Saturday, September 28, 2002

After all these years of trust and companionship, my sinuses have betrayed me. I used to like colds, but now that i'm in highschool missing a day is the equivalent of shooting yourself through both legs with a harpoon gun.

Friday, September 27, 2002

Quiet, my friend.
Quiet waits for me
Quiet waits for me behind every smile,
Every sound
Every thought.

Crooners play on through the hazy night
On old rusted radios
Soon to be quiet.

Weeping girls you can't console
You can't console
Who don't want you to console
But you have to anyway.
Because that's what friends are for.
That's what friends are for.

Crooners play on through the night,
Breaking the silence.

Silence, vicious accomplice.
Why do you make me loathe you
Sneaking in between broken sentences
Filling their cracks.

The crooners croon on...
Through the dark night
And my teary mind.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

Why do you think the universe is made of concrete? Perhaps it shifts its' taste of irony every other week so as to satisfy the full range of human intuition.
Hello, world...I see you. I see you.