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what? Poetry Binge
when? Wednesday, December 10, 2003

"Glimpses of Beauty"
Dedicated to Mr. M. Rotando
12/09/03

Beauty
is a little girl on the bus
who stares at me with glass eyes
as her parents bicker over her head
routinely dropping the word "divorce"
as if it were a bomb

Beauty
is two women
giggling and chewing the fat
as one sneezes gently
due to the mid-December weather
that weaves into their coats

Beauty
is a plus-sized model on TV
strutting what her mother gave her
admist spectators that grimace
for what her mother gave her
is overflowing

Beauty
is a certain teacher
laughing and joking about the final
while giving secretive glances
to those students he fears
might not make it

Beauty
is a skinny prostitute
waiting for an underaged man
to call his mother so she won't worry
where he is

Beauty
is a little boy
sniveling in the Osco Drug
holding tightly onto his mother's hand
and knowing full well
why she spanked him

Beauty
is four strangers
united by circumstance
when one ran out of gas
the others leaped up and sweated
him into the station

In the course of a very long night,
I witnessed beauty in my hometown.

Editor's Note: Surprisingly, I actually did see all of these things.. while adding history to them, of course. :)

what? Employee of the Month
when? Tuesday, December 9, 2003

I'm really beginning to hate pretty people. No reason. I just do.

what? Sigh.
when? Saturday, November 8, 2003

Zane, Zane, Zane. You ask me what I think, you tell me to express myself and stand up for what I believe in, but how can you? How can you when you yourself are afraid to reveal your thoughts to the world? Sorry to force a Biblical reference on you, but don't try to remove a splinter from your brother's eye when you have a log in your own.
Now, this is what I think:
Tell us what you feel, no matter your fear of rejection -- we're here, we're listening. Don't say, "I'm fine" and "that's life, right?" ... Don't try to hide behind that beautifully sad smile of yours; I can see through it as you can see through mine in turn.

It seems to me that's why you're so addicted to alchohol -- it loosens you up and lets you fit in with the people in your dorm room.

But why must you fit in with them? Yes, they 'accept' you, but unlike us, they don't love you; they don't want what's best for you.
Why are you so sensitive, dear boy; why are you so human? It's unhealthy to always wonder what people are thinking and to be so affected by what they say. And to remember; it's unhealthy to remember everything they say (or don't say) as a personal attack. (Believe me, I do the same thing. It's a hard, hard battle we're fighting, this extra-sense.)

I know you're trying to help people; you're trying to help me. It's in your nature. But who's going to help you, Zane? Who's going to help you?

Where is your guardian angel?

what? Keep your day job, Cass.
when? Wednesday, November 5, 2003

This is shamefully written to the melody of a song I don't know... It starts with the words, "I've been driving, eighty-fivin'..." If anyone knows it, contact me at sagansjagger@hotmail.com, thx.

I'm so jaded,
Irritated,
I've concentrated on
Nothing else but you,
And the things you used to do.

Chorus:
Oh, I just can't put a name to this feeling that you've started...
Oh, why, did you leave me reeling, alone and broken-hearted,
Are you ever coming back to help me pick up the pieces,
Of a broken soul?

I know you've messed up,
And you've 'fessed up,
But stick your chest up
And have some dignity,
The way it used to be.

I've been sleepin',
Off-hand weepin',
My heart you're keepin'
Safe,
As my soul begins to chafe.

Let me be alone,
Hang up your phone,
Don't like your tone,
When you speak to me,
Why did you lock and hide the key?

