Conversation With a Guidance Counselor

These rules I've never understood
But if I must obey I will
I want to live in a place
That I can call my own
Below the rat race
With a nice windowsill
That has a spectacular view
Which I deem beautiful
(And I would deem any view beautiful)
But without it I would suffocate
My extended hand ignites my light
So please allow yourself to create
A free form future

A Moment to Appreciate Shoes

A thought occurred to me a few nights ago while sitting on the beach.  Sand was surrounding me, of course, and was finding its way into my black high top, Chuck Taylor Converses. 

Unlike most people, however, I did not see the sand as a pest or nuisance.  Instead, I was glad to feel it in my shoe, saw it as a souvenir of sorts.  Because to me, shoes are the objects that guide us everywhere, and are with us every step of the way...literally.

That's why to me, getting something on my shoes is almost a mark of honor.

Once, I spontaneously decided to go for a swim in the ocean, and I made sure I let my shoes get a bit wet with the salt water before I took them off.  It was simply so that I could know that they had experienced such an event.  And even after they dry, and any signs that the water was there has faded away, I will still know that they were dipped in the water.

Recently, one pair of my shoes walked 20 miles during Boston's Walk for Hunger.  When the event was over, the normally black shoes were practically brown with all of the dirt and residue.  Most people would be disappointed.  I was ecstatic.  That was my favorite keepsake from the day.

I suppose the reason that I appreciate the shoes so much is because looking at everything that my shoes have done gives me a new perspective on what I have done.  Being from a small town, it feels like nothing I have done is, or could ever be, spectacular.  But when put in a different context, my accomplishments seem different: 
  • This one pair of shoes survived four years of high school, and a full year of college. 
  • This pair of shoes walked 20 miles for charity. 
  • This pair of shoes worked eight hours after school. 
  • This pair worked almost 40 hours over the summer, and hung out with friends afterwords. 
  • This pair of shoes jumped on and off a carousel a countless amount of times during a summer job.
None of those things are a huge deal, but its the little things in life that should make us feel good about ourselves.  Maybe looking at our accomplishments from a different perspective is what we all need.  Maybe we should all appreciate our shoes more, and in turn appreciate ourselves more.


A mind of thuds
And beats of stone
With battle grounds
Now fields of gray
Stretching forever
Producing lined pages
Begging for scribbles
Searching for sparks
Or any hiding colors
Among the wreckage
Of neither this or that

An Honest Mothers Day

It was the least
I could do
To spare you
The truth
So I bought you
A card with
Kind words and
Kind lies
Of black ink
Like that which
Is filling
My lungs
As you read

Sun On My Face

No longer a sharp scoff
Or a harsh boundary
Revealing the blackness
Sunlight is now an ocean
Cleansing my jungle rot

You Should Feel Very Lucky

A one year reflection
Except for one crucial
Point of interest
Because iodine in excess
Produces purple smiles
Revealing a one year crack
That it was dyed
Yet still it exists
Much lighter than before
Now with rays and warmth
Promising genuine shine
In its cold purple contrast
So celebrate the smile
Instead of condemning
The reason for the color


No fine lines
Of definition
Just basic colors
Confusing each other
And fusing together
To define me

Red passion tempting
Purple depth
Quick temper tempting
Endless caring
Rightful suspicion tempting
Naive love

Shades on a spectrum
And Crayola crayons
Casual conversation 
And alarm clocks

(Any feedback on this poem in particular would be most appreciated.)


Surroundings tinted
Maybe just for me
No night or day
Charred routine repeat
Yes, the Mayans lied
But disillusions right
Faces closer to herded cattle
Eyes like diamonds above Seattle

(This is the third and final pre-posted poem.)


The flood stole
Their homes and hearts
Yet still they drank
Worlds apart
But still the same
Kill and save
In everything

(This is another poem that was already posted, but was reposted simply because I like it.)

5 Random Facts

So I was just tagged by my friend and roommate Jenna to do a 5 Random Facts post. Hmmmm. Maybe this will be interesting...

