Dear Mr. Carnovale

I've been feeling overwhelmed. I work at a restaurant, so they tell you when you start but fail to enlighten you as to when you finish. I've worked for half an hour before, and on Saturday I worked for 10 hours. I've got 17 pages that I need to finish in my massive art sketchbook, our next assignment is called our Art Instillation. It's basically taking a room inside of the school and turning it into whatever you want (like a haunted house sort of idea). So we need to have pages of thumbnails and ideas for what it's going to look like, pages of writing down any idea that comes to mind, pages of research to know more about what we're talking about. Pages and pages and pages. And I've got about 4 done. Next I have a graphic short story due for writers craft, which is a lot more work then it may look like, I have to draw the pictures and outline them in pen and the colour it after I outline it, then bind it. I need to make a title page and do character profiles and all of that shit! Not to mention the fact that I'm presenting a play tomorrow night. My drama class has been working our butts off to make this show hilarious and wonderful. But between practices, working, school, sleeping and eating I don't have time to draw, outline, colour, research, thumbnail, character profile! Heck, I hardly even have time for myself!
So there.
It's all out on the table now, I'm being worked like a dog. (also to add to that list is, I also need to regularily write in my blog.) Like right now, I'm supposed to be getting ready for work, I'm supposed to look pretty for once in my life, but no. The customers of TeeJays are just going to have to be satisfied with a fugly hostess because I have to write in my blog. -_- (I'm slightly bitter with a pinch of anger!)
So.
Mr. Carnovale, if you're reading this, I hope you realize that more then ANYTHING in this world, I would really like to move out of this stupid house that I live in and go to British Columbia, and the only way to do that is to get accepted at UBC for my Bachelour of Arts for English, and it's going to be pretty dumb if my writers craft mark is shitty. SO, take into consideration the fact that I hardly have a social life, because I'm constantly working my ass off either at work, at school, or doing schoolwork at work!
(The tone in which I said all of that varies from reader to reader.)
I hope you enjoyed my cathartic bitch fest, I wish you all well. However, as I have to go to work so as to get mentally undressed by dirty old men I need to go and put in some effort and look somewhat pretty.

Sedate Me

Sedate Me.

Hold back your tongue.
Cause there’s nothing to say. No, not today.
And you’ve come undone.
But there’s no where to run.
You’re trapped inside your skull.
The thoughts begin to take, control.
And you thought you were so strong,
but this can’t be so, when it’s too hard to hold on
And it’s so cold, and there is no one.

Well I didn’t mean to do it, but it felt good.
Open up these wounds, I never should.
Actions speak louder than words,
And I’ve been screaming. But no one was ever listening.
So, here it is.
My silence. But screaming loud for the world to hear
I’m not okay. Sedate me. Sedate me.
And put me where I belong.
So here it is.
Loud and clear. I’m not okay. So sedate me.

Tie up your hands.
Cause there’s nothing left to do. No, not for you.
(not for you, no not for you)
And the battle is won.
But there’s no where to run.
Scared of what these people say to you.
And the battle is won.
And there’s so much blood.
You need the truth
But when you die in the war, who will avenge you?

And you thought you were so strong,
but this can’t be so, when it’s too hard to hold on
And it’s so cold, and there is no one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxsoBZG3ZyU
That's a rough video of me singing this song that I wrote, I'm going to rerecord it soon enough in an actual studio instead of my bedroom! -_-
I hope you enjoy it! :)

Fall Short

Put a scythe to suicide
And a razor to the rage
Flip all of this over and start on a new page
Pop some pills, for the pain
Take a shot to stay sane
As long you can sustain the fact that your brain
Isn’t the same
As the rest in the game.

You’re different, a sore thumb, a freak
Originally unoriginal, a fuck up, don’t speak.
Say nothing.
You’re words, mean nothing
You, mean nothing.
And this, is nothing.
You will, feel nothing.
Take a lighter, to weakness,
But you can’t defeat this
And this is your purpose
So you’d better embrace this
And get up and face this

[sing]
Take, all of me.
Piece by piece, let me see
Each, shard of glass,
All the cracks. All the imperfections.
Let me, have them now.
I’ll take my flaws and bear them, bring them. Create them.
Never destroy them.
I will be imperfect.
I will not be perfect
I will do my best, but I will fall short, I promise.

