Jeez, it has been a long time since I have written in this. Well, my primary xanga screenname is eleuthera, so I usually write on that one. Although, I do like the layout of this one.

Anyway, I might be posting here more, it depends on whether I feel like spliting up my entries. Well, until later...

Do you really think you can keep me locked up forever?
Do you figure that I couldn't find the key?
There was a time where I used to believe
But the notion fades, and I want to leave

You smirk, satisfied that you are the more clever
Older, wiser, and that I cannot break free
I see what you do, and I get how you work
I know that paranoia, coupled with your selfishness, lurks

Punished, it is for your past I am controlled and collared
The leash is loosened, never fading
You are the voice in my head
You are the reason my soul has become lead

Bastard, moron, asshole, father
Those are the pseudonyms of my hating
Now give me that god-damn key,
Let me live my own life, let me be free

Love ya, Dad

Here is a copy of my story for my English class. After reading the Santaland Diaries, we were instructed to write a story of our activities in the same fashion or compose a play. Since my acting abilities sucks, I choose the former. Here is the text (and don't copy it for your own... bastards

Chronicles of Generally Unproductive Behavior

The bell rang, and the class rose from their seats in haste, then scrambled, pushed, and shoved their way out the door. A few remained in their seat, trying to complete their homework before school was out and it was time to go off to violin practice, piano practice, choir concerts, speech and debate competitions, tennis practice, swimming practice, band practice, or drum line rehearsal.

Advanced Placement Calculus was one of those classes that we hyperventilated in the hallways over after getting an 88% on a test. A class so advanced that many people far older than us would rather commit suicide than take it. Personally, suicide was beginning to look like an attractive option.

After the oh-so invigorating hour of Design Technology, Calculus was my next goal. I slammed my books down in my seat, pleased with the satisfying racket they made, and then turned around to converse with Adra, Michelle, Lizzy, David, or others before the class started. As usual, a few stray sophomores and freshman were in the back of the room, playing various pirated Gameboy games on the ebony Dell computers our “generous” school board bestowed upon us. The room was filled with the musical blips and beeps of Pokémon, un-translated from its original Japanese. Well, it least it would have been if the computers had speakers. The bell rang, and many groaned and returned to desks, others just disregarded the signal for class to begin, waiting instead to be chastised by Mr. Cox.

Following a lecture on the immaturity of our class, we finally got started on our latest lesson, Parametric Equations: A complex system of graphing vectors using three variables that I never quite cared about or understood. During said time, I drifted in and out of awareness, happy with vaguely understanding the concept and then ignoring the rest of the instruction. Without fail, we ran into the theoretical concepts of the lesson, and Josh, sitting almost directly behind me, jumped to the occasion.

“BUT ISN’T THE EQUATION PART OF THAT SYSTEM?”, “THE LINES CANNOT TOUCH, BECAUSE I SAID SO!”, and “WHY DO YOU THINK THIS IS SO HARD, IT IS EASY!” jerked me painfully out of my apathy, as it was replaced by annoyance. After wasting over twenty minutes defying the teacher and insisting that he was right, many of the students, including me, chorused “SHUTTAP JOSH!” I think he got the message because he did just that.

Finally, Mr. Cox completed the lesson and assigned homework. I wrote it down, for reference tomorrow in the first five minutes of class, when I would complete the assignment, and turn it in for full credit. The bell sounded out its glorious release, and the mob swarmed out the door, leaving me and a few of the more sedate students to quietly pick up our materials and leave like more sane human beings.

At last, it was lunch: the most anticipated period of the day before release. Stowing my Calculus books in my locker while trying to keep various packets, folders, and texts from tumbling on the floor proved interesting as usual, as papers from August poured onto the floor despite my efforts. Grimacing, I picked them up and shoved them into my locker, slamming it quickly and securing with the lock to fall unto the floor another day. Taking a drink from a water fountain stopped up with fluorescent-green gum, and dodging my way through squealing girls and grunting guys, I completed my daily ritual and left Unit Five for the safety of the bike rack.

Here, I found Vicki and David, cuddling, and teased them appropriately. Satisfied that they were properly mortified, I grabbed Katherine and Karen and walked through the soggy remains of the Senior Lawn’s grass to the lunch area. Fighting our way through the body-odor saturated youth of this educational institution, we found a place in the Mexican Food line behind twenty other kids set on spending their money on a premature heart-attack.

Waiting in boredom, we discussed the intellectual topics of the opposite sex, stupid people, politics, and college. After our conversation lolled to a stop, we waited in line demurely, among the choruses of “SHIT MAN!”, “DUDE, CHECK OUT THAT ASS!”, and “HEY, MY TEACHER WAS A BITCH TODAY, BROTHER!”. We reached the front of the line and ordered burritos filled with the appetizing medley of mystery meat (which we speculated to be filled with monkey testicles, cow eyeballs, and pig hooves). We received the delicacy from a lady wearing a fishing-net doubling as a hat, sides that jiggled obscenely as she walked, and a neck that wiggled as if to swat at the flies dancing from entrée to entrée. We grabbed the soggy burritos, pushed and shoved our way through people standing in the “out” line, and returned to the nerd sanctuary of our usual eating place.

There, many freshman had taken up residence, unpacked lunches packed lovingly by parents that fervently denied their children to do so themselves. Only the girls and one boy ate, although a chocolate-chip cookie on a piece of pizza could hardly be called “consuming nutrients”. The other freshman males had moved out of our vicinity to play hacky-sack with Coke cans, squashed paper balls, and other useless objects. A week ago, they had found that throwing a shoe around proved amusing, and did so much closer to our little group of Sophomores than they were now currently. However, out of fierce loyalty to my friends, I “removed” the shoe from our midst when it hit Vicki in the face and Katherine in the nipple. I received word later that day that Zeke luckily had managed to get his shoe from the roof. Nevertheless, they stayed a healthy distance from us, probably because Vicki threatened them that next time, we wouldn’t throw their play-toy on the roof, but them off of it.

As usual, we entertained ourselves with various lewd jokes and jests, taking insults and dolling them out as well. Occasionally, one of the “pure-children” would walk up and attempt to talk to us, only to be driven away by a well-timed and boisterous swearword. Satisfied that we did not fit the mold of usual nerds (but denying the fact that we were freaks), we basked in the caution and confusion we instilled in the others, satisfied with our lofty position as “the cool nerds”.

After making sure I stuck to the “Jennie-diet”, which consisted of dropping at least five percent of whatever I was eating on the floor, I wiped my lips and placed my trash by another’s, where it would be conveniently picked up by someone other than myself. Afterwards, we talked of our scheming parents, diabolical teachers, and compared PSAT scores. Disappointed that we could not mock anyone, because no one scored lower than in the 95th Percentile, we whined about our latest failure in various classes. Vicki got a C on a test, David forgot to do his homework, Katherine didn’t practice for Chorus enough, and I forgot to read for my American History class. However, all was well, for Vicki still had an A, David always forgot to do his homework, Katherine was still the best in her chorus, and I got a perfect score on the reading quiz.

The bell rang again, and we were off to various destinations. Vicki to yet another internship, David to god-knows-where, and Katherine, Karen, and I were off to Latin. There, we would flounce in late, finish major projects due next period, and generally do nothing productive.

Posted my graphics work on deviantart.com, check it out at this [link].

Sorry about the last outburst, but I am sick and tired of my old friends abandoning them because I dress differently. Anyway, more depressing poetry tomorrow or later today.