le 27 fevrier 2006
10h46

an old idea. keke

le 25 fevrier 2006
10h07

attention all grade ten and eleven students, next year's band trip is to austria. for the low low price of half a years tuition and enough bread to feed an entire african community for a year, you can see the lovely lakes. the majestic moose. the amazing telephone system. experience the views, the thrills, the sensation of vital fluids leaving through every orifice imaginable. yes. thats right, we'd like to take the leaders of tomorrow to Austria!

mind you, you might have to make a couple goodbyes before you go, because once your organs start to malfunction they'll probably quarantine you, burn all your things, and refuse to let you leave the country. oh well. thats what you get for going to a country with bird flu.

seriously, ms haley, austria? do you read the goddamned news at ALL? you really think its a good idea to send 100 young men and women to a region facing a human outbreak, starting the worlds pandemic, and essentially killing children whose sole crime was to pick a goddamn instrument? youve got to be out of your fucking gourd if you think I'm going to send myself overseas to die and make my parents pay the 2400$ bill.

le 24 fevrier 2006
15h52: "youre a waste of time. go get an education"

12h47: well you did kind of say you might come over after work

11h36: why do you concern yourself with other people’s lives? im tired of pathetic people taking out their worthlessness on my life. glad to be your topic of discussion for the day, but don’t you think after twelve years that this game is a little bit tired.

grow up, you starve yourself too

8h18

le 23 fevrier 2006
21h48

i wont stop winning until round two

le 22 fevrier 2006
18h53

do you know what your kids have been doing

le 21 fevrier 2006
19h39

pretty much its going to be like this a while

le 20 fevrier 2006
20h26

look what I made (tribute to a softer world)

19h13

I'm tired of you people lying and saying I havent gained weight. stop insulting my intelligence, I'm not a frigging idiot, and deluding me with lies doesn't make anything better.

anorexia bash 2006.

i think I should go back to having all of my passwords be secrets. it used to be "istillmisskevin" in like fifth grade.

le 18 fevrier 2005
10h35

my birthday is coming in the next two months. that time of the year again. to be holed inside and depressed for no reason at all.

I wish my parents told me they hated me and burned all my things, so that I would have an excuse to feel so miserable.

yesterday was a nightmare. in every aspect. the way it begins in a mediocre way. and the way parts seem to cut out and you dont really realize how you got from point A to point B. just random scenes. when you nightmare while you are awake there is a lot more feeling though.

I am embarassed in the most pitiful way; I want to take a bath but am afraid that I will think too much about what appliances could kill me. so instead i sleep. and self medicate.

I bet I will blow my brains out when my mother dies. and when someone falls in love with me and ruins it. i think i will turn out to be nothing, a nametag a number, a cubicle. when there is really no meaning left.

there is an entire basketball team of girls who have been laughing at me. thats right, misery is fucking FUNNY isnt it. why dont you quit your stupid money wasting tax paying bullshit and study something real. you'd have more meaning to the human race living homeless and bumming change

i'm going back to sleep.

le 15 fevrier 2005
20h14

The Ride Home
by Christine Cochrane

The first day of school in 1993 was the very first time that I smelled the hazy exhaust of the yellow school bus. The kids were big, their conversation muddled with slang words. I held my mother’s hand tight and hid behind the post box. It was cold and grey and I didn’t even see my brother get on the bus. I felt the tug on my hand, heard the “on va”, smelled the exhaust.

One more year of ABC Nursery on Sesame Street and it was my turn to ride the school bus. I had a plastic book bag, a plastic lunch bag and a laminated bus pass. My hands were held tight amongst their own fingers while my mother’s hands were at home kneading dough. It was my brother’s turn to show me where to sit and when to stand. I missed my mother’s hand. I still do now

So every morning we walked through backyards, shoes scuffing through dirt, then leaves, then snow. You could go through a lot of shoes that way. We stood by the road while the other kids talked. There was a girl named lacey who used the word ‘like’ a lot, and Amanda Dunhollander who had the big hill in her backyard (it was great for crazy carpets and snow sleds), and Megan Sampson who liked my best friend more than me. But when we all got on the bus, we were all just kids, just faces without names. And when we got off the bus we were different again.

