Kovo Twenty-Nine of Twenty Eleven

Star Wars anyone? Or, should I say Star Wars=Frankenstein. I have discovered this as the truth and it shall be exposed to the world!

Yes, followers of the infamous Star Wars, you have copied a novel for England! And written by a woman (shame on you!). Victor Frankenstein is completely obsessed with life and death when his mother dies. Sound familiar? Anakin Skywalker became obsessed with power as his mother died. But this power was only so that he could control life and death and stop death completely. The idea is common, yes, but the idea here is definitely copied. How could anything be so similar. Please, don't tell me the rest of it isn't the same, I knew that already. But this point (above^) is true, so STFU.

Anyways, my topic of the day is patience. I love patience, I practically worship it. But, there will be days when I don't want to wait. It's not that I can't, but sometimes I'd rather know and let life go forward than wait and wait and wait and then break out due to stress of waiting. I want to know ahora mismo!

Thanks.

White trees and songs,
she crawls beneath the stars.
"Forgive me, hearts of Gods,
I have broken words.
The promises I held to heart
were crushed beneath the power of love."'

Kovo Twenty-Six of Twenty Eleven

"I miss you, maturity. I loved you with all my heart; why aren't you here anymore? I saw you yesterday. I tried to love you again. But then I remembered, I'm in love with someone else. I'm kind of tied down right now. Don't worry, I will have you soon enough." September Seventh would like to mention September Sixth.


It's only my sixty-sixth post, but I feel the need to finally relate change to my first blog.

"Change" by Taylor Swift isn't exactly the perfect representation of the difference I feel in myself between a month after my age to a two month away from the next. But, as they say, "The only constant thing in life is change," and so it stands true. I can't say I'm disappointed in my changes, nor can I say that I regret anything. (okay, maybe some geometry stuff, but other than that!)Things are definitely more exciting and I love it.

Thank you. I'm sending this out now, rather than later, rather than before, to put the true meaning behind it. Thank you, for you are my catalyst.

When I think back on my "car ride contemplations," I realise two things: one, that I don't have the time for that sort of stuff anymore; two, that fear of self cannot be overcome alone. When I say fear of self, I mean the fear that oneself will fail and thus, you fear your own failure. (It makes sense, doesn't it?) But my point is that the specific fear of failure (otherwise known as atychiphobia) can be overcome by oneself, but I wouldn't recommend it. Becoming confident enough to overcome a fear and go out and live a normal life is something that can be done, but is significantly easier when it comes to encouragement from someone else.

I feel that confidence gains comes from courage and effect. The courage is built up in the way that everyone knows: self-encouragement, persistence, positive thoughts, and (sometimes) peer pressure. (Oh, and also- theme music helps, depending on what you're doing). It just takes mental dedication and hope. Something that we all deny, but truly can't shake.
The harder part comes next: effect. This part is more difficult simply due to the fact that the effect is unpredictable and based solely (before it happens) on what the person wants. However, what we want and what we get are rarely ever the same. No, most of the time we never get the exact wording or the same amount of compliments that our immense brains have the capacity to think through instead of doing trigonometry. Yet, how is it that what we expect and what we get go together? This is solved by the simple addition of self-hatred to an equation. When you don't even have the confidence to try new things, why wouldn't you have some amount of self-esteem issues? That's the thing. Since we hate ourselves, we expect people to bash us, destroy us, and be rude. So, when it happens, we were prepared. Is it defense or the messed up patterns of society? (Or both?)

My point is that I am not longer afraid, the way I once was. With encouragement and praise, I believe in myself and I don't hate myself the way I used to. I am me, and I love me. (That will always sound conceited!)

Tipsy staggers up the stairs,
break-away to hell.
Religion follows me in,
"Mr.Anderson."
Questioning heartache,
but overcoming hate.'

Six Kovo of Twenty Eleven

ALT key=love

And then he tells me he wants his friend back. Has he lost her? I didn't remember stopping being her. But, maybe I did. The question becomes, who am I now, then? Am I everything he wanted? Because that's who I was trying to be.

But where am I? Why am I different? Am I floating in the limbo of a deeper dream? This is reality.

So, here I am. Sorry, angry, working, tired, and knowing there's still more I'm hiding from. Because I remember being here and you left. Now that you're back, I've changed? All I've ever done was change.

Change is the only constant thing in life. "If you were to kill me, the last thing I would say would be an apology for bleeding on your shirt."

Girls and calculus,
the number twenty-seven can't break through.
Time breaks all barriers,
even love can't be forever.'

Three Kovo of Twenty Eleven

^Picture unrelated
Just going to throw this out there, but Kovo is the best month so far (word-wise).

I wanted to start my blog today with the concept of hatred. Only a few nights ago, I was introduced to it in it's purest form. The form that goes beyond my understanding. Maybe it's because I'm not them, I wasn't there to know, and I'm not there to understand now. What I do know is that I see hatred in it's purest, simplest, and most evil form inside a family. You cannot deny your connection. When families cast away a child, that is truly hatred. When someone can completely give upon the possible bonhomie of a person, there is break-up. Although, it is entertaining to see. Not in the way of fun and games, but to understand the calumny of a person through bias eyes. And who knows if the person who is remembered is a canard or the same person who bilks people. It's not for me to determine now, but in a few months I will determine the chicanery truth.



"Kiss Me Through the Phone" Parody-"Making Love to Tissues"
"Celery"

A teenage girl is always capricious. Her life is a system of well-oiled ups and downs that slip and slide together causing an array of disastrous events. The worst part is that there is no augury to tell where her life will lead (whether horror or prosper); no one knows until they are there. I love the aspect of family here. Because now I get it, why parents don't take kids seriously. I look back on myself. When I thought I was so "in love." I believed that I possessed cogent argument at fourteen. It's just ridiculous. What I took as disrespect then now is simple circumspect. Oh, how contumacious I was then, believing I could fight my innocence. Yet, by doing that, I allowed my naive-ness to burgeon. It was an infinite declivity that I lead myself on. "Parents Just Don't Understand"


^I would like to relate this picture to me. Solemn black cat. Friendless. Heartless. Alone. But does he care? Never. He's a stone cold loner.

The concept of self-respect is a catholic one. That the human body is something that needs to be cosseted. It's not just a moral issue, but becomes and ethical one when it comes to assisted suicide. I would say it were a strange concept, but I know where they stand. The coterie who can sit in a circle and play their game at fate because they have nothing to lose. To them, there is no way to assuage the situation of life. The pain they experience can only be lightened by pain of another nature. It's nothing deleterious to them because once it starts, it's like an addiction. The cupidity of it is so powerful. I would sit on my hands and cry, begging myself to be disabused from my past. Only one girl broke my harmful and destructive ways. My diffidence kept me from going forward, or being anything diurnal.

Love-

To end in my melancholy way, I'd like to quote Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and explain my feelings. "He already had one or two little wives...a pretty little girl of five years of age." My immediate response was to convince myself not to cry, although I may tonight. Why is it that no matter how much I move forward, change, accept, and cope, it's the little things that plunge into my heart and stop the beating? I'm trying to corroborate my point, but it would reveal too much, And as I don't describe, I get further and further from my intent at all making a desultory paragraph in the end. In the end, the best thing to say is that there's a reason I don't keep best guy friends.

'Divined by goddess wisdom,
time follows between the wisps and cracks of parallelism and space.
A distaff has the longing arms,
but diaphanous blank leaves light to blind.
The rain patters in the window
washing away the sins of filibuster and dilatory senators.'