s scared and confused, but realizes he is doing this for a reason. He then rips the drawer open and pulls out a crank radio. “I knew I heard that bitch. I’ve seen Mrs. Leffe listen to ball games before.” with that Chaplin laughs, somehow she’s having a good time. Orlando smiles; it makes him feel good to cheer her up. He cranks the radio, but there’s nothing. He cranks it again and again, but still nothing. There was nothing on the radio. That was unsettling to them. He puts the radio down and starts rummaging through the refrigerator in the classroom. He finds some eggs, a box of baking soda, very little left of a loaf of bread and a half gallon of milk half-way curdled. “I guess it was French toast this week,” he smiles at Chaplin. She giggles. “She has a beautiful smile,” he thinks. He cooks for them, they eat, they talk, they rest and they wait. They decide they’re going to go out tomorrow. They are both scared, but happy to be with one another.


It’s finally today. They wake, they are anxious. They check the window of the room again, and once more they see nothing no sign of anyone. Orlando feels a little worried. Chaplin is scared. Orlando cooks the remainder of the food. He gives Chaplin more food than himself, and he pretends not to notice. She notices this. They don’t know what to prepare for so they fashion themselves weapons out of things from the kitchen. Chaplin takes the knives and places them in an apron they slept covered with the night prior. Orlando takes the rolling pin, he seemed to be acquainted with it already. There is no reason to think they haven’t been invaded. Everyone is gone. Orlando looks at Chaplin for a minute and is happy. At that same moment Chaplin looks in Orlando’s eyes, she is happy as well. They make their way to the door, filled with anxiety. Chaplin grips Orlando’s hand tightly. Orlando leads the way. They step out the door for the first time in what feels like ages and finally have a clearer view of what has happened. They see in the distance classroom doors flung open, banners ripped from the walls. Orlando notices a trail of discarded items, it’s still dark in the building, he tells Chaplin to stay close. Chaplin follows blinded by fear. As they approached the schools entrance he gasps in confusion. Chaplin can’t hide behind Orlando any longer. Filled with both fear and curiosity she leaps out in front of Orlando in order to get a better look. Cars still in flames, abandoned. Baby carriages empty on the sidewalk. No Bird nor bee, nothing for miles. Orlando asks if she is all right, she nods and motions him to move forward. He now thinks her braver than himself, but doesn’t say so. They continue up the road. They walk slowly, cautiously, holding each other close. They pass each other’s bus stops, fresh with shoe marks, but now no one is there to make them. They finally reach the horizon and look back at their town, confused. Why them? Why were they special. They turn to one another. They think “could it be coincidence?” Looking into his beautiful eyes she smiles and seeing her beautiful smile he pulls her closer. Without care and in the absence of fear, they kiss.

Story of a Lonely Guy

Story of a Lonely Guy

A man at peace, a woman in mourning. A family in pieces, a family gathered one morning. With her by his side he remembers the end. He doesn’t however remember his. He remembers theirs.

Bang, bang, bang. The scampering of little feet, then laughter. Then a voice yells, “wake up, you’re going to…” The voice is cut off. “Stop! Just, let me, what? Where? Hold on, just stop talking!” He fumbles for his alarm clock finds the snooze button and presses down, sweet release from a hellish ordeal, he thinks.”What, what was, what is it?” “I was just checking if you needed to be up, your alarm was going off for a while.” He replies, “Wh-yeah I was, it wu… yeah.” He lies in bed till she leaves.

It’s both strange and sad being woken by an alarm. Your body knows you’re not done sleeping, you’re mind is dreaming, your body is resting, but your ears are saying “why now?” It’s kind of amazing how sad the feeling of waking up from a good dream is. Those few seconds you have a vivid picture, you’re content. The seconds after in which you forget them, you’re indifferent with the realization, “I’m no longer dreaming, this is my life.”

Some time goes by and he finally gets out of bed. He’s groggy, but complacent he has a routine. He thinks of his life is a show of sorts, low ratings not a great chance it’ll be renewed. Here’s hopes to it will have a cult following on DVD. In spite of this he continues his routine. He used to be able to get ready while she was home; he used to be able to do a lot of things, with her. She hasn’t returned his affections in some time.

They have children now, plural. They’re a blessing, as he remains cursed. Blessing being a word of loose meaning. A word possibly meaning the term “c’mon baby just the tip,” and swiftly followed by “you know it feels better without one.” You can see where this leads; this is why he sleeps in.

