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Yes.   
08:56pm 01/10/2003
  Annoyed with life. Things like life, like batteries and showering. I dont like showering. I dont like things that require batteries. They are limited and you can be damned sure that one day that shit is just going to let you down. Solar power! Gnome liberation!

My life is out of batteries and has been, id say, for about 5 years. Not that my problems are really unfixable. But, like, the store is at least 50 miles away. (oh yeah, ima beat this analogy right into the ground, folks). Anyway, so on, so on, batteries, life, etc. I'm going to just say im beyond repair because its easier that way. And, you will feel sorry for me that way, possibly bring me chicken soup and things while I half-ass my life away. If I can just cheat my way to the end of it using charm and every other unfair method that will surely make things 10 times harder in the end, I think ill be okay. Or I like to think that I think things will be okay.

I want a yeast infection from fucking sand in my vag, not your dirty fingers. I want to eat mcdonalds all the time because I like to say I hate it when I fucking love it. Mcdonalds is delicious. I want to shoot anyone in the face that says Mcdonalds is just "so icky icky." No, its good, shut up, you could totally down 6 cheeseburgers in a half an hour and you know it. Yeah, im a vegan. And, I want a fucking cheeseburger from mcdonalds with fucking heap of fries and maybe even those cookies or that pie that no one gets. And, then im going to go eat some twinkies and all of that chocolate covered little debbie crap that everyone says is gross, but I bet is pretty good.

Then I will sit and laugh and rub my stomach and my vagina from my yeast infection, because of the sand and the bathing suit all day thing, ill listen to some pop music and fart on all of your philosophy books and body jewelry and thrift store shirts and stupid ugly ugly shoes and foreign films and over stylized hair.
 
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Dear   
05:53pm 30/05/2003
  I need someone who is BETTER THAN ME. Im sick of rolling my eyes at everything you say. Im sick of feeling empty. Im sick of picking you apart, of picking everything apart to find something beautiful. Why cant we just be beautiful together, why cant you just be beautiful, without me having to dig hard to compliment you? Stop calling me. I dont want to see you everyday. I need time, I need time. And space. How can a person need another person to survive. I have enough baggage, I cannot handle yours anymore. Your tears arent even real, you pretend to cry. Im not your mother. Im not your father. I just want to love you. I just want to mean it when I say I love you. I just want to need you like you need me. Why are you so needy? Im not your mother. Im not your father.  
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Shanna nanna nah.   
08:39pm 21/03/2003
  I've finally decided to update this piece, mainly because i've been reading up on everyone else's bid'ness without offering them a little slice of mama's daily pie. I hit up the local spots last night, befriended a czech drag queen who told me I was a shoe in for a body double of some royality. she probably meant a boy or something. It's okay, bitches were on my dick like you wouldnt believe last night, brother. I need a woman who can rock, however. Im sick of those empty headed buckets of piss rocking around the club like their heads could body double a coconut just the same. I have been talking to this chick lately (shrimp) who is lead in a friend's band (when I say talking I mean I think she humors me while I gush and try to be profound). I know she's going to be reading this and I feel like sally struthers here crying a river, but hey ho silver, this girl is amazing and her voice and the way she plays guitar. LE SWOON. Oh gawd, stop me. But Shrimp man, it is too bad that you're leaving and it kills me when I read your journal and you talk about your heart breaking because I dont understand how that could happen to ya. You ruxors my soxors. OOOweee baby. So chin in upward position. On we go. Jay showed my goods at least 20 times last night, here is his number, call him and say the word vagina repeatedly. 445-6000.

Cheers!
 
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Oh, brother hell brother hey now. Hey now.   
07:21pm 23/07/2002
  Shindig on third and second, coming 'round the bend, bending rounds. Guns up my ass and that's no excuse not to get down and bad with myself. Right on.  
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"Stop writing about me."   
06:54pm 11/07/2002
 
mood: devious
I remember, one time, shit. She had these mesh shorts on and a tank top. I met her after her run. Girls are so trusting together. Not that IM anyone to not trust. She ran in and threw her books on the table. The usual sigh, "ugh, look at this." She proceeded to hop up and down and her mesh shorts hurriedly fell to her ankles. She let out her usual casual smile, looked at me, raising her eyebrows, "this is what I had to deal with the whole run." I released some animated curse, identifying with her frustration, fuck, maybe shit. I stared at her for the split second she left her shorts down to absorb my curse. She looked so innocent with the 'wife beater' clinging to her, baby blue underwear resting low, and her shorts around her ankles. I felt like corrupting her. She soon revealed a half nod in agreement to my curse and pulled her shorts back up. "I'm taking a shower, one moment." I wanted to follow her and watch through the keyhole. I wanted to. But I went over the notes instead.
 
