As much fun as it would be to let my 20 week record stand, here I am again with another link, now to the tumblr. For those of you my Facebook friend (and really, shouldn't you all be my Facebook friend, what with it being the new Myspace and 'the' way to stay in contact with all those people you used to be able to just cut those damn ties with? Thanks internet), you've (maybe?) noticed how my Facebook has been super active-- that would be because I hooked up my Tumblr to post on my Facebook. So if I've destroyed your feed, sorry.

http://tinywordssmallbombs.tumblr.com/

Is seeing the majority of the action lately.

Check it, if you're into that sort of thing.

Love.

Your result for Reincarnation Placement Exam...

Gypsy Camp

Lest I forget, tomorrow is FREE COMIC BOOKS DAY, a day in which various comic book stores (independants mostly) around the nation and now the world give out free (mostly samples) comic books from a variety of major and indy labels, which I, as a red blooded (blue state living, soy/tofu eating, socialist democrat leaning) American heartily endorse. Anyway who doesn't is a bleeding heart Communist bastard and deserves to be shot in their democracy-hating, freedom-loathing, Red-flagged heart.

(end of telecast, onto Jim for weather)

So I turn 18 tomorrow.
It's weird to think about that, since I guess I've felt 17/18 for years now and I keep trying to decide what makes one an adult exactly and whether or not that's anything I have control over. Is it deciding what rules you want to live by, the principles to guide your life? Is it something in your relations with others? Or is it something more, an awakening inside you in which you realize you are a Holden or Camus or something more, like all those coming of age novels by Chopin and more?
I guess parts of me wants something inside of me to change, to suddenly be more confident with myself, or comfortable in my skin, or suddenly aware that perhaps I do set myself up for failure and that it's ok to dispoint my parents once in a while. But then I think that maybe the realization that I have those fears, that I have those flaws and things to change about myself is what being an adult it. But then again, I could just be flattering myself and calling the whole "adult" thing quits.

Songs:

Artist: Snow Patrol ft. Marth Wainright
Song Name:Set Fire to the Third Bar


Artist: Willy Mason
Song Name:Fear No Pain

There was a terrorist bombing in downtown London at 3.50 this morning (their rush hour). Watch the news.

Ladies and Gents, I have a permit. (now I can start moaning about how I don't have a car).

Saturday= D-Day= Interrogation Day. There will be weeping. Best of luck to all.

I slept badly on my neck and shoulders a few nights ago, and it's only proceeded to get worse, almost like I just have this mass of cartiledge and scar tissue along my shoulder blades and resting on my collar bones.

I'm also turning my journal into friend-only. Why? I looked and I decided that I did not want to turn this into the Xanga fiasco, that is, suddenly find out that I'm a part of some online Metuchen ring or something. So cathy, natalie, and james, please get livejournalies.

Portia Storme: how about CanadianSpam? hahaha
Portia Storme: spam bots will think it's a trick.XD
mydenimkiss: true- and those who know me best will know I am refering to my love of all things cold, canned, and gelatin-like.

There were other things to be said but I feel much too British to say them.

Like that I have Creed stuck in my head. Is there any justice?

I forgot to mention, I came in first place for the 11th grade for the Edison Arts Society poetry contest. if you're in the Edison/Metuchen area on April 14th at 7 and want to head over to Barnes and Noble, check it out- I'll be there, reading, and hopefully this lyear (I won the 10th grade last year) there won't be all the "I cry on the inside because no but Hot Topic understands me" kids will have stayed home.

Plus, there are younger kids who write really cute poetry (the sixth to seventh graders) who are no probably the Angry Emo/Goth kids this year. That poem (the one mr. wag calls "the one with the crazy title with the word 'bamboozle'") is over at the lit journal too, because I'm cool like that.

So, in honor of procrastination, last night I wrote a third piece for the governor's school tryout and it's the first one I have half way liked. So I ask a favor of all: please look it over and edit as you will, no matter your opinion. if it sucks, inform me. If it kinda sucks, tell me. I've posted it here and at the lit journal(My Lit Journal, if you need the link), so edit where you will, but please, look it over. Thanks.

