PURPLiSH GRAPE version O01:MM GRAPES

can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over- the-fence, world-series kind of stuff.

I've got my butterfly back.

Equations Sans Mathmatics.

Disgusting world you have prompted me to trade my rationality for warm arms that cannot be found within the Mother that is supposed to be Earth.
But those arms aren't so warm when you begin to look into their eyes and realize that they are imperfect just as you are and just as the rest of the world is.
So nothing is warm and everything is questioned as a figure jutting out of the darkness comes out and grabs the light in my head away and holds it for ransom; I've no money and not a hope of the pretty copper in a penny finding its way in my worn hand.
Left high and dry with artificial rain pounding down on my head. Heat leaves me to think too much, switch, cold makes me feel like I'm gasping for my dying breath, switch -- and so it goes on and on and on.
Morals are the only thing that had me separated from all this smut in the world -- when I've no morals, I'm truly nothing more than you or them.
What happens when morals are traded in for love which can be traded out for in a second? Once morals are gone they are hard to get back, and if you ever get them back they may be different and disgusting and dingy.
I've traded morals for love. Love is gone and my morals are still being pushed in a hope for that requiting of love.
I can't see it happening; that's just me.
Can you see it happening?

Mercuriality Is Sentenced.

Tell me I did the right thing.
Thousands of other butterflies flitting around; I can't even begin to make out where he is, or if he's even there.
Fuck. I told him to delete me, too. Ohhh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Tell me it was the right thing to do.
He was one of the only times I've ever had a lucid dream -- in the form of my wanting to dream of him. I did.
I heard his VOICE. Now, I'm pretty sure it wasn't his real one but nevertheless he was totally alive in my dream...
LOOK AT ME. What have I become? I pledged to myself I'd never be like this again. NEVER.
OH GOD TELL ME I DID THE RIGHT THING.
Just tell me if this reaction is one of teen angst or if it's needed.
What if his life is going great? Ohhh fuck, it's been -- what? How long? Not even twelve hours, and most of those twelve hours I spent sleeping.
I don't care about his want and love of socialism and anarchy or whatever anymore -- not that it ever really bothered me.
Ah, silly me. I unblocked him, but I had the thing set to offline. He probably never deleted me, hoping I'd come around. He'll see this and see that I came around and he'll unblock me.
I'm too proud to ask for him back directly -- much too proud. It'd take me a week to do so, and even then I'm still unsure.
He said he didn't even CARE. FUCK.
But I didn't believe him...
What I did last night was both an act of selflessness and selfishness.
While I didn't want him to hurt and get agitated because of me, I didn't want to hurt when he did the same, either.
I'm not as totally innocent as I put it to him.
I just...please tell me I did the right thing.
I mean, I even made his birthday card early...about 100 days early.
I counted the days, you saw right.
This is pathetic. He's in freaking England. ENGLAND.
Either let this ebb or come about right. Please. Please.

Bye Goes The Butterfly.

I let my butterfly go.
I had to push him out, had to shake the jar.
I wound up shattering it.
This hurts much more than it should.
What -- what got me though, was when he said "good luck with your life".
I wanted to stomp on the stop button; this sounds too soon, too permanent.
It was only a month.
One month.
It feels like I gave up on an eternity.

The Butterfly Boy.

