picking up the pieces.
9 april 1999.
broken, scattered bones.
i'm glad i never claimed to be eloquent. because i would be in big trouble. man. let me explain.
i'm in the process of moving. oh, yes. i am. i'm SO happy. but it's a pain in the ass. actually, i'm glad that it uses ftp because it is SO much more fucking easy than using some stupid thing like angelfire has going on. good god. SOB. anyway. hi. how's it going. okay, that's great. but it's taking forever nonetheless.
so i've been going through old files & shit & saving them in different (a.k.a. hopefully not too random places) & my old journals are so pathetic. 'course, i might look back in about a couple months & go, "damn, what is THIS crap?" but that's neither here nor there.
it's raining outside. or at least it was. how nice. unfortunately it is not technically the daytime so i cannot relish this grand spectacle some might call "bad weather." not me, kids. i'm goth. kidding.
okay, so SOMEONE tell me what the fuck is up with my eyes. they're doing that twitching thing. i'm not sure if you're aware of "that twitching thing" but it's BOTHERSOME & downright disturbing. jeesh. okay. it's fine & then all of a sudden it just starts TWITCHING! for no reason! & i can't get it to stop!
argh.
i accomplish nothing. i do nothing. hi. my name is shannon. you can call me blue, but i do nothing. "'oh, hello max, what are you doing these days?' oh, well i do Nothing." why in the world.
when i say, "would someone please KICK me in the ass" you'd think i was some kind of s&m freak.
i got the guy who plays guitar below us to play d'you know what i mean. i sang along with him, out my window. it was really good, but i don't think everyone appreciated it. i added a few "fook"s into the song for good measure.
i think everyone should visit the goth code homepage so you can get all goth coded for those critical points in life when you have to run up to a scene, flash your goth code & say, "let me in! i'm goth!" & you have official verification to back it up.
ssssseeeeeeeeyyyyyyooooooooooooonnnnnnnng. that's me.
i know i know. sign me up. this is talent.
i just realized something. it's going to be the weekend. people are going to be doing things. crap. kevin i'm sorry i was such a bad friend. blah. but john will be coming home soon. maybe i should read another book. or read it over, since i've read every book in my room. hm. it's a small room. grandpa says they're definitely made for one person, not two. but that's the college life & grandpa ain't paying for my tuition at duke now is he.
SOMEONE anyone get me the x-files soundtrack. NOW. goddamn it.
yeah. if it weren't for justin, i would be a big dork. oh, wait. BECAUSE of justin, i'm a big dork. whoops. my mistake.
i don't know why people find it necessary to look at the bottom of my feet. it just doesn't make sense to me. what's hidden on the bottom of my feet? is there some kind of rewritten bible or commandment that i'm just missing? i thought it was a planter's wart. DUDE. WHY do you look at the bottoms of my feet. that's another thing i hadn't thought of. men probably stare at women's chests because they're looking for the missing link or another wonder of the world. oh, here's a question: if they find another wonder of the world, would they actually add it into the magnificent seven? make it eight? i mean, seven's a really nice number. lucky sometimes. but eight? mmm. figure, ball.. hm. but if it IS a wonder of the world, then who's to say whether eight or seven or twenty two are good numbers! it's a wonder of the world, people, not a seating chart at christmas dinner! jeeeez.
i gotta go now.
okay, i'm back. i didn't actually go anywhere because i don't go anywhere. my life is pathetic & pointless, duh. you're supposed to know these things. oh, by the way, i am a smart young woman with a lot of talent who can do "this" (whatever "this" may be, i can do it). i'm glad you have this information now. i'm not sure what exactly EYE personally would have done with it. probably try to sell it for chocolate or meaningless pizza crust. uhh. yes. okay. so anyway.
i need a pizza. i need SOME food. i mean, do you hear what i'm saying? food is IMPORTANT, people. so is sleep. am i getting either? no. am i takin care of myself? no. is that the point? no. would i like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony? well, der. if i could sing in perfect harmony, would i have a goddamn website? no. i would be on the road with some groupies who thought i was cool & this really interesting enigma of a person. maybe if i became a rock star, people would ask me for my opinions on things before i could blurt them out austentasiously. i didn't spell that right but i don't mind.