We Go to the Fire
I want maps. I want to bathe in street names
and translations of "Walk: Don't Walk". When Y2K
came I thought of stealing signs- the end to
technology would be the perfect excuse
to rip pages out of library books that ended in perfection,
in boredom. At 11 I was a pessimist, with a yearn for squalor.

I could set fire to the World Atlas and the
smoke that would rise like the hollow prayers
I whispered so my sister couldn't hear,
so she didn't know I was afraid of dying,
do she didn't know I believed in God.

I was ready for sodium tablets, after raising
myself on Jonny Quest, Captain Planet
and making the best of sitting alone.

I wasn't afraid of lost rocket ships (I look up
even now when planes pass overhead, and
imagine looking down and seeing me
looking up). I wanted drifting,
heading captainless into a safer eternity. Lightyears
sounded welcoming, a journey to God, and whatever
it was about heaven that made secret
tears slide over my ears, itching
through my hair.

Those nights I wanted fingers
grubbing over my skin and rubbing where
the tear tracks has slid, obliterating
the railroads from what I culdn't admit
to myself to what I couldn't say I needed.

I wanted arms holding my hands
to my chest. I wanted words
I couldn't understand so there was no shame
in comfort, no shame in admitting I feared myself
and what I could be.

I want maps to tell me where I am,
to map out the path where I do not fail,
where I do not disapoint, where at the end,
someone is waiting with love.

</end>

In italics is what I think I need to work on.
Points for editing (that I can think of at the moment) (just things opinions on would be appreciated)
*Point of View- clear?
*theme/point?
*any abstract ideas/images/nouns (I can only use 2 abstract nouns) ==> how/where can I clarify myself, if necessary?
*images
*clichés?
*your response?

Thank you all and any.

I went out yesterday and bought a Belle and Sebastian (the Boy with the Arab Strap)CD, and the Boondock Saints. I was debating a Bob Dylan CD (since I keep being told to give up the grudge and listen to him, despite his pretention and inability to sing or recognize that he can't sing) that has the two Dylan songs I like ("Subteranean Homesick Blues", and "Groom's Still Waiting at the Altar", adn I know I've seen them on one CD before) but couldn't find it. B&S was probably the better buy anyway. I went looking for German poetry and found it under the Lesbian porn/lit. section which was nice, so thank you Borders for that awkward moment.


CD to Look into, on Principle

Cereal and milk is not a good breakfast idea. Now that I've brushed my teeth three times, I still have the nasty milk taste in my mouth.

The opera is dirty. Dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty. Maybe because it was in English I could thus understand it but there were fake boobs, prostitution, cross dressing, violence, pink sheep, sex and more sex.

Lotus roots have made the ranks of Top Vegetables. Up there with watercress and mushrooms and small children. Er. Not small children.

Stuff. Calamity. Gov's school prompt is eating my brain.

Went for a 1.5 mile run this weekend. I think I'm covered for the rest of the month.

This is ....weird. here I am thinking livejournal was all blockedy because of webscense but evidently- not. Maybe it's a St. Patrick's Day gift, so HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY! to all immigrants and non-immigrants alike. I was going to take today off, go into New York, both for seeing Miss Maggie and for seeing this "green beer" I hear causes so many hangovers. Going to probably read at least some of "Dubliners" today in honor.

In home things they suck (see needed day off). There's the sucking and then the gratuitous sucking which is like a pit of suckcity (think firebombed Dresden sucking).

moving on, I think I ripped off back of tongue last night, like the top layer thing, because I felt like something was stuck in the flesh. Fun times.

I start driving lessons the first day of break and finish them the next day. I'll only get my license three months late.

Went to the cardiologist. Sonno-grams or whatever of the heart, very much uncomfortable. Consensus? I strained the cartiledge of my sternum which inflamed the wall of my heart and the valves. WHAT?

Go mairir an céad, is bliain chun aithrí!

(may you live to be one hundred, and a year for repentence)

So, in honor of being "back online" two questions:
1. How can I get teh address bar (the thing I type the www. into, since I'm probably calling it the wrong thing) back on the top of the screen?
2. Is there a free version of IM out there? Somewhere?