How can once song contain so many hidden feelings? How can it make the trees sway and my emotions dance? More importantly, why?
He's a butterfly; fragile and unsure, yet goes about flying anyway.
I caught this butterfly and can't find it in me to let it go. I don't want to. He has just the right colors, just the right things to say...so in the jar he stayed.
He grows and grows: one might note with enthusiasm. Not I.
Hating change, I overlook it. I get a bigger jar. No more cramped, close quarters. No more reason to complain now.
Or so I think.
Orange keeps on flashing. I keep on seeing it in my head, and I so desperately want it out. That little ting of the butterfly talking has to be ignored for now.
How can I be destroyed so suddenly and surely?
I'll always be here, I guess. I've not much else to do.
Silly butterfly. I was there last night, my stomach twisting in anticipation and anxiety, waiting for you to answer.
HI! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? OH, MAYBE IT'S JUST MY COMPUTER...I'LL TRY YOU IN THE MORNING. LOVE YOU LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU BYE.
Why?
So reminiscent of a tragic happening five years past, yet if you asked me now, I could give you a million ways in how it's different.
One important thing to note: it's exactly the same.
If differing in the colors and the wing size and even the species, it's the same thing: it's a butterfly.
Shattering the jar is an option. Not a realistic one.
For the glass would go everywhere, cutting me, cutting him. It wouldn't be good; we'd be an ugly, bloody mess. I'll be damned if I let tranquility melt into a pool of memories and nothingness.
I could always pop open the lid and let him go free. Who said he wants to be let out, though? And who said, who said I wasn't selfish in the least?
I could go out into the field with him, and try and let him go. See if he stays, see if he leaves.
I need to step out of the house. I need to see...
Opinion cannot be left to us; we are not creatures of stable mind or wired thinking. We're off, they walk right and we walk left. Right?
I thought I was different from you, I thought I'D be making the choices. I thought I was the more stable of the two.
But I'm just as crazy as you. Just as crazy.
Fly away, butterfly. Fly, please. It hurts too much.
Just leave me a goodbye note so I'm not left wondering where you are and why you left and what's wrong with me. Leave and go away on a note, a literal note.
It's the best thing to do.

Looking Back At Burned Pages.

I've been left out of his history, long before any history should've been written.
America is famous for doing the above: for writing out little tidbits of history that could embarass us or make us look bad.
I didn't make him look bad, and in no way could I have been an embarassment. So that leaves me to think he wants to forget.
If I could talk to him once more, I'd want to tell him forgetting is dangerous. Forgetting is dishonorable, and even though I don't think all too highly of myself, I know I have no right being forgotten. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth and a sore heart.
We haven't spoken for -- another thing that feels so long; I nearly said he hadn't been speaking for a year now. No, no. Eights months, at best.
We brought out the worst in each other for some reason. Perhaps it was because I saw myself in him and he saw himself in me. We had the same tendencies when it came to relationships in general: diving in headfirst, becoming obsessed, wanting more, constant paranoia, etcetera.
Too alike, yet too different all the same. This was surely the recipe for disaster that no one had been anticipating.
I was, by no means, a terrible friend. I wasn't a great one, but by no means was I a bad one.
I still remember staying on the phone with him while his future was in fragile hands, trying to find him a place to live. Ignoring his quick, fast comment to not "screw this up", of which he apologized for. Apologies do nothing but erode those words slashed on the hardening sand in my head. It's still there, it still hurts.
I still remember the next day, not seeing him at school, calling him upwards of twenty times that day. I got a nervous pang in my stomach towards the end, the one pang I thought I had always reserved for family. Evidently not.
To have that all thrown back at me when, when he was visiting our school, to go to her instead of me. When I was a mere 30-45 feet away from him in that cursed hallway, when I am quite noticeable and people simply cannot mistake me for anyone else, after all that help--!
All he could manage was a passing hi, a passing how are you doing. Cue the concerned look, haul in the bye.
I stopped talking to him after that day.
Don't white over my name. Don't forget.
While I'm not angry anymore, I know better than to slip into a relationship where I know it'll be dangerous.
Don't rewrite me for knowing better.

The Keys Don't Fit; The Gate Broken.

He screams in the other room. Every scream is a blood-curdling, hair-raising scream. Not one of them is a surprise.
I can't remember how my he was before he started again -- and even if I do, even if I'm lying when I say that, I do it deliberately; I don't know when he was drunk and when he wasn't.
I might bring up an old time, where he was funny or something equally odd or satisfying happened. When I was through talking about that, he would shake his head, chuckle and mutter "I must've been drunk."
Too late to ask him not to say that, I guess. Out of place to ask him to stop, as well.
Those memories are the only stability I hold. All of those memories happened when he was out of his bedroom, when he wasn't working, when he wasn't at the gym or with his friends, when he wasn't in the van getting drunk.
I don't hold anymore memories.