In elementary school I learned how to tie my shoes. I learned that if teachers weren’t looking you could sit three in a seat. If the driver wasn’t looking you could get on your hands and knees and crawl under the seats. You always got black stuff on your knees though. I tried being mean and I tried being nice. But that black stuff was awfully hard to clean off.

By sixth grade I learned that it was embarrassing to sing on the bus and that, although I had chosen to be nice, there were still kids who liked being mean. The boy up the street liked to throw snowballs at the bus stop. I cried and my brother said it was okay. That Rogers boy couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, he said. I felt better but I liked to walk home after that.

By tenth grade my parents left the house before I did in the morning. Sometimes the walk to the Rogers’s driveway felt like a marathon. On those days I had about half a gram of weed before locking the front door, and all the bumps on the ride to school felt like bubbles in my throat. Those days, the kids didn’t talk to me at all – not in the morning, not after school. I watched the birds perched on telephone wires and kept my eyes open when the sun was bright. We stopped throwing snowballs but we still pulled hair.

Social hierarchy was a wonderfully malicious adolescent development from which I tried to exclude myself. In effect I was not unknown, but I did not sit at the back of the bus. I found it difficult to even look past the fifth row of seat without feeling flushed. They were looking at my jacket; they were talking about my shoes. I was happier to sit up front, not making eye contact, and think about what cycle came first on day eight.

I woke up to sunlight through window shades in eleventh grade. I scuffed my shoes through dirt, then leaves, then snow. I learned that I was dying; everyone was dying, but I appreciated the way warm breath shot vapor into the sub zero air. I liked to be alive.

The yellow school bus was grey along the ridges and black around the tires. The exhaust smelled so acrid that I began to hold my breath. There was a boy who sat with me sometimes, he was younger and shy. He sat on the very edge of the seat and didn’t talk. I wanted to ask him his name and what sort of music he liked. There was a girl who wore too much makeup and when she sat in front of me I coughed. She smelled like someone had put out cigarettes on her forehead, on her jeans. There was a boy who wore nice sweaters. We made eye contact sometimes.

The best part of high school was, truly, the ride home. Rushing from classroom to locker, locker to exit. The smooth feel of the silver banister and the friendly inquiries of the bus driver. I could look past the fifth row but I didn’t look at people. The bus would rumble, brought to life, and slowly pull away.

The sun shot out from behind the building as it shrank out of sight. The glare was so harsh and undeniable! There were myriad colors in just one blue sky, and thousands of pictures in the clouds. The school disappeared, the soccer fields melting into trees. We ducked beneath the overpass, a brief flicker of darkness sand then corn fields and that blue sky. There were conversations, voices, swear words bouncing off tin walls. The sunlight saturated though the filmy windows drenching every face in light. I knew then that we could only be memories.

They got off, one by one. The sun grew bolder as it approached the treetop and the bus grew quieter. The ride home was always a happy ending. And on my last day in twelfth grade, my purse fell under the seat. When I got off the bus there was black stuff on my knees. I rubbed it off but it was hard to see because I was crying.

I went away to university. I fell in love and ruined it. My mother got old and died alone. I cried and my brother said it was okay. She was happy at home. But I didn’t feel better.

Now I work a desk job and my cubicle is full of Sears’s magazines. I buy outfits so that the machine will call my house to tell me that my order is in. I take the highway home so I don’t have to drive by my old school, my old house. But sometimes I still call my mom to see if she will answer. She’s been dead five years now.

The part about my life that I hate the most is, truly, the ride home. I turn off my computer and file all my papers. I say goodbye to my coworkers but do not care if I will see them tomorrow. I find the rustiest car in the parking lot – it is mine. The highway is littered and the drivers go too fast for eye contact. My mailbox is full of unpaid bills and angry letters from Mastercard. There are dirty dishes in the sink and I bet you there is nothing good on TV.

Today I watched a school bus driving past an intersection. One of the kids gave me the finger. I just smiled and rolled the window down. I said aloud, Smells like teen spirit, but all it really smelled like was exhaust. On my lunch break I called my mother’s house. I think an older couple lives there now. On the answering machine I said, “je suis desolée. Je t’ai toujours aimé. Ce n’est pas loin, maintenant. Je manque encore tes mains. »

On the last day I told the shy boy that I liked his shoes. That was as good as a conversation for me.

