How to Make Perfect Toast...or Tall Tales of a Tiny City

Prolouge: Always Write in Black Ink...Always

I'm not quite sure if everything you're about to read is true. It might be, or it might be some big fabricated lie I manifested within my head because something was wrong with my childhood. Or maybe it will be true tomorrow. Lucky for me, I don't have to choose which tomorrow, mine as I'm writing this or yours as you're reading this. However, I'm not lying on purpose you see, because, I don't remember yesterday or if I've said this before. Remember, these are just words on a page. Unless this is a movie, then its just images on a screen. I'm not going to act something out for you or pretend the camera isnt here. Unless this isn't a movie...see? I never know if I'm lying or not. I don't know if this is honest. I don't even know if this is plagiarism, but when I find out, I'll tell you...if I remember. Or if you remember.

Chapter 1: Double Check Your Prescriptions

You can�t look out the window at 8:30 pm, because all you will see is your reflection in the glass. Vain people will tell you that they are looking out the window at 8:30 pm, but they�re really just thinking about how #ing beautiful they are. However, you can look out the window at 8:30 AM, but what�s the point? If it were any good outside, you�d actually take the effort to be there, right? Looking out the window at 8:30 am makes you a pessimist�

Or illogical, like Louis.

It�s dinner time. Chicken. Green Beans from a can. Instant mashed potatoes in a pretty bowl that looks like china but in truth, was just bought 4 months ago from Kroger. On sale. Louis always leaves the door unlocked in the afternoon. At college, my dad says, at college you can�t do that. At college, unfortunately, someone will steal your stuff. Quite unfortunate he says. Quite unfortunate for us, very fortunate for someone else, but nobody admits that. The people, the food, the conversation, the baseball game blaring in the next room, me turned to you narrating the scene occurring behind me, none of its real. What you�re seeing, whether its in your mind or on this stage or at some rinky dink independent film theater, its all just one big reenactment. Like on cop shows, where actors pretend to be killed in action or run off with bags of money to show you, the helpless viewer, what �really� happened. They�re pretending there�s no camera, you�re pretending there�s no camera, but secretly, everybody knows there actually is a camera standing there right in front of them. Kinda funny, how the only one in the scene that�s not lying is an inanimate object. The camera is the only one who�s not pretending it�s not there. We�re all pretending the truth isn�t true. We�re all pretending the camera isn�t there. We�re all pretending we can actually see outside at 8:30pm. We�re all pretending that it�s quite unfortunate that someone will steal your stuff even though we all leave the door unlocked on purpose, just like I�m pretending that I�m not reading this off a script.

Pass the green beans please.


[edit on 7-10-04 by Scat]

[edit on 7-11-04 by Scat]

[edit on 7-11-04 by Scat]

[edit on 7-12-04 by Scat]

Looking forward to the next instalment..
*need more need more*

I'll pass on the green beans...but I'll have some chicken!
Hehe - sounds good man - this is the first I've read from you Scat - I look forward to more
I've been thinking about hopping on the band wagon here...maybe once I get some juices flowing I'll post something myself

Yowza! Someone actually read this? Dag!

Well Ive got lots more, its all written very messily in my tiny notebook, so it takes a long time to transcribe and edit and blah blah blah, but thanks for the feedback. Im hoping to post a few more chapters in the coming week.

(EDIT- I added in the prolouge at the beginning of the first post, i forgot it originally)

I dont like adding alot at a timebecause its unconfortable to read alot on thesecomputers so heres the next tidbit....

Chapter 2: Reality Checks Should Always Be Disturbing

I chew gum because I�m insecure. I keep the wrappers on my wall to remind myself how insecure I am. Being secure in my insecurity makes me that much stronger than those people who look out the window at 8:30pm. However, it�s 9:17pm and every few minutes I look out the window to make sure I�m still there, and I find that logical.

Inset: Profile 1- Brother.

Unlike Louis. Louis, who is sitting less than 10 feet away from me, does not know I am telling you about him. Louis, who is separated by several walls, a toilet, and a wallpaper change does not know what I�m about to tell you. I�m looking out my window, I see an insecure gum chewer that does not know she�s vain. I also see a gecko, but that�s irrelevant. Louis doesn�t look out the window. Louis is a pessimist. Louis plays videogames, works at a videogame store, and wears $20 shirts with videogame slogans on them. Louis is a walking Tetris block.

