You're known for starting trouble. But you play it cool. Besides, no one can resist your sharp eyes and quick wit. *They* eat from the palm of your hand. Though you have weaknesses, which may have deadly consequences, you, are resurrected, as if the gods themselves breathed immortality into you. Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz.

The Blues

I've got the blues. My friend is moving far away and I won't be able to talk to them all the time anymore and it sucks!!! I know he's gonna read this so I'm gonna lay on the guilt nice and thick.

Oh, to be alone!!
Oh, .....whatever

You get it. I'm bored at work now. And bothered by how insanely stupid everyone is.

I Carry Your Heart

Just a poem I can't help but love.
By ee cummings

I carry your heart
I carry it in my heart
I am never without it
Anywhere I go, you go, my dear
And whatever is done
Only by me is your doing
My darling

I fear no fate
For you are my fate, my sweet
I want no world
For beautiful, you are my world, my true
And you are whatever a moon has always meant
And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
Here is the root of the root
And the bud of the bud
And the sky of the sky
Of a tree called life
Which grows higher than the soul can hope
Or the mind can hide
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart
I carry it in my heart

Novel

I've decided to post my current novel on a blog site
www.sleepingbeautysdead.blogspot.com to see what you all think about it.

Just a romantic drabble

"Kiss me," she whispered. He glanced into her eyes. She was pleading with him for something, something real. Something tactile. To feel. She wanted to feel. To feel him. On top and inside and behind and underneath her. She wanted to have him cry out for her. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it more than anything either. But something else came along with it. A feeling. A promise. Of more. Of things he wasn't sure he had to give her. Like love and understanding and commitment and...all of him.
But he's kissing her and he can't stop now because she's a wonderful little witch and he's caught in her spell. Her lusty spell. How he's wanted to kiss the hell out of those lips since he first saw them. To pull away from her and see them all red and swollen. To know that he was the one who got to kiss her. Who got to make her shiver.

Why I Hate Night Audit

The following is why I will never work in accounting:

1. People are amazingly stupid. You wouldn't always know it to look at them or talk to them but give them just a little technology and they will surprise you.

2. I hate computers. I hate software, hardware, programming, printing, copying, cutting, pasting, applying, and looking at computers.

3. I no longer have an affinity for paperwork. I once enjoyed it but Night Audit has sucked that out of me in the last 4 hours.

4. The number of people I had to call at 3 AM just so I could turn the system over to a new day was insane. I had to call my immediate boss, her boss, the restaurant manager, the accountant and the system operator before someone could tell me what the heck I was doing.

5. (This one's just for fun) People who leave town when they only have two days off and don't have a secure ride back to town should be strung up and humiliated for everyone's amusement. Especially mine. The next time I pull a double ( or a triple) I will quit if the person who didn't come in isn't fired the next week.

Thank you listening and have a great day.

Well, well, well....

I've recently been accused of being too American. I don't see what the problem is with it. I mean, sure I have pride and hope for my country. But that isn't something I should be scolded for. I'm getting a little sick of having to defend myself towards people here in Canada. It's all I hear, all day long. Dumb Americans, why is America so stupid. I came to this country and I celebrated Canada Day with you guys and all I ask for is for you to be civil toward me. I don't go barking around that my country is better and faster and more civilized. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is...ENOUGH ALREADY!

The coolest stolen post ever

If you comment on this post:

1. I’ll respond with something random about you.

2. I’ll challenge you to try something.

3. I’ll pick a color that I associate with you.

4. I’ll tell you something I like about you.

5. I’ll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.

6. I’ll tell you what animal you remind me of.

7. I’ll ask you something I’ve always wanted to ask you.

8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your blog.

Taken from Koji who took it from Phi

Wounds heal, glory fades, here's a memory I made...

I found this on an old disc I haven't used since I was thirteen years old. I can remember writing it now though.


