Journal: Blando -------------------------------------------Mood: Mixed Ah! How good it feels to be in a relationship after SO long. First impression... Me: What's your name? Blando: Brandon Blandel. Me: Blando? That's a sweet last name! Blando: BlanDEL. Me: Oh. Well, that's not very impressive anymore. Yes, people, that is how it went down. About a year later, we are now dating. ^_^ He will always be Blando to me. No more loneliness. Or envy. Purely liberating. That was the good news. The bad news: One of my rats, Alistair, died last night. He was the youngest of the two. Not even a year old. R.A.T. -mo- ...Created 2009-09-26 20:40:52

Journal: Allen Ginsberg -------------------------------------------Mood: Thinking... Ginsberg in the 50s A brief excerpt from David Burner's Making Peace with the Sixties (Princeton University Press, 1996): Ginsberg's stay in the mental ward was not intended to help him realize his desire for life to be a "sweet humane surprise." Ginsberg tried to conform, returned after several months to Paterson, dated women, and found a job. He was miserable until he moved to California in 1954 and began seeing a $1 an hour psychiatrist at the university in Berkeley. In San Francisco Ginsberg saw another psychiatrist, Philip Hicks, who asked him what he would like to do. "Doctor," as Ginsberg recalls his answer, "I don't think you're going to find this very healthy and clear, but I really would like to stop working forever--never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I'm doing now--and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I'd like to keep living with someone--maybe even a man--and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence. Then he said "Well, why don't you?" I asked him what the American Psychoanalytic Association would say about that, and he said . . . "If that is what you really feel would please you, what in the world is stopping you from doing it?" Source: http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/50s/ginsberg50s.html ...Created 2009-09-06 22:50:29

Journal: Bad, Mojy!! -------------------------------------------Mood: DANG IT! Well, this is a gripping read, nice wordage and rhyme, and I like the angels crying thing, because of the context and repeating lines coinciding, it doesn't come out as cliché at all, like it could if used in something like, your heart was broken by love and all the angels were crying, as a passing reference... I don't do "negative" but even if I did, I wouldn't have anything to say negatively towards this. It was like a mystery, too, because you didn't give much away... it could apply to a murder, a social wrong, or even in a political sense... but I don't know which, I'm guessing a personal level. That it can stretch to any, shows a good depth. All in all, I enjoyed this, a wonderful first read on my first night back in awhile! | Posted on 2009-07-08 00:00:00 | by grey_girl | [ Reply to This ] [ PM ] Just look at who gave me this comment!! Omfg, am I retarded?! Do you have ANY idea how shitty I feel right now?!? She left this on "The Angels Cry Tonight," a poem that I wasn't incredibly fond of myself (but reading the 2 comments, made me like it a bit more), and I'm hoping to whatever is out there that I responded accordingly, b/c if I didn't, then I'm a bitch. This is terrible... If she reads this, then I'm apologizing. Not b/c I see you left a nice comment so long ago but b/c I've realized that I started some really stupid shit. Discard all the shit I said b/c I didn't have to right to say it. I was very sensitive over your comment, but I had no right to be at all. Wish I would have handled it better. -mo- ...Created 2009-09-04 17:46:54

Journal: -------------------------------------------Mood: Sigh... On my page...What does it mean by "shiny objects?" I've seen nothing shiny on this site...Must I be blind to diamonds and jewels and shining trinkets that interest me not? Please, remove my ignorance, will ya? Thanks. -mo- ...Created 2009-09-01 23:12:31

Journal: IM Convo -------------------------------------------Mood: AWESOME! ME/Rchelzer: What?! You're afraid of looking gay cuz you write?! Fuck that, man! That's not gay! It takes balls to have a brain and the ability to use it in order to write something that makes you look smart. Most straight guys stare at a piece of paper and imagine creamy skin and boosted jell-o tits. A gay guy looks at a piece of paper and sees a fancy boarder and a fantasy with Tarzan. A REAL man looks at the paper and sees that it's a piece of freaking paper and is used for writing some good shit down. ME/Rchelzer: That's my theory anyway. jteddymd: HAHA HA jteddymd: omg jteddymd: rofl coptor jteddymd: u r rly awesome ...Created 2009-08-18 16:30:38

