your icicles of memories, frozen like glass, cut me into remnants of what we called our past. i'm shrouded, and i'm dangerously undermedicated.

i'm thinking there's something going extremely wrong with the world right now.

why you ask? well, quite simply...my class on tuesday was cancelled, my morning class on wedesday was cancelled...which rocks because i didnt do the reading, oops...the guitarist and bassist of the band i'm attempting to get into love everything i've written, even if it's totally not what they had in mind and had envisioned...

now if tonight i can manage to find my balls long enough to not sit there and stare at the microphone while i should be making out with it, and maybe reaching a vocal level above a slight whisper that's audible enough to make it known something is coming out of my mouth...well then, i'd have to say that this whole world is going to absolute shit and the stars, planets, chakarah's , and whatever else are severely mis-aligned.

i'm not sure what my problem is...i belt it out at all fucking times with no real problem--shower, car, restaurant, bar, work, in my apartment, walking the dog. if there's music playing, i'm singing...and "playing" includes the tunes on loop in my wee little head. i partially think it's the fact that i've met up with these guys twice, total, and in large part because there are no melodies, and there is something insanely daunting about making one up when it's pretty much set in stone that the members of the band had something in mind, unbeknownst to me.

but, let me digress for a second and go back to the whole "it's totally not what they had in mind and had envisioned" comment i made about a paragraph ago because it's kind of been bugging me. it makes me happier than a nutsack on a chin that they like what i write and that they think it'll go along with the music...what bugs me isn't the fact it's utter torture writing shit out and having people read it with a critical eye, let alone having what's written out be a part of your heart because what's the point of writing if it has no meaning other than to rhyme legitimately enough to gel with the instrumentals?

nope. what leaves me somewhat scratching my head is the fact that almost everyone who has read what i've written has described it as "extremely dark."

and no, it's not just "dark"...the "extremely" or a close synonym is almost always used in succession...it's like a two-fer: you aren't just the cemetary keeper, you're the keeper of the crypt.

now, i'm not saying by any stretch of the imagination that "extremely dark" is a bad thing, i just never really thought of myself as the maven of caliginosity. i'm well aware that i'm not the happiest mother fucker walking this world...i'm also well aware i am far, far, far, far from...but i always thought of myself in the spectrum of normal with regard to the dark side: not swimming in a sea of constant delight, but not lying in a bed constantly six feet under, either.

so, imagine my delight when i was at a friend's house on monday [which marked the first time a male of the species has ever made me dinner, mind you] and while talking to a friend of the friend, the friend of the friend, within five minutes of actually being in my presence, said "you definately have a very, very dark side." "i do not." "it's not a bad thing" "how can you tell?" "i just can."

smashing! i went from normally being considered laid back and bubbly to the princess of nigritude, who wears her crown not atop her head...oh no!..but sticking out from her chest after piercing her heart with it, all in a matter of the ascent of a new year.

fan-fuckin-tastic. really though...do i seem that dark?

i have no idea why it bugs me at all...i mean i'm sure my inner former goth-punk teenager is jumping for joy, but there's something kind of daunting about having the inner workings of yourself being called "extremely dark"...it feels like i'm this deranged, twisted, sick,morbid, fucked up little girl who keeps it all pretty well contained...

which, for the most part, is pretty true. snarf.

maybe i've had too much freetime to sit and think about it...who knows.

anyway, i've been going insane this week trying not to get another tattoo...so...uhm...well? i'm using that as an excuse for having a non-risque hnt this week...and before you open your mouth and start bitching, don't forget that last week i practically bared all...so shut it.

what do you do when your friend draws a portrait of you?

make it into sixties style pop art and slap it on what would be a brick wall...thanks ry!

maybe if i could get the fuck over myself and stop being shy and maybe open my fucking mouth and let the good times roll out and vocalize...this could be a reality.

yea, definately not. i love playing in the shadows to ever stray that far into the limelight.