Dear Oprah Winfrey,

My name is _____________ and I am thirteen years old. I am writing to you on behalf of my mother. She is a wonderful teacher who I know brings life to any classroom she’s in. All my life, even in the worst of times, she has been the most inspiring, reliable, devoted person in my life. And trust me, it hasn’t been an easy life. I could go on and on about her rocky road to life but I know your busy making miracles happen so I’ll get right to the point. She always makes sure everybody else is taken care of before herself. A few nights ago I asked what she would do if she could do anything. She knew right away. She wanted to go with her fiancée to Europe. One of those ‘One Hundred Countries in Twelve Days’ sort of thing. I can’t make this happen for her but I know you can. So please consider it. I love my mother so much it hurts inside. Like my throat is closing and my chest is breaking. She deserves to be happy. I know that if you just spent some time with her you’d feel the same way. Thank you for your time.

Love,

_________________

Truth

They say if you want to hear God laugh...tell him your plans. I've always liked that saying. I don't really know why. It kind of makes me feel...taken care of, in a sense. It makes me feel like maybe I don't have to have it all figured out right now. Maybe there are things beyond my control and I shouldn't worry about them because there is a higher power to take care of it. Like I should deal with my little things and let God sort out the big things. Like there's a place for me that I don't even know about yet. A place I was meant for. Why I was made. Why I'm here. It's comforting.

A Prayer

Dear Jesus,

I know I haven't talked to you in a long time and for that I am sorry. But I feel the need to ask for forgiveness and that can never be good, right? I pray that you would please forgive everyone for thier sins. I pray that we'll all have good dreams. And I pray that everyone will have a good and safe night and a good and safe day tomorrow.

On another note, I have a question. Why did you give us free will? Wouldn't the world be better if we just did as you asked without question or hesitation? Would a utopian society be happier? For us and you? To live in a prefect world of no laws and no crimes. No fear or hate or envy or sadness. It would be perfect. I don't see what would be so wrong with that. I mean, you know what we should do yet you give us so many different paths to choose and who knows which one leads to the one you know is right? I think giving us free will was wrong. Look what we've become. Look what we're doing to each other. To ourselves. Isn't happiness better than sadness?

Amen

Here We Go

Well, well, well, here we go again around the world on a pogo stick. Stop, please, I would like to get off now. If I could just sit the next round out. I'm a little broken from our last encounter and I will need some time to heal. For life is unsteady and I've been blessed with a rocky path.
I imagined something quite different. It doesn't seem fulfilled enough for me. There's too many crying babies and prisons and...democrats. Do you think whoever created us intened for us to be the way we are today? Do you think someone's rolling over in their grave because of what we've become? What have we become? Cannibals? Pessimistic, money-hungry, murdering whores of our own existance? Something like that, anyway.
Days go on don't they? It seems the days are getting shorter and shorter and I'm losing strength. Losing energy. I have no oomph. I've lost something along the way. My soul perhaps and the darkness surrounds me. Everything is floating away and I can't hold on to myself.
I'm afraid of dying. I'm scared of time and how fast it seems to go. I don't want to grow old. I don't want to live till I'm an old lady sitting on her porch watching the kids walk home from school and secretly hating them for their youth. I don't want to be old. I want to stay young forever and the only way to do that is to die young. Maybe that's the answer then. Die young and stay pretty.

The Devil I Know

Sid Vicious
~1957 – 1979~
“Too fast to live
Too young to die”

It seems like years, when told I cried
The night I heard, Sid Vicious died
Born in 1957, fun and young, a punk in heaven
The years that stopped at 21, were full and loud
A crazy song of sex and drugs
And frenzied shows with laughter, tears, the highs and lows
Spiked and black, wild forest hair
You walked; they stopped and turned to stare
Gentle giant, the friend of we
Who copy those will never be
Eyes of youth that stare you cold
From photos yellowed, torn and old
That look, that smile, he stole my life
And married death, a greedy wife
She robbed your soul, denied your dreams
She haunts me now, I wake and scream
Body drenched by cold sweat
I miss the man I never met.

Good Night Sweet Prince

Are we done for now
Or is this for good
Will there be something in time
With us there should

Only one for me is you
There can be no other one
If I didn't have faith
I would come undone

So much promise in your eyes
Seems that only I can see
It always makes me wonder
If you save it all for me

Maybe you do, maybe you don't
Maybe you should, Probably won't

Because there will always be...

