grey matter

die_lindsey_die @ 2009-12-18T23:31:00

2009-12-19T04:31:06Z

When I was little I remember the smell of cocoa butter and hair grease in my Aunt Pat's house and remember smelling their house every time I crossed the threshold and remember feeling beautiful and comfortable and like I was more at home with them than either of my parents or even my brother. A closeness existed in their family in a way it never did in mine, and the smells of their home and the brown of heir carpet, and the sun-bleached, forgotten toys in their tiny patio told a story I wanted to always be a part of, and shortly after that year in my life, Aunt Pat and her clan (daughter, cousins) moved to Los Angeles and we spent holidays, sometimes, only, together, and the smell of cocoa butter and hair grease was never comforting again, nor did it remind me of family and happiness, because I began to forget what that smell was like, or the thickness of their brown carpets underfoot.

Their cabinets were wooden, and their kitchen small, and the overhangs which covered all cars from weather exposure supported on poles good for twirling on, and the green grass around the walkways in their apartment complex comforting underfoot and I was happyhappy, and I wanted to be black more than anything. I wanted to be black more than anything. I wanted to be black more than anything.

The weather outside is frightful.

2009-12-11T01:21:06Z

First MAJOR snow-age of the year, I suspect. The wind is whirling, the snow is twirling, and it's fucking COLD AND SHIT. But the beauty is all there, so I'm not exactly complaining. It's just interesting to note, I suppose.

My fall-out stint with polyamory didn't go over well at all. The boy ended up doing those ass-holish things that make me want to die, turn completely lesbian, etc., etc. It all boils down to a few basic things:

I have slept with every boy I have ever kissed. This is bad.
I sleep with them too soon, and my heart gets ripped out. This is bad.
I attach too much to the sex, although they often woo me into the sex which leads me to attach things in the first place. This is bad.
I believed him...

This is bad.

I've only known two boys...or had two boyfriends, let me say, that were any kind of receptive to me, or honest with me. The other three (now statistically speaking, I'm a goner) have built me up to rip me down, as it were. I don't understand that part. These three have expressed, before, after, or in-between, that they do generally like me IN SOME MANNER or another, whether it WAS sexual, or liking as a friend, or even more...but they WHAT? The opportunity was just too easy, we were just having fun, etc. Really, though, what the hell kind of heart can any kind of person have when you just fuck with someone's heart, head, and subsequently, body like that, knowing the feelings are obviously not mutual or on the same level as one anothers'? REALLY?

Perhaps I am addicted to the idea of man as a monster. I want the good and the bad, so I go searching among the dregs of society for a suitable, destructive, depressing mate to accompany me on the long road to hell.

Perhaps this is no longer the place to look.

But aren't I just too damn cynical, bitter, and morally tainted to look anywhere else than where I do? Aren't I just some misguided, educated misfit who can really only identify with the crooked, the bitter, the evil, the wary?

Who the fuck am I to want "better", or more, or just plain different than myself? Is that realistic? Or am I being UNREALISTIC in assuming I NEED a hell-raiser?

Is this all some sick masochistic shit that I secretly feed off of? Better bring me the pain boys, because the pain is beautiful and it feels like honey, hot mouths, and barbed wire.

So, I had this dream...

2009-11-04T17:32:33Z

The authorities were descending upon every house, evacuating all people, taking them to the center to get appraised. No one was spared--every house, everywhere, was being evacuated. The authorities never said whether or not there was a purpose behind these human appraisals, but it was extremely mandatory, as individuals would be removed from their homes by force if need be.

Not everyone was taking it seriously. In my dream, I was terrified and paranoid as fuck about this. When would they come to get me? I could always WALK tot he center myself, but history has proven that round-ups like this have never been positive yet...

We had a party at our house, or some people were over. I heard the authorities knocking downstairs, asking who was there and how many. I ran to the hidden closet which, subsequently, was already a documented hiding place. However, the closet was documented over 20 or so years previous to this infiltration, so I went up there anyway, hoping against hope. No one else ran. I hid in a secret room connected to this closet, and waited. And waited. I was terrified.