To gloat, I'ma finalist for Gov.'s school for writing. Here's to intellectual elitism.

There was a lot of stuff I want to write about. how about someone tell sme how to make this computer work, and I'll make it worth your while?


....Or I can just beg. and whine. a lot

and offer up this:
http://www.ugcs.caltech.edu/~paymer/mer/all_linkin_park_songs_sound_exactly_the_same.mp3

(they really do- like the Used)

Starting a new story, with the goal of writing a high school story. (first paragraph adn all I have):
It was a solid hour before the permanent marker washed off her knuckles, or at least, the word ‘SLUT’ became a distant smudge. She had hid the offending hand in her sweatshirt when she walked in her door, pulling the sleeve down over her knuckles, her fingernails biting through the fabric into her lifeline. For the first few moments she had tried gamely to smile, but as she lost herself more and more in the task of clearing her skin, her mouth relaxed and the pounding of the water matched her heartbeat.

Shoot Your Foot Off Event!!

So tomorrow I embark on a 4+ hour car ride (there) to go see Tristan (aka my little ray of sunshine) at college. I'd like to see the old sport but the car ride will kill. We always get lost driving into Keane and stuck in traffic taking the bridge back into NY. yargh. Bright side- Tristan, a comic book store and maybe a cheapie book store.

My mom repainted her house (and most of it is all just slight variations of the old shade) which seems to have intesified the feeling that nothing in this house is really to be touched. Maybe it's the furniture we're not supposed to sit on or the fact that we're not supposed to touch the walls but I don't know.

Snow day today in which I did nothing. Maybe I'll look up French culture or something for "the yoke in the youth".




Are they all named Aaron?

I think my house is too cool- my hands (well, my right hand) has gone numb which i guess is better than teh full body shakes I had going on before, which generally mean a panic attack of some sorts is coming. Although, it came while I was talking to NickAlsionDanKevinRosebudNickAlisonDanKevin as they played "Pass the cell phone around and drink Slurpees while Courtney is in Mahwah".

Hopefully this works. World this is Dan, aka Kevin's little brother, with red hair, subtitled Sargeant Pepper



If not, I'll send you the picture because it's awesome.

Excerpts from Aesthetic Journal:
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I was watching the Boondock Saints but then I stopped it because it was starting to look dire and I've invested much too much in the characters to see them die. Rooco, sure, bite the dust but Murphy and Connor? Much too good looking and mission from God-y to die.

My mom still isn't home from the "Date that Isn't a Date" with the Asshole formerly refered to as John, or the man who pissed off every member of my extened family on my mom's side that attended Easter.

Stuff happened this week. I didn't do any homework. My sister failed two classes and I get to pick up. You know, the usual. I'm trying to get my mom into bright Eyes because there must be something I listen to that won't garner that tone of disgust/disapointment.

So rather than just elongating (by editing) my last post and put in all those things I didn't say, I'm going to post again, uselessly.

Conversation (of sorts) I wanted to post just so everyone could feel as bad as I did.
random acquaintance "Well, I can't call George Bush the greatest president yet but I know years from now they're going to call him that, in addition to being one of the most influential. His foreign policy alone is revolutionary"
No sarcasm. what.so.ever. I wanted to cry and by the time I could function enough to think of something to say, the moment had passed. I was tempted to kick him in the balls but I would have gotten in trouble and I don't think moral right would have swayed Mr. "Stick Inserted into Rectum" Vice Principal.

So someone needs to take me (between now and prom) to go look at thrift store prom dresses because I realized today a dress was a big. fat. waste of money.

Going to Party for Cancer tonight. It should be fun, you know, with the bad acoustics and bad bands. But some people should be good. So it's worth the five dollars. And my rampant sarcasm should help. The question is though, will I be roped into cleaning Hannah's house after people trash it for her "super secret my mom's in Boston so some people come over and party!" party that I was invited to but probably won't attend.

I doubt I'm going to do any homework this weekend other than arts high and my communism paper.

So lately it's been like my email's vomiting college emails- and all from places I've never heard of- ALfred University? Hood College? Where the hell are you? And do you know how dirty your name(s) sound?