1.  I am currently finishing up my first year of college, and its been an interesting experience to say the least.  Its proven to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm an introvert and that I prefer to hang out with a small group of close friends. I enjoyed living on campus for the most part, although sometimes I craved more quiet time. I felt like I could never fully be myself while in my dorm.

2.  As far as writing poetry goes, I don't try to do anything.  It simply makes me feel better and keeps me occupied. Even if my poems turn out poorly, even if nobody else in the world likes them, I enjoy writing them, and I find the process therapeutic.

3.  I collect Living Dead Dolls.  They are Barbie Doll-like figures with a strange gothic twist. Most people don't like them, but they make me very happy. I'm not a serious collector, though. If I had a thousand dollars to burn maybe I would be, but for the time being I can wait. If you want to learn more about them, because your still baffled, you can read a really cool article here.

4.  I tend to wear a lot of black - in fact, its the only color I wear. But its not my only favorite color. I also love orange and deep purple.

5.  Something that can always make me smile is the show Futurama. It doesn't matter how long its been cancelled (and its coming back!) the same episodes make me laugh even after the 500th time. It is by far the cleverest show ever created, and Matt Groening deserves a medal for making something so nerdtastic. those are 5 random things about me.

No Art

Feelings float.
Everything encased.
There is no art -
no one has heart
only explosions losing face

(This poem had already been posted but its one of my favorites so I wanted to put it up again)

Samara and Samantha

Two girls staring
Resting places in view
Perpetually watching
The same scene with
Eyes of cold comfort

The first dies with a bag
Without screams
No fight left
Cursed at the bottom forever

The other with an arm extended
Without screams
Only cowardice
Linked at the bottom forever

Both find the same solace
Differing only in extremes

Stick With The Originals

With modern technology getting more and more advanced each day, it seems logical that special effects in movies are becoming better and better.  But with this increase in technology has come a decrease in imagination.  Thats why very few new movies have been coming out lately - not really.  Most have been remakes, spin-offs of old television shows, or on screen interpretations of books (or even video games).

At first glance, it seems like a great idea.  By that logic, you coul just take a movie from the golden age of film that required tons of special effects and simply do it again.  There you go!  A better movie.  But its just not that simple.

A classic is given that title for a reason. A classic deserves to be preserved - not butchered at the box office with new lame CGI effects.  The old horror films may not have had beleiveable effects - but they were the originals.  They had original characters and original storylines that would resonate in your mind.

Now with more realistic looking blood, costuming, and effects, what have we gotten?  Lower ratings.  The new Nightmare On Elmstreet recieved a 15% rotten rating on, while the original movie released in 1984 (poorly done effects and all) recieved a 95%.  In short, they killed something that was nearly flawless in the first place.

Tons of other movies are already scheduled for the same fate.  Of particular interest to me is The Neverending Story.  The company remaking it is still in the air, and it can be read about here.  I'm afraid that the spirit of the film will be lost.  The entire point of the movie is to get kids to read and appreciate their imaginations.  Why would they if they have everything painted out for them on the screen?

Maybe I'm just overreacting, but it seems to me that we are heading towards a society that does not appreciate the originals or anything anymore.  Next thing you know we will be remaking Rebel Without A Cause by recasting James Dean or releasing a different version of the Wizard of Oz.  It seems to me that some things should just stay as the original and not be redone. We need to appreciate the things we already have and concentrate on their original greatness and not try to tweak them.

May Cause An Inner Sense of Restlessness

Twenty triggers
Productive thoughts
Following other doomed
Lukewarm destined shots
Feet burn on pavement
Move so blisters stop
Brilliant nonsense
Never enough

My Loner Weekend

Right now, I'm alone in my dorm room, procrastinating on an assignment I should be doing.  Theres not a ton of people here on campus, most have gone home with their friends and families, but the ones who have stayed are out partying. I am not one of them. Not because I feel there is anything wrong with a few drinks shared between friends, but because I enjoy the time I spend by myself. If anything, I need the time to recharge. I've come to accept that its possible that I'll never be anything more than the definition of an introvert.

