i keep coming back to this picture

Okay so interrupting this nice study session I'm having (AHAHAH GOOD JOKE MAR, TELL US ANOTHER ONE), there is something very very important happening today! Which if you are not aware of, then SHAME ON YOU.

Basically, it's wavesofwood's BIRTHDAY! You should all go over to her journal and wish her a happy birthday. I already massacred her last post with ginormous font. Yeah I'm lovely like that.

Anyway.

so right now my mom is kicking my ass on the phone but. I WILL BE PIMPING THIS DAY OUT. i love you so much, you are amazing and bright and just ugh ugh you made my year so much better, you have no idea.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROSIEEEEEE!!!

stolen from chocolaticida

• Anyone who looks at this entry has to post this meme and their current wallpaper on their LiveJournal.
• Explain in five sentences why you're using that wallpaper!
• Don't change your wallpaper before doing this! The point is to see what you had on!

( jic mel sees this: YEAH IVE STILL GOT THE MAIN DOC TITLED 'TOMRAD'. WHOOPS. )

So I just saw Dear Jack. And this is what happened.

AKA: ALL THE TIMES I CRIED

In no particular order.

When the movie just starts and when his mom shows up and when his girlfriend starts talking and then his dad starts talking and Andrew’s like, “there goes my facial hair. Fuck, I really wanted to keep the beard” and he’s scared that this is the album of a lifetime, and he just wants to go and play. And his sister, his sister who he wrote a song to and her and mother and her listened to it three times in a row. And how Kelly was terrified because she had just broken up with him but flew to New York to be with him anyway, and the ‘WE <3 U ANDY’ on all that grass. And the tiny writing on his room, the one that said ‘THINGS CANCER CANNOT DO’, and how he didn’t show up in the pictures with his cousin! That was spooky. Also Tommy Lee whoa random. And then he gets pneumonia what the fucking fuck. And then he gets a bone marrow and hsi family is sitting around his bes, holding hand. “watching this thing being pumped into his body, like new life” (I might have mixed his dad’s words with his mom’s, whatever), and how fucking skinny he was, and how he played that show anyway. And his eyes. And his bone marrow and how he kept cutting his hair, “one step at a time”, and watching it fall off (I’ve been there, okay, not personally but I’ve seen my mom and it is possibly one of the worse and most…shocking parts of the experience).

And then they get married! And there’s pictures under this umbrella, and “but I’ll take a west coast winter to remove my splinters” and Jack is there, real, actual Jack is there. And how that is not important at all, because we are all Jack. You are Jack and I am Jack and, “Dear Jack, wherever you are, hold tight”.

He picked up piano by ear at the age of 8 and I was jealous at first when I saw that, but it’s okay. No, really, it is, it’s like it doesn’t even matter, because—because. And his journal entries, fuck, those are devastating. And the morphin and Adivan and fuck, shingles or whatever the fuck it’s spelled.

To me it all comes down to how he played a goddamn show just a few months after his stem cell transplant.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have a hero. I have a hero and I don’t need a tattoo or a tribute band or a scar to prove it, and for the first time in my life I can say that inspiration is not just paintings and pictures and good songs, there are people with no artistic talent whatsoever whose life, their whole life, ends up being a masterpiece and a source of everlasting inspiration. Even if Andrew McMahon didn’t play the piano, even if he didn’t have a band or could sing or write, his life would still inspire me to try and, hopefully, manage to do great things.

tl;dr ANDREW MCMAHON IS A FUCKING GOD AND HE’S JUST NOT GONNA BE TAKEN DOWN, BITCH.

i just went for a walk, because that's what i do when i'm suffocating in my own house.

didn't walk far, a few blocks west, then north, then west again, and south, and east, and west, and so on. everyone was doing the walking the dog, the driving my car, the going to places. me, i was just doing the walking and the listening to music and the being depressed.

i saw this girl that looked a bit like a hooker. i wondered if she was, and she could've been. the so called "red zone" is pretty close to my apartment. i wondered why she did it, if she had lost something so deep withing herself that she needed others to roam and search and dig for places she couldn't reach.

maybe she just needed the money.

i wanted her to look different, i wanted her stomach covered and her heels lowered and her hips to be still. i wanted her eyes to look different, i wanted her to look at me warmly instead of ignoring me in favor of going forward with closed-off eyes.

i wondered if she was angry.

i went north. the rain from yesterday was now flowing down gutters. it looked clean. i was going in the exact opposite direction, seeing it clear under the night lights, and oh how i wanted to drink it. i wanted it to be cold and rich and good, in my throat and my hair and my skin. i would have even let it fill my lungs. as though it was okay for me to go that way, with this water gushing to places, east, to the river.

i thought about the hooker and how she was going in the same direction. maybe she was planning to drown.

i let my foot hover above the rain water. maybe she had found a john. slowly, i stepped on it, barely grazing the surface. maybe a car had ran into her. then, carefully, i went further, soles into the water, but not the fabric, no. is that an ambulance i hear? there, not the fabric, water spilling onto the street.

is it? that sound?

i felt the cold liquid enter my shoe, wetting my sock.

i sighed. i didn't mind. i went home and sat down and didn't turn the news on because if anything had happened, it would never be on the tv. either because she was a prostitute, or because who cares, who cares, too many accidents happen. maybe she was just a receptionist.

who cares.

