Chaos

[Cherise]

My friend Karin wrote this, and if you have patience to read it all, you will find that it's quite... well, interesting. I like it.

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i bounce from dream to dream wondering where this purposeless facade will end.

it's like a controller hooked up to nothingness, the pause button is disconnected and i remain playing a futile game...life, or something like that. whatever that means.

sometimes i wish my eyes were peeled like potatoes so i could see everything everywhere like the kid named jesus down my block.

fairies watch me from my table top, frozen in their pewter shell as they pray silently to something better than myself. like. everything, for instance.

step back, hop back, jump back, i feel like a first grader /bang/ let's skip through the playground where we first met and grab euphoria by its ankles.

ingredients are curious things, and so is that ever-present itch in my throat. maybe if i sit on it it will stop.

hey, what does this button do? absolutely nothing, F6 never did anything, because it was intimidated by F5. F5 refreshes, you know? after refreshment, what does one need? gluttony? that'd be great if there was a gluttony key, i'd like to see my computer be the pig for once.

c'mon quote me.

hey, that itch is still there.

i wish i could crawl up the walls and hibernate in a corner facing north. snow was always pretty, it's like icing spread by angels to cover up the mistakes they made in the cake...like popping bubbles and such.

what will a four pound barbell do for you? will you pierce your tongue with it or improve the tone in your arms? i wish i could see you someday, because failures make me laugh. if you can laugh at yourself, you can laugh at anything, right?

the word of the day is hypocrite.

hypocrite


\Hyp"o*crite\, n. [F., fr. L. hypocrita, Gr. ? one who plays a part on the stage, a dissembler, feigner. See Hypocrisy.] One who plays a part; especially, one who, for the purpose of winning approbation of favor, puts on a fair outside seeming; one who feigns to be other and better than he is; a false pretender to virtue or piety; one who simulates virtue or piety.


The hypocrite's hope shall perish. --Job viii. 13.


I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. --Shak.


Syn: Deceiver; pretender; cheat. See Dissembler.


now everybody write down someone that reminds you of, write it on a slip of paper and burn it. i bet you wrote yourself, didn't you? i thought so.

if you didn't, take a look at yourself in a funhouse mirror and tell me what you see. it's a distorted version of yourself, but it could very well be your true form. you don't know. you've conformed. flat mirrors are everyone's view of you. you could be the most hideous thing on earth, that's probably why people take pictures of you all the time.

lightswitch plates fascinate me. i once unscrewed all of them at my dad's house and took them with me on a plane. he laughed at me and told me that i'm his winona ryder.

that's not her real name.

living to insult someone isn't living at all. living to die isn't living at all, but technically it is living, because everyone dies, but if everyone dies, then death must me life, and what if life is really death and we're moving on to something beautiful rather than something flawed?

wow, i just confused myself, and i feel like my head just had a power short.

being psychological isn't all it's cracked up [or down] to be.

blabber, chatter, it's all the same, i never listen anyway. pictures on my wall are my ways of pretending that i'm someone rather than knowing that i'm no one. it's a case of denial, as it were.

now we observe exhibit A, battered, yet pampered girl. see how she insecurely flees to her inner core and allows a tougher, more worldly version of herself to take over? now if we were to analyze, psycho-analyze and backwards/frontal-lobe-analyze, we would find that she truly is a floating duck and weighs more than a witch, therefore we burn her.

case dismissed.

that got me no where.

i'm sure you'd love to know where all of this nonsense originated, but i'm almost sure that i couldn't tell you. sometimes something crawls into your brain and moves your fingers on the keyboard for you.

i've been typing for 14 minutes and provided you with enough information to feed a small nothing.

psst... don't press alt + F4.

[Kolava]

Impressively motivated, but without any real substance. One might argue that this "analysis of nothing" is the effect the author was trying for, but all I see is a mind trying to sort itself out and not doing a good job. Given that it seems to have failed at its purpose, and that it certainly isn't art, the only category left is "rant." It's an ugly word, I know, but I feel that it fits. I would advise your friend that a stream of conscienceness like this, although entertaining to capture in a word processor, is better off deleted and forgotten rather then saved and shared.

[Cherise]

- stretch - She has a lot of works that are probably more coherent, but I like this one because it's outside the box.

[Kolava]

"Outside the box" is not inherently a good thing.

[Cherise]

Oh well. Happy birthday to me. xD