You can turn it a million ways but in the end it�s still the same fu**ing block and eventually, no matter how good you are at turning him around, you will lose. Because Tetris is not a game, Tetris is a bunch of moving blocks that fu*k you over. Louis has this girlfriend that�s super good at Tetris, but everybody knows that once you start playing Tetris you can�t stop. This would explain the phone calls we get at 2 in the morning. He plays videogames, she plays videogames, they�re just walking joysticks trying to turn each other�s blocks the right way.

I hope this isn�t another reenactment.

Inset: Background Information 1- School.

I wake up. I get dressed. I sit in the passenger�s seat. I sit. I learn by osmosis. I come home. I look out the window. I see a report card with a �C,� an �A,� and two �B�s.� C. A. B. B. Could. Always. Be. Better. Allow me to explain.

OK, this is my school. All of these people walkinga round, they�re actors. The painted brick walls, 20 year old lockers, and moldy stench is all Justin your head, so don�t worry about it. Let�s peek in a class shall we?

�The arc that this inscribed angle intersects is going to be twice the measure of the angle. So if angle B equals 37 degrees, the arc it intersects is-�

Seema breaks in � �74 degrees.�

Seema is a genius, she knows all the answers. We measure our success as students by how close we are to becoming her. Now see that girl sitting..sleeping�behind Seema? The one with the Josie and the Pussycats haircut with chipped red nail polish, a watch that doesn�t work, and 3 packages of Orbit gum in her pocket? That�s me.

I sleep but I get A�s on tests. This is why I do not get beautiful grades but I also do not fail. You could say it�s that logic again, or you could say I�m lazy. But it doesn�t really matter what you say because I can�t hear you�this is a reenactment, remember?
***************

ok this is really hard to understand if its not all together in the right format. There's supposed to be a chapter in between those two insets, but i havent gotten around to typing itup yet. When its fiished, those insets will literally be insets. Little gray boxes with small text on pages during chapters, unfortunately, icant do those graphics on here. Oh well!


[edit on 7-11-04 by Scat]

Chapter 3- Always Double Check Your Gum Packages to Make Sure You Have Enough Pieces to Last the Day, the Same Goes for Toilet Paper

We're back at dinner again. It's not chicken, mashed potatoes, or green beans, but it might as well be because it all came from a can and you just add water, bring to a boil, and stir. I fumbled in my pocket for another piece of gum, I currently had 5 being chewed at the moment. 1- General Insecurities. 2- Looking out the window. 3- My mother. 4- My father. 5- My brother. This next one was to cover the damage left by their most recent cross-examination.

"What did you do today?"
"Talked to people." (Just add water)

"What people?"
"Just people." (Bring to a boil)

"Why don't you ever tell us anything? I don't know your friends, I mean do they do drugs? hey- wha- Wait just one second! Where do you think you're going?!"
"To call my best friend, the crack dealer." (Stir)

A few moments later I took the freshly used wrapper and wrote my newest note on it- "Don't say crack."

Chapter 4- Step outside the Door Before Blowing Your Nose
*Anger
*Depression
*Substance Abuse
*Eating Disorder(s)
*Other

Living life as an other was an interesting experience, to say the least. Surprisingly, I'm not sitting here with my wrists and ankles cuffed in a padded room with a tiny window on the door, but it's close enough.

My mom signed me up for this. She thinks it will help. She really does care for me, unfortunately, I'm so immune to feeling anything from any member of my family it really doesn't matter. She wants me to talk. She wants me to change. She wants to change. But mostly just me, because that would be easier for everyone.

Inset- Profile 2: Mother

When you're eating rice and piece falls off your plate youh ave several options. You could a) leave it, b) pick it up and place it on the side of your plate, not to be eaten, c) pick it up, hope no one sees, and quickly shove the rice into your mouth, or d) brush it off the table.

This is free will.

My mother is a piece of rice that has just fallen off m y plate. I was never really thinking about eating that piece to begin with, but now it has fallen out of that option and now rests on the old, wooden dinner table of fate. Thin, white, and starchy, my mom is CHinese takeout sculpted to resemble the perfect wife. She not only is the rice, but she also makes the rice, serves the rice, and cleans up the rice we decide to leave behind. She has fallen off my plate, I am yet to exercise my free will.

Chapter 4 continuation

I look around at my fellow others, their faces feel as blank as mine and their knuckles appear to be just as clenched. When you are tried in a court of law, you are judged by a jury of my peers. If I was ever convicted, this would not be my jury. We are all in the same "help group," but we are not the same. We are not the same because we are other.It seems that way in just about every group we're thrown into. Look around you, look at your groups. Your job, your classrooms, your teams. Would these people decide your fate? Or more importantly, would you want them to?