Fraternal Twins.

I fear that I'm heading back to that all too familiar place. Rewind and stop, go back 5 years. That's where I'm headed, and as I trip across mistakes while walking backward and using lessons to brace myself, I still cannot find it in me to stop.
I'm a rational person who has strong armor built up around myself constantly. Not once does it go down, at least not conciously.
He has broken through all that and has made me look like I put up what was quite possibly the weakest defense in the world.
Shattered, lying all on the floor. Muscles weak and ligaments torn, I can only look over at the mess with eyes coated with ecstacy; sense trying to beat its way out.
Sense has no place in my mind and can only settle in my heart; for I'll be damned if it leaves my mouth.
I don't like this feeling of not knowing what's in store and what's capable. I'm sick of letting emotions stab their staff through my brain, killing off any potential thoughts or rationality.
Emotion is an evil, evil thing. It dumbs us down to nothing but mere carcasses floating on things that may happen.
I can only remember how I was so long ago (just one, but, but it feels like so more), where I would've gratefully traded my happiness for someone's comforting arms.
Rationality is a cold, cold hand to be dealt; a cold person to go to bed with at night. However, as cold as its nimble fingers were, Rationality never took away what was, perhaps, the only good thing about me: my logic.
It might've been flawed at times, it might've been outright wrong at others. However, it kept me from falling in love with people's fallacies.
All this time has passed by, and I can't quite remember how anything was. I hate learning from scratch.
I can always refuse.
But I can always go back.
Always.

it merits nothing.

i'm alone yet again. i don't like it, but at least i'm not in the dark.
two of my brother's teachers called in; they want my parents to come in for a conference.
fuck that school, and fuck them. of course i want my brother to do better, but it all goes the same way. the jolt gets mom and dad to care for a while, but they start to slip afterwards -- that's all. it's common, no big deal.
but it is. this is his future they're -- I'M -- toying around with. my dad said the scariest thing a few weeks ago.
"i don't think [brother] will go to college."
i felt like screaming at him. how can he have faith in himself if his own father can't find it within him to try and dredge up what he needs?
my brother will go to college. he will have a great, long life and will be successful, as will my sister. my mom and dad will have a truly happy life when i become an RN, starting with me buying a house for them wherever they want. i need this to work, i need this to work.
even if i don't have a family, or ever have a husband or boyfriend or never lose my virginity or have my first kiss, it won't matter. i'll have done what i needed, i'll have made my first and only family into everything they need and want to be.
i feel so insecure, though. i keep on needing to talk to someone, and i never get the chance. the closest i've come to asking for some sort of help was going to miss rita for a hug. but beforehand, i had found a twenty dollar bill on the ground that belonged to some girl who was right around miss rita -- i didn't exactly want her to hear that some strange fat kid wanted a hug from an art teacher, so i waited. during the wait, the girl started freaking out a bit. she started going on and on about missing a twenty -- the twenty i found. i debated silently for a bit and then realized that i was ridiculous for even having to contemplate it, and gave her the twenty back.
her thank you was deplorable. however, miss rita went on and on about how great it was, and finally asked me what i needed -- the girl was still there and my sister was right behind me. not wanting to let anyone know i was weak, i simply smiled and walked away, saying "it's all right -- it was nothing." i stood in the hallway with my sister, talking as new custom dictates, when miss rita walked by.
"you're an angel, don't ever change!" as she moved down the hall, she then hastily added "and move back to -old town name-!"
i've never felt like a bigger phony in my life. i'm no angel, and i want to move back to the old town so badly.
that, and we might be moving again when the lease is up in march. i can't do it, not again. march of '09, we moved in september of '05, making it the fourth house in 3.5 years. it's odd to be saying that, as a kid, i thought i'd be in queens forever. this is such an odd concept to me even as of now, as a sixteen year old...i can't quite grasp it.
i hate this moving around. i need stability, which is ironic in itself, seeing as how i might possibly be bipolar.
i just want someone to come take this confusion, this pain and hatred for something i don't even know about away.

