Practice, practice, practice...

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 18:46:32 GMT

Trying to figure out how the fuck to use LJ... hence, a spammage of useless posting.

Whee! Xaldin! Haha, I only intended on cosplaying him a few times for Joanie's XalVex OTP but it looks like everyone thinks of me that way now... ^^;;; Guess I won't be able to escape that god-forsakenly uncomfortable wig now, will I? I wonder how everyone will react when I start wearing the Roxas costume I've been working on for over a year now more often... O.o

Still wanna roleplay meh Wind-kun for my new friends though. Hope they let me play! ^___^

Good Morning

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 17:57:11 GMT

I made a LiveJournal. Finally. Perhaps I should have done this years ago. I'm more pleased to let people read the things that come from my fingertips than to hide them all in a plastic tub in my bedroom, dreaming of publishing them and too scared of them being stolen.

Its just better to dream.

The innermost feelings I have: this life isn't doing it for me anymore. Just how tired can a person feel, anyway? June in Massachusetts... but I'm still the winter-frost on the windows I approach. I breathe into the glass and write, "No one was here." It is the most true statement that I will ever write. No one was here. No one has been here. No one will ever be here. Who are we anyway? We are... no one. I am your god, No One. Praise me, No One. My words read like the Bible that No One reads...

"What a poor excuse of social commentary!" the people say. No One shakes his head at me. No One shakes his head at No One. "What a silly boy!" No One says.

Pick a Title for your life. You will repeat many exchanges, hellos and goodbyes - but which trite line will be the chosen No One? Are you a Hello or a Goodbye?

No One is a Goodbye. (That would be me.)

Pick a Title
I can't seem to cry for feeling sorry for myself.
I can't speak, eat or play when you're around.
I can't speak, eat or play when you're gone either...
I'm a miserable wreck of a person.
You're a miserable excuse for an excuse-
-me...? I can't handle your excuses.
I'm tired and wired, quietly making noise.
I'm the tear-stained couch I'm sitting on.
You're the footrest on the other side of the room
Playing good-for-nothing
Because that's all you can do when I'm not there.
You play so well, but

I cannot speak, eat or play when you're around.
I can't speak, eat or play when you're gone either...
I don't deserve to live anymore.
You don't deserve to be the antidote for my antidote.
My decisions and your wrath that causes sudden death,
You keep me alive, you bastard.
I'm the television in the room I don't go into anymore.
You're the walls, the beams, the floor, ceiling and scattered paperwork adornments
Playing good-for-nothing
Because that's all you can do when I'm around.
The televison in the room that you don't go into because
You are that room, but

I can't seem to cry for feeling sorry for myself.
You don't deserve to die anymore.
I can't help myself!
I can't speak, eat or play when the sun is up.
I'm inexcusable with my miserable excuse of an excuse.
I'm sorry to say you're my excuse.
You don't talk to me anymore.
You're the Christmas tree that still hanging in my living room,
Chilling in July.
I'm the winter-frost that melted months ago, but you never noticed, you bastard.
I'm a nightmare that I keep dreaming where I'm with you,
And you dream it too
Because that's all you can do when I'm not there.
You dream so well, but

I can't dream, sleep or feel when you're not around.
But I can't dream, sleep or feel when you're not gone either.
I'm your excuse to come and go and be excused at a whim.
I can't handle being here.
Tired and wired, loudly being quiet.
I'm the pen and sticky paper I wrote this on.
You're not here.

Sitting in the Corner with Pooh

Practice, practice, practice...

Good Morning