HEY YOU GUYS. I'm getting a new iPod Classic, right, because mine is kind of. Well it's still usable, although a bit old and slow. And also I don't have any more space on it because I am a music eater. It's like the cookie monster! But the music monster. (I JUST GOOGLED "MUSIC MONSTER" AND APPARENTLY SONY ERICSSON STOLE THE IDEA. FFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUU) ANYWAY. So I'm getting one and I can't decide which one of the two colors to get. My iPod Video is black and shiny, but the iPod Classic is black and opaque, or silver and opaque. Should I shake things up (IM SO CRAZY I KNOW) and buy silver or stick to black?

Poll #1478898 IPOD COLORS!
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 13

So! I'm buying a new iPod. Classic. So you guys should help me pick the color!

Okay, confession time: I only ever wanted to be American so that I could be in a school marching band.

LMAO NOT REALLY. .........OK Y REALLY, AMONG OTHER REASONS.

But seriously. Marching bands.



( more this way because i am obsessed and i love it and im gonna learn how to play the sax. alto. i dont know, do marching bands even have saxes? i mean, they do have trumpets and what not. )



THE MOTHERFUCKING OFFSPRING, BITCHES. I REST MY CASE.

How come, when you're dozing through math, or hanging out
with your friends in the street after school, or drifting home, maybe
kicking a stone for good luck ---anyway, how come the world can just
stop?
               And you're into the other place, where
nothing has a shape or name:
just that funny electric blur,  the space of waiting,
nothing to do but be there.
And you don't even want to be there--- it just
takes you over, like it's where you belong.
What is it, the other place?
(Except when you're in it, you don't ask questions.)
I never told anybody this,  but I'm telling you.
Do you sometimes feel like you're                                        

Artist: notyourshot
Rating: PG-13. For concepts and all.
Prompt: 11. Okay, I admit it. I want to read well written eating disorder fic.
Warnings: Warning for...well, eating disorder.
Medium: Pencil, india ink and 00 brush.
Artist's Notes: This was actually drawn inside of a clinic. Although not actually, you know, copying anyone (other than a picture of myself in that position).

( cut for pictureeee! )

click for bigger picture.

Non-malleable clay

Spencer/Brendon | PG | 1111 words.

Inspired by this prompt. Thanks to hello_ilu for being awesome and quickly looking it over.

End-of-the-world AU. Lots of fog.

( Brendon nods,  )

I will one day stop writing obnoxious, self-indulgent fiction that I try to force bandom characters into, I swear. I will at least stop posting it.

Audrey, Gabe gen / G / 1545 words.

What happens when I'm depressed and a prompt gives me the image of Gabe finding Audrey doing snow angels on the ground of a parking lot. Not beta'd so feel free to point out any mistakes. Slaughter me if you must.

References this, this and this. Oh, and this postsecret postcard. But you don't have to know all of this to understand this. Actually, if you understand it, let me know, because I don't think it makes any sense at all.

( Audrey licks her lips and makes kissy faces at the sky and Gabe hates her instantly. )

I need new music.

Recs? Please?

Here is something I wrote with totaled a little while back and had totally forgotten about it until, like. five minutes ago. It was written via AIM! She was depressed! I was feeling pleasing! So she said fic would make her feel better. So. I started. And we finished together. It's All-American Rejects, so for those of you not into the band, here's the warning.

toi, toujours toi(you, always you). nick/tyson. 2742 words. R. cowritten between notyourshot and totaled.

That is all.

The Open Happiness meme ☼

:D?

and now i want to know, what the fuck is this and who the fuck am i.


I stare at the photograph on the wall, the one I stole from a house in our last raid, and I hate how, even in the darkness, I know it’s him. The picture is just a face, blackened and blurred by the dim cold light of dawn. No one would be sure, nobody would bet their lives on it, but I know (I know) that it’s him. And I hate myself for that knowledge because it confirms what I had so adamantly denied to myself for the longest time. That I loved him, that I still do. I don’t know, when do love and like and lust meet? And is there a point where it becomes an obsession? If so, am I there yet?

There is a popular belief that says, love conquers all. We fill the minds of our children with this, telling them love will save their souls, but we’re wrong. Love can work miracles, yes, but the part we are forgetting is the fact that miracles are not your every-day activity. So what about when love dies? When all else fails. Should we teach our children about the oasis or about the desert that spreads for miles?

no names, although i have two very defined characters in my mind. pg. 710 words of love and morning salutations.

inspired by the kind of love in these two prompts: nov 11 7 and oct 20 07.

( good morning sunshine! the earth says hello )

http://www.mtv.com/music/the_leak/cobra_starship/hot_mess/#

SOMEBODY GO AND FUCKING RIP IT. ITS US ONLY. WHAT THE SHIT.