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So like Katie said. . . xanga's a more free place now that hardly anyone looks at it, right? Read the stuff in bold if you don't feel like reading the rest. I was mostly thinking of Becky while writing this, but some others may find it entertaining. Except the first poem has nothing to do with Becky.

Well, I'm gonna put up some stuff I just found while rummaging around in my room.

A weird sort of poem I wrote. . . quite a while ago.

It's 5:05 and I can't -
Can't think of you like this
I pretend to, but really
I can't.
Not if I can't love the sweet grace
That your best friends brought -
Brought and gave to you -
Because I can't smell the dust
Can't hear the bloody screams
Can't see the wrinkled velveteen
Taste the sweat of the "sinner's road"
And, God, the blood
Rusty
Red
Freckled
Smile for me and condemn me
This is where those thoughts will go
Those selfish thoughts
Of being graceful.

Another thing I found, that made me happy. I didn't write this, of course. The lovely Nova/Shinsei/Becky did.

(Page 117)

"JAKEN!"
"Aye, me lord?"
"Go away."
"Almost there. . . " Sukebei heard Inu-Yasha mutter.
Hiei arrived first and kicked down a door, then they all poured into the room and what they saw stunned them so much, *anime fall.*

I won't go any further, to spare Becky the shame. 'Cuz that part's just too weird, and funny in a sick way. I just thought that needed to be quoted, for old time's sake. And because that was the page that was laying out.

Things I found in the margins of my ninth grade notebook:

"Me montrer comment vivre, plus à peine que toujours avant. Me corrompre. . . un petit peu."

Which, translated, means, "Show me how to live, barer than ever before. Corrupt me, just a little."

Aaaand also. . . "Le rose et en fleur a travers les epines comme le lumiere eclate a travers obscurite."

Which means something like, "The rose blooms through thorns as light bursts through darkness." I don't remember the exact wording of that, but I think Becky would.

THE POWER OF BUDDHA COMPELS YOU. (Ah, 9th grade inside jokes.)

All I have written as notes about the Cuban missile crisis is, "Eyeball to eyeball, and they blinked."

Pour je suis petite Bouton-D'or (for I am little Buttercup.)

Ah yes. . . "Educate Me In the Ways of Punk." Good times, trying to pretend I could be hardxcore.

AH! Stay cool, keep Coolidge in the white house! Brilliant man, Calvin was. Catchy theme song too.

Hmmmm. . . reading this notebook, I'm remembering the first time I ever saw two boys and thought they should be in love. Misha and Jonny. . . . Ha, before it became fun to think such things.

One time, we made up new words.

Zint - (n.) Lint, flattened into squares, used to dry shoes.
Shipukua - (n.) An insult, regarding disgust.
Trit - (n.) A silly joke.
Contrafibularity - (n.) An apology from a distinguished Englishman.
Schlankity - (adj.) Slimy.

Yes, that was an English project.

Hey, there's a page in here with the words to Comfort Eagle on it. It's funny how Emily knew that song. And I thought it was the Bloodhound Gang. Nope. It's Cake.

This notebook also has the first poem I ever wrote that got any real response in it. Perhaps I shall copy it to here, because, although I don't exactly feel the same way I did then, it still makes sense to me.

Lost
In the blink of an eye
He smiled
And then was gone
Again.
A flash of red
The hush of black
Not to take a title.
Misery's thin shield broken
To find a stumbling hope
Sinking in the wild grass
Beneath his feet.
Crushed
Star dust crumbles from a shimmering lock of hair
Soft
That falls away from the abyss
Of his eyes.
His laugh is all echoes
And strangled cries.
Ringing gold ribbons
On the fading dreams
That now dance on his pale cheeks
They are lost.

Anna-Lisa decided to write this in my book:

"Kristen brings intense and realistic feelings in her beautifully descriptive dramatic poems. The whole body enters an entirely new world one can otherwise never experience."

Well, Anna-Lisa, that's flattering, if not a little generous.

AH! NOTES FOR OUR RAGNAROK PLAY! Yesssssss. . . .

"We recylce." I remember we thought it was so funny that it said that on Mr. Milito's mug. Spelled wrong and everything.

DOMO ARIGATO MR. ROBOTO.

I sent a picture (of how you shape my night time) to a friend
And she said
She said nothing
But she tried to distract me
Because she knew she didn't know she knew
That she didn't believe in daytime either
Because who does these days anyway?

And how you sometimes are yourself and you sometimes are someone else
But you are
How you are
You are always just one person
In the night time, time is slight but beautiful
Because who knows these days anyway?

