Product of a Broken Home
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2002-03-17 07:30:01 (UTC)

spinning flashes of a strobe light

i just got home. its about midnight. its been awhile since
i've written anything. i guess now as good a time as ever.

i guess i've avoiding writing because i don't have anything
i want to write about.

yeah, theres the mundane stuff. like the party i just went
to. we watched a few movies {jay and silent bob strike back
and mallrats} and talked while listening to ozzy and
sitting in a strobe light. but none of thats really

i guess i'm just afraid to write anything important,
anything meaningful. it scares me to know that ppl i know
read this, and are getting a look inside my head. seeing
that inside i'm not what they think i am.

perfect strangers reading this, that doesn't bother me.
they aren't going to judge me. and even if they do, it
doesn't matter, because they can't get to me, can't voice
their opinions. if i want to ignore them, i can.

but my friends know how to get to me, to make sure they're
heard, whether or not they realize it.

i've got a secret. i've got a million of them. and i'm not
telling, and you can't make me.

there, i say that over and over again. maybe one day it'll
be true. but for now, someone can always get the secret
out. it varies, different people get to hear different
things i guess. get to hear what they think is important.

i'm feeling really open, really mellow, right now. only i
think i'd need a specific person asking a specific
question, to answer. the person doesn't matter, nor the
question. for the next houror so, i'll answer anything.

too bad its 12:30am, and i can't talk to anyone. the most
special moments always have the worst timing.


p.s. strobe lights seem to have the same affect as
pot..without the side-effects. i think thats a good thing.