FLANNEL SHIRTS! WE MUST BUY MORE FLANNEL SHIRTS! AND DANCE TO HAPPY HARDCORE MORE OFTEN.
O___O !!!!!
where are my flannel happy hardcore shirts!!!

It's a Small Turf We Live On

If birds and bees were given lemons, would they make lemonade? I know what you're thinking! But I won't tell you. Sometimes, the wind blows too hard and the rain drops get stuck in the air. Damn Gravity, slacking off again! This is the third time we've warned you this week... If things continue this way, your mother will pop her arteries and synchronize her nerves! >_< Shame shame shame.

shutupshutupshutup

Mar 5 Cancer: The law of spiritual detachment applies in obvious ways now. By clinging too readily to the outcome you desire in a relationship, you may be blocking something better from occurring. Loosen your grip!

oh come on, now, let's leave deeEe alone.

A Tea Party for my Un-Birthday

Change. Upgrade! The colors in here were too dark. I'd get a bad vibe everytime I was on my page and that's the last thing I should expect from my own blog.

I scraped the grime and rust off myself yesterday. I went outside. The weather was beautiful and I walked around mindlessly for a good two hours with phenomenal beats swelling up my brain. For the first time in weeks, the creative streak hit me again. The ideas were flowing, flowing, flowing, pouring right out of them pores.
These last few weeks (months, years..) have been horrifyingly stagnant, boring, lifeless. I'd get through my days in a zombie-like state, not being able to form any valid opinion on anything, too careless and discouraged to bother myself with lifting my pinky.

Tonight, I'm sipping on a bit of wine and I'll drink to all of you, to your smiles and to the stars in your eyes. I'll have fun, and I'll finally put those dusty old cells up there to some good use (well, the ones that are left at least) .

Happy Un-Birthday to all of you..! (unless it really is your birthday..)

<3>

Dessine-moi un mouton... [mais ne le deviens pas]

Only ~Alice~ knows what all the commotion about the hospital nurses was. No person in their right mind would let an 18 year old kid back out into the gloomy, lukewarm waters of the sky high tadpoles after hearing about their master plan involving a spoon, a needle, some heroin and of course, the fatal overdose.
Two head doctors poked at my thought bubbles.
One was concerned, the other said 'you can call your parents to come pick you up if you want.'

I'm not upset, just perplexed. And anyways, it wasn't a for-real type of deal. I know what'll put me 6 feet under and that definitly wasn't it. A couple of demons raped and spat on the pixies in my head.
I don't know.
I guess I'm completely fucking delusional. There's no pot of gold at the of the rainbow, I know that much is true. And I like to think that I already am strolling on the neon colored clouds.

maybe I'm delusional.

I feel out of place.

And sometimes I feel like the Little Prince.

Often I feel like Alice... and the Cheshire Cat's mischevious pearly whites mock me with every step I take.

Who are you and why are you in my life?

Who the fuck am I?

I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here. Why I'm here. If and Why I should adhere to the standards of society..

Maybe I'm born a couple of decades too late?

Where are our generation's beatniks?

Where are the unshackled souls hiding?

Under a rock?
In the sand?


...

Then again, even the beatniks didn't seem to get it right.

I don't know what I'll be doing when I'm 60... 40... 30...
I don't even know what I'll be doing in an hour.

Maybe I'm horribly immature in my way of thinking, but the now is what's important, right? And if I'm not enjoying myself doing something, then why bother doing it at all?
Why spend my life focusing on a mortgage on a house and retiring to Mickey Mouse's Mind Numbing Bed&Breakfast?

No, I don't want to become that.
No, I really don't give a flying fuck whether or not I get a promotion and buy IKEA furniture.

I'm losing interest in comic books and dinner parties.

That's alright. You can call me a flower if you really wanted to.

J'ai vomi dans mes cornflakes

J'ai vomi dans mes cornflakes (court métrage) par Pierrick Servais


Dans un monde en noir et blanc,
seules les étoiles sont en couleur.

Si les enfants veulent tous devenir astronautes,
C'est pour se barrer de cette terre où ils devront vivre toute leur vie.

Ensuite ils grandissent,
Oublient la NASAA à cause d'un 4,5 en Maths,
écoutent du black metal et vomissent la bière vendue par pack de 3
Ils se haïssent eux-mêmes sans trop savoir pourquoi.
Le lycée leur apprend les modalités de l'échec, de l'humiliation,
de la clope et du suicide.
Ceux qui auront leur bac se ruineront en Malibu-Coca.

Puis le soleil éclaire un peu plus leur chemin
Ils voient un peu mieux l'avenir,
parce qu'il n'y'en a pas.

Ils se psychanalysent eux-mêmes
en découvrant que tout ça ce n'est peut être pas seulement de leur faute.

Alors on se met à faire de la politique : un autre monde est possible.
Le changer serait tellement cool.
Ils achètent des t-shirt avec des étoiles rouges
et trouvent le mot "révolution" très beau.
Ca ressemble à "révolver",
mais surtout à "évolution".
Ils arrêtent de manger du MacDo,
refusent d'être Français,
ne regardent plus la météo.
De toute façon demain, il pleuvra.

Le doute se mèle à leur tentatives veines, forcément
Pourquoi refaire le monde
puisqu'il va pèter ?

Et puis ils se rendent compte que boire une bière fraiche
avec une belle brune c'est pas si mal.
Le regard d'une fille vaut mieux qu'un combat perdu d'avance.
L'amour pas la guerre,
ce genre de conneries.

On emmerde une dernière fois la société
Puis on revend son poster du Che,
cette fille devient notre femme,
la bière fraîche devient notre bide.
On s'entasse dans un meublé qu'il faudra payer,
un boulot puis une bagnole avec l'ouverture centralisée et la clim en option.
On économise pour Noël et un peu de soleil à la plage.
On devient gros, moche, aigri.
Les p'tits cons arrêtent de jouer dans notre pelouse.

Et on se souvient qu'avant on avait des projets
On se souvient...
On était jeune, plein d'idées...
Tout ça pour rien.
Parce que maintenant on attend,
comme tout le monde,
son abonnement au programme télé.

Alors, avant de mourir, on va voir son petit fils
Il veut devenir astronaute


Devient-le, c'est ta seule chance.

Break it b4 it breaks us

deeEe, I'm tired of you being 'dead'! At least call me so I can hear your voice. I love you very much.
Mom


bump of K please?
Why can't I seem to give a flying fuck about anyone?


stop! for the love of God...
i fought the war, but the war won..
our faces all ressemble dying roses from trying to fix it.