Being by myself has always given me an odd sense of security. I've heard many people talk about wanting to rip their hair out with boredom and annoyance when they are alone. I, on the other hand, cherish the time. It gives me a chance to get in touch with my interests again. Alone time is the only time that I can do things like listen to the entire Rubber Soul album by The Beatles from start to finish and take in every beat, or watch Girl, Interrupted for the thousandth time. It seems like I, myself, am the only reasonable company for such activities.

When writing a paper about when I feel most like myself, I said when I am alone. This is not to say that I don't enjoy being around people, but that I never truly feel like the real Samantha unless I am in complete solitude. So far, only writers and poets have been able to confirm these feelings. Maybe I'm misreading their messages. Maybe I'm just a hermit.

Yet somehow I sense that this feeling of atachment to detachment, of loving to be alone, is perfectly okay. Sure, its never been socially acceptable - I'll probably always carry the reputation as "that weird kid" - but being accepted by the mainstream isn't my main concern. I'm sure that If they knew how many thoughts carried in my head they would be jealous (or relieved).

Regardless of all this loner nonsense, I'm having a slow, uneventful, reflective weekend - and I feel perfectly fine about it.

Car Ride

close the door
treading water
serene smiles
singing tires
cool breeze
speed increase
choking winds
can’t breathe
serenity ends
their smiles stay
blazing sounds
now I slip
swallowing black ocean
with every breath
the more I drift

Passing By

My observant eyes
Your comforting contrast
Walls of blinding white
No longer an outcast
Blanket silences understood
For me radiating forever
For you never

You Know What I Mean

Despite intentions
Soft green sheen
Eyes fought not to melt
Chest of oozing tar
Crackling black sparks
Feel how I felt
The moment broke
And you spoke
Words of comfort
Without a beat

meanings for poems in previous post

So I know that in the comments you said that the poems confused you, so I thought maybe I should post their meanings on here. Its not easy to summarize what they mean very well, but I will try anyway.

So here it goes:

Feelings float.
Everything encased.
There is no art -
no one has heart
only explosions losing face

1. This goes along with my weird obsession with how there is no such thing as art. To me, art is the spontaneous flow of feelings which usually comes from very emotional people. I feel like a lot of artists are the type who just kind of hold stuff in and then let it out when they create, whatever their form of art may be. The skill comes after. That explains the line "only explosions losing face," because its like they are letting their feelings burst and not caring who sees when other people are viewing what they create.


Surroundings tinted
Maybe just for me
No night or day
Charred routine repeat
Yes, the Mayans lied
But Webers right
Faces closer to hearded cattle
Eyes like diamonds above Seattle

2. "2010" is about how everything is falling apart, but along with that its also about how I feel like we arent children anymore.  The explanation of the disenchantment and losing sense of wonder thing goes with that. Its about how all the bad things are giving me a new "tinted" view, and things are beggining to look different to me. I don't feel like the world is going to end but I feel like 2010 is a reminder that things will be hard. The last line is loosely like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, "like a diamond in the sky." Only I changed it to "above Seattle."  Seattle has a very grunge feel to it, even today, so it has a somewhat depressing feel. It means that even seeing this new way, and dealing with new problems in a mature manner - theres always going to be a sense of childishness in me, I just have that mentality....but thats all.
The flood stole
Their homes and hearts
Yet still they drank
Worlds apart
But still the same
Kill and save
In everything

3. So floods are made up of water, and anything you drink has water in it because you need it to live.  The thing that took their homes away also gave them life. I say "in everything" because I honestly beleive that nothing is purely good or evil, its all jsut how you use or see it. Theres good and bad in everything in my opinion, somtimes you just have to look a little harder. And yes, it has to do with Westerly.

restless ideas racing
rock back and forth
making sense of madness
in the aftermath
illness wars
medicate treaties
in their battles beauty
in their releif
time for reflection

4. This one is about me feeling better. Clearly. haha.

So that is what I wrote my poems about, now you should comment and tell me what you think now that you know.

I give up, so heres some poems

For the past few posts I was doing, it was nothing but movie reviews, just because I wanted to get followers. This is a blog, and that is the point, but I don't know why I would do just movie reviews. Now I'm going to be putting stuff I want on here.