But when the light touches your nose, it doesn't burn, it doesn't
And I thought
That you fought
I was distracted again
Because you knew you were phosphorescent
You smelled so good that I remembered darkness
But who remembers these days anyway?

I have no idea what that was about. Wrote in in January.

Huh. Tenth grade. English assignment.

At dusk, I happened on a pool
I wandered to, not knowing where
The water deep, its image cruel
Of towering thunderheads reflected there
Where, creaking trees and creaking sky
Leave coy blues skies alight, aghast
Colorless clouds in sorrow cry
Their dying day has come at last
The sky's skin breaks, and rain bursts forth
In torrents, battering the bushes, but
It flows out over stones and earth
And floods the gash the lake had cut.

Mmmm. . . more from Stories from the Farm. (This one IS by me, though.)

They wandered the castle for around a half an hour, until Kurama found what he was looking for. "The library," he groaned, pushing open the immense cedar doors.
"I. . . don't. . . wanna. . ." Rin whimpered.
Kurama pulled his best puppy dog face, falling onto his knees mellodramatically. "Please. . . " he begged, "please let me read you a story."
Rin agreed. He kissed her nose and ran off into the many shelves, skipping a little. Rin looked up at Shinsei, blushing. Her fingers were laid flat on her nose, and she looked like she would die from shock. Shinsei giggled.

That's all there is. Shame, because the part after that is actually interesting.

Ooooh. . . one of my favorites, and one I can write without having to look at the original (rhyme scheme makes it way easy to memorize.)

White wash-ed face
And jade green eyes
Why kiss the lips
That I despise?
The one who caused
The pain she bears
She bent my will
And made me care.
You see her laugh
I see her cry
See her desire
So you know I
Lied when I swore
Never before.

Oooh. . . never-before-seen SENTENCE TO BE IN AWE OF!

10th grade, Geometry.

"Scott, you rock. My socks, even." - Will Wilson
"No, I choose not to." - Scott MacNeill

I dunno, I always thought that was funny.

Hmmm. . . more from story. Actually, I found the interesting part, but I don't wanna put it up. Too risque.

"Quantum Physics?" Sukebei asked, looking surprised and leaning over the railing.
"Yeah, that," Rin said quickly. "But I fell asleep, and when I woke up," she raised her hands in innocent confusion, "I was tucked in."
"Where were Kurama and you aunt Shinsei?"
"I don't know," Rin mumbled with a slight whine. "They were gone, so I went to look for you."

After which I verbally flog Becky for leaving her little niecey alone in a big castle for a shag with her pretty boy. Fun times, I tell ya.

Ever read A Tale of Two Cities? I have a picture of Madame Defarge basically swimming in her knitting, with the caption, "Ehhhh. . . ou est mes chats?" And a nobleman answering her, "Les Jacques. . . c'est les Jacques."

Ah ha. My favorite story I ever started writing. "Serendipity." The most recent part of it:

Pastor Mike was talking a mile a minute, and Jill's head was buried in her hands. The whirring sound has started up again under the table, and Adam was spacing out at his hash browns, thinking about God-knows-what.
And fate had a little fun; Mike looked up and saw Scott staring at him with the sappy, dopey face, and he blushed.
"You look like you're stoned," he giggled, shoving a forkful of eggs in his mouth.
Scott's eyes moved down to the table; not in an I'm-not-looking-at-you way, but in an embarrassed, crap-why'd-you-have-to-see-that way.
"It's okay," Mike assured him, laughing. "It's cute."
We got off the bus at about 4 o'clock in the little town of Estes Park. After only a few minutes of searching, we found "The Parrot and the Stone," the hippie store. For the second time that week, Mike found himself pondering a great dilemma: should he or should he not buy the ridiculously over-priced, yet ridiculously over-cool tiki man incense holder?
"It's only 30 dollars," Scott said, for, possibly, the tenth time in two minutes.
"It's 30 dollars," Mike said again, giving Scott a half-hearted glare.
"Like an old married couple," I said, picking up a stick of incense called 'dragons' blood'. It smelled kind of like roses.
Adam smiled, and Grant stared blankly, which, in all honesty, is really not worth mentioning, as that is Grant's signature move.

Ah, yes. The endbulb. Meissner's corpuscle. Heck yes. ENDBULB!!!

One more Sentence to Be In Awe Of to leave you with: "Pinch us missing our yous" - Becky.

Alright, new layout (except that it's the same).

New song = Voldemort Can't Stop the Rock - Harry and the Potters.

New picture = Oliver and James Phelps (Fred and George Weasley) at an interview.

New cool video = http://www.current.tv/google/GC01870 (People actually talking about wizard rock.)