We go around in a circle. We tell our name, we tell something about ourself.

There's Sarah, she wims, plays waterpolo, and has no sense of self. There's Mark, he skateboards, plays bass, and is your generic just-transfered-from-private-school-and-doesn't-know-sh*t kid.But neither of them said that last part about themselves.

Everyone gives their name and piece of arbitrary information that everyone will pretend to care about. Just like they're pretending I'm not writing about them, and they're pretending the camera isn't there. Garrett. Ray. Devin. August.

More information I need't write down on gum wrappers.

The only information any of us need is to know that we are all so screwed up, we are others. Our problems are so out of it that there isn't even a category for us yet. For that reason, I don't remember what I said when my turn rolled around. But does it matter?




Inset- Poetic Epiphanies: 1

We walk around this planet of over 6 billion people with our heads turned downward. We know less that 1/8 of the people that in the same city. When you are dying, you have no idea who that man in the whote mask is that cuts you open and rips out your heart. When yo are dead, people you've never heard of will dig your grave and lower you down in it. Like Bradbury said, "There are billions of us, and that's too many."

Look around the library, do you know anyone there? Got o the park, do those faces look familiar? Open up the phone book to a random page and I can guarantee that you won't recognize even one number. I can also guarantee that if you DO know a number, it is most likely the pizza man's.

There are 7 others including myself. There's the pretty girl with olive skin and green eyes, the tall blonde girl with skinny legs and a desperate smile, the face-in-the-crowd boy with torn jeans and a chain wallet, the tall baseball boy who rocks back and forth so hypnoticaly you will lose yourself in his constant rythm, the short girl with dark hair who looks at everyone as if she is a lost puppy at the pound, the super skinny kid with messy hair and glasses, and me. We're the 7 Deadly Sins...revised for your modern pleasure.We're society's sins, your biggest failures, your deepest desires.

There are billions of us and that's too many to be labeled "other."

Inset- Profile 3: Sarah
Sarah has the ability to make anything hillariously stupid or tragically deep. She writes poems and lyrics to songs she'll never sing, and once she wrote a song for me. But she sang that one.

Inset- Profile 451: Ray

Ray, an other, was arrested. He was arrested for walking down the street at night. Because of this, Ray ended up writing a book, and another book. Ray has a star on the Holywood alk of Fame. Ray changed my life, he's the reason I decided to write, even though he doesn't kow I exist. Ray, the pedestrian.



Chapter 5- Read the Book, THEN the Sparknotes


I was a pedestrian once. I sat outside the Subway across from my school when Mark walked up and sat beside me. mark seems like someone who is constantly scared sh*tless, that's why I did most of the talking at first. However, I'm not going to explain how I feel about Mark now or what a cool kid he is because that would untangle the intangibles of sitting on the curb, talking to someone who's scared of everything but not scared to talk about it.

The next day he was writing. He drew me a picture.


Inset- Profile 5: Mark
"You've got to start somewhere."



Inset- Profile 6: Devin

People are beautiful. You'll cross paths with someone everyday and not realize they are beautiful until you're sitting in an empty studio with them between rehersals and they tell you about pain. Devin told me about pain. Devin told me about her family and Louisianna. Devin is beautiful. Devin is other.

Inset- Profile 7: Garrett
Garret is a tragic other, his hamarsha is dependence.

Inset- Profile 8: August

August's downfall is that she tries too hard to find one. She pretends she's ugly so she can be bulimic. She pretend's she's a failure so she can get yelled at for having bad grades. She pretends she does drugs so people will think she's a rebellious hellion. She's one of those people that loves the camera but pretends it's not there. She likes to run. I'm afraid she only likes it because she wants to run faster than who she's pretending to be.


**********
Sorry for the triple post, Im going on vacation soon and wont have access for a week and want the entire thing (well, what I have written so far) typed up before then.

And another thing- this page doesnt really work into the layout of this chapter
the "insets" are going to be little gray boxes with the drawings and type inside them, spread around the page or text from the chapter, thats how all of the insets are. they dont have to be read and can be read independantly. how it appears on this page is like one continuous story, but think of it like a text book with main text, then pictures and captions.

[edit on 7-12-04 by Scat]

[edit on 7-12-04 by Scat]

It gets beeter with every chapter. Good writing Scat. I enjoy reading it. Hope you write more.