Anyway, lately I've been feeling creative so I've been writing short poems. They arent very good, but I wanted to put them on here because I think its cool to get even a little feed back.

Let me know what you think of them, they are untitled (I'll just give them numbers) unless otherwise specified. I put it in lose order of my favorites.

Also, I was listening to this song while writing some of these, and you may want to listen to it while you read them, even though they are super short. Its the song "Hung Bunny" by the Seattle band Melvins.

Feelings float.
Everything encased.
There is no art -
no one has heart
only explosions losing face

So for those of you that I havent already explained that to, it plays off the expression "saving face". knowing that it may have a different meaning to you.

Surroundings tinted
Maybe just for me
No night or day
Charred routine repeat
Yes, the Mayans lied
But Webers right
Faces closer to hearded cattle
Eyes like diamonds above Seattle

So as far as rhymes and stuff goes, I do not like this one because i think it seems childish. but I put it second because I like its message and references and things. The one that may be confusing is to Weber because its a sociology thing. What I'm referencing here is when he talks about disenchantment. Basically hes saying that society is losing its sense of wonder and stuff like that.

The flood stole
Their homes and hearts
Yet still they drank
Worlds apart
But still the same
Kill and save
In everything

I'm especially interested to see what you get from that one. Think about what water does.

restless ideas racing
rock back and forth
makeing sense of madness
in the aftermath
illness wars
medicate treaties
in their battles beauty
in their relief
time for reflection

Obvious. Just came out and felt right and theraputic.

it would be cool to me if you guys would leave me some feedback and tell me what you think. tell me what you think they are about, which is your favorite, and whether you like them in general or not. my next post (which will be after i get each persons feed back i guess) will be an explanation of what each is about and stuff like that. you may be suprised how much actually is jam packed into such short little nuggets of words.

School Is Coming To An End

Its pretty hard to believe but my freshman year of college is already almost over.  My last day is one of the first few days of May.  How odd to think.  It seems that the older I get, the faster the time goes - but this year seemed a bit extreme.

It sounds cliche but it really does seem like just yesterday that it was move in day.  I remember how I was so nervous on that day that I slept for one hour and even threw up into my father's hat while waiting to move my things into my dorm room. (Yikes!)

It took a while for me to get used to everything, and at first everything seemed so new and overwhelming.  I was at a school with no one I knew previously after all.  Being an introverted person, I tend to not go out of my way to meet people very often, so the first two weeks of school were really exhausting for me.  There were just so many introductions with people I had never met before. Not surprising, but frustrating all the same.

Also, the campus seemed so big then.  Now it seems tiny to me.  When people always get lost looking for my Residence Hall, I'm baffled as to how such a simple place could be so confusing.  Thats the biggest clue that things have changed for me, the size of my campus.  No longer consuming but minute.

Here are some pictures I took with my phone. They aren't the best pics but they're the best I can do for now.  One is a small view of Boyden Hall, and the other is the view from right outside my dorm (its done through a mesh screen so it looks kind of bad).

Alice In Wonderland

Okay so its time for my second review.  I must admit, I feel like I probably should not be writing about this movie simply because I haven't been able to see it in 3-D yet (though I am planning to).  Still, seeing it as a good old fashioned 2 dimensional film was just fine with me.

To begin, I must say that I am probably rather biased because I'm a fan of Tim Burton.  Anyone who knows me could probably guess that the whole fun gothic feel of his movies is appealing to me.  I really haven't seen any movie of his that I didn't feel was beautiful and well crafted, and I love the odd spin he throws on his films.

Alice In Wonderland was probably his biggest undertaking because he chose to remake a classic animated Disney movie and create a movie based on the books by Lewis Carroll.  Anytime this happens, long-time fans are always ready to point fingers saying that the film does the original no justice.  In addition, the hype around the movie was enormous.  It was impossible not to know that it would be hitting theatres.

After ranting about wanting to see that movie for almost a year, I was finally able to go see it a few weeks ago.  I was not dissapointed.  I thought it was visually stunning (though admittedly would have been better in 3-D), and had a very interesting story line.  Tim Burton's best decision was to make the movie about Alice's return to Wonderland, and not have it be a replica of the original.

