♥♥pretty, packaged lies.

Does adding "a-mundo" to anything make it Spanish?  I personally think it should.  Either way.  4 things, bitches.

1). Steve Scheetz is a great guy. 
2). Every single week I will be changing my livejournal icon (which should, by all means, explain exactly who you are, via stupid picture+ blinking words) to something emo(core) or indie(core) or hard(core), but hopefully having to do with razorblades+ using the lines "oH sO adDicTinG</3"  I think it will only add to the satire of the chronicles of my mundane existence.
3). "After they had explored all the suns in the universe, and all the planets of the all the suns, they realized that there was no other life in the universe, and that they were alone.  And they were very happy, because then they knew it was up to them to become all the things they had imagined they would find."  Thats the quote by Lanford Wilson that I am obsessed with.  I think it's the most beautiful thing, ever.  <3 SWOON-A-MUNDO.
4). Okay, seriously guys, this is so important that I'm changing fucking text-coloring, alright:

Does anyone truly know Sean Ahern (i_am_yesterday )?  This is not a bitch-faced attack at him because I know he doesn't like me+ referred to me in one of his entries as (A-SCENE) or something.  Because I made a joke about being the scene-est person since your mom, or something.  But truly-- I see that he comments in all of your journals, and mine, feigning some sort of comradery.  I wouldn't know the kid if I fell over him.  And I thought his icon was of Chris Carraberra.  But it wasn't.  It's him.  So now, I'm thinking he's in a successful band that I don't like.  But seriously, guys.  Do anyone of you know him. 

Please leave a message/comment/tally for my Does Anyone Have Proof That Sean Ahern Isn't A 40-Year-Old-Albanian-Terrorist Poll.  I will accept only real-life sitings, nothing that took place over the internet.  If you can prove to me that he's not a robot that has only one means of communication (LiveJournal) than... I'll... uh, drop the THEORY-A-MUNDO+ shut the fuck up.

All I need is concrete evidence, AaIghT, bitChez?

<3, Ann M. Disaster

Dear Astrid,
      A girl from Contemporary Literature came to interview me.  She wanted to know all about me.  We talked for hours; everything I told her was a lie.  We are larger than biography, my darling.  If anyone should know this it's you.  After all, what is the biography of the spirit?  You were an artist's daughter.  You had beauty and wonder, you received genius with your toddler's applesauce, with your goodnight kiss.  Then you had plastic Jesus and a middle-aged lover with seven figures, you were held hostage in turquoise, you were the pampered daughter of a shadow.  Now you are on Ripple Street, where you send me pictures of dead men and make bad poems out of my words, you want to know who I am?
     Who am I?  I am who I say I am and tomorrow someone else entirely.  You are too nostalgic, you want memory to secure you, console you.  The past is a bore.  What matters is only oneself and what one creates from what one has learned.  Imagination uses what it needs and discards the rest -- where you want to erect a museum.
      Don't hoard the past, Astrid.  Don't cherish anything.  Burn it.  The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.

On another note, Lux songs that Brendon is so deeply pressing.  Band members begin to compile a list, if you so feel it, and tell me what we shall play.

<3<3. The Girl Who Does Know Better But.

ps. I am currently in this very Berryman mood.  I found this CD that has recordings of my favorite dead authors reading stuff.  Rad.  It has Sylvia reading Lady Lazarus, Berryman reads a bunch of stuff from Dream Songs, some Dorothy Parker.  It's called 'Poetry Speaks'.  It's pretty fucking great. 

Fine time to fake a seizure
To feel your mouth on mine
You're saving me.

I have nothing really to say.  Sarah's in college+ I'm really kind of lonely.  Everything's pretty good though.  I'm working every day until I die.  +... I don't think I could love Matt Boudwin any more than I do.

C'est impossible!

He wanted to change our salaries, he helped move my sister to college, he's picked me up in seconds when ever I'm sad-- he's consistently there for me. 

And I love him with all of my heart.