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Temperance, you fucks.   
06:41pm 10/07/2002
  Often times I have the unrequited urgency to post the lyrics of my current choice of music in this journal. But, I could never, under any sort of pretentious goad, write them in full confidence of anyone giving two, maybe three, hoots about what IM listening to. I just can't hide it, my zeal is flaming and I will not resort myself to the dastardly antics characteristic of the aforementioned 'journal norm.' So, fucking, there.  
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Lawd oh Lawd.   
03:01pm 09/07/2002
 
mood: Hahahaha ..Ha
I bitch and complain. I do it as if it were a higher duty to humanity. Then id be tying the sacks unto my feet and throwing sticks in every sophists path. IM a fighter. I never claimed to be anything exceeding a sack of homogenized soy product. Those who claim to be anything else, the gentile women, IM speaking of. Name dropping, tight faced, surface lovers. I'd like to kick their heads into the surface. Along with those who think they are more than thick socialized pudding, I despise those who think they are less. They suck the humanitarian cock for the gypper one too many times. They are nothing more than wobbly jawed gigglers. Oh, and the men, I wont get into the men. I am a fighter. I am a fucking manufactured zena. I gnash my teeth.

Oh, and if you are not beautiful, I wont like you. I will never pretend that I could get down with a sour faced, corn toothed, curmudgeon. Don't approach me and expect me to tolerate your face because you decided to add three pints of ice cream to your daily fat intake or your disgusting parents decided to breed. That's your problem, not mine.

All this time you're thinking, but Bottom Lie, you just said that you were nothing more than homogenized soy product. That's right, you blotched binaries of the jury, but this product has selective taste. Low tolerance, I want humility and beauty. Fuck.

I've been skimming through livejournals since I purchased this tangent board. Lawd, most of you are, giggle, laugh, snore. The other quarter pretend they have something profound to say and baste it in large words. Bottom Lie grew up nice and knows big words, when you take that away what do you have? You have, giggle, laugh, snore. Here is a little test for you fellow 'journalists', you cannot fool everyone. Instead of investing in trying to confuse the mass public of homogenized soy product, as to take away from your lack of depth, be your fucking self, you are no less or more. I'd rather read what cereal you ate for breakfast than watch you strain for something clever to say.

* As Bottom Lie is a gracious and often ill-tempered young lady, this does not apply to those on my 'friends list,' and of course those journals who my eyes haven't graced yet. Blessed be, loves.
 
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Shades of orange.   
12:24am 09/07/2002
  Tribal music. My car smelled like Indian Moon, the incense. But, if I were to smell the moon in India, that would be it. Pretentious dregs of after thought. I realized that profundity had gone to the dogs and I didn't mind at all.

Russian scientists, oh. Oh, yes. Rainbow Bright (brite?) was hip. I cannot stop staring at stripes and my love for them is undying. Coat holders are elephants today.
 
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Cease.   
09:40pm 08/07/2002
 
mood: Wah
He's so enthusiastic everytime he says hello. I want to rip his arms off and fuck him in the ass with them. That's right.
 
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Said said ..   
05:43pm 08/07/2002
  Ha-HA, that's right. Grip-rite fas'ners to my right and up the street, there's BruHaHA, a coffee shop. Im sick of catchy names. They dont work. Pastabilities is about 15 minutes away, i've heard its good, ill never eat there.  
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Now   
05:04pm 08/07/2002
 
mood: satisfied
Dirty keyboard, clean it.

Silence.

Pen crosses black phone. Slightly.

Empty diet pepsi, dispose of it.

Toenail polish is pink and chipped.
 
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