post #9

My homework habits
These constant habits
These horrid habits
Of incompletion.

I lounge in oblivion
Blissful oblivion
Until the night comes
And I am swamped.

My eyes are drooping
My eyelids closing
Until I finally
Call it quits.

Work not finished,
Not ever finished
Until the sunrise
Of the next day.

post #8

 I love rock and roll. Put another dime in the jukebox, baby.

... I had to, okay?

Rock and roll is rebellion, more than anything else. The music with the most grit is never about love, or loss, it's about sticking it to the man, and standing up for your rights. Doing what you want and yelling (or singing) at anyone who gets in your way. I guess you could say it's the most political music there is, and maybe not even purposely. It's always music and lyrics, working together to create the most impact a song can have. That's why I think rock and roll is the only hope for the music industry.

Not just rock music. There is so much more to it than just the music. The way one carries himself, performs live... there are so many different factors. It's a way of life, not just a genre. Or, dying genre.

Today's music is just like our generation: cheap thrills. It's meaningless words and soulless bass and a beat you can dance to for three minutes. It's nothing.

When will we get the substance back?

Edit: I realized something.

Rock and roll is the dance-pop of my generation.

Maybe it doesn't have substance; maybe it just stood the test of time.

You never know.

post #7

I don't think I'm a good writer.

I've always had a certain stereotype pegged to the "writer" title. A bookworm, with rich vocabulary and an imaginative mind, always creating images in words. Their brains are their weapons, and the pen is merely a partner in crime. Metaphors, irony, allusions, alliteration... it all comes naturally. They can write effectively and efficiently in any topic, can come up with brilliance in mere minutes.

I am so, so far from this stereotype.

I don't read as much as I should. I use big words out of context. I write words, not images. My brain is more of a thing of chaos than brilliance. When I use literary devices, they sound forced and fake. I'm very limited in my writing topics. I write for hours and come up empty.

I know I'm wrong about writers. They aren't these perfectly brilliant beings with wonderful words. They're just writers. They write.

I write.

I don't know if I'm any good yet, but I'll sure as heck try to be.

post #6

I have so many music-related posts. So I hope you don't mind another.

I have a lot of music-related dreams. Some plausible, some unrealistic, some downright bizarre. But don't all dreams fall under those categories? 

I recently had an idea. Or, if you will, a dream. One day, dear reader, I will dress up in Rastafarian garb (you know, dreadlocks, tie-dye shirt, the works), stand out on the street and sing every Bob Marley song I know. I think that makes about four (I love that I proclaim myself as a Bob Marley fan. I'm kind of a hypocrite. Oh well.) You may be thinking, What gave you this idea in the first place?, Why Bob Marley?, or the ever obvious, Are you out of your mind?

I can answer all of these questions. To the first, my brain gave me the idea. And my brain is a very dangerous, eccentric place. Especially when it is this overworked, this tired. And to the second question, why not Bob Marley? He preaches a message of happiness and positivity and I think we need more of that in the world, to be quite honest. And to the final question, I can only answer yes. 

So obviously, this "dream" falls under the bizarre category. But fear not, I may be a tad bit crazy, but I can be normal every once in a while.

Heh, funny. 

Anyways, I have many other music dreams as well. I dream to play guitar and piano well. And the ukelele. And lately I'm becoming fascinated with the cello. But I digress. Mainly, I just want to sing in public, because I can't. No, really, I literally can't. It is physically impossible for me to sing on pitch when another human being is near me. I dream to overcome this fear; this is my biggest dream.

Another piece of the puzzle that is me.

post #6

I feel my skin shiver.
I feel my bones quiver.
My eyes grow huge and my smile grows wide.
Ice crystals fall from heaven,
No one identical, each with varying intricacies.
Covering the ground in cold blankets,
As much a comfort as the one drapes around my shoulders.
It's all so foreign, and yet I feel so at rest.
"First snow of the season," I whisper. Beauty at it's best.

post #5

E is for Everything I do is homework.

X is for ... Xylophone.

H is for Having no life. Unless you count studying as having a life.

A is for Always tired.

U is for Utopia nowhere to be found.

S is for Stupid words flowing out of my brain like Niagra Falls.

T is for Too much homework.

I is for I hope this week ends soon.

O is for Oh, goodness, did I really write this?

N is for No more ideas. I'm too tired to think of any.

post #4

"when we were young we used to say
that you only hear the music when your heart begins to break
now we are the kids from yesterday."

back to early june, so many years ago,
every day was a new adventure, but more of the same.
the sidewalk was the only thing between us; now thousands of miles fall between.
our own world was only a scooter or bike ride away.
when i think you, i think freedom.
i also think of the past.
every summer was you and i; we took the days and never gave them back.
we would spend every minute together, doing everything.
when we were younger we played pretend,
when we got older we talked about the past, the present, the future.
... and maybe we played pretend a little more.
lazy days by your pool, filled with bug spray and firelight.
then i went away, and now i wonder where you are.
i always used to know.
there's something so beautifully tragic about falling out.
knowing a person so well, being with them every moment, and then forgetting they exist.
i remember you.
i hope you remember me.