Journal: grey_girl -------------------------------------------Mood: Relaxing Title: averystupidgirl (inspired by her e-mai: averystupidgirl@yahoo.com) For grey_girl Again, I thank thee for a poem which won my heart from first to last. As cruel as thy can be, you wrote it much too fast. I adore the things you've said, though "crazy" I may seem. It's good to know you listen even if you do not gleam. Such a wicked girl you are exactly as I am! Your comments are so...cryptic, but they are meant to damn. I try to lend a smile, but your goal is just to kill. Sometimes I get so angry that I attack just for a thrill. We both are young and ruthless and must grow into adults. But, trust me, girl of grey our age is not our faults. End: 9:46 am Because she composed one for me on her page, I felt the need to return the favor. ^_^ ...Created 2009-08-11 20:48:12

Journal: Critics -------------------------------------------Mood: The Usual Sanctuary of the Dead Saturday, August 8, 2009 10:40 pm Critics with Character So I fuck up on a poem now and again. Is there a problem with that? "Anyone who writes is a writer" I read that from a published book. Can you believe it?! (That's sarcasm...) If you can't actually give "constructive criticism" that's BOTH bad and good, then shut the fuck up. You have no right to judge someone based on a single, fucked-up poem. But you judge anyway. I am in such a bad mood that I shout FUCK YOU!!! to the whole world. Unless you can say something honest, intelligent, and helpful to me as a writer, I suggest you pack your mutilated, emo hearts that have felt little or no warmth and leave me the fuck alone. I will not tolerate ignorance. I'm too old for this... -mo- End: 10:44 pm ...Created 2009-08-08 21:45:42

Journal: READ THIS!! -------------------------------------------Mood: The Usual I have this poem that I think is SO great. PLEASE read "RUBBER CLOCKS" and let me know what you think! Wuvs, -mo- ...Created 2009-08-06 21:06:14

Journal: Camping -------------------------------------------Mood: Inromative Sanctuary of the Dead Thursday, July 9, 2009 10:24 PM Side note: Yes, I realize that it may seem cheesy to you all that I call my journal "Sanctuary of the Dead." I do so b/c a journal, to me, is a sanctuary for memories and thoughts that have now become the past, and therefore, in a way, died. My RPs/ers: I shall be leaving for camping on the 10th (tomorrow/Friday), and shall not arrive back until the 20th (Monday) unless, of course, I'm too damn tired and/or lazy to get on. Therefore, I hope that my RPs will continue to remain at a stand still or grow. If it be that they depart into the world of Fails, I shall just create new ones. (Specifically to: DALEX, DANN, CARLY, NIKKI, and...Hmm...ANYONE ELSE I FORGOT). (Sorry, guys!) With wuv for all, Mo/jy/j/mo/jinator/o ...Created 2009-07-09 21:30:43

Journal: -------------------------------------------Mood: Sick Title: It's like Trying to Raise the Dead Sanctuary of the Dead Friday, July 3, 2009 Edward, Kyle, Tyler, Mike...These names do not call those to which they belong. Instead, they call to mind a sentence never to be written or said again or a face--a face never to be looked upon once more. Memories crowd my mind like ancient photographs taken by an unsteady hand, blurred and obscure like the horizon to which I strive to meet. Their faces are brittle skeletons, parched dry by the acrid scent of decay and rust...Just...fading...Their names get jumbled, crashing together as the letters convulse and clash, chipping edges, shattering into fragments, irrepairable...lost...forgotten. I wasted my words, my honesty, my love; wasted my time and deprived my body of sleep and food. Hours of meaningless talk fell on every surface, slipped off and fell nowhere; each word was a chain that dragged itself across my heart, pinning it to my ribs, eveloping its tenderness in a timeless prison...but I did not feel the chains. I lost myself in my false delirium of belief...a belief of security and comfort, unaware that everything I held was slipping out of my reach. Now, after the end has already come, I find myself...here...exactly. Where. I. started. End: 10:27 PM ...Created 2009-07-03 22:06:42

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