The characters were very loveable, and it seems like the Mad Hatter would not have been the same if not for Johnny Depp.  He was able to bring a believable insanity to the role, while still making the character oddly adorable and funny.  It seems like no other actor could have portrayed it the same way.  The design for the Cheshire Cat was perfect, and was able to make the CGI cat seem extremely creepy and less funny (like in the orignal).

I do however, have some complaints.  Because of the nature of 3-D, the sets were completely computerized.  I tend to appreciate movies that still use some actaul sets, and while watching the film you are very aware that nothing you are seeing is real.  If I was able to see it in 3-D, I'm sure I would not have this complaint though.  Also, I felt that the introduction was somewhat weak, and it doesn't start being interesting until she gets to Wonderland.

The message in this movie is about allowing yourself to dream.  I guess this struck a chord with me because I do tend to live in a fantasy world, which is not usually a good thing.  I felt that the story about Alice allowing herself to dream and believe the things she makes up in her head was very real.  Its a problem I think lots of people have to deal with, because that way of thinking really is not looked at kindly.  Its hard for me to not have my head in the clouds, but after seeing this movie, I felt better about my thought processes.

All in all, I definitly think this movie lives up to the hype and I suggest everyone sees it.  Do it.  Do it now damn it.

The Dead Girl

This post is rather delayed, but I thought it would be interesting to write a review about a movie I watched over spring break. In fact, I'm thinking about shifting this whole blog thingamajig over to reviewing books and movies, simply to give it a more clear purpose. This review will be something of a practice and critisism would be appreciated. I will still be posting little thoughts that pop into my mind now and again though...

So to begin, the film is called The Dead Girl, and included in it's cast is the late Brittany Murphy.  Her character, though the most important, actually appears in the movie very little - yet makes an unforgettable impact on the viewer.  Arguably her most dimented role, Murphy seems to perfectly embody the distraught girl who has clearly thrown up her arms and given up on life.  Seeing the movie now, after her unfortunate death, I cannot help but see this role as an eery premonition of her eventual demise.  This role, along with her portrayal of Daisy in Girl, Interrupted, seem to be played too perfectly, almost as if to say that there was no acting involved.  Her character of Krista in The Dead Girl may be one of her least known roles, but definitly one of her strongest.

The movie opens with a body being found in the middle of a field, and then follows the life of seven people and how they are affected by this discovery.  Most of the stories are not related and alter the lives of those involved very differently.  Each cast member gives a heartfelt performance, and each line is delivered in a way that truly moves the viewer.

What I enjoyed most about this movie was its ability to humanize a character that most people would look at in shame.  By the end of the movie you do not see the dead girl as being a murdered prostitute, but a girl who has a big heart and a hard life.  I think its a lesson that we all can learn from, because too often we simply shake our heads and move on when seeing these types of people. It is important to remember that everyone has a story, and everyone has reasons for what they do (no matter how wrong they may be).  Instead of looking down on these people, we should learn from them and try to extend a helping hand.  It is hard not to wonder how her life could have been different if someone had been willing to help.

The Dead Girl is definitly a movie I suggest people view, although I will caution you - it is very depressing.  If you are in the mood for a light hearted feel good film, this is not for you.  However, if you are feeling deep and contemplative and are in the mood for a thinking movie, The Dead Girl is definitly worth your time.

I had deleted this

Well, I had felt like I was done with blogging. Now I guess I'd still like this to be on here so maybe i can get back into it again.

I'm not sure what I should write though. Maybe just a quick summary. My second semester is going well for the most part academically, but I feel more and more cut off. I'm reading a book called Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut and I'm really into it. The more I read from him the more I like. The weather outside seems like a slap in the face because its so bright and sunny but I feel the opposite way. Seeing people outside with a bunch of people makes me that much more sad.

I am trying to be optimistic though and not always complain. I realize that the things I mentioned before are doing just that, but oh well. I have no idea what else to put here so I guess I'm done.

and really what is art?