This one was lucky; a future accompanied by a side of fries was not in store for him. Just that of his children, to eat of course. A boy who could work was not in need of schooling, a girl who couldn’t work had nothing but her school work. This aside they had each other. That is until she had someone else, where he was left with no one.

His love though immature, was thorough. You’d think he had won the lottery the way he had showered her with affection. Affection being free that was what he could afford to offer her. You would have thought it would last forever. The way he looked at her the first time she came into his life was the same as the day she left his life. Love may be blind, but when love is no longer there it will also leave one deaf. No matter what he said to keep her in his life she could hear no word of it. She had found another. He was left alone, where she just up and left.

For some time they remained friendly. It was to be done for the sake of their family, resentment built, but love however had never depleted. He had loved her, the same way he did years after her departure, the same as the day he met her. A tainted youth is a wasted youth. If only mistakes could be forgotten without undoing said mistakes.

He will never think of his life, laying blame. He will never think of what could have been. She will start anew. She will build toward making what should have been. He cares solely about the past however does nothing to protect it. Whereas she wants so badly to move on but nurtures every aspect of it.

Nineteengoingontwenty: Mommy.

Setting a password for my father's girlfriend the other day I realize the importance certain birthdays have for some people. Not only your own, but those close to you. Most passwords, most lotto numbers are birthdays. I don't really have anywhere to go with this, I just need a space to clear my head.

I took my mother out for her birthday for the first time ever. Just her and I. That felt like a step into adulthood. For a woman I live with I see her so little, it may sound sad but I was so happy to have that time with her. I look forward to her birthday so that I can finally show her that I appreciate her, it's not often I get the chance.

Am I young or am I old? I'm criticized by my younger friends as being to old to understand, yet by my older ones as being to young. What am I? I'm Nineteengoingontwenty. Is that young or old? When will I no longer be judged. Possibly it's the remaining teen angst in me but little things just get to me.

Am I considered an adult, yet undermined? Or am I considered a child that is allotted extra privilege? Personally, I'd rather not be either, but what can you do really? What can you do?

Also

I need new music.

Doesn't

I can't sleep.

I don't have anyone to talk to. I want someone to spend time with. I want someone to take a ride with me to blockbuster when we're free. I want someone to get lunch with on my break. I don't want to be alone anymore.

Why can't those that pretend to care just be there and why is it that those that do are nowhere to be found. I miss my girlfriend more then just sexually. I don't see her in anyway lately. Seems as if everyone around me has their life together, mines just funtioning. Maybe I'm overworked or just under ... something.

I'm unexpressable.

Should I have to try this hard? Just to be, now, at this age.

Horticulturist: The family tree is en route to de-root

Horticulturist

The family tree is en route to de-root,
And this leaves me helpless and leave me leafless,
But how can I treat this cutting of the tree -
Can’t water what wants to be free.

You grow so fast and you change real slow,
And over time as time passes I must learn to let go,
And to grow in the same way you choose -
Not to loose or forget but to gain attributes.

But how can I attribute to a cause I don’t embrace,
I’d rather just constrict, and not write, these words I’d erase,
Already many have left, it’s not right for you to do -
How can you be like them, how could you do this too.

I’m left to grow in the shadow, and weep,
Under the weeping willow, the family tree of deceit,
Abandoned and demanded to stay away from wanted freedom -
Disbanded from the love, of being equal now’s defeated.

So take your leave and I’ll be the leafs that you abandon,
This autumn is the time where you choose to fall out,
Growing older, move the pedal, remove the petals and evolve -
Fall apart from what was holding you back all along.

You choose to be alone when I don’t get to choose if I get to stay,
Have no ability to branch out, I can’t get away,
Always said one day we’d make the move together -
But it’s funny when you get the chance you packed your trunk and went on.

So weathered I will be,
I’ll have to endure the season’s changing,
Ever bearing it with the bark, on my regrets, I must bite -
Ever growing in the shadow from the few shimmers of the light.

And the Lord said "Let there be Internet Access

Ever see a 3/8 of a Mile High Way Sign

So after a long Hiatus ... Yes I know my adoring pubic you have missed me. No, no, no, calm down. I'm here. Well as here as here can be Via Blog. Now I won't drag this out not much has changed. Then again if you don't KNOW me, not much is known. Girlfriend (Check), Family (Mostly check, Mitch is moving out), for further information be a friend. But besides that I have internet access so I will no longer have to rely on the kindness of my Wii, Sidekick, or Chris. I so just prefer my Compaq. But hey Dorney was Fucking awesome and tomorrow I'll be bringing Mitch to Hofstra University so he can register and then around the area so he can find an apartment. He no longer has a vehicle.