Other things to say but other times to say them.

Started a list of things I love vs. things I hate and couldn't stop. try it some time if you need to occupy yourself.

Everyone should come to the Party for Cancer, if only to see me. I can supply details.

I am now owned by my latest mix cd, and most expecially, this song:

Iron and Wine- Each Coming Night
Will you say when I’m gone away
"My lover came to me and we'd lay
In rooms unfamiliar but until now"

Will you say to them when I’m gone
"I loved your son for his sturdy arms
We both learned to cradle then live without"

Will you say when I’m gone away
'Your father’s body was judgement day
We both dove and rose to the riverside"

Will you say to me when I’m gone
"Your face has faded but lingers on
Because light strikes a deal with each coming night"

So I'm not sure what it is, maybe it's because I read some more of Dylan's lyrics and much as I hate his voice I'm thinking of making the sacrifice and attempting again to listen to one of my mom's CDs. I know I "should" like him and most songs of his that I've read, on thier own, written out, are fine. His voice just... ugh.

I'm starting to recover from the Plague that Was. Although while I was sick, ignoring the naseau, the hacking cough, the random coming and going of the voice, the lightheadedness, and the runny nose and agravated sleeplessness (all which are still occuring to a lesser degree) I was given lots and lots of pity. And people did things for me. Which was nice.

I'm looking at an Irish grammer thing online and evidently it's not for beginners because I have no idea what I'm reading. I barely can pick apart grammer in German- I know what other people are saying, most of the time but reading about and understanding seems to be above my grasp. Maybe if I concentrated on one aspect of the site instead of looking up how to say "my the devil make a ladder out of your back bone and pick apples in hell" I could accomplish more.

I've decided now that when I go online and I don't automatically see anyone I want to talk to, I'm putting up an away message so leave messages on it because... maybe I actually can talk during those .03 times I'm online.

H.S.A work to do that I'm going to put off. This writing homework groove thing is weird to get back into. And there seems to be no single (other than Joe) extrovert in the group. I hope this isn't where my fellow gazelles tell me to stand strong and be the personality I want to see among us.


I like changing my answer and watching my chance at survival drop, as I go from "someone less efficent" (63 percent) to "someone easy to push" (47 persent) to .....

How long would you last in a zombie movie by zombi357
Username
Weapon of choice
Friend who turned that you had to kill	misconstrue
Chance you will survive: 74%
Quiz created with MemeGen!

In honor of Yolanda's untimely death, two rec's for me. Both ff.

Untitled
standing
X-Men

Five Things That Don't Surprise Veronica Mars
sltt
Veronica Mars

To Find:
Groom Still Waiting at the Altar- Dylan
Each Coming Night- Iron and Wine
Are You Sure? Willie Nelson

A Trendy Survey I Ripped Off of Maggie
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Title Information:
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[Edit]
So my stomach feels queasy after mistakenly disgesting nachos with beef in them. Damn it. The last thing I want at a wake tomorrow is to be reguritating cow-squared (to those of you who don't, a lot of butchers or whatever you call them feel cow parts to other cows so they gain weight. enjoy your hamburger). Plus my lower back is all seized up, like the last disk and a half for something. I should start going to the trainer again.

I'm tired but don't want to sleep, if only because I continue to feel guilty that I'm not going to the funeral on Tuesday and part of me is happy because I wanted to interview S.M in Writer's Workshop and go to my German and my Physic's review. And I know that doesn't matter but then again I can't cry even for my mom and her sisters and I keep thinking how a year or two ago Grandma was asking to die.

But I made icing today. And I think Uncle Tommy used my mom's "write-on-icing" markers to draw a phallic symbol on the cake and that my mom was midly (at best) drunk during dinner although she seems soberer now.

I really want to puke.

Some writing, to make up for not really posting anything prophetic this weekend:
click here and gasp

If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call to make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?
--Stephen Levine Poet, Author

When the body sinks into death, the essence of man is revealed. Man is a knot, a web, a mesh into which relationships are tied. Only those relationships matter. The body is an old crock that nobody will miss. I have never known a man to think of himself when dying. Never.
--Antoine de Saint-Exupery


I'm helping my mom find quotes for her eulogy on Tuesday.

