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entry later. ;D

(no subject)

My Grandmother died yesterday.
I'm sad, but, in a very weird contemplative type of way.
I'm now going to be subjected to hours of football and baseball with my boyfriend and his dumb ass friends, who for the most part I hate, so JOLLY aren't I?

If one more person asks me why I look so sad I'm just going to punch them in the face. And be like "because your face is so hideous you bastard." I hate sympathy. Ew. I guess it's because it happens to be the only natural human emotion I very rarely allow myself to feel.

Mission of the day: Try not to punch anyone in the face.

- Jax

(no subject)

Holy shit I seriously don't have time for anything. Since last time I have written I have gotten fired, found a new job, started school, and gotten back together with Steve. And oh yeah, I made some friends. So I have no time to do anything but occasionally have a beer. And it doesn't help that I no longer have access to the internet, so I don't know what to tell you people! STOP DEMANDING SO MUCH OF ME! haha. You know I am kidding, and I am pretty sure that no one will be reading this anyway, so it's basically completely pointless to even be writing this, but sometimes it just feels good to get it all out.

I am pretty sure that living with you parents at 21 (almost 22) is one of the worst things I have ever had to do in my life. It's fucking awful, and I kind of hate them, but it's okay, because they kind of hate me too, I just know it. I can tell, I am magic like that. I forgot my chapstick at home today, and if you knew me, like in real life, you'd know why this is awful. I am slightly addicted to it, I mean, some people smoke crack, I apply generous amounts of chap stick on daily basis. It's all good homie. HAHA.

Anyway, I am going to go get a cup of coffee at the campus... cafe.. whatever the fuck, take a piss, and then go wait for X-Tina. Or Kristina, Or whatever.

Go back to being YOU!

People instead of critizing who they know but don't understand. Perfect example, my father. He knows me, but he dosen't understand me. Does he care too? He should be happy that he gave birth to someone with their own fucking mind, that dosen't just go along with everything that people say because it's what I am suppose to do. What I am suppose to do dosen't matter to me, what I'm doing matters.

I like to paint my pictures and smoke and dance around my room wildly to whichever band I feel like at the current moment. (Like the Dandy Warhols with Kim, even though she won't show Joe her dance.)

I like to raise the bar and create my own standards for human existance, for my human existance. If without this chance to be this person that I so chose to be, I'd say FUCK HUMANITY to it's pitiful end it will one day experiance. All I want is the chance to be who I feel like being, who I really am. Not some mundane 9 - 5 psycho path molesting little children because the workforce had driven me to a point of insanity. Which I know beyond a doubt, it will. I am not happy without the pipe in my hand and the painbrush in the other. Without the markers and sharpies and pencils and my art, my writing. MY FUCKING EXISTANCE.

I was given this soul that dwells in the chance that might be. The chance that peace exists within humanity, and love will truly be experianced. I feel as though nothing else matters. I want to love, be loved, and dance on fucking roof tops ass naked in the pouring rain because I fucking feel like it.

I want people all over the world to rip open their buisness suits and go back to being whatever they chose to be. Fuck money, fuck politicians, fuck bullshit corupt morons, fuck the iggnorant, the obnoxiously vain, the truly mentaly distorted, fuck them, because your not them, your you. BE YOU. BE ALIVE.