(Chorus)

what? Update? What's that? Is it like sleep?
when? Wednesday, October 29, 2003

There are people I know, and then there are people I love. These are some and why I love them; I hope you can learn to love them too:

"My friends and I, like the screwballs we are, were going around screaming, 'I SWEAR TO DRUGS, I DON'T DO GOD!'" -Courtney

"Je ne suis pas craintif de demain;
je suis seulement effrayé de me." -Sam

"My goal is heaven. I really wanna go there, and drag along as many people as possible.
My wish is peace. If not internationally, at least within everyone’s own heart.
My hope is to be like a child; humble and innocent.
My prayer is to be like Emanuel; a human being, yet perfect in every way." -Sarah

what? Mr. Rabbit
when? Thursday, October 23, 2003

One day a bear and a rabbit are in the forest and a genie appears, *poof*. The genie says to Mr. Bear, "I will grant you one wish and one wish only. I know - usually genies will give you 3 wishes, but I offer only one to each customer, so give me your wish."

Mr. Bear thinks about it and says, "I wish that all the other bears in my area are female."

He pauses and then says, "Wait! No, I wish that all the bears in this whole forest are female."

He pauses again and then says, "Wait, wait! Okay, this is it - I wish that all the other bears in the WHOLE WORLD are female." With that, he smiles and sits back.

The genie does his thing and grants Mr. Bear his wish. *poof* All the other bears in whole world are female.

The genie then turns to Mr. Rabbit and says, "So, rabbit what will your one wish be?"

Mr. Rabbit looks up and smiles slyly and says, "I wish that Mr. Bear is gay."

what? Emails from Home
when? Thursday, September 11, 2003

*Poofs into the scarecrow again and loops my arm around yours* Weeeeeeee-re off to read the keen-board! The wonderful keenspace dot com! I hear it is the keenist of place, I could read it all day long! However there is much unread, it's confusing for my brain-less head! I dread, I dread, I dread, I dread, I dreeeeeaaaaaad! I dread this giant endless thread! Buh buh buh buh buh buh bummm! We're off the read the keen-booooard! The wonderful keenspace dot cooooooooooooom! *turns into Sarah again* Ahem.

God Bless A-mo-fo-erica.

what? Quotes, lots of them.
when? Sunday, September 7, 2003

"OH! The night shift! It's like a sleepover, only we'll be sweaty and covered in grease!"
-SpongeBob SquarePants, you rawk my world.

"He who runs with aggression walks not with dignity."
-Chinese Proverb

"Professing to be wise, they became fools ..."
-Romans 2:22

"Ne, as always, my loyal fans, life herself is trying to fuck me over again."
-Courtney

"Chocolate?! Who's got chocolate?! Wait, I don't like chocolate.. ... ..what kind of chocolate?"
-Kristina

"Cassandra! Help me! Help me! I dropped my fish down the drain!"
-Sarah

"Sarah, you're a bad conga liner!"
-James

"If I were an ant, and I built an ant hill one grain at a time, and someone came over and stomped on it, I'd be a maaad little red ant."
-Stephanie

"Oh gawd, Cassandra is chasing me! She's chasing--she's chasing! AHHHHH!"
-Ross

"*Has adulthood taken out back and shot*
Ha, that oughtta hold it off awhile."
-Ducky

"...along the river that night, her heart tore in two; amongst angsted peals of a lone guitar."
-And Sam, the best for last.

what? Emotions suxor.
when?

What twisted lies, we humans weave,
To get others to see by our angle.
What things we say and gesture,
Creeps into the web we tangle.

Okay. That little piece is better than all of the other crap I put together in yesterday's entry. How funny. Anyway.

My scheduled rant for the day is, what muscles make a person smile/frown?
Surely it is not the muscles around the mouth; those are merely mechanical, and have no feelings, and only contort when told to.
Could it be the eyes or ears, that perform their functions to almost perfection (by my standards, anyways, I'm lucky), when we see something humorous, or distressing?
Or the heart, that lives on immersed in the soul, beating it's drum against our bones?
Perhaps the brain is responsible, entangled in its memories and sensory functions, supervising over everything we do?
We can't of course forget the lips themselves; so easily brushed up and intoxicated by different brand of make-up, it is they that broadcast our feelings to the world.
Perhaps it's a combination that allows expression, of the eyes, ears, heart, brain, lips and spirt...

Or another terrifying thought -- perhaps we'll never know.

what? Poet Laurette
when?