shut up and smile.

i can't sleep. my mind is a whirlwind and i can't focus on sleeping alone. my thoughts go and hug one idea while trying to comfort all the other ones, and i just can't even think about sleeping.
what a stupid boy. please, just ask me how i'm doing for once without acting all melodramatic and then expecting me to answer your half-assed question. we're both unstable, i understand that. yes, i know i've flipped out on you a number of times. i'm sorry, i can't control it all too well as of now.
i know in my mind those flip outs are like a test, to see if you really could deal with the worst of me...congratulations, you've aced that part, but you're failing the rest.
you claim you love me, yet we've only been talking to each other for what -- not even a month? eh, i actually take that back -- it's been a little over a month, but still. not enough, not enough, my rational side screams.
however, the side i push forward into the limelight when we're talking wholeheartedly agrees and even says it back to you.
i could swear up and down that i don't love you and mean it; get fucking real. we all know (and by all, i mean the two of us) that we're using each other.
i'm intentionally putting my morals to the side to make myself feel better. i'm not that great after all, i guess.
i get my self-assurance and the ~love~ i need, and you get your pedo-kicks, as much as i hate to admit it.
i want a love where i won't have to worry about them giving me what i think i need and worry about them using me for what they want.
i've yet to realize that's how the world works.

i can't be either image.

"are you bi-polar?"
although both a question of genuity and sarcasm, i was truly almost -- relieved, i guess -- that someone had finally maybe seen that in me, that maybe i'm not thinking i'm bi-polar just to fit into some weird fad.
i never answered it, though, which i kind of regret. being that he admitted he was asking it to be an asshole, i didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an answer. to be honest, i don't even know what i would've answered him with.
i am both happy and unhappy with the fact that i haven't been diagnosed yet. yes, i've been told that i have depression up the yin-yang, but otherwise, besides that and anxiety/ocd? no. nothing.
i hate having to live up to people. whichever side they see first, i feel as though i have to stick with that one side. not to say that i've never strayed, but i feel like complete shit when i do...
will i ever have a husband? i don't know...i mean, i do like someone, but he's an honest to God happy guy, and i don't think that my suicidal thoughts and bitter memories will sit at ease with him. no one should have to deal with me, but people are constantly being forced to.
i hate being like this. i was thinking about it, and while it hasn't fully hit me yet (as it hasn't been doing for the past year or so) i went through another stage of realizing that no, it's not common to have suicidal thoughts every single day. honestly, up until a year ago, i thought that like me, people thought about it all the time throughout the day. when people said that the most they had thought about it was maybe even once a year, it truly floored me. i don't understand how people can do that.
on that note, as much as i want them, i most likely won't ever be able to have kids. i'm not one to be deliberately selfish, and bringing kids into this world is just about the worst thing i could do.
they'd inherit everything -- depression, anxiety, ocd, my bad skin (lighter note?). i don't want them to live with what i have to live with everyday. i wouldn't wish that on anyone, i think.
i just want someone who can put up with me. everyone says that there's someone like that for everyone, which i don't doubt. but what they forget to say is that finding them is not guaranteed.
i don't want to be like this anymore.

hide in the bathroom.

