vena666

remember when it was cool to be a junky?
it's not anymore, so knock it off.


i can try and be artsy, but it doesn't change the fact that i fucking love Bruce Willis.

and G-d saw the light, and it was good.

i can't help but think that if we somehow brought the greatest philosophers that ever lived to our time, they would look around, let loose a mighty sigh, and speak softly, "didn't you listen to a single goddamn thing we said?"

the wicked witch sent flying monkeys.


i get AIM messages? what a fucking gyp.

he lacks teeth, but his mouth is large. without a spine, he will stretch to stab you in the back.

be sure to question everyone's motivations.

the dreamer is the council of the loved because he lives in love, but who should the dreamer turn to when his love has lost its luster?

i am shedding skin, shedding excess baggage. perparing to move. letting those i'm coming for and those i leave because of know. here i go, once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, or close the wall up with our english dead.

we're stuck in a place where the sycophants and pseudo-intellectuals roam free. let's run in the other direction, shall we?

the guards are occupied by their fan mail.

GOT A VACUUM CLEANER, WEAR IT LIKE A GHOSTBUSTER!

*clean slate*


i would think that, in a medium where the previous conversation can be recalled so easily, twisting people's words would be very hard.

apparently other people can just ignore that and fire-at-will.

congratulations, you have won.

you've fought off calling me for a whole year to prove your point, but i'm tired of shouting out in the night.

ok WHAT THE FUCK.

every couple of minutes, i hear this sound that sounds like someone's clearing their throat in my bedroom. this has been going on for two hours now.

now, i've gone into the bedroom, and nobody is there.

if i die tonight, i leave my computer to sarah, my music collection to kim, my porn to fatelvis, and my music equipment to...
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