Yep, I'm at it again, my poetry binges always seem to be started by peanut butter M&M's. Or not. But those are really good.

This little piece is titled "Butterfly With Glass Wings". See? Dance Dance Revolution is healthy for you.

Pernacious insect,
reflecting itself among the suns,
struggling to survive, but
like Icarus who melted,
she faces difficulty and fails,
due to her transparent fragility.

Yeah, symbolic, I know. Shizzat.
The next is untitled, the first I've had that's been so.

Ne'er give your heart away too early,
Young maidens of this world,
Or you'll only face the sorrow
That heartbreaks will unfurl.


"Don't give your heart to me, young lady,
"You don't know how clumbsy these hands can be,
"I'll steal your soul, your kiss, your mind,
"And still leave you wanting me."

This next one is reminicent (sp?) of "Requiem For My Body", don't you know.

Sayanara emotions, for you controlled my mind,
Sleep sweet, my dreams, you were the stuff that shined,
Good tidings to you, illness, you made me very tired,
Au revoir to you, blabber mouth, look at the trouble you sired.

Farewell, imperfections, very much did you annoy,
Adios, angry society, for you always were a ploy.
Auf Wiedersehen, blinded eyes, I'll see who really lies,
But why does it matter to say adieu, if everyone dies?

The last line is teh suxor.

Rhyme scheme and rhythm are something I need to work on, me thinks.

what? Bank, How I Hate Thee
when? Tuesday, September 2, 2003

I have now discovered, through painful personal experience, why I loathe the term money. Banks make money out of nothing. How, you ask? They exploit the stupid youth, such as myself.

As you know, I have recently deposited my financial aid checks + all of my savings into a Wells Fargo account. I then desperately needed books, as I had homework due. All of my homework is done, and my books are had, truth be told. I then thought I had no worries.

Guess again, callow youth. Wells Fargo, lovely bank though they be, neglected to tell me that it does take a few days to process my money into an account. Meaning that I've been writing checks that total at least $375 for required books over the last few days, without actually having access to this money. I've not a dime to my name, indeed, the bank is still processing my dimes, while I go and stupidly write checks.

Kim Miles, your daughter has bad credit. She is pissed off. So, what am I to do in this prediciment? Absolutely nothing, for what can I do but wait for them to clear me? Sorry about telling you all of this. I am whining, and quite ranty at the moment, and this is the first sign of bad news so far. I'm on a quest for education, but my maps are all screwy.

what? The Eye of the Beholder
when? Friday, August 29, 2003

Warning: pointless rant, a rather long one this time, as they all are. Pointless, I mean.

Anyway. On the subject of beauty. Confession -- I do wish to be beautiful. Just a habit of human nature, I suppose. I do not wish to attract someone of either sex, however, I do wish to be attractive; what a Catch 22 quandry.
Now, for the true content of the rant: I really do despise the misconceptions of beauty that people here hold, especially the teenagers who immerse themselves in the illusion. In order to be a "beautiful" female, one must have legs as if carved from a soft and perfectly tan tree. One's belly must be flat, although equally muscled. The face must be delicate, with high cheekbones, scarlet lips, and intimidatingly large eyes. The ribcage must be shapely, to accentuate the spherical, "perky" breasts. Everything must be adorned in the most flattering colors, the most stylish stiches, and the most accentuating lip glosses and makeup. (Most, most, most, it's a wonder we're all not material.) One must be soft but firm, strong but gentle, petite but tall, with perfectly manicured fingers and toes that have enough flesh and bone (but not too much) in them to look dainty and graceful. The female specimen must show flesh but not too much flesh, as if to taunt but not spoil the "gift" later on. The female sex must be sculpted with the best products, like a modern Adonis.

And why would I want to be among their league, to join these giggling idiots who obsess over their flesh? Curse this human nature that alternately wishes me to fit in to society and be unique. Curse the position I am in at the University, to see these people and their happy lives, judging only by appearances, and with my subconscious consent, feel inferior to them.