okay, so as promised, i went searching for the law yesterday concerning dropping out in new york.
well, they say that all children are to be in school from the ages of 6-16, so i guess that's up for interpretation. it can be taken as until you turn 17 or the day you turn 16...gah. however, there are exceptions to that law, such as homeschooling and working full time. that way, instead of a 30 hour (estimated) week, i'd only be there for 20 hours; cutting off 2 hours of each day and allowing me to work full time, or at least to the fullest extent of the law.
i think i'll definitely look into it...however, i still have to cement things with ROTC and see if what i'm doing is what they'd accept. hopefully, they will.
hm. can you get a GED behind a school's back? ehh. i doubt it, but whatever.
if anything, i'll probably wind up joining ROTC in the spring of 2010. again, this is only if they pay for most or all of my college education. if they don't, fuck it, i'll go to the cheapest community college i can go to and work my way up from there.
this is becoming more and more like an actual personal journal, and not just my psychotic ramblings about living from day to day. i don't like it.
might as well keep up with the flow, i guess. during my study hall and lunch period, instead of going to the library where i said i was going, i went to the bathroom and just...eh, i don't know. hung out.
i was feeling really depressed all day, and the bathroom has always been a source of weird comfort for me. hell, even as i type this i'm in my bathroom.
perhaps it's the chill bouncing off of the tiled floor, onto the tiled walls and settling into the people? the sanitary smell? i don't know...
i just like it, i guess. i just like it.

school is schooling me.

school is kicking my ass lately...or rather, i guess i'm letting it kick my ass.
the teachers are incompetent, the work sets the bar quite low, and just everything there...everything there is horrible. how i ever could've hated my previous school (aside from the kids) is far beyond me.
i guess i realized that trying would be futile when i recieved a worksheet i did for social studies back, graded and everything. the first one had a check plus on it, which is the highest you can get. i was fine with that. figuring the next two would have the same grade to offer, i looked at them, my guards lowered and my expectations high.
i got a lower grade because i didn't read my teacher's mind.
the worksheets asked very concise questions. they asked something like, "when did the north and south tower of the world trade center get attacked?" note the when, and not the what, why, where, and how. so, i would answer "september 11, 2001."
I GOT OFF BECAUSE I DIDN'T GO ABOVE AND BEYOND THE QUESTION?
give me a fucking break. if it was an essay, no fucking duh i would go above and beyond; going above and beyond for ESSAYS are expected.
for a worksheet? yeah right.
not only that, but i'm learning things that will never be of use to my everyday life. sorry, as riveting as sex is, i don't need to know all the ins and outs of biology.
i know i'm being a brat. i guess i'm just extra sensitive (a symptom of speshul snowflake syndrome) because i know i could be working full time this year and most of next year and earn money for my family. then i'd be able to go to ROTC a year early and get everything done faster.
instead, i'm sitting there rotting in a school that i absolutely detest and have no use for.
fuck. i've been looking for loopholes through the whole dropping out at 16 thing (you have to stay for school the year you TURN 16, not the year you become 16) and i've found nothing. mind you, i'm particularly skilled with finding loopholes through documents and laws and such for other people, so if it were something to help save myself and my family, i'd have found something by now.
oh well. i'll keep on searching. i'll not waste anymore time.
time is all i have.

another mindless rant...

i can't explain this feeling when i hear this song, and a few others that i just can't think of at the moment. the feeling that i've known about them all my life, that in certain scenes of my legacy they were right there playing beside me, matching the rhythm of my feet hitting the school's cold ground, looking at decorations.
i haven't known about this song all too long. maybe a year? maybe. but these scenes, they're a couple of years old at least, i think.
i'm losing it, i can't even remember my life. it's all become so monotonous, too monotonous, and while monotony is safety, safety is not what i want and not what i can live by and just NOT the kind of code i want my life to adhere to.
i want my life to be running into shops and shouting some politically incorrect nothings towards the owners and running right back out with someone by my side, panting with laughter and pain as we dart across the slippery wet sidewalk. not nice, yeah, but almost a beautiful cycle in a teenager's life: i am not supposed to give a fuck.
but i give all the fuck in the world.
i want to run into the supermarket with a camcorder, not caring who looks at me and my friends as we gallavant around the store, picking up loaves of bread and throw them back down -- screaming that you murdered the baby!
i act like i'm so above them and all that, but i'm not. i'm really not. in fact, i would gamble to say that i want it more than anyone else.
on the outside, i might act disgusted that my cousin has gone so far with her boyfriend. however, inside i'm just so confused and so lost and wondering where she's going. go even further, and you'll find that my curiosity about her distance is quite tangible, yet will never happen and is not quite real.
i want to lay down in the graveyard with her again, as much as she and i have changed, i'll always be there for her and i hope it's likewise in her mind.
i say i want, want, want. however, how do i know that i don't need this? i can already feel my life shifting in a direction that i've always despised and hated the thought of: monotony.
no kids, no husband, work work work. to keep my family comfortable, so my brother and sister don't have to worry about their college being a burden on mom and dad, so i can feel like i'm valued and needed and wanted and loved.
i need to feel alive. i am six-fucking-teen, damn it. i refuse to act double my age. i refuse and feel violently sick at the thought of letting myself feed this monster and keep it alive.
but i do it anyway.
a raunchy, disgusting comparision. am i raping myself?
i'm saying no, i don't want it...but i do it anyway.
i'm so confused. oh God, i hate this.

