Petition the Lord with Prayer

You really have to hear it 'live' for it to be any good.
Am I really doing this again? I'm doing this again. Awe-some.
I don't think anyone comoletely grasps the power of that word. Awesome. Have I ever really been in awe of something or someone? I think so. Take a guess at what/who. If you know me at all, AT ALL, you know the answer. 'Show me the way to the next whiskey bar, oh, don't ask why, oh, don't ask why. If we don't find the way to the next whiskey bar, I tell you we must die. I tell you we must die.' If you can't place it, you fail.
I'm doing this again?
I now must say goodbye.

Scream with me now,
scream my love,
my love
let the notes swell from your throat,
the noise escape your lungs
Scream w. me now my loves
my boy
my girl
scream to the sky
you dont need to understand
dont pretend to understand
we are dogs
creatures biting
at sister earth's ankles
rope her in
tie her down
scream for generations
howl for blood
scream w. me now
w. me now
w. me now
howl howl howl
w. me now.

Maggie Macgill

or maybe its mcgill. i dont know and im much to absorbed to look at the track title. Michael, you have no idea what you're missing. this is fantastic. i dont recommend it, but i love it. such is my life. c'est la vie and all that.

i'm in love.

with just one boy. man.

jim morrison.

i was for certain born in the wrong time period.

Bones need Flesh

Usually I reserve stuff like this for another arena, but here are the bones of a story I am looking to write. Maybe. I can't decide and I haven't gotten far, but I like the concept and I think it's going to be one of those things that I won't stop dreaming until I finish it. Anyway, here goes nothing:

We open on two people sitting in an unkempt living room. The GIRL sits opposite the WOMAN. The WOMAN is clearly out of place, but tries to look comfortable. Perhaps it is her estranged mother or step-mother. As GIRL speaks, we, the audience, catch visual glimpses of what she describes. The GIRL begins to speak.

"You wanna know the story? Okay. Okay, here's a story. There's this girl, see, and she decides to go out to the club with a few of her girlfriends. They're having fun, having a good time. Drinking. Dancing. But then her friends get tired and they want to leave. The girl, though, she doesn't want to leave, she's having too much fun and she just met these guys who say they know an afterparty. And the girl, the girl just really wants to go. So, so she says goodbye to her friends and tells them she'll call when she gets there and she'll call when she gets home. Nothing shady if everyone is informed, right? Right say the friends, and they leave. Girl has a drink, has another drink and has another drink and pretty soon she can't see so good, can't walk so good. The guys she's with though, they seem real nice and they offer to take her on home. Poor thing can't drive, not in this condition. So she gets in the car and she calls the girlfriends, but it's late and they don't answer. The girl is still together enough to know this aint the way home, this aint where she lives, so she calls her guy friends, 'cause, you know, a girl all alone needs some backup. She calls and calls and leaves messages without remembering she hit 'dial'. But it's late and they don't answer. She seems antsy so the guys give her another drink. Then the girl can't remember anything. She's asleep and then she's awake and it's cold and it's damp and dark and it smells moldy. She catches conversation before she falls asleep again.
"...out cold..."
"..then?"
"....dump her....done"
"Overdose?"
"Does....matter, really?"
"...one for the road.."

And then she's awake and she's in someones arms and the ground is frosty, crunching under his feet. Sleep. Awake. Pavement and weeds. A parking lot? She's awake now and lost and only has one shoe. Her clutch is there, but no money, no I.D. Her phone lost somewhere in the grass. She gets up and walks toward the lights lining the road. She can't really see and she can't really walk and she stumbles like a zombie. She tries to close her mouth, but her lips are cut and swollen. All that registers is the iron taste of blood.

"Holy shit, is that Abby!?" the red headed boy in the car asks his driver. "Stop, stop, we've gotta get her!"

A car drives by, slams on its brakes and reverses back to the girl. She doesn't stop walking even when Norris, a boy she's met a few times thru some mutual guy friends, jumps out of the passanger seat and grabs her.

"Ab? Ab? What happened, oh my god oh my god, what happened to you?"

The girl doesn't respond, she can't really hear him anyway, her mind is a million places and none of them are on earth. Norris hauls her to the car, places her in the backseat and wipes some of the blood from her face. When he offers her a bottle of water, she starts to cry.