Curse the primal gene that makes us choose mates by appearance. Animals do that-- humans should be above that, right? Right. Good. I thought so.

(If I know so much, however, why then do I still do it?)

what? College
when? Thursday, August 28, 2003

People from all sides have been asking me two questions -- 1: "How's college?" And 2: "What's your love life like in college?"

First, to answer number two. I never implied ever going in numerical order. I have no love life. None. Nor do I want one. Baka me for having a body and mind that wishes emotional attraction just for once (would be nice for once, although the fate of the world doesn't depend on it), although also having that same body and mind terrified of people and social contact. That, and my standards for both myself and this "perfect" male (yes, that's right, I am straight, call me a homophobe if you like), are so incredibly high, they're stifling to both his and mine non-existant egos. I think just chatting on the internet and writing this counts for social contact, as these damned peers of mine are like an infectious fungus that crawls across the UoA grass. ::shakes fists::
Preppies, preppies everywhere, and not a one to slap. Giggling morons that impede the flow of knowledge. However, their mommys' and daddys' money keep the grubby University going, so whatever.

Now, for number one. College life, besides being surrounded by teenagers substituting their brains for Abercromie and Fitch, is quite agreeable for my constitution. A man whom I rent from, Mr. Tribolet, bid farewell to his pretty wife, Mrs. Tribolet, as he had sent her on a cruise to the Bahamas for the next week. Everyone saw "awww", here.
It's a ruse. He loves his wife, but she drives him (and sometimes me) insane. I prefer Mr. Tribolet, anyway, so this works out for both of us. He took me out to lunch today at Famous Sams, showing me how to bet on horse and dog races and swearing me to secrecy from his wife. I love this guy already. He even asked me which ones I liked. We won money and lost money, but went in with $60 bucks and came out with $140, plus paying $40 for lunch. I love this guy, truly. He is incredibly awesome and intelligent, and introduced me to all of his poker buddies as "his adoptive daughter". His nickname for me is "little one". Another chorus of "awws", here, and this time all masks are thrown. Isn't he great?

That said, I'll concentrate on the scintalating (snerk) details of my actual University life. Traveling on the busses is an ... interesting experience, for lack of a better word, as is the getting lost on campus (three times the size of my town, you know), the three-hour break between classes, and parting with my money like a fool's best friend (not you, Sam/Court, silly goose; you're no fool).
What really irritates me (preppies again, watch out for a rant; you've been warned) about this place is that everyone is beautiful, confidant, intelligent (some are dumber than a bag of hammers), and RICH. Emphasis on the last one.

However, I do love it here. It's wonderful here in terms of teaching. I LOVE my teachers and the subject matter. It's like I've tapped a gold-vein of knowledge. Go me. Buying books and paying rent, though, is a pain. There's a plus for every negative, it seems.

So, my Disneyfied moral message for the day is, always keep more than lint in your pockets, never miss a class, buy your books used and early, and bet on number 9 for first and third place. Tune in next week for "As the Campus Turns" to see more of Cassandra's love, frustrations, heartbreak, and intestinal problems she labels "preppies".

what?
when? Friday, August 15, 2003

I was going to write something here. Something profound and interesting. I've forgotten it and found another topic.

Nothing like before, mind you, but content all the same (It's odd, I used to remember things easily, but now my mind goes blank more often than not. Perhaps there's too much to worry/angst about in the present that I have no time to worry about the past).

My younger brother (six) was toying with a glowstick he was given about four hours ago. Of course, he broke it, and went tearing through the house, it leaking through a small hole in the middle of it as he ran and flipped the stringy thing around. There were tiny dots of flourescent green splattered on the walls, floors, furniture ... I cleaned it in pitch blackness just to see it all glow. I would have left it there if I would not suffer the consequences of it staining ... But it did look like tiny stars, prinpricks to an alternate world that I could never reach...

what? Ducky
when? Tuesday, August 12, 2003

Cass> Me in a nutshell.
UselessGuy> No, Cass in a nutshell would look like a teen-age girl in an extremely large nutshell. Kinda like (o_____o) Big in life size.