yes, so let's consider the possibilities of my career as a rock star. i can't really sing, but look what they did to the chick's voice from roxette. did you ever hear her sing "it must have been love" live? nails on a chalkboard, people. okay, courtney love? yeah, i could make it. i just need to shack up with someone famous. aye knows david from god lives underwater.. maybe.. hmmmmm. not big enough. maybe i should go find out if tupac is really dead.
anyway, if i were a rock star, i would have neat clothing. but not a lot of neat clothing. i wouldn't buy shoes except for birkenstocks & perhaps the occasional doc martens. i'm a rock star, not a member of surburbian los angeles. sheesh. i would have to check out the websites people put up about me because damn, some of the websites people put up for rock stars suck ass. i would be embarassed. so i'd have to email the webmaster: "hi, look. your page blows goats & it's really embarassing. here is a link to homesite 4.0 & a java script tutor. please.. use them wisely. rock on, bro." & then perhaps my word would be god & this person would become a fantabulous designer & i would have inspired someone to do something just by writing them a letter.
but if i were ever a rock star, i would NOT have anything to do with alanis morrisette. no. sorry. there wouldn't be any hot tub parties or us walking down the street in a video nekked together. no. i look bad nekked & so does she.
all right, so i suppose i would have to put out some records or something. i would have to fly to toronto to find kevin (my agent, who will be william, would have previously found out his life history & we would know exactly where to go). so then kevin & i would sit down, have some coffee, & we'd go get raoul, since we were in that neck of the woods. then william would pop over to his place in cali, grab some ephenephrine & we'd jet (haha) to florida to get justin. we'd definitely have to hang out with justin's grandmother because i said so goddamn it & then hit texas to meet his mom & spend some quality time with jessa. so let's see. we'd have to end up in london or abbey road because it just all happens there. that would be perfect setting for creation. lovely. state o' the art. kevin could write, justin could sing & plink around with his guitar, raoul would tell us what the stars look like to him through the crack between his fore & middle finger on his left hand, & william would go find himself a woman & bring good german beer. yes.
wait a minute. i don't have any girls with me here. ::beams janeane garafolo & jenner up:: cool. duh, you guys, emma thompson is ALREADY in england. sheesh.
okay. so let's see what else. erm.. i'll have to think on this one because i really have to pee. brb.
all right. welcome back. i just peed & read some mail & there's this golden hue outside so i checked that shite out.
so i was thinking that we're definitely going to need some influential guidence. so we're going to have to call up emm gryner & get her to stay with us for a while, just because she's cool in the first damn place. [it's raining but it's all golden outside. weeeeeeird.] then we'd call up the members of radiohead & justin & raoul & william could chill around with their dig while i hung out with liam & noel. if liam started to get pissy & be all like, "k'ere EH!" then i'd go, "no, you listen to ME, motherfucker. i don't care how big your cock is." so maybe he'd get all pissed off & storm around or out & take a walk down the rue, but then he'd come back because, duh, i'm a rock star. & noel drove.
nick bantock & i are definitely going to have to find some good british coffee.
sigh. so yeah. this is all a really big process. & it may seem farfetched that all these people come to see us, but it doesn't have anything to do with our agents or their agents.. they come because they're intrigued. because they've never known anything so hypnotically STRANGE as us. so then the rock star in me becomes the rock star in us & we end up having lots of wicked cool fun & raoul hooks up with the girl from mazzy star, william & janeane hang out a lot (cook spaghetti), jenny could meet this perfect jack handey-esque stranger & laughing until her head almost explodes into a pile of limes, kevin could go to the louvre to find some cool painter chick who likes impressionism a whole lot more than romanticism & justin finally finds out just how good ed o'brien's jowels are.
tell me that's fantasy, people. come on.