And somehow, I ended up at this center for appraisal anyway. I think somehow I volunteered to go. There were lines and lines and lines and lines, people taking anything and everything out of their pockets, any extra accessories off of their person--their shoes, hair clips, wedding rings, pocket change, etc. First came the physical exam. They sent you through one of those airport security things, and then through some sort of x-ray machine. Then they got you naked in other rooms, and examined you, with large measuring tools and stuff. After the physical, you filled out giant survey of absolutely everything about yourself--who is your family? what do you like to do? where do you work? how much schooling? SS#? what do you hate? what do you love? It was at least a 20 page typed long, long, small font survey.

And then...I never found out what happened once one was done with the survey and it was looked over. But this consistent feeling of dread and horror accompanied me throughout.

Definitely a genocide-y/holocaust-y dream, if ever there was one.

Pardon me/ I'm only bleeding/When you cut me/To the bone

2009-10-20T21:54:24Z

School has been handing me my ass, but for this specific moment in time...I think I've got it under control. The beast has been caged, my love, so why don't you leave that dreary closet and we shall renew acquaintance with one another?

My schedule is tentative, but I think mostly discovered/unleashed for semester next:

Monday:

(Honors)Psychology 222: Social Psychology of the Holocaust 3:30-4:50
English 203: American Lit to 1865 5:30-8:20

Tuesday:

Food Service Administration 111: Principles of Baking--Pastries and Confections Products 3:00-7:50 (lecture/lab)

Wednesday:

(Honors) Psychology 222: Social Psychology of the Holocaust 3:30-4:50

If the Jackson Katz specific learning community pulls through for me/if it sounds as if it would live to please, it's all me, baby. But the honors class remains the same regardless. Other than that, checkmate...

Everything else is a little stupid, highly intriguing, and more often than not depressing and/or cause of much frustration.

I did read Dracula (Bram Stoker) in its entirety, and I must say, the book lives up to its fame. In class, the teacher made a nice joke that went something like this: "Heheh, Lindsey totally wants to date Renfield." To which I nodded profusely, smiled, and laughed like a doofus. Because I would date Renfield. He seems enlightened, and that creepy-sexy that mental patients have, except that he seems most in control of all the major faculties, SO...

Yeah, Dracula was badassssss.

I'm not afraid of dying/ pieces of me die all the time

2009-10-13T00:44:01Z

I kind of just want to blow my brains out.

Things are not going how I want them to go.

I am no longer fun.

I don't think I was ever fun.

I feel too...TOO. Too much of everything. Must.tone.it.dowwwn.

My chest is heavy with pain and my head is heavy with burden and pain.

I want to run run run run run run run run and breathe heavily and scream into the night without someone looking at me or out their window.

I want to pass under the radar.

I make the radar.

I already lost.

I just keep saying "fuck everything" but then the passion returns and I don't get anything that I want or am passionate about.

I always feel mediocre.

I feel like I function just above standard par most of the time, but never at blinding or brilliant.

I am not special.

Just slightly above average.

I feel like a tool.

I feel like a nobody.

Will accomplish nothing, will gain no experience/love/lust/lifelfelifelifelust.

I feel like a fucking sicksicksicksicksicksickfool.

Worthless.

When can I start hurting myself again?

Or have I been hurting myself all along?

I know the answer to this, but I'd rather it manifest itself as a physical and not an emotional/brain/mental thing.

Let's go out tonight and smash shit. Let's go out tonight and murder. Let's go out tonight and free fall off of the tallest bridge we can find.

It'll be beautiful for about 30 seconds. And then it will be black.

Heads and dreads.

2009-09-06T02:06:24Z

Now I remember why I don't like to stay at home alone. I lay down, watch television, eat, and question my motives for absolutely everything I do. The television makes me cry, I want to smoke, I want to fuck, I want to scream or run or move and I just can't do anything. The sun goes down, and I'm trapped in my house with animals that scream and fight and Idon'tknowwhat.

And I'll be awake for another 238757263485684686845265863856 hours and go to work again in the morning and do it all over again. And again and again and again.

Fuuuuuuckme.

B-A-N-A-N-A-S

2009-08-26T01:24:37Z

We've been home from CA for a while, now, and it's been going alright. Work is a little too stupid for me to be dealing with on such a regular basis, but I've got to do it. Yesterday at work I cried (over work) for the first time. I spilled an entire room temp. stick of butter all over my clean new pants which I generally have little time to wash. Mixed with the rest of the day, I just started crying.