there are no lesser qualities to admit if they're not acknowledged.

i sit here, pondering what to right yet knowing i have to.
humans are falliable. no one is exempt, and we can only try and go about our daily lives while keeping this truth close to the mind and far from the heart.
i've no lessons of particular interest; i just turned sixteen four days ago. i know less than the dunce and more than the genius. intelligence is both relevant and irrelevant -- a paradox.
i know less than the eight year old and more than the eighty year old. age is another paradox, and science can only prevent so much.
destiny is nothing more than a planner. you are the one in charge, ultimately. they lay out the options, and when something goes a certain way, they'll change everything. destiny is working 24/7. destiny will be the one to see what will happen if you stay in your bed and pass on that midnight snack. destiny will also be the one to deal with the death compiled together by a hardwood floor, water someone spilled, and the monstrosity of science that is gravity coupled with the sharp corner of the glass coffee table.
there's always a chance of anything happening. destiny is the most ruthless, conniving motherfucker on this planet.
destiny is also the most compassionate, creative wonder on this planet.
it's all up to you -- another truth people don't like to admit. i don't like to admit it, just like my friends don't like to admit it, just like you don't like to admit it, just like your friends don't like to admit it.
we take so much for granted. when something marevelous happens, we sit around contemplating what would've happened had we not taken what seemed like that misstep towards the gold hiding in the shack.
we then get cocky, and figure we are invincible. seems correct.
we take chances and leap, and after that, nothing seems to go right. humbled, we do the same thing: we sit around contemplating. however, this time it was a deliberate step towards the door embroidered with fool's gold and woven with the siren's song.
it's a process. as montonous as it seems, we're all part of process that is kept alive with different scenarios and millions of different outcomes.
life is a paradox, in itself. the outline is spontaneous, filled with surprising twists and turns. the format is, however, the same old.
is it inevitable?

bom bom. bom bom. bom bom. bom bom. bom bom. bom bom. bom bom.

my heart beats skillfully with the music.
he messaged me. i thought he didn't care about me anymore.
this makes me doubt everything i've done with him for the past couple of years. i wish i had been more bolder, had chased after him a bit longer and later, had held on to everything and not been so scared.
the second i got with him, nothing but doubt rose from my mind. ah brian -- if only i could've told you how sick i was.
you wouldn't have understood, i think.
i need to lighten up.
if i could have the second chance, i'd make it count.
if i could pinpoint the exact second in time where i turned into this thing, i'd turn right back from it and say "no, thanks."
perhaps a letter to a friend could wire this heart correctly and set it drumming to the tune it's set to go to.

Imagination Is More Important Than Knowledge...Well, Aren't I Caught Between A Bad Place And A Wall?