Heh. Ducky is hilarious. Always has a way of cheering me up.

Ducky - (n.) A person Cassandra met in a chatroom. Has a very level-head and positive outlook on life, along with a hilarious sense of humor. Stalkable. Adorably naive. High School senior.

what? My Oxygen's Gone
when? Saturday, August 9, 2003

Why is it people's instinct to want more? Are they in fear of running out? "Oh, if I only had just a little bigger house ... or a little better car..."
I don't want any more, I have enough, even though most of it is threatened to be taken away. I want most of it to go away, in fact ... I want ME to go away.

Depression ... I feel like I'm trudging through corporate bullshit in my own house.

It's always there, preying on me, like a parasite in my brain, tickling the fringes of my skull with an icy hot touch, making me feel worthless and fat and unworthy of recognition and social contact that every human needs...

See, this is why I hate blogging -- I end up ranting about all the shit that happens, and it makes me want to explode, cry, break something, turn myself in to the police ... And then I feel guilty for all of this, which adds to the confusion.
But of course, I smile my plastic smile and leave myself to detached emotions and silent screams, being the little counseler that everyone wants and expects me to be.
... As my throat tightens up and makes me want to vomit.

Eh, but it's my life. I guess I can't complain for the ironies fate has given me.

what? Two kinds of people: The Living and the Dead.
when? Friday, August 8, 2003

Now, to recap on my life...
I am currently enrolled and will be attending the University of Arizona in fifteen days and counting. I am majoring in Journalism, with a double minor in Psychology and Political Science. Currently, I will be taking 12 credit hours this semester consisting of English 101, Math 124, Latin 101, and a TRAD philosophy class entitled Mind, Matter, and God. Sounds interesting, as I am religious as you all know.

Wow... What a mundane life I lead. Like muck attaching to my feet, I am held down by its monotony and yet surprised at it.
I had a rather intersting conversation with Josh at Cousin's today whilst looking for Sam ... Rather interesting indeed. He's in the habit of calling me "kid" lately, odd, but yet comforting. Our discussion was on life and death, and preventing cancer.

He'll be a great psychologist.

what? Woot, I'm a good girl.
when? Monday, July 14, 2003

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	High
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

Ha, ha, ha. Although I doubt it.

what? Skitzo what?
when? Monday, July 14, 2003

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	High
Schizoid:	Moderate
Schizotypal:	Very High
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Very High
Histrionic:	Low
Narcissistic:	Low
Avoidant:	Very High
Dependent:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	High
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Schizotypal Many believe that schizotypal personality disorder represents mild schizophrenia. The disorder is characterized by odd forms of thinking and perceiving, and individuals with this disorder often seek isolation from others. They sometimes believe to have extra sensory ability or that unrelated events relate to them in some important way. They generally engage in eccentric behavior and have difficulty concentrating for long periods of time. Their speech is often over elaborate and difficult to follow.

Avoidant Avoidant personality disorder is characterized by extreme social anxiety. People with this disorder often feel inadequate, avoid social situations, and seek out jobs with little contact with others. They are fearful of being rejected and worry about embarassing themselves in front of others. They exaggerate the potential difficulties of new situations to rationalize avoiding them. Often, they will create fantasy worlds to substitute for the real one. Unlike schizoid personality disorder, avoidant people yearn for social relations yet feel they are unable to obtain them. They are frequently depressed and have low self-confidence.

Borderline Borderline personality disorder is characterized by mood instability and poor self-image. People with this disorder are prone to constant mood swings and bouts of anger. Often, they will take their anger out on themselves, causing themselves injury. Suicidal threats and actions are not uncommon. They think in very black and white terms and often form intense, conflict-ridden relationships. They are quick to anger when their expectations are not met.

... That figures. I am one sick, sick individual.

what? Telemarketer from HELL
when? Tuesday, July 8, 2003

My family is in debt, a shit load of it. We're avoiding creditors and telemarketers on the phone because they are all who call. We just lost our rent-house on Wednesday. This is a record of an ACTUAL conversation I had today with the aforementioned creditors. Pissed me off, frankly; he was a cynical asshole.