Chapter 6: Always Leave a Sufficient Tip, But Never in Money

�Dude, that looks like catfood.�



Inset- Profile 9: Daniel

That�s Daniel. He�s going to change the world one day. If you ever see the name Daniel Payne on a ballot, vote for him. Daniel is political and knows how things should be run. Sometimes I�ll give him a run for his money by disagreeing, but on this note, I�m not going to. The tuna really does look like catfood.


Continuation of Chapter 6

�Dude, you don�t have to mix anything in it. The stuff�s already in there. Bumblebee Tuna kicks as* dude.� Jessica is like that, she knows what�s good when she sees it. At the moment, we were having a feast of Bumblebee Tuna, Superman Poptarts, and a coke we stole from Subway. Jessica is going to tell me her life story.



Inset- Poetic Epiphany 2: Tuna Horiscopes

In make-your-own-tuna packages they never give you an even tuna-to-cracker ratio, and there�s always left over tuna. Some people don�t eat the tuna because there are no crackers. Some eat the tuna but prefer it with crackers and some deliberately put very little tuna on the crackers so that there�s plenty of excess tuna to eat. You can�t really tell what type of person someone is by the way they eat their tuna, but it�s like the Zodiac. People tell you their sign and then you say something along the lines of, �Ohhh, I thought so!� Tuna consumption is kinda like that.



Inset- Profile 10:Jessica

If I was ever broke and homeless, I�d bring Jessica. She�s a must-have-crackers person and I prefer just tuna, so we�d balance out the tuna-to-cracker ratio. She also knows how to get things free. For example, while I was in the bathroom at Subway washing my hair (2:1 ratio of liquid handsoap and water, rinse, dry in enviro-friendly hand dryers�takes no more than 5 minutes) Jessica was getting us some free soda, don�t ask how, I�m not good at that. Once I�m done with my hygene, Jessica has drinks waiting and ventures to the bathroom to clean up.



Inset- Poetic Epiphany 3: Being Rich Sucks


It�s always comforting to have these skills. What�s funny is, after washing my hair in a Subway bathroom, getting free drinks with a fast-food refill cup collection, eating lunch off of the wide variety of Sam�s samples, and getting into baseball games free by waiting until the 5th inning to get in, I go home to a superfluous 2 story house in a gated neighborhood whose occupants include 3 car dealership owners, a restaurant chain founder, the CEO of Meineke, and a million doctors. This generation, my peers, we�re all rich white suburbia pawns whose goal is to expand our gated community lifestyle until in encompasses a mall, a grocery store, country club, and fancy electronic store so that we can live and die without ever traveling beyond the wrought iron gates.

These are the people who are exempt from jury duty because their father is a lawyer. The same people who don�t know how to use a lawn mower thanks to their weekly encounter with the guys who do the �landscaping� Pretty soon, the government is just going to put a big fence around a few states so that they can live in peace, without fear of someone of a lower social status breathing on their Jaguar.

With money, race doesn�t even matter. Sure, everybody that�s not white says it�s about race, but that�s only until they start getting paychecks with more zeros on the end than the cracker down the street. In a gated community mindset, there is no black or white or Mexican or asian. There are 2 races: rich and not rich.

These people do not fit into the Tuna Horiscope because $1.99 Bumblebee Tuna lunch packs are not a common staple�and these people are the people I was born into. You could say I buy Bumblebee Tuna because I can, not because I have to. A lot of people in my position will say they hate having money. These people are lying, unintentionally. Money is an evil, stupid, useless commodity that prevents people from living�until you don�t have it. When you are born into a rich household, it�s like someone taking you on a really expensive dinner date. You�re thankful that they care, but all you really want is Bumblebee Tuna and Spiderman Poptarts. It�s like those people who bitch about the environment while driving in gas-guzzling SUV�s, or people who go out and spend $20.00 on shirts that say �Society Sucks! Anarchy Forever!� We own the planet and we yell at our neighbors for not giving some to the poor.

I looked out my window this evening. I saw a scared girl locked in a 2-story, wrought iron, pass the green beans prison she built with her own hands. Hands that had wiped away plenty of tears, but no blood. I looked in the window and saw a pessimist, a little girl in an expensive dress who just wanted to wear overalls and $5.00 Keds, but never had to. Her dominant emotion is guilt, guilt because she has things she doesn�t need, and guilt because she finds herself pretending she doesn�t.

