cursing doesn't make it feel okay.

fuck ultimatums.

fuck giving your opinion, because god knows that doesn't matter anymore.

selfish, selfless, get the fuck over yourself!

i've felt so much of this disease, and it's more overwhelming than i ever imagined.

sometimes i feel like maybe i understand the others.

i just want peace, and love, explanation and time.

for someone to just, be reasonable and for others to listen.

i quit.

i quit being part of this madness, and this nonsense, i want things to be good and happy and okay and wonderful and if that's me being a naive mother fucker than fuck you- i'm six.

i'd much rather be six and happy then eighteen and wanting to die.

you all make me so mad, and you are too stuck up your own asses to fully comprehend it.

thanks for asking me how i'm doing, assholes.

i made paper once.

when i was young, and i mean like, really little- i was a crafty kid. and i mean like, really crafty. i used to go to crackpot art studios and i would paint porcelain stuff, and it'd be really wonderful. once, i went with my mom and i painted a plate, she made me a frame for photos. i still have the frame, and my mom has the plate downstairs in the basement, hidden underneath some blankets so it doesn't get destroyed. the crackpot art studios had a camp during the summer, and when i was eight or something around that age i joined it. we made all sorts of weird stuff, like- i recall making a bank that was shaped like a fat cat. i made a hole for the coins and everything. but unfortunately, because it's me, i forgot to hollow out the cat, and so all i had by the end of my week was an ugly cat shaped fat blob with a slit in the back. i cried, i was pretty upset.

another time we had to make our own paper, and i recall having a lot of fun with that. we got to throw a lot of pieces of construction paper together and put it into some goop- it was really cool. they had these like, basket almost like things... like what you sift for gold with, and we put the paper in there. i only made like, three sheets- i wonder what happened to them.

one time we also made these hand prints in sand, that molded. i actually have no idea whether i was in the camp at that point, nor do i really have any recollection of making it- but i know that one time i was sick at home, and this hand print was used as a door holder- the maids were cleaning the house. and here i am, sitting innocently in my room when i hear a loud crack and an "oh shit!" i was amazed- maids swear? turns out one of them had dropped it (god knows how) and cracked it right in half. we have the pieces, and i swear my mom wanted to cut those ladies in half and sue the bits left over. but we just have the pieces lying around.

maybe i'll make her a new one sometime soon, that would be nice.

but all in all i have concluded i would be a terrible artist- because in the long run everyone can paint a piece of clay, everyone can make a fat cat not-bank, everyone can make paper, and my only accomplishment in this world was destroyed by the maids.

...life's a fucking bitch.

i'm extremely spoiled.

sometimes i feel really bad for my dad. he's not the nicest guy sometimes, and he only gets to see me and my sister so often, but i suppose he has his reasons for whatever he does. my sister's a total bitch to him, see- it's completely unfair. she takes control of him, and takes advantage of him. he tries to do whatever he can to make her happy, because he knows that he and i have too tumultuous of a relationship for anything to really be mended. but, ergo, because of this, my sister takes advantage of the poor man. we come to his house, and admittedly, we don't spend all that much time with him. i've analyzed that on my part, and that's derived from all sorts of issues between me and him. my sister though, argues those opinions of mine. she takes everything she can from him, and sits around in the basement on the computer or watching her life sift away in front of the television. and while admittedly, i immerse myself in these sorts of things a lot at his place- it's ridiculous the things she does. today, she said she had a sore throat, and so she decided to eat ice cream and watch tv, after my dad told her to go lay down. warning her, i told her it was a bad idea.

...later on today i got a call from my mother asking me to call my sister because she was in a fit. turns out my dad got furious with her for ignoring his requests, and got extremely upset. she said she didn't know, and that it wasn't her fault... it was ridiculous. moving on with this story though, she was speaking to me saying that she needed something for her throat, and said if it'd be a good idea to ask our dad to go out and buy mints for her. i told her that was mean, and slightly abusive- she said she didn't know what i was talking about. so out he goes, and he returns with halls, which is a good idea! little does my father know that my sister hates halls, though. and so she starts groaning and complaining about how she just wanted plain mints- how halls don't work, and only last for ten minutes (good luck with those mints then, child). anyways, she complains to my dad which upsets him even more- he's the man who made us an entire lobster meal all on his own.

...and tells her that if he does such a bad job of raising us, she can just go to our mom's place to live.

and so she calls my mom to ask to do so.

now my father and i have had our own issues, but she's leaving because he's upset with her for not getting her what she wants. seeing what goes on in the other house, she doesn't act like this at all.

i'm so sorry for my dad, he's had to raise the most spoiled brats in the world.

Racism doesn't make you a rock star. I don't like you because you're not who I want you to be. I wouldn't like me if I met myself. It hurts to be mocked, it hurts to be hated, it hurts to be loved. Everything hurts so SHUT THE FUCK UP NICK (topic unrelated) and start living. If you're really so sore go buy yourself a hot tub or take a bath - quit bitching about what's right and fair. I like seeing justice served, but it often makes others sad. Does that make me a bad person? I'm not blind, deaf or dumb- does that make me bad too?

Is it wrong to be normal cause that is fucked up. Being average is fucked up- everyone treats the majority like a bunch of dicks. I'm not a dick.

art.

Have you ever wondered what it's like to get punched in the face really hard? Like, to the point where blood is just, like, pouring from your nose, and you can't see straight, and all you smell is that salty red shit smell? That's art. That really, really fat chick with the short blue hair that could really use a straightener? She's art. The way your food is laid on your plate, with the lima beans just sorta stuck in there with the carrots, and those little bits of corn, and the peas? The type of handwriting you use when you write something, the colour pens you use, the way you wear your jeans, the perfume you spray, the way you walk, you talk, you eat you breathe you sing you dance you lunge you prance you lounge while watching TV you sleep with your entire body curled up because that's the only way you feel safe anymore because he left you and now you have no one to cling to at night because his body isn't next to yours and he doesn't much care about it while you try to find the pillow that still smells like him? That's art too.

Because you are art, and I am art.

Life is art.

ed Have you ever wondered what it's like to get punched in the face really hard? Like, to the point where blood is just, like, pouring from your nose, and you can't see straight, and all you smell is that salty red shit smell? That's art. That really, really fat chick with the short blue hair that could really use a straightener? She's art. The way your food is laid on your plate, with the lima beans just sorta