Mr. Johnson: Hmm, how convienent that your parents aren't here when they said they would be.
(My Inner Voice: I don't care where they are; and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you, you sumbitch.)
Outwardly: Yes, isn't it?
Mr. Johnson: Can you take down my number and a message for them?
(My Inner Voice: They wouldn't call it anyway, they're trying to advoid you fascist pigs.)
Outwardly: Of course.
Mr. Johnson: *rambles off some number; I don't jot it down* So when do you think your parents will be home?
(My Inner Voice: You're harranguing me within inches of my effing paitence.)
Outwardly: I don't know. My mother will be home on Sunday; my father I don't know.
Mr. Johnson: Are there any other numbers I can reach them at?
(My Inner Voice: Let's see, the cell phone, and their office, and my mother's hotel since she's going to school in Phoenix at Mesa Community College ...)
Outwardly: No.
Mr. Johnson: Ha. Who do you call when there is an emergency at home?
(My Inner Voice: An emergency, you mean like one I would make you have if you weren't separated by a phoen cord?)
Outwardly: 911.
Mr. Johnson: Oh, so that's it, huh? Psh. How about you read me that number again, to make sure you actually wrote it down.
(My Inner Voice: Oh, shit.)
Outwardly: *what I can remember* 886-436-6161
Mr. Johnson: Wrong, completely wrong. Where did you get the 4 from, there's not a four in the whole number!
(My Inner Voice: Like I CARE.)
Outwardly: I was reading an application and saw the four and wrote it down.
Mr. Johnson: I see. Do you have an attention problem or something? Trouble concentrating or anything like that? *coworkers laugh in the background, I'm serious*
(My Inner Voice: Only when I'm talking to you, dickless.)
Outwardly: Yes, I have ADD. *lies* It makes it really hard to concentrate when my attention wanders and all; hard to get a job...
Mr. Johnson: I see. Is there anyone else who can take down this number, so I'm sure they get it?
(My Inner Voice: I'm the only one who tolerates you, shitface!)
Outwardly: No. *brothers and sisters run in the background, screaming*
Mr. Johnson: What about them running in the background?
(My Inner Voice: Oh, yeah, like THAT will work.)
Outwardly: They're five and six.
Mr. Johnson: Put them on, I bet they could take the phone number down better than you.
(My Inner Voice: Can't you tell I'm trying to avoid you, dipshit? If the places were switched, I don't think you would take down MY number.)
Outwardly: No, they couldn't. We all have ADD.
Mr. Johnson: Oh, do you now. Must be tough. You think you're real clever, don't you?
(My Inner Voice: I should hang up RIGHT now.)
Outwardly: Yes. Yes we do.
Mr. Johnson: Okay, here's the number again. I'll wait until I'm sure you have a pen and paper.
(My Inner Voice: You'll wait forever.)
Outwardly: Okay.
Mr. Johnson: *speaks very slowly* It's 866 to start with, then 369-6161. Extension number...
Outwardly: 2133.
Mr. Johnson: *like he's educating a child* Very good! Now, are you sure got all that?
My Inner voice: You know Mr. Johnson, believe it or not, I've had just as frustrating a day as you have, and your added harrasment over the phone is not helping. I don't know or care when my parents will be home. Play the world's smallest violin and I'll tell you about my day. I'm really getting sick of the word "convient". Yes, we're dodging our creditors. Yes, we're in debt. Yes, I think you're a bastard for repeatedly calling at inoppertune times and harrsing us, and I wish you would just go fuck yourself and call it a day.

Outwardly: I'll tell them that you called, Mr. Johnson. *smile*

See, this kind of crap makes me wonder if they have to take a government class called Asshole 101 in order to apply for their job.

what? The Hulk
when? Saturday, June 28, 2003

Ever wonder how come all in the Hulk, when he "magically transforms", the rest of his clothes burst off but the shorts he's wearing magically stretch to fit his new size, and then shrink to correct proportions when he's back to normal?

