Follow the rules. Post your name and:

1.] I'll respond with something random about you.
2.] I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3.] I'll pick a flavour of jello to wrestle you in.
4.] I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me. (if possible!)
5.] I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6.] I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7.] I'll ask you something I've always wondered about you.
8.] If you do this you MUST post this on yours. You MUST. It is written.

Sonic landscapes. That’s how it feels. A painting made of sounds. Sounds on top of each other, drowning each other out, pressing their hands hard against each other’s mouth so that the ecstasy doesn’t wake up the grumpy neighbours, bumping into each other, into life-sucking, soul-crushing, bone-crunching, heart-thrashing embraces. Just sounds that can’t keep away from each other, whose hands slip under each other’s dresses and into each other’s pants, sounds that bow in front of the greatness of other sounds, sounds that fly too high and disappear into the clouds to the infinite sadness of other sounds. The butterfly sounds that never come back. The sounds that whisper gently into other sounds’ ears and sweat salt until there is no water, just fire. The burning sounds, the miracle sounds, the only sounds. The brilliance and the shadows of sounds, the sneaky sounds, the ones that creep, that bite each other’s neck and stick their nails into each other’s backs. The sound marks, the sound wounds, the sound stabs and stones. The burial of sounds and the funeral sounds, the rising sounds, those that come back. The companion sounds. Sonic landscapes.

Sometimes my heart aches when I listen to their music. That's it.

Dear BF,

I wanted to let you know (and everyone who might be reading this) that you are the best, nicest, smartest, geekiest, craziest, and loveliest friend anyone can have. I wish you a happy birthday once again and next year we will celebrate it together in style!

This a small, small present I have made for you (excuse my poor Photoshop skills :P). I hope you will find it funny (if not at least mildly amusing.I'll even settle for a smile.) It's a tribute to our hilarious and fan-girlish conversations. Oh, the good, ol' times...

I also would like to tell you that you can count on me for absolutely anything.If you kill someone, I'll bring the car, body bag, and shovels :D Um, don't kill anyone, though...

I miss you a lot and can't believe I haven't seen you in almost a year. Small detail: I always look at the photos we took on New Year's Eve.

Yours truly,
BF

PS: I sent it to your Gmail because stupid LJ tells me I have to upgrade my account in order to insert images. Since I am a technologically-challenged individual, I choose the easy way out :D

I will probably get into serious trouble very, very soon...But I still cannot, by any means, stop staring...

...anxiously awaiting the day, hour, minute, moment when I will finally be able to let go...

That was the very last drop.

I have a plan. For the first time ever.

I iz going insane and LOOOVING IT! Seriously, am bored senseless yet really happy *does the dance of joy*

Toothy over and out *grin, nudge, wink, comma, slash, whatever*

Yet another failed relationship. Hopefully a saved friendship.

If I don't have that, I don't have anything.
It is what makes me sure of myself, it is what occupies my thoughts throughout miserable days.
And now I sit at this stupid desk waiting again.
How pathetic is that?
I need a life of my own.

in a weird mood...not a good time again..good luck with it...wanna watch something...[stop being such a kid. Grow up!]...happiness is in another block...is it?...thank you...sun will shine in the morning...silence

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

Is that alright with you?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
that alright with you?
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright with you?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright with you?
with you.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you
It's the wrong time
but she's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

Is that alright with you?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright with you?
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright with you?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
Is that alright with you?

Is that alright?
Is that alright?
Is that alright with you?
Is that alright?
Is that alright?
Is that alright with you?

No... Damien Rice - 9 Crimes

I now feel that after all we went through we can actually be friends. And I am glad that I can trust in you like in no one else in this small, small place.

You're happy now and for that I am truly pleased since I can see how all that was indeed worthwhile. My time will come and until then I can count on you to be there for me. Thank you.

How the hell do you manage to make me feel like on top of the world for the whole day and then just kill me. You promised...Well, there's still time. Waiting as always. That's what fools do for a living.

I like memes *grin*. No, really, I LIKE MEMES. So, when stumbling upon quimtessence's meme thingy, I jumped at the chance, I grabbed the opportunity with both hands, I...I am so full of crap, but people still love me.

Therefore, I present the world with the MEME:

Instructions: Reply and I'll give you a letter and you have to find five songs that start with that letter and your favourite lyrics from them, and then post them to your journal.

(Btw, quimtessence gave me B which was most gruelling, but I managed because I rock.)

1. I wanna hate you so bad
But I can't stop this
Anymore than you can

(Bike Scene by Taking Back Sunday)

*This is such an emo song and I really love it to bits. It was also the first to spring to mind upon receiving my letter. The lyrics are quite simple and straightforward, as you can see. I chose these three since I can most definitely relate to the message. You try your best to loathe someone due to the fact that you are fully aware of the bad effects one has on you, yet fail miserably in your attempt.

2. Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now

(Butterflies and Hurricanes – Muse)

*Man, fucking fantastic. A huge, larger than life, monster of a song that simply fills a room with its...uh...supermassiveness (Making up words is one of my numerous talents). Great lyrics all the way through, again very "in your face". They basically convey a universally acknowledged idea that is rarely put into practice: JUST DO IT because you only have this particular context in which to reach the heights, the upper limits of the multitude of possibilities which await being brought to reality. You are your own ideal of yourself and you might as well shout it to the world even if it does not want to listen. You are going to make it listen. Such a wonderful concept, so hard to achieve, so exciting to pursue.

3. Everything about you is how I'd wanna be
Your freedom comes naturally,
Everything about you resonates happiness
Now I won't settle for less

(Bliss by Muse)

*Muse are horribly cool in case you hadn't noticed. I have always aspired to reach a certain level of self-confidence, an acceptance of myself and the world surrounding me, but not in the form of resignation. And there are those people who carry themselves effortlessly, to whom you bare a striking resemblance despite your insecurities. It's all inside, always has been, always will be. You already know it, you fear it, you love it, and you are going to let it out.


4. I wake at dusk to go alone
Without a light
To the unknown
I want this night inside of me
I want to feel
I want this speeding
I want that speeding

No need for comfort
No need for light
I am hunting for secrets tonight
Eat the sorrow, lick the spark
Uh, oh, my blood beats dark

(Bloodbeat by Patrick Wolf)

*Ah, Patrick Wolf. Couldn't leave him out if I tried. Also, could not eliminate too many lyrics. He speaks of darkness and setting out on a quest into its depth, but all I see is the light within, the rush of the new bursting with life, the radiating rays of a human at the core of the universe, absorbing the mysteries and releasing new ones, running through scenes and situations, yet perfectly capable to stop and take it all in. "The holy moments". Alone, but not quite.

5. Love me or leave me or rip me apart
This is the voice that I was given and
If you don't like it take a long walk
Off of the shortest pier you can find
And I'll be singing it out, I'll be singing...

(Black Mamba by The Academy Is…)

*The "Aw, fuck it!" attitude. If one cannot or does not want to realise that we are distinct individualities striving to live up to our own expectations, our own dreams, our own qualities and flaws, one can just GO FUCK ONESELF. It's also an excellent argument in favour of personal taste. Negativity is so two years ago. Show some love instead of going out of your way to demonstrate the evil workings of what you perceive as (or try to convince yourself that it is) "utter crap". 'Cause we and they are just going to keep to that path. It's ours and we love it.

Yup, that's me. Went bowling with the folks. Here's a list just for the hell of it *wink*

1. Can I actually play? Not really.
2. Did I manage a strike, though? Hell yeah. Plus a spare and some 8 pins.
3. Did I come in last every single time: You betcha.
4. Did the colour of my blouse match the ball I used? Absolutely.
5. Did I also play billiards? Well, of course.
6. Did I win even though I completely and utterly suck? Yup. How? Don't know, don't care. *grin*
7. Were thoughts of fan fiction involving dubious members of MCR crossing my dirty mind? Uh...DUH!

PS: BF is back! *brings out party hat and balloons*. Is she the bestest ever? She obviously, indubitably, most certainly IS. *kitten hug*

Today I have been most efficient. I managed to arrange my disastrous closet and also make a LIST (yeah, I heart lists. Got a problem with that?) with all my t-shirts, shirts, blouses and so on. Therefore, I am most pleased with myself and shall return to wasting precious time.

Oh, did I mention I bought a new pen? It's darling, really. I and stationery = match made in geeky heaven. Right now, I'm listening to the hushpuppies (copyrighted to quimtessence since her continuous use of the phrase has proven to have attributes of the contagious variety) and I can say that their music is most fluffy (but not as fluffy as his majesty *nods*).

Why? Because I got an A for the Cambridge Certificate of Proficiency in English.
How? I honestly haven't the slightest clue. But, then again, who am I to ask such unnecessary questions? *idiotic grin*

In other news, I have NOT been dancing like a maniac for the past half an hour. And the music on which I am NOT exhibiting my not so magnificent abilities in the artistic movements department is NOT Panic! At The Disco. Moreover, I am NOT writing about this in my LJ. Not to mention the fact that you are not reading this. That's right, kiddies: it's all an illusion.

Last but not least, I have NOT begun writing Pete/Patrick last night when a trivial event of which I have little recollection triggered what I had then perceived to be an interesting and worthwhile idea. Now? NOT so much.