When everything that can be held is handed to you, the only things you want are those too abstract to be put in a can.



Continuation of Chapter 6

I sure do hope my life story is worth telling.


[edit on 7-13-04 by Scat]

Some of this is funny, some is weird, some is serious... Im lofing it!! kEpp it up scat.

Chapter 7: Trust People Who Tell You Strange Things at 3 in the Morning

All he knew was that I was wearing a really cool jacket. I began this jacket last year, when I bought that �Cheer Up Emo Kid� patch.

�Look under your bed, right now.�

�What are you talking about, why?�

�Just�just do it!�

�Ok, jeez, hold your horses. Hang on lemme put down the phone for a second.�

�.

�Ok, now what?�

�Is it blue?�


He said he liked jazz, I responded, �Ahh yeah, Miles Davis, Birth of the Cool. He�s my favorite.� He then proceeded to whisper �I love you� under his breath.

�No way, I seriously said that?�

�Yes! The first time you told me you loved me was on the first day we met.�

�Damn�.well see? That�s proof! Right there!�

��proof of what?�



Chapter 8: Panic Attacks Should Always Be Handled With Extreme Care

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7 others. Day 1, week 13, 4:00pm. Pencil me in. Change my appointment, Conclude the session. Pencil me in so you can erase me later.

Phil. Autumn. Anne. Eli. Charlotte. Morgyn. Chelsea. Ryan. Thomas. Jeffrey. Larra. Thomas. Benny the cop. Timmy. Marcus. Meagan. Danielle. Tina. Stacey. Chris. Dylan. Natalie. Lauren. Lauren. Allison. Susan. Elise. Emily. Jess. Victoria. Rene. Philip. Travis. Mikey. Jamie. Alex. Joseph. Anushil. Brianna. Samantha. Vera. Josh. Alisa.

I keep looking out the window. It�s 1 in the morning. We�re all sitting, legs crossed, arms folded, eyes fixed. No one moves, no one speaks, we�re playing Russian Roulette with our stares. We�re photographing our mischief. We don�t look in each other�s eyes but we don�t look away.

7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1 other.

I�m the only person in the room and I�m looking in the window.

[Edited on 8-29-04 by Scat]

Inset- Poetic Epiphany 4: God is Obvious

I opened the dictionary and the first word I saw was "Promised Land" and underneath it "promisee." I looked at the front of a CD cover and it said "Enjoy the search." The TV screen read "Special Features" and the first word I noticed on the bookshelf was "altars."

I could go somehwere from here but there really isn't any point. Have oyu ever watched a movie so boring you turned it off? Have you ever gotten so tired from readind a memoir that you shut the cover? There's no point to me explaining those things because they are events in my life. Events that probably will never affect you or change the world or that I, much less you, will even remember after a night of heavy drinking.

You can't go out looking for answers, they just end up smacking you in the face. I turned everywhere, my books, my music, my television, it was all the same. If a sign from God doesn't immediately sink in then it's probably not worth your while. God doesn't send riddles, he sends burning bushes telling someone to hike a mountain. God doesn't send you a book to read and halfway through the third paragraph in the 28th chapter you have an epiphany, he sends you a neon green, flashing marquee.

Someone saying, "I love you," is not a subtle plot event. It's my neon green marquee. Someone knowing there was a piece of blue paper under my bed is not a good guesser. "Slide" coming on the radio when I thought everything was over is not mere coincidence. Some of the biggest events in your life cannot be written down in a diary or put on videotape because it takes place too quickly and too purely and too...in you head for that to work.

That's why this is another poetic epiphany, because this is mine. This is why I'm not refusing the fact that I can break my life into chapters and evaluate people as if they are math problems. I can do all of that because I know that you, whoever the hell you are, you're not like this. If we lived the exact same life, we wouldnt have the same ending. The more abstract a concept is, the more rock solid, systematic, and orderly it is on paper. Try describing what a word is. A word is a strict thing, it follows rules. It's in a language, but it's alot crazier on paper. But take love. Take freedom or happiness or beauty and put those on paper. They seem like arithmetic, like an equation. Things are not always what they appear to be, and whatever image of me you have in your mind is not what I am, and most likely, will never be what I am.

Unless this is on film, then of course, you can see exactly what I am. Which kind of blows my whole theory.

Damnit.