California was an experience. On the whole, I enjoyed myself significantly less than Will, but I still had a good time I guess. We spent way too much money, did mostly tourist-y shit, and I never got to drive a car when I was there; I never vocalized the car-driving idea, so that part is my fault, but still...every time I've considered SD since leaving the first time, it's been me behind the wheel driving down the 8 someplace.

All in all, SD just wasn't the same. I had good company for the most part; I enjoyed the ladies I stayed with more than I think they realize. Thinking back, though, in all of the SD related dreams I've had since leaving initially have had this dark blue-black color/tone to the entire dream, like some sort of black fog descending on "my" city. I think, now, that this means either that SD has somehow been...I dunno, ruined, for me? Or that I, myself, think evil/bad thoughts in correlation to the city itself? I think my own personal apocalypse in this matter has affected my visions of such a sunny, bright place, but what else can I do now?

This entire concept fatigued me little, however, when I realized that SD wasn't really my home anymore. Almost immediately after our arrival, I just kind of thought to myself, "Oh, saw what I needed to, there's some palm trees now, let's go HOME." I realized right then that this just wasn't my home anymore, not even a little bit...San Diego is just another place on a map I'm less than vaguely familiar with. And I do love, I mean LOVE, my home now. I feel like a bashful little girl when I think about the home I've made here, how much I love and truly care for the people I know, and how I don't want this one to slip away like they always do. There's seasons here, you know? All of those holidays really mean a lot more when they're in their SEASONS, the real seasons. Snow has grown on me, and this year I couldn't possibly be more inclined towards fall and fall-related things. I'm going apple-picking this year like nobody's business, making fall foods, celebrating Halloween for an entire month...

I'm just happy here, yeah? I go to an amazing, hyper-stimulating school, I enjoy those I work with, and I'm in love with my crew. Punk in Rochester is a big deal, and it feels good to at least FEEL a part of it, despite how legitimate/illegitimate my part within the scene really is. I'm home, god damnit. Now here's when I begin to get clingy, out of my fear of this one being ripped from me, too...

die_lindsey_die @ 2009-06-04T14:06:00

2009-06-04T18:08:25Z

WHY DOES IT NOT SAY "FRIEND OF"? ?????? He friended me on his fucking journal, and for all I know that motherfucking heroin crack head can still keep tabs on my life, motherfucker. So how come in MY profile it doesn't say "friend of" when I AM HIS "friend" ?!?!?!?!??!?!? I SHOULD BE ABLE TO KNOW THESE THINGS. Okay, all my entries are friends only now. I can at least make sure HE's not able to read those, unless he knows my password or some shit, which wouldn't be surprising.

Fuck you, Ryan.

die_lindsey_die @ 2009-05-16T18:13:00

2009-05-16T22:35:24Z

I was talking to someone (because I talk to people in person, or on the phone! WOAHWHATATHOUGHT) and the topic of facebook, internet characterization, and passive cultural/political participation came into focus. Now, this is/are topic(s) I think about on a regular basis, because concepts like facebook are so fucking pervasive in today's culture, particularly youth and/or college (sub)cultures that it's difficult to escape from.

Don't get me wrong--I'm not any kind of a popular person or even a person it seems many people would/could be intriuged by, but I get my fair amount of questions and/or comments about facebook/myspace/twitter or any other kind of online social networking...not to mention from my own mother! Every once in a while...maybe once or twice a week, let's say, an individual may ask me a question like "Do you have a (insert myspace/facebook here)?" Every time, my answer is no. This is followed by, "you should get one!" Well, my answer to that is: NONONONONONONO!