I have a random thought running through my head right now. Its something I thought about in detail the other night as I was having one of my late night brain blasts. (Normally during such times I have a million thoughts running through my mind. The next day I will try to remember what new revelations I came to but I usually can't recall. The scribblings in my journal sometimes offer help as to what I thought I discovered, but sometimes nothing can be salvaged and all thats left of my amazing new insight is a few floating words on a page that were somehow connected at the time...)

I was pondering about what people in todays day and age really consider art.

The typical responce would be that art is an expression of self, but sometime I feel like art becomes to precise. In some areas a person's use of technique is more important than the product itself, and tends to overshadow the image. In the new millenium we tend to put more emphasis on how well something is done, and not what it means.

I often feel my emotions as if through a magnifying glass. There is no in between for me, and so when I am happy it radiates off of me and when I'm sad its visible to the core. I can feel nothing else. If I don't let it out somehow it just rots there, almost like my feelings are an infection that must leave my body before they make me more ill. When these moments arise for my emotional puking, I just let something out.

Page after page of my journal is filled with nothing more than scribbles that "felt right" when they were put there. I also throw down poorly written stories or poems (or whatever one would call the mass of strange writing that ends up there), that are just terrible when not looked at in that exact moment. I can picture someone like me covering themselves in appropriately colored paint and running full force into a giant canvas to let out how they feel at that moment and actually be able to see it after.

Alot of times I look at what I've written and feel like I can create something "good" out of my mess, as if a reasonable states of mind can improve what I was trying to do. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it just doesn't. But is the pollished, tied together end product really my art, or would it actually be the original, difficult to read, grammatically incorrect rants? Essentially they are the same thing, but are they really?

According to the old sayings, art is an expression of self. I'm not sure if I still think this is true, or if I now art is more focused on perfection and technique. What do people appreciate more? And in th complex realm of art, does that even really matter?

I have no idea, but I am not going to edit what I just wrote. I'm posting it as is, mistakes and all.


I talk about books all the time because its hard for me not to. The books I have read have had the biggest impact on my life, easily surpassing any other form of art. I feel like almost everyone finds one type of expression that they connect to more than others. For most people it tends to be music, and probably right after that movies would take over. Both have had an impact on me. But still, nothing can get closer to my heart than reading.

Thats why I end up going on rants about books I've read recently, books I've read in the past, books I would like to read, poets who understand me, what I want to write about...etc. Often times this leads me to suggest others read what I have read, because I think its hard to not want others to share our love or interest for something.

So I suppose I'll take this time to suggest a few books that I love. The order is not necissarily which I like the best, but really more what I would want others to read most. I realize no one will read them, and that no one will care but whatever. I can live with that.

1.    The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer
I read this book for the first time in middle school and immediatly fell in love with it. Even though it is a Young Adult book, there is still a ton of underlying content that is somewhat beyond your years when it is read at that "teeny bopper" stage. I understood it far more when I read it for the second time years later. Since then I've reread parts of the book out of order many, many times. Its probably safe to say that I've read the entire book a third time, though out of order and focusing on parts I feel are most important (or that I enjoy reading most). It is considered science fiction, but not the way that you would expect, this is not a Treky type of book at all. Just trust me. You will like it. Everyone would like some part of this book.

2.     Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel
First I want to point out that the title of this book is not misleading. It really is depressing. But it is a great read because Elizabeth Wurtzel has the ability to put words to feelings that are nonverbal, and often times undescribeable. In my sociology class the other day we talked about how people often don't speak out about their surroundings, feelings, or opinions simply because the words to describe them are unknown. This renders them useless. By reading this book many people have been given the ability to vocalize what they have been feeling, if only by highlighting and quoting the book. Its better than nothing. Anyway, I wouldn't suggest this book to everyone but if you ever did read it just keep in mind how important it is to me.

3.     The Bus Driver Who Wanted to be God by Etgar Keret
The guy who wrote this is a highly acclaimed author that most people don't get. His style is strange and his ideas are confusing. I almost see his writing as being a peice art hanging in an exhibit that you stand back, stare at, think about, and walk away pretending that you get the intended message. Most of the time you don't. His short stories (which are rarely more than two pages) make you think. They have that impact where you tilt your head to the side and go "huh." His longest story was the basis of the movie Wristcutters. I enjoy reading his work and even if you don't it would only take you 5 minutes to read an entire story.

