The funny thing about beetles is...well, nothing really. They're just funny.

The blog, masterwork of the human creation, tool of the defenseless and bitchocrat emo kind society. Does the blog fuel the depression, or does depression fuel the blog? Nouevaux "chicken or the egg" questions.

Meh, I am extremely tired and I don't exactly know why. Camille biting my head about 4 in the morning doesn't help, but she was just trying to groom me, so I forgive her easy enough. Lots of stress lately, chemistry tests, precal tests, gov tests, dad's little cookouts and finding the gas money to go to them (another one coming, and you're invited again, Presh :D ), looking for a job (not really finding one too quick), looking for scholarship money (not looking good either, but we can fix that if we can get by this year), having to find money for choir tour, doing all the graduation things, trying to keep mom from killing herself (and it's imminent at this point, as soon as she sees my English project downstairs, she's probably going to lace the noose, so I'm going to have to gather all the ropes in the house as soon as I get off). Busy busy busy.

It's weird cuz it seems like I slack off a ton, but put in this light, it doesn't seem like I do too much. It's probly cuz I actually...um...don't. I just worry about it, and I figure, "I'm going to worry about it even if I do study, in the exact same way...so what's the point? Let's slide it out." Ahh, senioritis is good.

Beautiful Franklin and Nashville (screw Brentwood), I'm going to miss you all...the quiet streets and the city at night, all the lights like a billion eyes just watching for the sake of watching. All the green parks and the familiar places, the warm summers and the cold winters. The familiar faces, the good times, even the bad ones lived out in these places, on these streets...I will miss these things so much when I'm gone. Justifiable emo for you, right there.

Just living out all of our own tiny pieces of prose til the era is gone and we're left to commend our ashes on what a good job they did. Life, the ironic poem. The object of life is to avoid dying, and death is the consequence of birth. That just gets me. I know it's supposed to happen, and I expect it to, but still, it's the one paradox to human nature: the goal of birth is death. Only the heroes get remembered, and the ones that fostered him, the real heroes, are lost to the ashes. We are all good men in our times, good for our causes, we just don't know what to do with ourselves sometimes, I think.

So much history. I wonder at it all, can you imagine the number of histories playing themselves out right now? Think about your own life, and compound it more than 6 billion times...6 billion different stories, the best part of which will never be told and will get lost in the next 100 years or so, until people forget (and they do, and it doesn't matter what it is, they just do).

I wonder about these things, because people are so fascinating; the masters of puppetry, of creation, and the only ones that could really master anger. Anger gave us the upper edge. We can hate without a cause, and it causes us to be powerful. Domination arises from anger, imperialism, the sense of greatness, products of great hatred, whatever its guise.

God bless you, human nature, prideful wretch, and yet, the only thing we can really hold dear, the only thing we are. Embrace it like a brother, and keep it far like an enemy, for as soon as it will love it, it will impale you.

Mmh, so it's definitely been about 2 months since anyone even christened the pages. And I talked to you about your last post, Linds, so I don't feel too bad.

Blog is dead? Nah, hibernation. These things go in cycles, you just have to catch it on the upswing. It doesn't help, also, that we're 17-18 years old expecting ourselves to have any level of consistency past how we take a piss in the morning (pardon the vulgarity), then we get mad when we can't keep it all up, then the whole thing goes to hell, effecting the exact detriments we were opposed to in the first place. THIS is the essence of blogging, and it is gemful.

Too much PHP gaming lately...don't get into it. There is a thing called heroin, and in this medium, it has been electrificied and put out to a mass audience. They call it PHP...I think they were too stoned to realize the fact that that "h" actually needs to be a "c"...

Not too much to say. College is about to financially kick my ass, the work pool is fast thinning, trileptal's effects are about the same as they were when I started them, and I'm getting my capacity for big-word-usage back (it's exciting).

If Julian Agnew pressures me for money to buy drugs one more time, I'm going to the principal about it. That kid has got way too much potential to be fucking up his whole life like this, and Rob, if you're reading this perchance, you know it's not fair, and you need to stop doing it to him. Whatever you want to do, it's all good. Just know the consequences of this action on Julian, that impressionable sack of shit, God bless him.

Eggplant is yummy with parmesan cheese and maranara. Ramen noodles with Purity lemonade is equally nummy. And, as always, tea at any Mexican restaurant and Sahara's kicks some serious ass.

You know what's weird? I was thinking about this, Linds, as we left Sahara's. That Meghan Thomlinson girl, I haven't seen her in a long time, and I was wondering if she remembered in the slightest who we are. I think it's funny that so much has evolved to titanic sizes in our daily lives that it all seems to bring us back into the womb somehow. Perhaps in some time-lapsed and much less technological society, we would have met each other much sooner, no? The ability to ease one's life, also entails the ability to isolate one's life.

Hm. I just discovered the end of the world. Silence...crawling back into our own shells day after day as the torrents rage on outside without reprieve forever.

Gah, do I love emo poetry. I plan to do this every day. It's a good creative medium. Peace, kremlinks.