West Berlin, NJ has the GREATEST Thrift Store.

I'm bored, and I made almost $500 this weekend, dad ... ha, daddy is so getting a Father's Day dinner this Tuesday. (By the by, I had to Google, if "dinner" was spelled"diner" or "dinner" ... I did so by typing "local din..." and waited to see what it suggested I finish my search bar with, but I digress). However, I haven't spent much time with my father, (who is daddy due to the confusing fact he is listed as such in my phone book as such, but my mom is listed as, well mom, again I digress) because of conflicting schedules. However, on this wonderful Father's Day (what ever the word for night after is) when I happen to read Jenn's Blog as well as listen to Asher Roth, I realize how little I share or have shared with my father. Now I don't blame that wonderful man for any of this, it's just true. Pretty much when I was younger he wasn't there much, I mean for sports, he was designated but even times where I injured myself, for the manly DEAL WITH BLOOD things, my Grand Father was designated due to my father's need to work, which is funny because that's the reason I don't see him. And because he's finally getting some booty, however that was LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOG over due. You go dad ... but I digress, hmm I can't stay on track today ... but I digress. The only thing my dad and I pretty much share anymore is our car insurance (Geico ... I just had to switch this creepy stack of money was following me around for like a month), the occasional dinner when I stop by (my Grandfather ... oh my ... makes the greatest sauce known to man, I know, you're thinking everyone says that NO! I thought my mom's was awesome, I was wrong, go eat my Grandfather's sauce), and a conversation pretty much when ever I build something because for some reason I'm see as not only the nonathletic son but for some reason the son that can't build shit, like the son that isn't handy, because I'm a waiter or a college student, I don't know, but anyhow I like to prove to him I can build shit, so I tell him. However when I know I need his help, I ask him. Like for instance, I need to mount a TV this TV



and I need his help, so I asked him to come over he says sure I'll come over. He calls back the next day, and asks that I make sure it's alright with my mother that he come over. Now my mother and father have an amazingly civil relationship, I have seen them fight in 19 years ... once, that was fucking creepy. Anyway, I obeyed his wishes asked my mom, she was for some reason hesitant, but then said yes. She calls back a half an hour later, giving me guide lines on how the house may look and to make sure her door to her bedroom is shut. I agree. Not even another half hour goes by and she calls once more "tell your father not to come I'll have [my husband] do it for you," my reply "no thank you I'd rather it not be hung, I'd rather it just stay the way it is." No here's a side note for all those joining the game late, my Mother's husband who will remain absent of the title stepfather, even in the most confusing of circumstances I will never refer to him as such, is an ass and he is the only reason my father can't help his son, do something that is along the lines of his profession. So my brother is just going to help me, hopefully we're competent enough to pull it off ... poor choice of words ... competent enough to put it up ... and it won't pull off. Yeah, I think that's it.


(Oh by the way My Mother's Husband hasn't spoken to us in years, just encase I'm comming off as a spoiled kid)




Oh and as for the title, about one or two months ago I went the the GREATEST thrift store ever! It was in West Berlin, NJ and I bought a random bag-o-action-figures and a little house-shelf ... it's self-explanatory. They were bought with the intention to combine. Just so you know in this AMAZING bad-o-action-figures (which I only purchased because there was a bendy-flex Red Power Ranger which I know for a fact a friend of mine owned, but I didn't ... must have been like expensive ... so I needed it) it contained not only a Goldar (from Power Ranger) action figurine, but a Space Jam, yes a masterpiece we all know and love that gave us Lola Bunny, action figure. OH, and a mini-Bible (both old and new testament), but that's bot featured.

Yoshi, he'll have to do.