4.     Beautiful Boy by David Sheff and Tweak by Nic Sheff
Theres never a shortage of addiction memoirs, but these two books put it in a new light. First, David Sheff wrote the book Beautiful Boy about his son's addiction. In it, he describes in detail how his son became a meth addict. Its a new take on these memoirs because for once, its from someone's perspective other than the addict themselves. Its through the eyes of his father, who loves him more than anyone in the world. After its publication and success, Nic Sheff (the son the book is about, who, at the time, was clean) was offered a book deal himself. In Tweak, he tells the same story through his own eyes. Its an interesting concept and theres a video here that you can look at to hear it from them.

my writing

It should be no surprise to anyone reading this that I enjoy writing. As far back as I can remember I've always said I wanted to be a writer; in fact, at my elementary school's career day I went as a poet. Now that I've grown up not much has changed, although I do have a more realistic view. I know now that I couldn't handle writing as a career; it would have to be a long time side project for me. Still, at some point I would love to publish a book of my own. Laugh if you want.

The reason I say that last sentence is because my entire life I've had people trying to tell me that I cannot write well. Some of them (like my dreaded middle school English teacher) were rather straightforward about it. I still remember the time he accused me of cheating when I figured out an answer no one else had. He couldn't just say 'good job'. Others, (whose names will not be mentioned - not to be polite but because there are far too many to name) just assume I can't write well. They talk to me as if I don't know anything. I cannot for the life of me figure out why this is or why MANY people talk to me in this way.

Just because I choose not to use my writing skills at times when it’s not needed does not make me stupid. There is no need for me to write elegantly in my personal blog if I don't feel like. I'm not a show off. Yet, I can still write well. At the same time, I actually DO have a fairly extended vocabulary - but in every day conversation there is no need to use it. I admit straight out that I am not the best. Not by a long shot. But when you have something to say, and there is passion behind your writing it doesn't even matter.

I guess I'm writing this in a sorry attempt to shut up the people who always think they're better than me. They need to get over themselves and give credit where credit is due. One of my good friends pointed out that some people get overlooked, and these people usually seek approval for the things they know they are good at. It often times comes off as arrogance. You know what? Fine. I'm not good at much, but I CAN write god damn it.

a song i really like right now

Soundtrack 2 My Life
Kid Cudi

I got 99 problems and they all bitches
Wish I was Jigga Man, carefree living
But I'm not Sean or Martin Louie
I'm the Cleveland nigga rollin' with them Brooklyn boys
You know how hard it be when you start livin' large
I control my own life, Charles was never in charge
No sitcom could teach Scott about the dram
Or even explain the troubles that haunted my mom
On Christmas time, my mom Christmas grind
Got me most of what I wanted, how'd you do it mom, huh?
She copped the toys I would play with in my room by myself, why he by himself?
He got two older brothers, one hood, one good
An independent older sister got me fly when she could
But they all didn't see, the little bit of sadness in me, Scotty

I've got some issues that nobody can see
And all of these emotions are pouring out of me
I bring them to the light for you
It's only right
This is the soundtrack to my life, the soundtrack to my life

I'm super paranoid, like a 6th sense
Since my father died, I ain't been writing since
And I tried to piece the puzzle of the universe
Split an eighth of shrooms just so I could see the universe
I tried to think about myself as a sacrifice
Just to show the kids they ain't the only ones who up at night
The moon will illuminate my room and soon I'm consumed by my doom
Once upon a time nobody gave a fuck
It's all said and done and my cock's been sucked
So now I'm in the cut, alcohol in the wound
My heart's an open sore that I hope heals soon
I live in a cocoon opposite of Cancun
Where it is never sunny, the dark side of the moon
So it's more than life, I try to shed some light on a man
Not many people of this planet understand

I've got some issues that nobody can see
And all of these emotions are pouring out of me
I bring them to the light for you
It's only right
This is the soundtrack to my life, the soundtrack to my life

