compare and contrast

I don't understand why I cannot just spit out the last couple hundred words of this philosophy essay. I mean really, right before I got to bed lastnight I had all these wonderful ideas in my mind, but the second I wake up I'm just completely over it. What happened?
Today when I woke up at about 7 30, I looked to my right and I felt happy. Then I came trudging to my room only to read my film coursepack in the pitch black, and hear the constant banging above me...but what's new, really?
I blame the death of my once beautiful flowers on my roommate and her fondness for the dark. They didn't even last a week. they need sunlight dammit! something that hardly ever enters this room!
I didn't put 'nocturnal' on my residence preferences.

I am getting really good at this whole idea of distracting myself incessantly. It's sad really. I always FEEL motivated but then I find something else to occupy my time. I told myself I would be done this paper by 2 pm. It is currently 12:30, I have consumed 2 cups of odd flavoured yet enjoyable coffee, and currently have written 1176 words since Sunday afternoon. I have to applaud myself...that's really not so bad. It's the conclusions that always get me. As well as the fact that I am not an AI researcher and have no clue whether or not computers will one day be able to maintain consciousness just like you and me.
Even though I truly don't know, I'm arguing it's possible and using quite fancy vocabulary in order to prove this point. the professor said to not worry but I really do need a 90 and I haven't even written the mid term...which was written in February. I am writing it in about 6 days. I know it will be difficult but I think I can handle difficult. I think I can overcome lots of obstacles lately.
The beatles have been a favourite lately. Well, they're obviously a long term favourite of mine, but it had been awhile since I had just sat down, drank some green tea and listened to revolver. It feels good to be able to do that, since I haven't had much down time that doesn't involve the consumption of alcohol in quite awhile.
I think the more I listen to music, the less that journalism kills my creativity. I mean, I know four years of it might put me on the edge, but that's why I take English literature and context. I really wish we had a poetry unit that included more writing of our own poetry. Don't get me wrong, I love reading poetry, but writing poetry always has tended to tickle my fancy. I don't think I've written a new poem since the summer. In high school my rantings were almost a daily occurence through free verse but it seems I've lost the time. This summer will help me catch up I guess. I mean, all I will be doing is working and going to the beach. Oh how I miss those days. Warmth. I miss warmth. Ottawa really has toughened me up for the next several winter seasons I will spend here. I dread them but at the same time I think I might love it as well.

I think it's time to move onto Abbey Road and finish this bitch of a paper.
It will feel so good to do that, and then enjoy the tunes of malajube, bedouin soundclash, and metric this evening.

I am unsure of how I have survived several months of third lanark.
The good, the bad, and the ugly. I must admit, it's not that terrible.
Just the buzzing fan and the darkness gets to you sometimes. I'm sure you could relate.
...Most of you anyway.

Stream of consciousness has got to be, in my opinion, the best way of letting go I've ever heard of. Just letting out everything and not thinking twice about anything. So don't be afraid of Virginia Woolf, reality isn't so bad.
I keep on thinking that university is not for me because while the 90s may have got me somewhere in highschool, no one gives a shit about them now. My best class at the moment is film, but my major is journalism...which holds a steady decent mark but I just am not sure what to think anymore. I feel like every time I walk into that lecture hall they are bashing down my brain into a tiny cube, a cube that the media will take advantage of. Getting myself into this industry is like asking to be raped repetedly by everyone you have ever despised. I am pushing myself into a world where I know I won't belong, yet something inside me wants it so fucking bad, because the only thing I can do is write. And even though as a journalist I will most likely be pretty damn broke, I'll make more money working for a newspaper than trying to sell a book of poetry. Even though I would really love to do that one day...
I really do like the daily news, I check my twitter feed for CBC updates constantly, but not obsessively. I really like writing for the charlatan, interviewing strangers about the stories I write.
For some reason I just always feel sad, confused, puzzled, bewildered.
What the fuck?
I just need to sit back and watch a sad movie to feel better about my life. Like Factory Girl. Edie is awesome and everything but damn I would never want to be like her...not any day.
I'm not very good at broadcasting feelings.
What I am good at...well I couldn't say. I need others to tell me. I'd feel way too narricistic to say that I like anything I do. I mean...I like when I go hangout with people, because it's fun sometimes, inside my brain anyway. But...fuck what was I trying to say, what am I ever trying to say, what is anyone ever trying so say these days.

I turned 19 on Friday. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself when I hit the point where I cannot call myself a teenager anymore.

