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Literature.

Jul. 17th, 2008 10:42 am

It's like a battle. You instigate, you retaliate. Still, you lose either way.
Still, you're pathetic either way.
Still, you have a lot of overcome either way.

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Jul. 16th, 2008 11:02 pm

Get your mind straight.
And claim your mistakes.

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Jun. 29th, 2008 11:58 am

You need to learn how to write.
You suck.
Your friends only say you're good to be nice.
They feel bad for you.
Quit being pathetic.

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Jun. 19th, 2008 12:11 pm

I've been blind for longer than I could remember, I'd been playing guitar since I was eight, and I'd been best friends with Johnson since I was twelve. The only reason we were friends was because I had begged my parents to let me to go public school just to try it out; it didn't work out. A lot of things haven't worked out with me, mostly because I'm blind. I walk with one of those guiding sticks and I always have sunglasses on, so people normally stay away from me. The only two constants in my life have been Johnson, and guitar. Well, aside from not being able to see; that's pretty constant.

Johnson came over to double-check everything and make sure we were ready. In a few days, we were driving cross-country, all the way to California for college. I'd been packed since the day after my little home-school graduation ceremony and I was more than ready to leave. College, for me, meant making a name for myself in a place where no one knew me. The only thing I hadn't packed was my guitar. I'd been writing a few new songs in the past couple of days and I figured I'd play them for Johnson before we left.

When he came in, he immediately sat down at the office room computer and signed into his MySpace. That's normally how it went because he had two hippie parents who didn't like electronics too much. He didn't have a microwave or a TV at his house, so when he came here, he used them as much as he could.

I played him my two new songs. Of course, he said he loved them, just like every other time. Sometimes I think he says that because he's my friend and he doesn't want to say anything else, but I know Johnson better than that. He pulled something out of his bag and it sounded like he was rustling around the computer wires.

"Jay,  what're you doing?" I usually just called him Jay when we're hanging out. Johnson is too many syllables and it reminds me of his mom whining to him. She can get like that sometimes.



See, you tried to write this. Then, you tried to edit it and your computer LOST IT. Good thing it did. The dialogue was shit. They sound so fake.
When you write dialogue, it needs to be something people would actually fucking say.
Also, it's dry. You wrote it and you're bored reading it. Like that lady said: "If I don't like the first sentence, I don't bother reading on."

Quit being lame.


ALSO, you change narrative perspectives like, 5895793485 times. WTF is that?
Johnson is a lame name. Change it.

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Jun. 19th, 2008 12:11 pm

six years of schooling without your best friend; i finally graduated. it was a little ceremony with the other home-schooled kids in my area and i'm pretty sure i was the only one who had to be helped walk across the stage. in approximately one week, i'll be heading off to college with my best friend johnson to start over and reinvent myself. i don't want to be 'the blind girl' anymore.

when johnson came over that night, i was working a few new songs. he'd already heard the hundreds of other ones, so i figured i'd write a few new songs before we left. i'd had my guitar and been playing it since my eighth birthday when my uncle jim gave it to me and this was the first time i'd have to put it in it's case and take it somewhere. i was nervous; the guitar was in good shape, but it was old. it was old when i got it.

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Jun. 14th, 2008 02:38 pm

when i was two, the world started getting fuzzier. it happened pretty slowly, but it didn't take more than eight or nine months for me to completely lose my vision. the doctors knew what was happening and were unable to fix it and me, being two or so, didn't really notice it too much. everything just seemed to fade away over time. when i got a little older, about four or five, it began to really bother me. i couldn't see what my hair looked like after my mother fixed it up nice or my father when he put on his best tie at christmas.

one time, i went to play outside in the yard because i heard other kids through the open window, but i didn't tell my parents. the other kids were nice to me at first; one took my hand and led me to where they were playing and the others told me their names. they said we were playing partner hide and seek, so the kid who had my name, his name was jamie, told me he'd be my partner. he led me somewhere that he claimed was 'the best spot' and then let go of my hand. then, i heard tons of screaming and jamie pushed me hard on the back and told me to run, so, not thinking, i did. i woke up in an ambulance because i had been hit by a car. they weren't going very fast, but i had run right into the street. i wasn't hurt more than a few bruises, but it was the last time i played in the outside for a while.