It's close to go and trying some coke
And a happy ending would be slitting my throat
Ignorance the coke man
Ignorance is bliss
Ignorance is love, and I need that shit
If I never did shows, then I'd probably be a myth
If I cared about the blogs, then I'd probably be a jack-ass
Don't give a shit what people talkin' 'bout fam
Haters shake my hand but I keep the sanitizer on deck
Hope I really get to see 30
Wanna settle down, stop being so flirty
Most of the clean faces be the most dirty
I just need a thoroughbred, cook when I'm hungry
Ass all chunky, brain is insanity
Only things that calm me down, pussy and some Cali trees
And I get both, never truly satisfied
I am happy, that's just the saddest lie

I've got some issues that nobody can see
And all of these emotions are pouring out of me
I bring them to the light for you
It's only right
This is the soundtrack to my life, the soundtrack to my life my life... yeah uhuh yeah

new classes

What's odd is that now that classes have started I am completely bored. Like right now. I'm really just sitting here drinking soda and looking at stupid Facebook. Wow. Either I am doing things non stop (like during vacation), or I am bored. There is no medium. There never is for me.

I can already tell that this semester will be mroe difficult than the last one, but still a lot more boring.

whats an INFP?

It has been a while since I have updated this...again. And I have come here to post something new simply because Debbie suggested I do so. I suppose its worth a shot.

I suppose I will write about something I have found interesting over the past few months. I had taken a personality test in a high school english class once. It was a Jungian style test based on the 16 personality types. After taking it I got the result INFP which seemed irrelevant at the time. Then a few years later I stumbled upon an internet test of the same kind. It too gave me the result INFP. I took it several times on different days, and each time I got the same result. So naturally my interest was peaked, and I began to do my own personal research on what it means to be an INFP.

The site with the most easy to read information was, which is one of the sites where I actually took the test. It lists many quick bullet-like descriptions which almost all seem to describe me perfectly (the only ones that did not were the ones about being late, simply because I am always early). The full description can be seen here. Some of the most accurate of these descriptions were phrases like: "attracted to sad things", "prone to feelings of loneliness","focuses on fantasies ", "daydreams about people to maintain a sense of closeness", "attracted to the counter culture", and "prone to dreaming about a rescuer".

Some of these are extremely obvious to others, because it is noticeable that I live in a dream world. I feel embarrased when I realize that I have drifted too far into my own head and others have clearly noticed, but this is so commonplace and unavoidable for me that I have had to learn to just brush off the stares. I assume it also seems obvious that I am "attracted to sad things", because just taking a look at my choice of books and movies shows you that I like depressing things. (I often have people tell me that this is "unhealthy", I don't think its wrong to gravitate towards what interests you. So go to hell.)

There are certain descriptions that are far more internal than those listed above though. For example, someone outside my head would not know that I daydream about others to maintain a sense of closeness. Its not something I do on purpose - its not something I even realize I do until after the fact. Its just that for me sometimes its hard to differentitate between whats a fantasy and whats not. The movies I create inside my head are so real seeming to me that sometimes I simply forget, and the line between my mind and reality blur. I sincerely wish that I could control this better, but it doesn't seem possible. Its like its programmed into my being. So for now I have had to make a truce and accept that I am living with a much more eventful life inside my head. And in this alternate life I do daydream about others, and I do daydream about a rescuer.

Other sites go out on a limb and just say stright out that INFP's are the most emotional of any type. Me? Emotional? Pshhh, someone's got it wrong. CLEARLY that is true, as everyone around me knows.  But I guess it feels nice to have something else say it. People who tell me to develop a thicker skin should try to feel my feelings for a day. Then they would shut up, and they wouldn't wonder any more why I develop such strong resentments towards them.

It also points out that I am a loner, which should also not be a surprise to anyone. But it does NOT say that there is anything wrong with that. Everyone needs to be alone sometimes, so people just need it more than others.

To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm getting at here. I just find comfort in writing revealing things like that here. Why? I don't know. Its probably not the best idea, yet here I am posting this anyway. I suppose maybe it can help people get off my back and stop suggesting ways for me to improve myself when there is no problem in the first place.