[edit on 7-13-04 by Scat]

Umm..im confused. How did the blue paper get under his or her bed. (is it a her or he in the story?)

alrighty- ive been gone along time on this project of mine, and im finally ready to continue! i have one last concluding chapter in the first volume until i begin on year 2...... but here we go with this- at the end of this final poetic epiphany, there is a collection of photos, letters, poems, etc, that i have gathered throughout the year....all of which should be included but do not need to be explained. so thats that!

[edit on 9-13-04 by Scat]

[stupid! sorry i double posted- its messed up...can someone remove this?


[edit on 9-13-04 by Scat]

Chapter 9: If You See an Emo Kid With a Grey Jacket, Tell Him Hello For Me

Every day, there are dozens of people we walk by that will somehow change the face of the earth, and we�ll never even know. Today I passed by a girl with blueberry eyes and a sunflower smile and decided that I�ll meet her again, but I won�t remember seeing her now. It�s too bad we can�t talk to all of these people.

It�s too bad that even if we did, they probably wouldn�t talk back.




Inset- Poetic Epiphany 5: There�s a Difference Between Remembering and Having a Memory

Love is not a thing to be tampered with, unlike infatuation. Infatuation is like Coca Cola, everybody loves the original, but everybody also loves the crazy, kinky flavors like Vanilla and Cherry. But love is like Pepsi, you might get it confused with Coke by appearance, but when you taste it, you just know. Love is pure, Vanilla Pepsi is sickening, and if you want diet, well, let�s just say your priorities are backwards.

There are periods in my life I never want to forget, but writing them down makes it seem like I have to try. There is a time in my life that I don�t even want to mention, simply because it is all mine. Ask me about it, I�ll tell you a million stories. But never ask me to relive it. Because that would be like Crystal Pepsi, and we all know how long that lasted.

So this chapter is an insert for that period in time I�m going to skip over, because I didn�t want to simply not mention it. I just don�t want to have to explain anything to you, because no matter how much you think you understand, you know nothing, and none of your fantasies will ever compare.

Ever.






YEAR 2 eh?


Prolouge: Don't Use Flourescent Highlighters When Normal Yellow Will Do

Just ignore him, it makes things so much easier.

Don't talk to him, that way you won't think about it as much.

Pretend you hate him, pretend he's a bastard, pretend that none of it was real. This will make everything go away.

-I've never heard anything more irreverent, have you?-


There is no way to break life into plot diagrams or people into character analysis. Our personal epiphanies are not made to fit a universal theme and motifs are never as blatant as we wish they would be. Symbols do not come with "Meaning Here" signs and things don't always happen for a theatrical, or grammatical, reason.

If this is true, than the space between reality and literature shall never be breached. These two worlds live equally, yet separately, and shall never integrate. Words and moving pictures do not enjoy to get along, do not enjoy to dance intertwined, and do not enjoy this life in which they do not understand. But through giving (or taking away) this joy, those same words on a page have become real, become beings, become human. These words that survive are only the most beautiful, only the most intangible and able to morph to the human form without worry.

I am Beaupastract. That's what was written on that strip of blue paper several days after it was found. Beautiful+Passionate+Abstract.

But that paper had been gone for some time, it was discarded in the other stockpiles of remembrance and nostalgia. Letters, poems, dreams, loves, affairs, loves, plans, sacrifices, loves, loves, loves. I had never felt beautiful. Beautiful+Passionate+Abstract, not until that moment.

And then it was gone. The sunflower that made my heart skip 3 beats, the roses that were hidden from view of the non-accepting, the art was taken off the shelves, the scribes torn out of diaries, all gone.

Where is beauty? Where is passion? Where is abstraction?

Where has my soul run off to?

Well, it ran right into the hands of angry parents and then proceeded to the trashcan, along with a $150 skateboard covered in shag carpet. Sure, there was tons of sneaking around; passionate, forbidden, until eventually the hatred in one area of my life outwieghed the love in another, and all was lost.

But time continues to drip in its never-ending cascade of acid rain and voodoo doll notebooks until, lo and behold, I'm lying in someone else's arms and someone else is looking at the bumps on his cieling.

Chapter 10: When Planning on Participating in a Rough porting Event, it is Wise to Wear Kneepads

As everybody knows, I am a teenager. And when I say teenager, eeryone knows I also mean a lazy, depressed, melancholy f*** with nothing much else to do other than bitch and moan about the world around me.

Maybe you are one too. Or you were, or you will be.

There, that should include jsut about everyone.

When we fall from heaven, we land on burning bushes. Remeber that, because I can already smell the smoke.