Let me tell you why:

1) I do not believe in "social" networking. Networking for the sake of business of any kind is okay, and potentially even required in a lot of cases. Social networking, however, is neither for business, nor is it any kind of necessary.
2) My ego has been inflated, in may cases, to the point of no return anyway. However, I like to try and PRACTICE modesty in as many ways as possible to combat said inflated ego. Why, then, would I sign up for an ego-driven consumer service in which I not only ADVERTISE myself as an object to be CONSUMED and/or POSSESSED, but continue to glorify myself TO myself and others, reveling in how "cool" I am, how many "friends" I have, and how similar my friends are to me?
3) Why make myself a target? By creating OF YOUR OWN WILL a consumer profile of ones' self is not only backwards, but unnecessarily helpful to the same corporations I try so very hard to avoid giving my money and time to. Consumer profiles are scary, dangerous, limiting, evil pinholes I try hard not to be a part of. Why do I not have a license, a wegmans card, a bank account in my name (which is, sadly, changing...), a petco card, etc.etc.? BECAUSE I CHOSE NOT TO HAVE MY NAME IN ANOTHER SYSTEM. By creating a facebook with all of ones interests/ideologies advertised and public, one then becomes a corporate/lobbyist target for whatever is then being sold.
4) I enjoy maintaining my anonymity. Since when did it become "cool"/"hip"/"fashionable" to know everything about everyone? It's like celebrity culture, applied to real-life, "every-day" people. Didn't "mystery" used to be attractive? Although it seems, looking back, this term is applied more to a male interest in females, it works both ways. Mysteriousness is hot, eye-catching, intriuguing, dangerous. The fact that you could look, imagine, and play up a person in one's head is sexy, bizarre, and harmless. Isn't it more harmful to know so much about other people and their business, really? We then develop a false sense of connectedness as we find more things to relate to with someone we've never spoken to. False connectedness is what leads to things like RAPE and MURDER, or SELF LOATHING or SELF IMPORTANCE.
5) Characterization is alright--in a play, a movie, a book, or any other kind of literary/artistic sense. Social networking websites are not serving the purpose of "art", or, at least, not "art for the sake of art." By creating/maintaining a facebook and/or myspace, or other social networking page, one is creating a character of ones' self. This is also known as an "online persona", an alternate "you", a dual personality. Aren't we just supposed to have ONE personality? Why make a character of myself? What does that accomplish, other than people can easily access and study a character for their own selfish motivations and/or purposes? I am not a character, I am a PERSON. If this point seems foggy to you at all, take a look at the facebook format: "Lindsey (insert ACTION here for your title/heading)" or "Lindsey just took (this quiz)!" These are STAGE DIRECTIONS.
6) I refuse to believe/participate in passive cultural and/or political participation. Individuals who own facebooks/myspaces think that by joining a group designated to a specific purpose/goal, that with enough members and/or online "signatures" to an shitty online petition (which more than likely goes nowhere, you know) that their goals may be met and/or suported in a timely, self-important manner. By joining a facebook group supporting gay/straight alliance, an individual is effective in passively participating in the larger cultural/political sphere. Online "support" does not create more lobbyists in/on Washington to EFFECTIVELY communicate one's cause of choice. Online "support" does not physically HAND a signed petition to whom it may concern. Online "support" does not walk you by the hand to the voting booths to vote for America's super-cool, youth-popular first black president. Online "support" weakens the overall, extremely powerful (but currently dormant) voice of America's youth by creating another false sense of political and cultural security. Because, after all, as long as we're joining a group on facebook it must be making some sort of difference, right?! ONLY TO STATISTICS CONCERNING DEMOGRAPHICS, YES.

I'm also sure there are about four+ points I have forgotten to cover concerning this topic...but I'm craving a book instead of a keyboard at the moment, so.

That's that.

die_lindsey_die @ 2009-04-05T17:11:00

2009-04-05T21:11:08Z

http://think.mtv.com/044FDFFFF009F953D001700994317/

Watch.The.Video.

I will not be your/a walking stick.

2009-01-08T19:00:02Z

So I come out of the bathroom after having washed my face, with my hair in those messy buns and my headband still on, which keeps my bangs from getting in the way of washing my face and whatnot....

Well.

Immediately my mother says to me, "Oooohhh, how cute!"

"Well, I'm taking the headband off so..."

"Oh, no, honey it looks so cute!"

"But I don't LIKE to wear a headband, and have my bangs back." (This is totally irrelevant, however, as...)

"But it makes you look so thin!"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT LOOKING THIN!"