In conclusion, I am NOT guilty of any of the above. There *content nod*

P.S.: That new Kasabian single? Stunning x "n". It is that good. And for your own sake do NOT get me started on "Kelly" by Van She because...I mean...Oh, boy...

P.P.S.: So, quimtessence (a.k.a. BF *grin*), looks like we shall talk another day, 'cause lil bro' needs the computer like whoa! and is really getting on my nerves. Have fun sightseeing and stuff and congrats on the Panic! fic. Can't wait to read it *wink*. Monster hug!

Am in the mood for a new LIST. Shall start one right now:

1. Woke up late (again). Followed the same old routine: messenger + browsing (including badly written smut - but at least it's smut so I didn't leave...ugh...empty handed) + music (the likes of his majesty, the almighty lord of fluffiness - quimtessence knows who I'm referring to - and Motorcycle Emptiness by the Manics just because that song wins at life)

2. Cleaned up a bit (just a bit) - after all, I don't want to wear myself out, do I? Listened to some more music. Loud. I wish it could've been louder than the maximum volume. So loud that it would have drowned out the world. With me in it. But 25 is as high as it'll go so the water only reached the spot below my nostrils, tingling in a menacing, yet soothing way. Ready to invade my lungs, but standing by. Some other time then...

3. Bank. Another one. Close to home. Had to go through the underground passage way. The horrid smell. The broken lights. The clumsy graffiti. The abstract mud shapes. Sunlight. Blinding. Soothing. Annoying. Wind. Bliss. Slowly made for the establishment, small, yet assured steps, hands placed firmly in pockets, eyes highlighted by dark eyeliner looking straight ahead into nothing really. Nothing that was physically there. Just in my mind. Bodies. Words. Touches. Voices. Giggles and shouts. People curiously measuring me from head to toe. When you exude confidence, they have this propensity. A mixture of envy and marvel. "Why is she walking in such a manner?" "Who is she?" "What a stuck up!" "What a pretty girl!" It's as if you're breaking a balance. You were supposed to keep your head down, make eye contact just to prove that you pertain to this world. Why don't you? The arrogance. Too bad it's just pretend.

Didn't wait too long in line. In front of me a short, blonde lady, sporting emo glasses with transparent rims, was obviously discontent with certain matters: she voiced her concerns, but I wasn't paying attention. The impassibility of the clerk fascinated me. No facial expression. Bland eyes. Lazy signatures and mechanical stamps. Robot movements. Pick up the bill, scan it, fiddle with keyboard. Pick up the receipt, cut it in half, sign it, stamp it. Collect money, place over the customer's half of the receipt, wait for the bank's signed half, give back bill, change and receipt. No words. From neither party. Silent transactions, loud silence. When my turn comes, she snaps at some minute detail (something about which sum she should charge from a bill. Unimportant stuff. Sort of. Not really). Pick up the bill, scan it, fiddle with keyboard. Pick up the receipt, cut it in half, sign it, stamp it. Three times. Slight variations in the next steps. An awkward smile offered in a moment of shield malfunction. Guard is put down for an instant. Human after all.

A middle-aged man, sort of overweight, but endowed with a frightening stare, is leering at me from 6 feet away. Yet, no expression. Again. Perhaps I accidentally glanced in his direction. An eternity. Exposure. Embarrassment. Relief. I gather the bills, change and receipts and leave after neatly placing the papers in the correct envelopes and gently bending them to fit in my small bag. He left.

4. Ice cafe with mom. Had a casual conversation about daily stuff and frustrated mothers, who bathe in cash and are incapable of treating their children more like adults then misbehaving pets. Time is running out. Library awaits. Bag is ready, volume set to waist high waters. "What are you doing with all those books? Turn them all in!" I enjoy having options.

5. The bus is airy today. A man and a woman are planning something while standing face to face on the seats in the back. Odd. She pays attention, looking more closely although words cannot be seen. He employs authoritative hand gestures. The foreheads are an inch away of being pressed together. Strange. Almost there. The attentive lady walks up to me and it looks like she's floating. My vision becomes blurry, I give her the ticket, she rips it like an automaton, I put in my pocket. I smell viciousness and badly constructed excuses. They rip into some doomed travellers. No way out, boys. Vision clear again. Despicable feeling of satisfaction at having complied with rules. Sly smile flourishing on the corner of my mouth. Human after all.