"What d'we do? Hospital?"
The girl screams, the only word she can form is 'No'.
"No, not the hospital"
Norris doesn't want to get in trouble, doesn't want to get the girl in trouble, not until he knows what happened, but he don't really know her, so he decided to bring her to her friends house. The place where they met a few times thru their mutual guy friends.

Norris rushes into the house, holding the once again unconcious girl in his arms. His friend the driver follows closely behind.

"Neil! Jesse! Where are you?"

Neil and Jesse run into the living room.
"What the fuck? What happened? Is she okay?"

Norris explains the situation and the girl begins to wake up again. Jesse holds a towel to the back of her head, trying to stop the bleeding. They get her to drink some water and then put in a the bath, running hot water over her clothes. When the water turns red, they drain it and Neil strips the silent and complient girl to her bra and underwear then dresses her in his own clothes. They put her to bed. In the morning the white pillow cases of Neil's bed are brown with dried blood and the girl is gone. They find her by following her whimpering. She has curled up in the corner of Neil's closet and refuses to move. Her hands are bleeding where her fingernails have bitten into the flesh of her palms. She looks up at the boys, asks for a trashcan. They provide and she empties her stomach. The boys back up and she closes the door on them."

The WOMAN has grown increasingly uncomfortable throughout the GIRL'S tale. The WOMAN gets up to leave and is only stopped by the GIRL'S words.

"Be sure to drop by next week to find out what happens to our brave herione."

The WOMAN exits.

My Violet Hill

I had something specific in mind when I sat down to write this, but now, of course, it elludes me.
Damn.
I guess I'll just go where the words take me then.
I think I'm going to put some tortillas in the oven and see if I can make my own chips.
I don't want to go to those parties anymore. I'm all responsibility and no fun. It's gotten to the point that I envy the other kids their fun because they're rocking out and I can't get into it. It's actually a pretty hard loss. But. I think I'd rather take your company in larger, more private doses. I'm really one of your friends, dear boys, and not just some chick at your party. Although that does cut down on the liklihood of being one of your shameless hookups, well, that's kind of a plus now, isn't it?
I don't know why, but this letter, to me, seems to be taking a rather melodramatic twist. How unfortunate. I cannot properly express my love for all my Loves.
I was talking to my wonderful roommate Liz, the other day and we spoke on the matter of friendships. How, for example, there are many kinds of friendship and many ways in which to express it. The two of us tend to express our caring and our love through Service. There are few things that I enjoy more than doing something to help out one of my friends. Or, not even help, just doing something nice. Renting you that movie, burning you that cd, buying you lunch. Making you dinner. Helping you clean. It just brings me joy and brings me closer to my loves.
However,
there are times when it can wear one a little thin. If it is expected. If it is overlooked. If it is unappreciated. Then it's much less fun and there's much less love. I've seen how it wears on people. I've seen that horrible look in a friend's eyes when something they really invested in is skimmed over or tossed aside.

What I'm really trying to say is this:
I love you.
Yes,
dear reader,
You.

Also, don't put your presents in the freezer. It's rude.

Frozen Custard and Death

what a lovely combination. I guess this happened yesterday, but little sleep gets me confused on my dates sometimes. I went to Andy's on a whim with my roommate. You may know him, Cole Bryant? Anyway, he's alright I guess.

So, we went to Andy's and I got complimented on my dress. That was nice.

We spent most of our time eating aforementioned custard and talking about death. I'm sure this conversation was sparked by the fesitval that was M.Jackson's memorial service. I decided that I want to be cremated. This is something I've mentioned before, but I really got to thinking about it. I'm an organ donor already, (but I'd like to keep my skin and eyes, thank you very much. I know I wont need them when you burn up my body, but it's just that I really don't want someone buffalo-billing me alright?). But, after that, what to do? I don't really wanna become something else someone has to dust once a week. And, urns are expensive. So I guess just plant a tree or something and mix me into the dirt. Ah, to become fertilizer...
Yeah, do that. Anyone who happens to read this, if I die soon have me cremated and plant a tree in me. In a graveyard though, cause I don't want to get cut down or have some stupid kid fall out of my future branches. Dumb kids, always climbing dead people trees.