when i was about eight, my uncle harvey came to stay with us a bit because he had never seen new york and he wanted to play his guitar. i had never heard a guitar right in front of my before and when he played, i fell in love. i asked him to play all the time, every song he knew. one time, when he wasn't home, i went looking for his guitar. when i found it, i tried to make the sounds he had but couldn't, so i sat there and cried. when he came home and found me crying on his guitar, he sat me down and taught me how to play a song called 'stairway to heaven,' and i was hooked.

for weeks, i begged my parents for a guitar but my mother was weary and my father said it would be too hard because i was blind. i screamed at him when he told me that. i hated being called 'blind' or 'visually impaired.' especially 'visually impaired.' so i wrote to uncle harvey, explaining my predicament, and in a little more than a month, just before my ninth birthday, uncle harvey sent me an acoustic guitar. he told me that even though it wasn't new, it would be a good start. i began to take it everywhere i went.

right before i turned twelve, a new boy came to my school and became my first best friend. i'd had a few friends in the past, but none that i went to the park with, or got ice cream with, did homework with, or even talked to outside of school. kids would tease us and say that we liked each other and were boyfriend and girlfriend, and i did like him, but we were just best friends which was fine with me.

his name was johnson and he was a piano, but he told all the other kids to call him by his middle name, which was brett, and never told anyone he played piano. he told me that if the kids knew he played piano, they would think he was lame. i told him i didn't think it was lame and that's when i showed him my guitar. i played him something i had made up a little while ago, and he told me it was great. when he asked who the song was by, i told him me, and he laughed a bit, and then told me it was the best song he had ever heard, but it would sound better with words. so he brought me to his house and gave me some CDs. he told me to listen to the way the singers sang their songs and they way their lyrics went and then to try it. then we made ice cream sundays and walked around his neighbourhood. it seemed as if he didn't know i couldn't see him, or anything. he didn't care.

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Jun. 4th, 2008 01:48 am

April 17th, you told people you'd write the good stuff.
I think it's safe to say you're a liar.
Not to sound self-destructive or anything...

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Jun. 4th, 2008 01:42 am

I love how you get and epic and sensual idea for a scene,
and then you ROYALLY FUCK IT UP.


You're a real talented retard.

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Jun. 4th, 2008 01:25 am

Before I know it, he has me pressed against the wall with only clothes between us. He's kissing me with such desperation I might melt. A kiss of need; he needs me with every fibre of his being; the kiss I've been waiting for. He slows a bit, my eyes opening to find his staring back, pleading for the privilege of moving forward. I grin, just slightly, and he slides his hand over my bare back, giving me chills all over. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me, letting him dive into my grasp with more intent than I thought he had in him.
His hands move over my stomach, fingers spread, keeping a hold of every bit of me he can. He moves higher and his hands are under my bra and we're clumsily dancing toward the bed. Slowly, his hands leave my chest and I break our embrace, questioning his disinterest, but am answered by his firm grasp on my hips, pulling me to him as he turns over, pressing me into his lap as he sits up.
Though the mess of hands gaping and mouths tangling, my shirt comes off before I notice and I slide his off just as quickly. Skin against skin, he manoeuvres himself on top of me and entangled as we become, I feel


dead.

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May. 14th, 2008 09:27 pm

How could you do this to me? How could you put on such an act?
I know how; you're a lonely, angry little boy who doesn't know anything but destruction and ANGER.
And if there isn't destruction, you have to destroy SOMETHING!
You create this for yourself! COMPLETELY. This is no one's fault but YOURS.
You LIED. I trusted you. You let me trust you, for so long. But your act wore thin,
your stories intertwined.
AND YOU WERE CAUGHT.
I could strangle you,
I could kiss you.
I could punch you so hard in the face,
I could hold you close.

You are scum
You are my love.
How could you do this to me!?
Because you are selfish, second generation SCUM. You were BRED this way.
BREAK THE CYCLE.
Yes, there is good in there. I found it.
But you, you will never see it! You have not LOOKED!
Will you ever look?
Will you ever look past your nose and see the world?
See me?

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