There will be other girls
Who whisper in your ear
Say they'll take away
Your sadness and your fears

They may be kind and true
They may be good for you
But they'll never care for you
More than I do

I'll always be there
There to the end
I can't do much
But be your friend

To the end
Through the end
Our lives to spend
With each other to the end
Of time

Still see the promise in your eyes
And still wonder if it's for me
But I know it's still there
Even in your sleep

So I say, Good Night Sweet Prince

Angel

He come shome to me after a hard night's workin.
Falls in my arms and sleeps like a burden.
Startles, wakes up, like he don't know me.
Cocks back his fist like he's gonna slug me.
Like who are you anyway, and what are you doing to me?
He's an angel but he can't see it.
He's got wings he can't feel.
He's an angel but he can't see it.
But he's flying above me everyday.
Everyday of my life.
Bright diamond eyes with daggers beneath them.
He carries the chains of a million decisions.
That weren't even his to begin with anyway.
But he carries them anyway, he carries them all.
All the people around him
Never even notice that he's very very tired.

She

She was a cold beer on a scorching summer day.
She was a fast motorcycle.
A fine cigar.
The cool side of the pillow.
She was the sweet sweet ache in every bone in his body.

Tired....

I work at the Front Desk of a great hotel with a bar and a restaurant and I thik I can safely say...I can do this job from home. Lol. It is sooooo slow right now. No one checks in, no one checks out. No one needs anything. It's like all my bitching about having to work for a living came true and it blows. :) Not having anything to do is very boring and when I get bored, I get tired. Also, sleeping at home isn't an option cause I'm out of those little white pills that send me off to snooze land. Haven't slept an hour in three days now. Waiting for the bags under my eyes to appear. I'll probably crash and burn soon. Called the hospital. They ordered the pills ( stupid small town crappity crapness) so I'll have them in a week. I ordered twice as much and next month I'll make sure they order another couple bottles. The nurse told me I should try drinking a glass of warm milk. I told her to look at my file. I've been on these for three years and trust you me, I've tried everything from herbs to hypnotherapy. Pills work. Give them to me. Lol. Need to sleep so bad but everytime I lie down I just find myself staring at the shadows on the walls. So I spend my days hardly working and my nights on the net, watching t.v, playing x-box, and cleaning house. I'm driving my roomie crazy. Lol. But the apartments clean. Lol.
Again and Always, Later Days,
Loch

Love is....

It’s nice when grown people whisper to each other under the covers. Their ecstasy is more leaf-sigh than bray, and the body is the vehicle not the point. They reach, grown people, for something beyond, way beyond and way, way down underneath tissue. They are remembering while they whisper, the carnival dolls they won and the Baltimore boats they never sailed on. The pears they let hang on the limb because if they plucked them, they would be gone and who else would see that ripeness if they took it away for themselves what the flavor would be like? Breathing and murmuring under covers both of them have washed and hung out on the line, in a bed they chose together and kept together, never mind that one leg was propped on a 1916 dictionary and the mattress, curved like a preachers palm asking for witnesses in His name’s sake enclosed them each and every night and muffled their whispering old-time love. They are under the covers because they don’t have to look at themselves anymore. There is no stud’s eye, no chippie glance to undo them. They are inward toward the other, bound and joined by carnival dolls and steamers that sailed to ports they never saw. That is what is beneath their undercover whispers. But there is another part, not so secret. The part that touches fingers when one passes the cup and saucer to the other. The part that closes her neckline snap while waiting for the trolley and brushes lint from his Serge suit when they come out of the movie house into the sunlight. I envy them in their public love. I myself have only known it in secret, shared it in secret and longed, longed to show it—to be able to say out loud what they have no need to say at all: That I have loved only you, surrendered my whole self reckless to you and nobody else. That I want you to love me back and show it to me. That I love the way you hold me, how close you let me be to you. I like your fingers on and on, lifting, turning. I have watched for face for a long time now and missed your eyes when you were gone. Talking to you and hearing you answer—that’s the kick. But I can’t say that aloud. I can’t tell anyone that I have been waiting for this all my life and that being chosen to wait is the reason I can. If I were able I’d say it. Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look where your hands are now.