Guns always look so light on TV but secretly they are really heavy. I’m tired of being someone and I miss the dirty bus windows. You can never really go back.

Mom, please hold my hand

(how do you like my english short story?)

le 12 fevrier 2006
14h55

around 6:00am this morning, my cat saw that it would be fit to leave my bedroom. she crawled onto my side and laid there silent for a few moments before she either began to A) lick my bedsheets or B) cough up a hairball. either way the noise disturbed me and I spasmed violently; she might have accidently been thrown against the wall. regardless, she bolted away, I turned the lights on and looked at her bewilderedly. I threw her into the next room and went back to bed.

I have been growing slowly more convinced that my cat is a likely target for bid flu as she takes great pleasure in molesting migratory birds in the spring. her behavoir led me, in my half conscious state, to question whether or not she was carrying the virus already, and whether her near-vomitting-on-me had passed it to me. as I drifted back to sleep, I was analyzing every sentiment of my body. i did feel feverish, and suddenly sick.

oh, to be a sleep deprived hypochondriac...

I continued to dream for upwards of two hours, waking constantly, and returning to sleep only to have it continue. my illness had carried on into the dream. it seemed that everyone in the community had been forced into a small area for shelter against the virus, sort of a reverse quarantine. i had been wearing a white mask, the sort people wear when they are in the attic to prevent dust inhalation. but i had been taking it off to eat. i was very aware of small things like touching my face, playing with my lip, scratching my nose. anything that brought my hands in contact with any orifice.

there was a man in a white lab coat who told me I had the symptoms. he told me I would have to wear a mask. it was a golden tan color, designed to cover my ENTIRE head, leaving holes for my eyes. strangely, however, there was a slice down the middle where my mouth was.

somehow I was at school now. Somewhere in the length of this dream I conceived and gave birth to an unnaturally small child. It was covered in a strange layering; people were telling me that I had to peel it off. it was so small. yet there was a maternal instinct. I took it in my arms and wandered in a large circle on the top floor of the school, searching for someone to give me sympathy for my illness (i would be dying soon) and help the child. notice the child. anything.

I saw Lucas, he was in my dream. but he didn't seem to pay me much heed.

main objects:
- white dust mask
- doctor's mask with mouth slit
- baby.

white dust mask : I was the only one wearing such a mask. others seemed ignorant to the concept. I was over aware about how well it covered, what it covered, etc.
doctors mask : I was baffled at this mask because it would obviously not prevent the illness from being spread to other people when I would be breathing it out at all times.
baby : something I took great care of, was worried about. an instinct to protect it.

main people:
- man in white lab coat.
- lucas.

man in white lab coat : authority figure. someone assumed to be of intelligence, to maintain order. although his diagnosis was accurate, his method of containing the illness was not.
lucas : a friend, but distant. I sought shelter and was refused it.

INTERPRETIVE SYMBOLISM:

white dust mask: represents my knowledge about the virus. no one that I have spoken to is as worried, or knows as much, about bird flu. this is why no one in the dream is wearing one. no one realizes that this is a real and impending threat.
doctors mask : worldwide actions to prevent the virus. I dont feel that governments and authorities are doing enough to protect their people. their solutions aren't good enough, just as the mask isn't good enough to stop me from spreading the virus in the dream.
baby : my ideas and plans on how to inform and alert people. I've been thinking about writing letters, making posters, starting a club, trying to get the schoolboard and administration to consider doing mandatory assemblies in schools to talk about the virus, special precautions, etc., but I haven't been taking action. my idea is small and suffering, just like the baby in the dream.
man in white lab coat : is further representation of the doctors mask; reflects how I think people who CAN help, AREN'T.
lucas : represents the way people react when I talk about the virus. they don't see it the way I do. they come off as apathetic and ignorant

le 11 fevrier 2006
13h48

I know that he still thinks about her everyday. now that she is gone, he regrets the thousands they spent on the renovations. the house is so much bigger, the echoes so much more harsh. And every day his daughters understand a little better that maybe mommy isn't going to come home.

the cars line the outside of the house and I am watching idly through my patio door, sipping tea and looking at empty photo albums. it has been months now but pain can't recede where there are only empty spaces. maybe they are friends, maybe they are family; they will look at the old wedding photo on the mantle and remark that it is the only one in which she is posed. pictures of the children and their grandparents have taken over in an attempt to fill the void.