Wow, I know nothing about Anime. In fact on a couple of occasions you could even find me admitting my distaste for the stuff, that however does not stop me from spending near $300 on a weekend of geekage. Now I actually don't hate the stuff I'm just not into it as much as I am Comic Books or Graphic Novels (hate that term, attempting to make comic books sophisticated) ... any who I enjoy the occasional Anime, Death Note, Paranoia Agent, and so on. Something either ludicrous or interestingly-not-DBZ. But I was actually impressed at how much this Anime Convention was about pretty much all spectrums of geekdom and not just Manga. For instance Video Games. OH my, were there gaming items. I found my self bidding, yes bidding not on eBay, but real bidding on pieces of art, be them N.E.S. inspired, still art none-the-less. Sadly I lost, Damn you Kevin, bidder #016. But that didn't stop me from still purchasing around $150 on geek-esk art. Which in turn made me actually inspired me to paint, and I am almost done with what I think looks like what I was actually trying to make which always makes me happy.




Oh and by the way, I am McGiver ... of Cosplay. I made a Yoshi Costume out of a Green shirt, clear tape, red tape, a piece of cardboard, 3 styrofoam cups, and a paper clip. Check it out for yourself. I think I did a pretty good job. Mind you I made my friends costumes as well. And to quote an adorable little 3-year-old (My little brother) "I like your new costume Jay!" So I think that speaks for it self.




P.S. If anyone needs to quench their disco needs there's a great little place in Somerset, NJ by the name of "Parity, The Disco Super Store"

I like the universe, but she messes with my words.

I've rediscovered my love for a little band by the name of Motion City Soundtrack. When working in yet another customerless bartending shift in the Beer Garden I had the brilliant idea to run and get a CD from my car, I got two. One being a regular classic, "Dude Ranch", by blink-182 and a relative unknown, "Commit this to Memory" which is their sophomore album, and a Mark Hoppus (bassist of blink-182) produced album. Now when this CD came out I automatically fell in love with their original single, "Everything is Alright", in my current state which is strangely bleh, even though I've had a rather understandably casual week, I just take everything they say to heart. Almost every song being about the lead singers life which was riddled with wrong decisions and drug use you can feel the emotion in such simply deep lyrics, as well as just insanely catchy tunes. It's just making me think about where I am in life, if I'm happy what I'm doing, why I'm doing it and who I'm with.



"These are the things I think about when I'm alone (without you) ..."



I just wish I knew what could get me going. Oh and I think my disposable camera was warped by the sun because most of the pictures didn't come out. Can that happen if they're kept in heat? Hmm, live and learn, maybe I just needed to flash more. I like to take pictures of pointless things.




"All you have are memories"





I don't know what this is but I
think it looks fucking awesome.

You've Heard of Rapper's Delight? Well, I'm Delightful.

G-d bless Technology.

Rap, now every genre has there exceptions and I'm well aware that many people like "crunk"-rap, as well as anything that is overly gangsta'. But honestly I can't relate, and recently I found a Genre that is just me. Nerdcore. It's rap for the geek in everyone, now I'm not discriminating against gangsta' rap, everyone has their own thing they can relate to, Nerdcore is mine. Now until recently this certain type of rap wasn't very mainstream, it still isn't, but there are many artists that can be seen as having Nerdcore aspects such as early Gym Class Heroes stuff, Lupe Fiasco, or up and coming rapper Asher Roth, some white dude from Pennsylvania. Well with is overload of Nerdcore as well as intelligent relevent rap like the three artists I mentioned, I've been inspired to write, and it isn't much but it's something and that makes be very happy.

(This is it.)

All He Wrote, All I Am

I feel like I don’t have a medium to express,

The way that I feel or the way I want to be,

I’m stuck in a rut and there have been times where I’ve done less -

But this is different in some way, I just can’t see.

I’ve been blinded by the times,

My mind’s eye is in a recession,

My receding hairline, I’m 19,

And balding how depressing.

But that’s just current events to make this a period piece,

I’m not affected by the way the price of the gas likes to increase,

I’m working steadily, and I’ve got nothing wrong in my life -

I guess that is the reason that I can’t really write.

But I don’t want to tempt g-d I just want to be able to be,

Express what I’ve been feeling in a swift flowing rhyme scheme,

See I think of me as a poet and thought not many people know it -

I like to be able to forever be.

It’s a little dream I’ve had like since I was twelve,

I started writing in my notebook about how much I hate myself,

Because of the way my peers made me feel -

And pressure from my Bar Mitzvah.

And now I’m all grown up I’m certainly a man,

Or at least in Jewish standing I think you can understand,

I’m ok with who I am and I’m ok with who I’ll be -

But because of that I have a hard time writing this poetry.

P.S.

Listen to "The Lounge" by Asher Roth.

P.P.S.
New Eminem CD.