Yeah, neither did I.

what? Frontline Update
when? Tuesday, June 10, 2003

My mother is a trooper. She woke up this morning at seven, cooked breakfast, dressed up, showered, kissed us all on the head and drove herself to Pheonix for college (her original destination when she got in the wreck; 75 miles away). There's no sign of her bruises (they're all covered in clothes), and she's moving like she's 20 (she's thirty-five.) No one can even tell she had been in a wreck. She's my hero.
Update on my "situation": it's definately an infection, but it's easily controlled. When I woke up this morning for example, it had shrunken from the size of a large grape to the size of a large pea. It might be cancerous still, but it's highly unlikely.
I want to thank all of my friends who supported me through this horrifying little day. It shattered my spirit, and instead of patting me on the back and saying "I'm sorry", my friends comforted me deeply, wept with me, and held my tears in their hearts. I am truly blessed to have friends like that; if there's anything I can do to make it up to any of you, let me know by all means...

what? Frightening Occurances
when? Monday, June 9, 2003

Had two life-or-death experiences today: I went into the hospital to find out that I have a lymp node infection, which could lead to cancer in about two months or so. Hmm. I then went to a job interview at Country Kitchen-- they said I can start tomorrow, which I shall do, yay.
Sorry I'm writing so low key today; my energy's spent after six hours half-crying in the emergency room: My mother rolled her car today in the middle of the beeline highway, totally trashing it. It's a miracle she lived, although there's no broken bones or any blood, just a *lot* of bruises. Totalled the surburban though ... The front winsheild is non-existant, whereas all of the other windows are scattered all over the cabin of the car. It looks like a giant decided to play pool, with our trusty SUV as a blaringly white cueball. As for her: She was jostled, but not thrown, luckily. A text book hit her in the back of the head, and she slammed up against the door a couple of times as the car smashed into the dirt of the unpaved median.
Before she left, I said to her, "Give me a hug, good luck, and I love you." I'm sure glad it wasn't the last thing I could say...

In other news, I'm continuing the damnable poetry binge:

Hypocritical Heretic
Sugar spun barbed wire and cotton candy nails,
It's a pity we're all human, because everybody fails.
We all fall short of glory, we all fall short of God,
Angels fear to rush in where wise men have not trod.

Saccharrine sweet smiles and black licorice stares,
Hypocrites sing loudly; screaming out their prayers.
Father, Father, I beg of thee: let me rest my head,
Long and weary is the path that I have had to tread.

White chocolate towers and destroyed honey nations,
Luckily for my family, we have no obligations:
Poor decreipt hungry souls turn to me and plea,
Following Christian parents, I turn my eyes and flee.

Advisory Warning: I apologize, this is nothing what I think of in real life. ::nods:: I love my parents dutifully, and God as well.
On the other hand ... If I have to make a justification for my poetry, is it really worth it?

what? Stumbling on a Graveyard
when? Sunday, June 8, 2003

Warning, this is LONG; the longest I've ever written in my life. The speaker is male. ::nod nod:: Written in church, oddly..

Souls Unremembered
I passed by a cemetary,
One dark and dreary morning.
I would have missed it, if,
There was not a sign of warning.


What I saw beneath my feet
Touched me in the heart:
(Weathered tombstones on their sides,)
A twinge of sadness there to start.


Twisting vines and their flowers,
Voracious though they be,
With great powers to topple stone,
Had begun to topple me.


Who is buried here, I wondered,
Such a pity no one knows...
I want to be remembered when I die,
By friends, family, and foes.

"Who are you," a voice called out,
"Defacing my grave?
You're trembing, stupid boy,
You must not be very brave."


"f-Forgive me, sir, I am quite scared.
I'm about to lose my head.
You need to know the reasoning?
I've never talked with someone dead."


"I see," said he, quite cynically,
"Should I tell you who I am?
"I am a boy who lost his life
In the war at Vietnam.