6. I'm browsing through dishevelled shelves. Vision blurry again. No order. Chaos. Alphabet is missing. Titles intertwining. "Where's the L?" "No Palahniuk?" "What's this doing here?" "Oh, what a deliciously inventive building!" "Great reviews there, dude!" "Short listed for Booker Prize? Cool." "Bad cover. Bad Photoshop. I think it might be evil actually." "The Art of Fishing", “Sin Sin Sin is pretty neat…” “Nice swimming pool you got there, rich boy!” “Scar tissue that I wish you saw…” “Cillian Murphy. In drag. Exquisite.” I pick two new books for which I am the first reader. Maybe I’m just fooling myself. Surely someone borrowed them back in the days of the British Library. No. They’re in mint condition. The ruffling of never before touched pages. The perfume of “not so new” new books. I straighten out a crease on the bottom corner, then run my fingers across the words. There, much better.

7. Wind again. Bliss. Some sort of gathering. Confused teenagers spreading flyers to convince passers by of the importance of NOT legalizing gay unions by signing their petition . Fuckers. A flyer suffers the terrible fate of being crushed ostentatiously in my furious hand and discarded in the nearest thrash bin. I’ll teach them. Not now. Mall. Book shop as always. Sneaky glances into the disgusting (but, oh so entertaining) world of tabloids. I stuff one in its rightful place. That is just disgusting. Some limits should not be crossed. Lack of principles/one, majestic principle – “show me the money”. Choose your weapon. Fuck them, regardless.

Stationery. “Put the pens down and step away!” “No…Oh, come on…Please…*puppy dog eyes*” “No. You don’t need them” “Nope. I want them.” Poof! Blue, pink, green. Abstract designs. All fuzzy inside. You are mine. Is that an emo pen I see? Lack of further funding. Damn. Black and glittery. Dark and glamour. Some other time then, huh? Be good. Stay away from the red ones. Their looks are luring and ways wicked.

I manage to act out an espionage scene while I stand between the post-it/clippers/stapler stand and the counter. A familiar face is peering at a book. I quickly make the mental association. Click. I do know him. He gently smiles at the item he is holding. What an intimate moment. To observe people reacting at literature all by themselves is nothing short of walking in on them in, let's say, barely there attires.

My bladder shyly reminds me of why I entered the mall in the first place. Right. Sorry. Going now. “Show me show me show me how you do that trick. 'The one that made me scream' she said” Bathroom looks deserted. Slowly swaying my hips to the beat as I wash my hands, mouthing the words to my cheerful, giggly reflection. Still deserted. As I swagger towards the dryer, all bets are off. I get my “Molly Ringwald in 'The Breakfast Club' ” on. The 80’s are back and they’ve never looked better. Cut. Someone emerges from a stall. Game over. Song too. Then another. And another. The door breaks open. It’s a flood. Bladder is timidly pulling at my sleeve, practically begging. Right. Sorry.

8. Dark outside. I knew it was coming (it was about 9 after all), but it took me by surprise. I skipped a beat, I missed a point. I follow the same path back home. My eyes fixed on the gay bashing thing. Youngsters actually signing. Why? I cannot grasp the meaning of this. Why are you helping consolidate a non-existent system of values? An illusion resulted from the insecurities of your forefathers; desperately clinging to what they believe is the right way of life, clutching at the end of the rope, afraid of the abyss below. Let go. You might enjoy it. They reiterate the same pretentious words, worn out by overuse, significance lost along the way. Maybe never even there.

Your notion of good is irrelevant, absurd because you connect it with a God you have forgotten all about, a pale figure you abandoned by boxing yourself in to such an extent that you don’t need its guidance anymore. The rules are there, the soul is missing. Insecurity nurtures intolerance, intolerance gives birth to the tendency of the majority to create a uniform society. And that’s how you deal blow after blow to democracy, even though you are merely expressing your opinion. Uniform societies always implode. No exceptions.

The fact that forces dominate others does not make the former bearers of the ultimate truth, the purveyors of all things good, the pillars of tradition and decent living. You must work with what you have. The context is not the equivalent of your identity. Get out of the box. Boxes are eventually thrown away. Who needs all those empty things lying around?

A beautiful one smiles blushingly at the piece of paper being stuck under his nose by a grinning not so beautiful other. "No, thank you!" And he walks away. Bless you.

9. Home again. As soon as I’m finished with the coherent argument in favour of gay marriage and against those inconsiderate pricks (even though as I looked at the flyer boys, I realized that they didn’t truly stand for anything. Detached laughs to help pass the time. Puppets.), I am swiftly dismissed with two sentences. I find out novelties about myself. How delightful! 1. That I know nothing of marriage (true, but I do know of humanity) 2. That I relish bragging about my, oh, so open mind (true, but I pride myself in the glimmer burning ever more brightly). Biased I still am. Recovering also. A therapeutic chain of events. Amen to that.