And I don't. I'm fucking beautiful my size god damnit, and whether or not other people may think the same thing about me is totally unimportant to me. Thinism is just as disgusting as sexism but it never gets addressed, just as it's seemingly become fashionable in our society to pretend like feminism is over when it should never, ever, ever be over at all. It's pretty much guaranteed that I will get hired over the 250 lb. girl, that I will be looked over in terms of looks over the 250 lb. girl, and that the 105 lb. girl will get first pick if the choice is between her and I. What the fuck difference does this all make, really? Beauty is beauty, and it's on the inside shining through--the physical shit is nothing more than physical shit. I mean, how often do those 105 lb. girls obsess over their bodies, taking time away from sleep or education or eating a decent meal to go to the gym for an hour and then be upset when men look at them for it? "I shouldn't have to be a sexual object in the gym even, for christs' sake! I'm not even wearing makeup!" But when you're already 125 lbs., healthy, and already lead an active lifestyle, then you're just going to the gym to impress men one way or another anyway.

Why is it always, always, always about our bodies? I will forever be more than just my body, I'm a fucking mind in my head, a force to be fucking reckoned with, I'm not just a fucking body placed on the earth to tantalize the best and worst of the male species.

Sick sick sick sick sick, we're all fucking sick and everyone is fucking sick. It's not acceptable to have eating disorders to try to look beautiful, it's not alright to let a man "victimize/steal" from you when you are raped because god damnit YOU CAN SURVIVE RAPE AND GET OVER IT it does not have to steal your life away like victim culture says it should, dieting is not beautiful, intelligent or exciting--it's a clutch like God or drugs, to feel like you have something when you have nothing but low self esteem which is brought on by the threats made by the media that if you are not effortlessly beautiful every second of the day men will NEVER LOVE YOU.

A man does not define a woman, man is just a word thrown in there depending on how you'd like to spell womyn.

die_lindsey_die @ 2008-12-03T14:22:00

2008-12-03T19:21:42Z

Jack: Will you marry me? You are the exception to every horrible thing that anybody can think about this world. And that I, even I, have ever thought about this world. Grass grows in your path where wasteland was before and double rainbows leap into the sky ahead of you. And we will have one hell of a wedding. I'll wear a shirt that says 'Superstition and Slavery' and you will go up the aisle in the bluest pair of shoes you ever saw.

Ancient History (All in the Timing); David Ives

die_lindsey_die @ 2008-11-12T12:50:00

2008-11-12T17:50:38Z

http://www.glamour.com/magazine/2007/08/rape-in-the-congo?printable=true&currentPage=all

Everyone should read this article. And then, when you are done reading it, post it somewhere, print it out and leave in in a coffee shop, or tell someone special to you. Just...get it out. We are women, damnit! Together we are women and women should not be avoiding reality. It could happen to me, or you. My fucking god. At least get it OUT.

http://www.amnesty.org/en/library/asset/AFR62/018/2004/en/dom-AFR620182004en.pdf

there's another.

So...

2007-12-05T18:44:58Z

Chester is cute and I love him :)

<a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v175/littlebunny/img002.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"></a>

Every one of you had it coming.

2007-02-12T19:37:09Z

Friends only.

die_lindsey_die @ 2006-09-27T22:20:00

2006-09-28T02:20:27Z

moving downtown saturday/sunday.

cats gone today. no more kitties :(

aaaarg!

Nasty habits

2006-09-09T15:04:06Z

Despite the years under it's hood, it is a beautiful machine worthy of the money I paid for it--my navy blue 1986 Mercury Grand Marquis. Yes, it has a little rusting. There are small spots all around the car typically the size of a quarter to maybe an inch and a half, but these are most fixable; they're small, and generally one doesn't go out of their way to notice them, so they're all no big deal. Oh, yes, underneath the trunk of the car there's quite a bit of rusting, but the trunk is in no danger of falling out from under me, I just....just can't put an elephant, or maybe a television in the trunk. I'm fine with this. The previous owner, a Kenneth Carlson, 81, has been the only one to possess the car. It has a little bit over 104,000 miles on it, and because he's had it strictly in his elder years, it has been supremely well cared for. For instance, the inside of the car, once vaccuumed, will be, basically, flawless. Navy blue interior, big, spacious, and squishy beyond belief. I'm very pleased.

