Simple and True's Blog

Stop giving me reasons to say no.

And start giving me reasons to say yes.

It’s so bloody sterile, You know that frank? NOne of these people are living. None of them care, none of them smile, red smiles, less of them loves.

People are afraid of other people. there are stops in place that ensure our seperation. And yet, should that seperation be overcome, in times of war, by a common goal, the individual must always reign. It is on his command that many will die, and fewer will live to see their love, the family triumphs over everything and everyone else, for greed, for glory, or some ancient tradition. Who is your family? Four people you are lucky enough to be born beside, or the entire world, those who hate and love you, because families and languages only serve to extend seperation.

I’ve been searching for the aliens above,

and a judgement I’ve already decided,

I’ve been waiting for hte sound of their laughter,

as they horror at the slaughter.

<P>

They say humanity was born in sin,

and I find no excuse,

no good to fill the void,

instead only black.

<P>

In the enviorn of japan,

yet another bomb falls,

another million die, and

though we horror and scare nothing happens.

<P>

From the blackness comes a hero,

falling flat on his face,

he turns to his mothers embrace,

and soon again is returned to zero.

<P>

Murder runs rife,

crime skyrockets,

from statistics that were never shown,

yet all the words are made for love.

<P>

An emotion, we don’t quite really fail,

it’s left to divorce and pre-nups,

as it’s signed to a contract

that pulls you off to war, as the brats are left to roam.

<P>

There’s no longer room for epithet,

rhyme or reason, and fleeing,

life can’t keep me from seeing,

the smiles on faces that don’t appear.

<P>

The oil sears the bottom of the pan,

as the food cooks in haste, for a family

that won’t appreciate its life or times,

and so in death, another meal passes.

<P>

Who remains, to face the blade of culture,

to fight off the shackles of life and

condemn the earth to death again,

for crimes it never hath commited,

‘cept its murderer’s creation.

<P>

I’m sorry if someone fucked with your mind,

if it’s not quite what he designed,

but I wouldn’t blame me, but you,

the architect of your own destruction, true?

<P>

The damage the fir did was not

your fault, to be honest, it just fot quite hot,

and your life went away, but that’s just

a statistic, another one to the list.

<P>

Melodic thumping can’t ease the guilt,

and auto-tuned voices are found no better,

but colors seem to hide, at great

expense, the sea of grey that always surrounds.

<P>

It’s a bit fucked, but I’m quite happy,

see, i think I’ve screwed enough

with your mind, and I’m not sure,

there’s anything left to find.

partially-out-chronicles:

I have a date sometime this week. I know the girl from out with school, but really never hung with her. The problem with this is that I haven’t been out on a date in approximately 3 years… and that was with a guy. So I have no idea what I am doing. And I feel awkward since she is younger than me, which shouldn’t matter since its only a year, but everything makes me feel awkward.

What’s also kind of weird that during a texting conversation she said something about thinking that I was “too nice”. Really? She was drinking, but still, my problem is that I’m too nice? If that’s my problem, I give up.

I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but being the ‘nice girl’ gets a little old. Especially since I drink, smoke (cigarettes) on occasion, and can swear like a sailor. I’m supposed to present the positives first, right?

I’m sure everyone will think you’re great.

And if they don’t? Meh.

We are the Brave New World.

treasurepleasure:

Imagine if every song were like a river. Cool, and calming, but exciting if need be. Imagine if every note made waves in the ocean, that you could ride on until the sun set. Imagine if every verse told a story, of clouds and fog and clarity. Imagine if every beat from a drum pounded deep within your heart, and made it flutter and skip. Imagine if every whisper in a microphone sent shivers in your spine, and made you lose your stomach somewhere below. Imagine if every line and every word sang a chorus that spoke to your subconscious, and to your soul.

So I’m imagining, now what?