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Have a good weekend filled with lots of dreams of pony parts and pieces stuffed in cans.

Love ya-

Dad-dio
I could go into one of those "you know you're a Downing when your email ends like this" but I won't. It's too easy, even for me.

Quote of the Dady (tied- to Kevin both)
One:
If you had two extra [fullsized] arms, what part of the body would they be growing from?
(for the record, each would be right under my bottom rib on each side of the rib cage, like a was a giant bug or something)

Two:
(prolouge: in an attempt to somehow gross out/silence the rest of my table, which consists of teenage males, I said something to the effect of "It sucks getting your period every month", to which Kevin replied)
That used to happen to me but I take medication for that now
resulting in a five minute period in which the table attempted to encourage my to spit yougurt through my nose.
However, because of that lunch period, I am owed and being taken out for a lunch on Monday at the Olive Garden (no school! score!)

if only I felt better (do you ehar that smallof my back and stomach and head? feel better... now would be preferable)And if I hadn't left my CD player at Dad's with American Idiot in inside.

I'm thinking I should change my IM. And I'm thinking later on Ill come back here, edit this, and throw down some links to some stuff I've written (all prose)

Today can be written off as a waste of a day. Went to the New Brunswick Court House with Mock Trial/Political Institute. Slept through case about age discrimination. Went Mexican. Couldn't bribe teachers or bus driver to turn around considering we would still have two periods to go and I had a Physics test I didn't study for. Not to mention no calculator or even a pencil. I go to class, he tells me to go to the library. So other than the fact I'm wearing a see through shirt and didn't realize it after I got to the Courthouse (hence the annoying 3/4 length sleeve shirt I'm wearing now) today was a good day.

Found my pants too.

Your Future According To Me by torrentialrain
Username
College/Job	No Major/rich bastard
Number of Marriages	2
Number of Kids	10
Drug of Choice	Straight Edge
Love of Your Life	uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Arch Nemesis	cp_journalcomic
Date of Death	April 23, 2048
Happiness Level: 49%
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Note one:
I am missing a pair of pants. There are jeans (like 99% of my attire) and are dark blue with that "weathered/ a little bit of dark brown" look to them. They are not free to a good home. I want my pants. Please? Has anyone found them?

Note two:
I've gone over to the...knitting side. That's right! I now knit. And I "have great tension". Go me. However, this hasn't stopped me from dropping stiches. I am continuing to make row after row without any purpose in mind. Perhaps I'll find that eventually.

Note three:
My sister just remarked she "feels like the Predator". My take is she shouldn't have crimped her hair. There's a reaosn why people look back at the 80s and wince. However, my sister seems to have not recieved the memo.

Note four:
I want a pony. Or maybe a puppy. Any givers?

Note five:
I used up all my gift certificates this weekened. I gorged at Barnes and Noble and Best Buy, resulting in the ownership of
*"Nine Stories" Salinger
*the Michael Chabon book that won (?) the Pulitzer and is about the Golden Age of Comic Books
*some "indy" book about the author discovering the Smiths and himself in the 80s which cost me 9.95 and may be written off as a waste of money considering I don't actually listen to the Smiths.
*"American Idiot" Green Day
*"This is a Long Dirve for Someone With Nothing to Think About" Modest Mouse
*"Four Minute Mile" The Get Up Kids
*The Garden State Soundtrack

Note Six:
I need to patent the idea of a "Praise Lamp", Similar to a heat lamp, one curls up underneath and are rewarded with the sound of how wonderful he or she is. That is, you curl up and someone tells you that you're a good person, a success, ect. ect., under the bathing light of a flouresant bulb.

Note Seven:
I was planning on reading the Bible this year. I have since ignored the handy scheadule printed out ofr me outlining what I should be reading. About that...

Note eight:
I'd like to start a lj-community (if there isn't one already) dedicated to the art of fact checking/ acking a question about something you don't know and being rewarded with the answer. Any comments? Thoughts? Ideas? Voodoo spells?

I think I'm caught up.
Just the facts ma'am.