The car is going to be something of a challenge to handle, but I feel that I'm willing to challenge the car in return to see who's the boss. It's big...not going to lie, it's one of those old people land boats, or "ghettomobiles," as my mother likes to call it. It's size makes it spectacular, though, at least to look at and marvel at. Honestly, I don't think I'd feel the same kind of chest-expansive affection towards a car that was just another regular, small, commercial compact vehicle that was made after the 90's. They just don't have the same kind of character that I'm feeling from this car. I've already grown attatched to it, and I have yet to drive it myself or even see it IN my driveway.

Lastly, with the things Ken, the little lovely old man, is throwing in and giving me along with the car, I'm essentially getting the CAR for free and paying for all of the things he's giving me. With the Merc, I'm also getting three new regular road tires, four snow tires, a new air filter, new headlights, a close-to-lifetime supply of engine oil (crates&crates!) and just as many new oil filters! I won't be paying for an oil change any time soon, within the next few years if this baby can make it for that long, hah!

The car was a steal, though. In all-around excellent condition for a 20 year old car, low mileage for a car that old, or even ANY used car, really, all the extras he's throwing in, minimal damage as a whole, ALL FOR $1,100. Oh. I found it, my little dreamy-car. I'm honestly ecstatic about this. :)

I've got a monster in my closet.

2006-09-06T00:04:06Z

MCC today. First official day of college, easy-peasey. A single class was all I had, Drugs&Behavior, only being taken for the 3 necessary health credits required of a "Liberal Arts--Undecided" student. Tomorrow, three classes--Intro. to Philosophy, Career/Life Planning for the Undecided Student, and English 101;12-2:50. So far, at least, things aren't that bad at all. The campus is easy going to and fro, plenty of arrows to help direct, plenty of maps, plenty of free space and an extensive smoking area outside. Honestly, I've yet to be enthused. The idea of college, of schoolwork, of effort into something I can't find the patience to care about, is a bore.

I don't know where my life is going, right now. My mother doesn't have a job and because of this she's feeling the urge to make that final leap to Hotlanta, GA, where her lovey lives and where I have no passion or interest towards going. So, she wants to leave for GA and rent me a room in someone's house and get me a car (with my own money, however) so that I can drive myself to school. I'll probably be transferring or just plain dropping out of the spring semester and going to live in Cleveland with Ryan once Christmas hits. If I can. Going to discuss this all with a career/advising counselor at MCC on Friday, see what I can do and what will ultimately cost me less in money, time, and mental well-being.

I have no need of this journal any longer.

die_lindsey_die @ 2006-08-28T14:06:00

2006-08-28T18:07:43Z

"The best way to change someone is by giving them what they want."
- Dr. Bishop Raul Felippe Ryan Patrick L. Y. Chase Sr. Jr. Esq.

die_lindsey_die @ 2006-08-02T13:19:00

2006-08-02T17:19:36Z

Well FUCK THAT. I think I hate hippies.

die_lindsey_die @ 2006-05-29T00:30:00

2006-05-29T04:45:27Z

Dear Sarge,

I bet you know what this feels like. I bet you know what it feels like to feel so down and out sometimes that nothing makes sense and you're even more stupid than when you started.

I bet you know what it feels like to always feel like you're saying something rather asshole-ish, only to find out that yes you really are, and yes, you're not going to stop until every word you know how to say falls out of your mouth in the pursuit of making someone else feel lesser than you.

Sarge, I bet you know what it's like, and I bet you, just like me, try really, really hard to reverse this agonizing process of placing one's self onto a makeshift pedastal, hoping against hope someone will hear your incessant cries of nothingness.

Don't you ever wish to dissappear? Into the quiet, into the dark, to a place that's safe and all your own? Don't you ever want to sleep for days and days and days and days until it's too difficult to keep saying the word "days" and far too long to count out the word on all ten fingers and toes? Doesn't sleep just sound like a safe-haven?

I bet you know what it's like to feel this emptiness that comes with empty goals and the apathy and boredom that comes with living the standard Americanized teenage dream. I bet you know what it's like to feel unwanted in a room of people who want to be with you, or worse, in an empty room where you feel the safest.

Do you, Sarge, appreciate your self image, because I don't. Does it confuse you? Don't you ever make yourself want to vomit, or at least develop one obsessive compulsive tendency to set forth some sort of regularity to your life? Do you think a lot about being normal, or do you think more about being different? Do you even consider it at all? Or are you a free, loving spirit only wanting life and ignoring self image as a whole, knowing that it's destined to cause detrimental affects to your mental well being?