I don't think I've ever felt truly dejected; as though my spirit had actually dashed out of my body as soon as it could, trying to get as far away from the truth as possible.
I don't quite feel alive right now. These are the times when I wish I could feel blood running down my body, the cuts both stinging and healing. Not because of hurt, just to feel something as vibrant as laughter without having to be happy, something as vibrant as yelling without having to be angry.
It couldn't hurt, and no one would ever know. No one but me, that is. That little bit of knowledge is what repels me from it.
I've sort of just realized, honestly really realized, that I will never be better than her, not even up to par. I have no imagination, nothing. I had to pretend to have an imaginary friend, had to commit myself to countless Barney tapes to see what they were seeing.
Now, through my own doing and thinking, I hate art, hate choir. I can't draw without this disgusted feeling creeping over me, can't sing without feeling ridiculous.
The closest thing to making art I've come to is leaving my footprints in the snow, rapid and paced with running. Left my trail through the decomposing leaves, marked with the trudgery I hold my life in. The closest thing I've come to making music was matching the thump-thump of my heart, timing my heavy breathing just so, exhaling to hear the pat-pat of my soles against the cement.
She'll be fine, so I can stop worrying. She'll get paid with her raw, stark talent and her ability to weave imagination and with a pen. She'll be able to provide for her family and live her life.
I love my family, and I have no life. Working for them...what have I got to lose?
If that's the case, why do I still find that I have to try and convince myself of such?

Hi, I'm Apparently Ignorant/Insensitive For Being A Constitutionalist. :D And What's Your Name?

I am currently unable to go to sleep. This one issue has been nagging at me for the past few months, and I can't seem to put it to rest.
First off, I am a very, very strong believer in the Constitution -- particularly the first ten amendments, the Bill of Rights. When my country follows the Constitution, I feel that everything runs a lot better. However, when we start taking rights guaranteed to us both by birth and by our country itself, things start to get a bit shaky. A good example of a time such as that would be to look at the past eight years and to see for yourself.
Second off, uh...no, I don't hate homosexuals or the mentally handicapped because "That's so retarded/gay" occasionally slips out of my mouth. Hey, I'm sorry, but it was always my belief that I had freedom of speech -- so long as I wasn't infringing upon anyone's rights.
Now calling someone a nigger, kike, fag, chink, etc? That's different; you're deliberately trying to talk down to that person, or that one group of people. Thus, they feel threatened and their rights are being infringed.
However, when you're calling an event, an object, or anything among that sort "so gay/retarded", why should someone feel threatened? I'm sorry, but I fail to see how. Even when I thought I was bisexual at 10 or 11 or so, I had to force myself to believe that the usage of those words were wrong, and that I should think that it was wrong.
I really never believed it though.
So, I hate it with a burning passion when someone tells someone else to stop using their preferred adjective of choice when not trying to talk down to someone, but rather, express their feelings or opinions, no matter how crude it may seem. Yeah, there are better adjectives, but in my opinion, there are worse.
Oh, but wait! "The ICCPR [International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights] recognizes the right to freedom of speech as 'the right to hold opinions without interference. Everyone shall have the right to freedom of expression'". That one is recognized in international human rights law.
The right to hold opinions without interference. Huh, but that sounds familiar. Say, isn't that what people who believe that saying "that's so gay/retarded" are allowed to think and practice as well?
NOT WHEN YOU'RE TRYING TO INFRINGE THAT PERSON'S RIGHT TO SAY WHAT THEY WANT, WHEN THEY WANT, AND HOW THEY WANT SOMETHING. WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT TALKING DOWN TO A PARTICULAR GROUP (which, when people say "that's so gay/retarded", that is very rarely the case) THEY ARE ENTITLED TO WHATEVER ADJECTIVES THEY PREFER TO USE.
(Of course, one should always take into consideration where they are when using said or other debateable adjectives, that is, using a bit of discretion around children.)
Have I truly ever tried to defend this right of mine in the past, or try to help someone out when being accused of being ignorant, or try to help some of the people harassing other people about their choice of words realize that they are attempting to take away both a country and God given right up until this point? No, I haven't. Saying "Hey, I'm a constitutionalist and technically, you trying to limit someone's freedom of speech while using yours to the fullest extent is just a little bit wrong" doesn't exactly go over well in places like GSA and among groups of liberal friends.
This reminds me of Micheal Vick's case. He was indicted of one count of torturing and killing dogs and holding illegal dog fights, possibly among other charges I'm not aware of at this time. While so very morally wrong and possibly against state law, the Constitution is the highest form of law. Technically, the dogs were nothing more than property, and the unlawful seizure of such property and using it for public use is illegal and goes against the Constitution, which is outlined in Amendments 4 and 5.
Could the Constitution be better? As seen in the above example, of course. All living things have a chance at life, and that should most certainly be defined and outlined in the Constitution.
Ergh...anyway, what I'm saying is that people should be able to say what they want without others trying to infringe upon other's rights. And, at this moment in exact time, aren't there better things to worry about?
HAI I ARE HYPOCRITE. :]
But I just needed to get this off my chest.
...and, just in time to get ready for school.

