8:50 p.m. - 2001-05-08
immaturity and fantasy
Guess what? I'm going to hell. You're going to hell. We're all going to hell! Check out the website www.yourgoingtohell.com , and feel the love. After you're done feeling the love, either flame them mercilessly (serve them right) or enjoy the absolute stupidity and ignorance of some people right here on our very own earth.

Now that the sarcasm's out of the way, I need somebody who went to the original Woodstock. Did anybody go to the original Woodstock? Yeah, I know, we're all too damn young!

I'm not being too picturesque, or even trying, but save it. Immaturity's cool every once in awhile. However, I'm now going to contradict myself and put in a poem, for the simple reason that I can't stand how mindless this entry would be without it. Why am I still talking?

fantasy

fantasy claims me as its own, the line between us blurs

i can't remember who or when or where or how this came to be

i could be awake in a dream

or asleep in reality

something happened to me somewhere that blurred the line

ideas to make me better

stories to make me live

i didn't do it on purpose, i didn't kill the truth i didn't make you believe something i didn't believe myself

i thought that it was going on as i spoke to you

woke up in the mirror on the floor

realizing there was no dream, not anymore

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