I'm not going to craft this beautifully, or say anything stunning to make anyone feel genuine about their feelings for another; I don't have to-- because my absolute and complete love for a boy whose heartbeat that I listened to for hours last night is all that matters.  The sound of his voice is all that matters.  The infinitum of his arm is all that matters.

ps. Why KILL something that already sucks<3?  LOVE.
pps. I may be a little early (only a week-ish) but Happy One Year and A Half anniversary, Matthew Boudwin.<333

I'm going up to Prendie today to get my roster changed.  Sarah's going to college tomorrow. I've got to pay my cell phone bill.  And Matt Boudwin is doing pretty damn fine with his dental surgery, thankyouverymuch.

I... I guess stuff doesn't get much better.

I'll be around soon.

<3

I'm in one of those French dilemmas.  Shall I save money for a good cause (a new computer) or blow it on this really sexy bag I saw in InStyle. That's not for you to say.  Because I know you'll say, "the computer- the computer is hours of fun; it's reliable, resourceful+ necessary in this day+ age."

Obviously, doctor, you have no idea what I do with my purses.

%%%Matt, Sarah, Kim+ I are going to see Napoleon Dynamite.  Kim is a Dynamite-virgin.  I'm on my fifth time, cause I'm sex like that.

You call me 'fat'.  You throw me against a wall.  You try to salvage any single bit of your pride.  "Just one more time."  Like Old Times? 

"Go back to the hospital, at least you were skinny then.  Now you're a big, fat pig.  What were you doing before I came in here?  Eating chips?  Doesn't surprise me.  You're fat.  You're ugly.  You're going to die like this.  Don't think you can hide behind you're 'I'm so fashionable' complex.  You're fat.  You're fat.  Don't you understand that?  You could never be beautiful."

2 Things.  Just 2.
1. Maybe I needed that.
2. At least I have a house to live in, you mother fucking piece of emo-shit.  Just because I wouldn't let you rape me, because that's what you were trying to do, I'm a fat slut.  Because I won't let you hold me down + stick your faccile penis into me, I'm some fat idiot.  If that's what it makes me, than I embrace that fat idiot.  But, forever, you're going to be a would-be rapist, a drunk, a motherfucking whore.

( die )

Today sucks.  Matt just got dental surgery+ is groggy as fuck.  Yesterday I think I may have worked but I don't remember.  +Matt took me to the doctor cause I was sick.  My roster.  Ew.

Prendie Sluts, listen up, yo.  HURRS MY ROSTER.

1 - AP American History - Weiners
2 - Chorus  [getting it changed]
3 - French 3 - Menna
4 - Lunch
5 - Theology - Barr  (HAHAHAHA)
6 - Algebra - Carol
7 - Chemistry - Werts
8 - Honors English - Barbara

I'm not old-fashioned.  I'm not a hopeless romantic.  I am not even flirting with the idea of 'forever'.

To be old-fashioned I would not accept the standards of today, to understand the facilities that make the present conditions acceptable.
To be a hopeless romantic would be to live under the guise of delusion, to claim there is more there than there actually is. 
To flirt with the concept of foreveris commonplace, overrated & hypocritical. 

Forever happens right away.  Forever is inevitable.  Forever is not a decision, neither is love, no matter what any theology teacher will ever tell you.  The only decision you can make regarding love is whether to perpetuate or terminate a relationship; the love that festers wounds into your heart... the love that makes it impossible to move any further than the coma of your merciless dreams without pronouncing that name: that is not a decision.

This is what the fact of the matter is: if I ever cheated on Matt, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.  I wouldn't be able to date him anymore.  If Matt cheated on me, I would inherently forgive him, but I wouldn't be able to be with him, I don't think.  That's probably the hardest thing to even picture- me purposely separating myself from the love of my life.  Honestly- so honestly, I would lose all respect, all prospects of trust, hope, love-- it would become nonsense.

I don't worry about Matt cheating on me.  I don't worry about cheating on Matt.  I understand that Matt Boudwin is the only boy in this galaxy for me.  We're open, we're honest, we're going to love each other forever. 