Aimez-Moi Si Vous Osez.

My entries, as well as my feelings, are far removed from loneliness. If it so happens to accidentally creep up, I know how to conquer over those feelings and to bury them, bury them horribly mutilated and dead.
I, of course, wouldn't go as far as to say that loneliness is no longer a part of me; I don't believe any human being is fully capable of removing a part of human nature.
I've come to go out of my way to ensure my loneliness, and while I'm quite polite, am very irritated when someone comes to try and "help" me.
I did it in my old hometown, and I knew that telling myself that it wouldn't happen now was futile. She just needs to realize that as well.
Sorry to say, but yes, things have been going on and no, I haven't been entirely truthful in my messages to you.
I am a bit sickened, admittedly. How you can still get me jealous a good 30 miles away both perplexes and angers me. I guess I haven't grown up as much as I thought I have.
I am declaring this officially dead, with a possibility of resuscitation for a bit of gossip when I'm feeling vengeful, a vent when my pen has run and the power is out, and a reason to make me feel simultaneously better and worse about myself.
I am making this all about me.
Cheers, old friend.

Seasonal Bubble Wrap.

I was supposed to walk that day, but I couldn't go on due to my sprained ankle. Autumn is here, and has been settling in for the past few weeks. I used this reasoning to allow myself to lay down in the grassy field; where in the middle I'd be only a small supposed figment of someone's imagination. I figured there would be no bugs, and if I got sad thinking about how big the world is and how lonely I felt at that moment, a maternal wind could come over to hold me.
Strangely enough, I was comforted not by the wind but rather, by knowing that these few months were mine. The decorations, the children, the happiness, all mine. Through artificial and vain reasoning, I prevented myself from getting depressed while looking up at another star soaked sky with a beautiful moon and a gradient the greatest artists themselves could never dream of capturing.
It never occured to me that I only have a few months.
It also never occured to me that I'm wasting my life, and am letting my anxiety inhibit me to the point of crippling repression.
I climbed up and down a majestic hill today, twice -- it was quite steep, and quite high.
I didn't care whether or not I fell.

I Haven't Written In A While.

psychotic mumblings are
silent, she breathes;
cursing human reflex.
lips bleed; cracked.

floating softly to her
life, she is a rock.
an imperative want,
using altruistic sense;
it sends no solace.

For The Sake Of Us.

"She's happy now, though." With a clap on my back, she smirks. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
I stay silent.
"Or...", she said, raising her hand up to her chin, cradling it, "That's what you just told everyone else, right?"
"Yeah." I said plaintively. "Yeah, you could say that."
Having figured me out, she smiles -- one would mistake it for a sign of jubilance; quite the contrary. "That's all you have, isn't it?" She whispers, her voice stroking the hairs on the back of my neck. "At least -- you know!" She makes a grand gesture with her arm in midair, catching my eye and grinning even more, "At least you aren't judgemental, or selfish, or a liar, right?" Like a wisp of smoke, she's back at my side. "I hate to tell you," she hisses sweetly, "But those three are actually needed in life."
Those three are actually needed in life. I acidentally chuckle as I wonder out loud, "What life?"
She looks stumped for a second, but her glimmer of confusion is replaced with a fire of certainty. "The life I could have."
Smiling, I turn towards her. "You want more?"
"We both do."