Do you ever find yourself full of empty questions? Questions that pass the time and make life go 'round; questions that seem so important when you ask but then so empty upon reflection; questions you wish you could've asked but never had the guts.

I bet you know what it feels like to be average, normal, more than slightly stupid, clueless, pointless, obnoxious, and a fiend. I bet you know what it's like to belittle yourself in your head every minute of every day, and then to be able to give others false hope that you understand, or what's worse, that you're listening when all you hear is fuzz. I bet you know what it's like to have your heart ache when you listen and you listen and you try as best as you can to comprehend every single word, but the words come out in jumbled letters, much like being dyslexic.

I bet you know what it's like to have everything handed to you on a silver platter, and not understand a word or inch of your luck and well-being. I bet that despite all of your luck and grand fortune, you're still just as sad as the rest of us.

I wonder if you'd even care.

I wonder who you are, and how many of these thoughts you truly have.

I wonder what Sarge meant in the first place.

I bet you just thought it sounded cool.

Simply,

Lindsey

die_lindsey_die @ 2006-05-29T00:20:00

2006-05-29T04:25:50Z

"My mind is running on empty. I just don't know anymore."

"Could you elaborate, Ms. Jones?"

"I guess so. I...I just don't know. When I walk into a room, I can't see anything. I hear all of these cheerful voices but all I see is blackness and emptiness. It makes it difficult for my mind to process these images I can see in my head, but aren't really there. Does that make sense?"

"Yes it does. You're worn out, dear. You see the void because this is the only way you know how to cope with this void that lives inside of you. You physically see the darkness you feel crowding you in, making you lose your sense of self. You're lonely, aren't you?"

"Who's not lonely? Who doesn't need someone?"

"Ms. Jones, answer the question."

"We're only lonely if we want to be lonely. I...I suppose I am lonely, to tell you the truth.I miss him."

"Who is it that you miss?"

"I miss my little boy."

"Why is this?"

"He had truth in his eyes."

die_lindsey_die @ 2006-04-18T18:46:00

2006-04-18T22:46:41Z

Snakes On A Plane.

sweetsweetheart...

2006-04-01T03:40:36Z

Yepp. Gonna say it, cause it's so fucking true. Thirteen is officially the worst movie ever.

Worst.Movie.E V E R.

What the fuck kind of idiot do you need to be to enjoy such shit?

Am I meant to understand this?

I like your peaches wanna shake your tree..

2006-01-25T01:43:51Z

Sunday...oh, what DIDN'T happen on Sunday? Well, what DID was Finisher's last show with Bob =( But, I should say that it ruled. A lot.

Like, a lot.

For real.

So, needless to say that Sunday was ultimately the raddest day. In the universe.

CRUCIFIST: (Didn't get TOO many here..)

HOW WE ARE (soo fucking good...oh SO good...)

intense shot, right there.

So yeah...the How We Are photos are kind of repetetive...but only because I got a shitty spot. So...forgive them if they're boring.

OH MAN WAAAAH

aaw, I see Phil and Bob! Hheheheh

The lovely Charlotte, accompanied by the obviously gay Travis. Hahahah, oh, the horrible jokes I make...

Their height difference is my favorite part.

wouldya look at that? heheh, it was a nice outfit.

OKAY OKAY OKAY, FINISHER NOW:

Trust me guys, these pictures are totally rad. Please keep looking.

Bob and Dan

Phil and Kyle

Phil and Kyle agaaain

LOOKIT HIS LIGHT SABER GUITAR! That was so rad...

OH MY GOD TRAVIS

Bob & Trav

Kyle, in all his glory!

=) I like that one.

SHREDDER

I love cameras.

Heh, aaaw, I got like...one actual picture of Dan. He was too hard to see! I'm sorry!

His dreds look fucking rad here.

Most fucked up picture in the universe. But in the awesome way.

Ahahahaha...I don't even know.

Hail to all that is METAL!

And then Bob bashed his head in with the mic...

The clock makes this picture better.

Greatest zombie picture in the universe. Go Travis!

Man, I had too much fucking fun.

I love taking pictures.