Oh, and I am now being followed by Jack Layton on Twitter.
He was in my hometown, Sarnia, just about a month ago.
Thats' really cool

To my friend

Rest in peace Jesse,
I'll never forget those warm summer nights.
Video games in the cold basement.
Swimming in your pool at 2 am.
Campfires and whiskey
Hanging out with Patches,
walking to the park.

I wish you didn't have to leave so soon

I'll never forget you.

lonely, lonely

and
suicidal
stuffed
animals



coming soon to a toystore near you

Danger

I never realized how different it was here before now.
As I sit in my room 8 hours away I forget
I forget that everything is changed
so I return,
and there's a new man sleeping in my mother's bed
a new man thinking he can come here,
into my home,
with open
arms?

No.

Dad's ex-friend is kissing my mother
Dad's ex-friend is calling my baby sister a 'stupid little bitch'
Dad's ex-friend is also his sister's brother in law.
My.
Uncle?

I live in a fucked up world this Christmas
I want to go home.

So where's that?

december 1st is gone now

I'm a non believer
they tell me nothing matters because I'm dying anyways
I've been dying since I sprang from the womb,
and said, hey, let me back inside, please
I'm exactly the same person as I was 18 hours ago, 18 days ago, 18 months ago and 18 years ago. I just got taller, smarter, faster, and a little more desensitized.
I haven't changed, my bones just grew
laugh
laugh at me

I'm the same on the inside
the outside
the polaroid picture frames my eyes like cherry pies
lifts me into a new world view
and I hate global politics.

Okay.
I'm not the same person that I was 18 minutes ago
you loved me
you loved me?
you love me.
Unbelievable

corruption has a new meaning but its not in the dictionary or anywhere else. maybe its inside your head. because its not in mine, flowing though alive in the essence of time and the brain pleads and pleads but I say no. I say no. accept the fact that I cannot be without me in my own eyes before time stops.
excuse me. stop
listen to me. stop
whats your name? stop
do you have the time? stop

if every sentence you ever spoke had a repercussion, good or bad, would you stop talking? Would you stop saying what you feel? I mean a real repercussion, none of this highschool bullshit you call love and lust and hate and surrealism
its al crammed into one category and its so unfair
its so discouraging

to lump me in with every other girl
with every other piece of nothing
with everything you ever considered worth the while for 5 minutes?

I love you.
I love you?
I do.
I do.
I don't know why I just do.
so don't question it just sit here
just sit here

I'm mad at you. I'm often mad at you but you never know because I never tell.
maybe one day we can have a real fight and have passionate make up sex.
the kind where you just dont care about what you look like.
its the heat of the moment that I always feel with you. its always like passionate makeup sex but we never have to fight to have it.

can you fucking believe
that I actually moved
8 hours away from home
to escape love? to excape you?
oh, and to attend the best journalism school...

when I arrived it hit me again from head to toe.
All over again
September 1st
all over again
Can you believe
that love is actually
supposed to feel good?

It's amazing how I don't have to see those eyes everyday now.
It's amazing how ou no longer taunt me and waner into my dreams when I'm sleeping,
wrapped up in arms and smiling sweetly,
warmth on my face on my neck, hot breath blowing between steady faces

Being so physically far from you has never felt so good,
and being so physically close to him has made me forget you more.

I know that you care,
and you find it hard to walk away.
I know you have to, I know you need to.

But I'd like it a lot better if you would just take what I'm giving you.
Right now,
Not later.

I want you now.
But you reject me.
Reject me?

I don't make promises, remember?
So when I nod and smile,
and say 'find me later'

Just remember


I won't be found

blue and green squares.

I think I just heard the pin drop. My muscles stop.
Force feed my brain new waves of conformity,
New days facing the enemy.
Tell me your spot. The numbers that align.
Tell me your location, your longitude, your latitude.

Satellites among us in the sky.
Reading the paranoid thoughts.
Scooping into your fantasies like ice cream.
Digging up the past,
Predicting the future.
Almost forever son, but do forgive the master.
Evergreen and the smell of cigarette smoke,
It's stale nicotine on your breath again,
Cold hearted people pass in the hot n' heavy street.

Supporting ankles with sticks like flimsy and tired rope.
Around the throat,
Through the ears,
Over the nose,
Into every orifice.
Clamming you up,
breaking you down.

Feel the warm sweat trickle down your forehead,
Over the pavement,
Into the sewers,
Into the nostrils of every hungry animal.

This world is a place where we love ourselves too much.Your mouth will not make a noise throughout the days we complain about not loving ourselves. This world isn't a place until I stop my feet through it. Feel rock, feel dirt,
Feel Real.