"My father lies beside me,"
He continued true,
"The poor soul, he lived and died
On the field in World War II."


We continued talking;
Him telling me his story,
He fought for peace when he lived:
Not for revenge or glory.


I was amazed when came the dawn,
How captured was I so--
This ghost that sat before me,
Had ever so much to show.


"Now there is a favor I must ask you,"
(In his eyes there was a tear,)
I need to you find someone,
Someone very dear."


"She is tall and light headed,
Looking much like me,
We all died protecting her;
We died so she'd be free."


"Now she is alone, I fear,
Either that or dead,
Please, I beg you! Find her now,"
The single tear, he shed.


"I don't believe I can, my friend,"
Sadness on my face,
"It seems your daughter, poor dear thing,
Disappeared without a trace."


"Woe to us, mispent youth!"
(I felt a wave of pain,)
"Everything we died for...
Was all of that in vain?"


"No, no, I promise to you,
I will find your child!
But I need your help; I need her name,"
My eyes were wide and wild.


"You're very right, how smart of you,"
Calming down he nodded,
"Her name is Maria Blackbird,"
He carefully prodded.


"My God!" quoth I,
Giving blessings to the dead,
"Maria Blackbird is very well;
She is the girl I am going to wed."

what? Who's that? Not me, surely!
when? Saturday, June 7, 2003

.... Gosh, I don't know what to say .. Except that I'm nothing that what you say I am ... I've never been so honored in my life.. You are the most wonderful person I know, hon ... Never change ... and I'm sorry you're feeling so down ... Geez. I need to go put on some depressing music now.

what? Poetry Binge
when? Friday, June 6, 2003

Lately, I've been on a bizarre poetry binge ... These were all written within five minutes of each other.

A Child Of Shades
If my face is so white,
Why am I blue?
But strictly speaking,
From me to you,
My soul is black,
Tainted, unclean;
My jealousy is delicately
Shaded so green.
When I am younger,
The color brightens,
As the emotional grip
Around me tightens.
My face is red
When I scream in anger,
Unwillingly, my family,
To endanger.
Translucent is the color
Of my rare tears;
Pale is attributed
To my fears.
Hatred is shaded
A faded grey,
For it can turn out
Either way.
Lo, how sad is
My melancholy,
Tainted with yellow
In a moment of folly.
As I grow older,
All color fades,
To leave me confused:
A child of shades.


Insomnia
Heart beating
Sanity fleeting
Body bleeding
Night after night
Hands shaking
Cheerfulness faking
Body breaking
Night after night
Smiles lying
Sleepless trying
Body dying
Night after night
Mind not staying
Sleep delaying
Body decaying
Night after night!


What If ...
Wouldn't the world be wonderful,
If money didn't exist?
If there were no killing or stealing,
And soliders didn't enlist?


Wouldn't the world be wonderful,
If society was nice,
If there were no death or taxes,
And there was no hair-lice?


Wouldn't the world be wonderful,
If everyone spoke clearly,
If everyone followed the golden rule,
And loved everyone else dearly?


Wouldn't the world be wonderful,
If we were not all human,
If there were no insecurities,
And everyone were true men?


Wouldn't the world be wonderful,
If no one ever got sick,
If everyone had their sanity,
And skulls were less thick?


Wouldn't the world be wonderful,
If there was nothing to steal,
If there were no possessions,
And if nothing was really real?



... And that's all I have to say about that. Thanks for the layout, Sammy, it's beautimous! ::weep, strokes it::

what? new layout - anger and fear.
when? Thursday, June 5, 2003

attention K-mart shoppers... this is Sam speaking...
you know. the one who scribbles her stuff down over here? yeah. that's me.

anyway, just a short little entry to let y'all know that it was not just ME this time who made this layout. =P casschan (the person who NORMALLY writes here) formulated the main layout. i merely refined it and such and such. added all the cool effects and stuff.

well... not much else to say other than...casschan? enjoy your new layout, hon. love ya. (dearly not queerly, o'course.)

--Samchan