I could never cheat on Matt+ tell him that I still loved him, that's like spitting acid in someones face.  Love and infidelity will never ever concern each other.  To love is to love forever.  To make mistakes and fuck up is human.  But to hurt the one you love is not a mistake, most of the time.  Most of the time it is a decision. 

I know what he is to me, what he's done for me, how I can always count on him, regardless--

He's the one for me.  No other person on any chance meeting will ever displace the manic love that surges second-to-second through my veins.  It's stormy in my veins, with rushing blood, a heart that skips so many beats, a girl who cannot catch her breath, so overcome with the love that only she can describe, silently, in the interludes between each breath he takes.

To love & cheat is a lie.

I am not old-fashioned, I am not a hopeless romantic, I am not flirting with a concept I don't understand.  I am in perfect bliss, I am full of love.  

Now you know where I stand.

Another day at Maggie O'Neills will kill me.

ps.

I want to be the one to hold you down to one place, one time, one person; to whisper sonnets in A minor into your ear, cradled in that soft spot betwixt your shoulder& your neck; to kiss every inch of your lightly toasted flesh; reassure your brown& crushing eyes; fight with you about who was in that band while they were making that album; fall asleep watching Annie Hall on your sofa; bite your fingertips; pull your hair; kiss you hard on your mouth; kiss you soft on the nape of your neck; scream at the top of my voice at you in the pouring rain; get out of your car& walk full-on into traffic; say 'goodnight' to you even when it's morning; distract you from your statistics class with secret ESP messages that only you can here; be super heroes under a different alias, conquering the universe& saving it from imminent evil; opt for holding each other all night long; spend the rest of my selfish, prosthetic, god-fearing, faithful, hopeful, wonderful life with you.

"After searching all of the planets in all of the galaxies, they realized that they were utterly alone, & that it was up to only them to create all the wonders they had believed surrounded them."  <3
(definitely paraphrased)

This may seem completely irrelevant to some, disgusting to others; I'm not writing this for you.  I could write this in a locked diary with rusty hinges on it & be completely happy with what I wrote.  But I'm writing it here.  Because.

Yesterday, Matt& I went down the shore.  We went for the day with Jefferey.  The waves crashed against us so hard that they knocked us down.  The water was salty & got stuck in it's throat, the wind tore at my skin& I was thoroughly burnt from sun exposure.  Matt& I spent hours in the water, me clinging to him, kissing his salty lips.  The waves were overwhelming& I felt so calm & at peace with everything.  Our skin was so slippery, he'd reach for me& I'd float away.  Our bodies underwater, holding each other close... his slippery lips pressed to my burnt cheek.

I woke up today stinging with sunburn. 

That boy is like a sunburn I would like to save.

I am very ill.  I haven't felt well for days.  I hope that I either die or get better.  Because I'd be fine with either.  I finally finished Jane Eyre. If it had ended any other way I would have been so angry & torn the book to shreds.  I am aware why were to read both Sense+ Sensibility & Jane Eyre at the same time: the concepts of love from these two authors parallel each other.

Both books show smart, strong, independant woman.  While Austen shows Marianne being hurt irrepairably by the reckless type of love she felt for Willoughby, Bronte takes that same manic, irrational love& immortalizes it.  Something bad feeling formed inside of me after reading Sense+ Sensibility.  To feel love so strongly, & to dole it out as strongly as it is felt, to hurt& exult in It's face; to live wholly for it-- is that insensible?  Is that wrong?  Is comfortable love, the type that forms later, the smart love that breeds well& inherits a fortune-- is that all there is to look forward to?

That same bad thing (very different from the bad thing that Holden Caulfield has planted inside me) dissipated entirely when Jane returns to Edward, when she looks into his sightless eyes, and tells him that she will marry him, that she will never once be separated from him.

Sensible unions for all who choose, but don't damn my irrational ways, my clinging to your side, my loving you wholly as hard as I can.

<3.