he knew it was coming but he wasn't ready. no one is ever ready. and maybe once they had their children, two cars in the driveway, and an extra wing on the house, maybe it would be better then. there was always a chance of remission, the doctors seemed hopeful to begin with. he had a foundation, and reasons to live, but without her, the house would always echo. there would always be little cobwebs creeping into the corners of the light fixtures or behind the appliances.

le 10 fevrier 2006
22h17

alors finalement j'ai changé mes cours d'école. j'ai decidé que d'essayer de faire biologie avancée 12 serait une tache trop difficile. alors, je vais prendre francais immersion 12 quand les ordinateurs d'école se sont mises à jour. aujourd'hui j'ai pris une période libre parce que je n'étais pas encore dans la classe de francais mais je n'ai pas voulu aller au biologie.

je deteste la facon dont tout le monde ne pensait rien et ne faisait rien à propos de la grippe aviaire. c'est une problème qui devient de plus en plus pire pour chaque personne au monde, chaque journée. et aussi pour les JEUNES. dans le cas de cette maladie, ce sont les jeunes qui meurent plus que les autres ages. et c'est les jeunes qui ne semblent pas être derangé de tout par ces nouvelles.

mais alors, quand tous les autres disent que je suis stupide et idiote pour porter une masque la première journée que la grippe attaque la continente, je vais seulement rire. avec pitie et sympathie, parce que ca ne serait pas moi qui meurt pour ceci. j'ai fait mes devoirs. j'ai regardé mes chances et les probabilités. et mon amour, j'ai fini avec une perspective d'ignorance, mais je ne suis pas prêt à mourir pour ceci.

bite me. le 8 fevrier 2006
20h57

"in so far as" is a nice wordly combination

bird flu has had three epidemics in the last century
they killed between 100 000 and 50 000 000 people
teeny little figures like zeros on a paper
((pixels on a computer screen))
mean a lot right now

i really want to educate my school about this
young people are more at risk
i cant bear the thought of losing anybody

i made a purse out of a bra and some old shirts
how much do silk screen machines cost
NEW FUCKING SONGS ON MYSPACE AND TONS ON DMUSIC. check that shit out :)

le 6 fevrier 2006
10h45

yeah I lied, the 4th wasnt really an art day. it was a work day. today is going to be a weird day. not necessarily a healthy one, the health factor was violated about seven minutes after breakfast. but I will walk today. here is my plan.

+buy/"find" glue. so i can make collages
+buy/"find" paint.
+buy/"find" blank tape.
+rob the bank!////, deposit&withdrawl
+buy ticket to show.

show tonight, woo woo i am so excited. it has been 3856205632 years since I went to a show. ...aka protest the hero, which was in october, i believe.

le 4 fevrier 2006
10h57

today will be an art day. it occurs to me that the glass i have been drinking water from has paint around the inside from watercolors that were not properly cleaned out.

le 3 fevrier 2006
22h49

natural. excellent. quickly and easily. accurately. virtually no. low fat*. all advertising campaigns are like the group research projects you do in highschool where you bullshit your way through, hoping that if you throw in some not-exactly-accurate points you can sell your point. same basic principle for marketing.

the food at work makes me feel guilty. and then sick. i should most definitely develop a limit on the amount of food i consume. my body does not favor such high quantities of grease. part of it is usable, part of it turns into dreaded fat molecules, and the rest just makes me feel ill.

kiwis are really nice

math exam last wednesday (feb 1). i got a drive so i spent extra time listening to old music and dancing around. I listened to the math song that me and jeff sing a lot. it is not really about math but we sing it whenever anyone says "common denominator". Meghan and Caelin picked me up; the bell went just as we got inside, I had no idea where my math exam was. which probably wasnt a good start

the exam was three hours, you are allotted a fourth hour if you need it. unfortunately our supervising teacher probably had to go get toe fungus cleaned or buy bagels, and only permitted us an extra fifteen minutes. if my mark is unsatisfactory I will personally hunt her down, tell her that she is responsible for the fallacies of my exam, and demand a rewrite.

i think i made between 80 and 90 though. if i got above 90 daniel's going to make me a baked potato. in the microwave. i asked for a cake but potatoes are nice too, and a lot easier.

this post probably doesnt need to be this long.