Beautiful? You’re not.
Personality is shot, so nothing’s all that you really got.
But to you, nothing’s a lot.
A friend who sees?
A friend who speaks? Not at all for you and not at all for me.
Does your back, it bleed?
Do the knives push free?
Betrayal is all that your eyes can see
The tears still stream
Like rivers caressing your face
Dying to be embraced, but fake is all you can create
And the only friend you have is hate
And hate hates you, and love hates you
And they hate you.
Look at what they made you do.

You’re different, a sore thumb, a freak
Originally unoriginal, a fuck up, don’t speak.
Say nothing.
You’re words, mean nothing
You, mean nothing.
And this, is nothing.
You will, feel nothing.
Take a lighter to weakness,
But you can’t defeat this
And this is your purpose
So you’d better embrace this
And get up and face this

[sing]
Take, all of me.
Piece by piece, let me see
Each, shard of glass,
All the cracks. All the imperfections.
Let me, have them now.
I’ll take my flaws and bear them, bring them. Create them.
Never destroy them.
I will be imperfect.
I will not be perfect
I will do my best, but I will fall short, I promise.

[whisper]
You’re different a sore thumb, a freak.[/whisper]
Crack you open, and see there is nothing
My heart is so small, it’s hardly apparent
And where are the parents?
They can’t control us
Cause we’ve taken over
Depression controller
And the pills are so weak
To the strength of the pain in my mind all the time and I don’t know just why
I turned out just fine, but that is a lie cause look at me die inside all the time and I want to just fly
To the world of no pain, no suffering no tears
But they are so selfish they just keep me here.
Every breathe that I take is just a new fear
Cause I know when I let you in, you’ll break me
From the inside, so I cannot hide
You know I’ve tried
But this hide and seek, left me empty
I’m so empty
And your words are empty, just like me.
Hollow. Sorrow.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

You’re different, a sore thumb, a freak
Originally unoriginal, a fuck up, don’t speak.
Say nothing.
You’re words, mean nothing
You, mean nothing.
And this, is nothing.
You will, feel nothing.
Take a lighter, to weakness,
But you can’t defeat this
And this is your purpose
So you’d better embrace this
And get up and face this

[sing]
Take, all of me.
Piece by piece, let me see
Each, shard of glass,
All the cracks. All the imperfections.
Let me, have them now.
I’ll take my flaws and bear them, bring them. Create them.
Never destroy them.
I will be imperfect.
I will not be perfect
I will do my best, but I will fall short, I promise.

Perfect? Not at all. Stand around let’s watch her fall.
Her throne is so high, so that when she cries
We can dance In the rain and absorb all her pain.
But your tears refresh the thirsty people, and bring to life all the dead
So don’t you feel stupid for screwing up instead?
The dead climb the base, the live scratch your face, bleeding on earth but we don’t give a fuck
Because you have fucked up, we rebel
And we won’t sit back and take it.
Tears, you cry you bleed.
You don’t even know what you did to me.
The dead jump ahead, and stick knives through her skin
Her beautiful skin,
She’s an empty shell,
Cause inside there is nothing,
When you stab her in the back, no blood pours out
Only lies and lies and a little of hate
But she’s lucky cause unlike blood, lies never go away.
Immortal she becomes, but she screams out in agony
They will not stop until they avenge me.
I scream stop. Stop. Stop.
I can’t watch her die, cause then there will be two of us,
Why would I want her to die?
I’m already dead. I don’t want to have her be anything like that.
I can’t stand being the same.
But I’m the one to blame, I guess.
Take this.
I’m afraid.
I’m afraid.
I’m a fuck up, a sore thumb a screw up a freak.
But don’t you dare ever put that throne next to me.
I can’t bear to listen to the words that you speak.
This is me, take it or leave.
Well you took off,
And not just your clothes
It’s raining tonight, but that’s how it goes.

You’re different, a sore thumb, a freak
Originally unoriginal, a fuck up, don’t speak.
Say nothing.
You’re words, mean nothing
You, mean nothing.
And this, is nothing.
You will, feel nothing.
Take a lighter, to weakness,
But you can’t defeat this
And this is your purpose
So you’d better embrace this
And get up and face this

[sing]
Take, all of me.
Piece by piece, let me see
Each, shard of glass,
All the cracks. All the imperfections.
Let me, have them now.
I’ll take my flaws and bear them, bring them. Create them.
Never destroy them.
I will be imperfect.
I will not be perfect
I will do my best, but I will fall short, I promise.

What It Takes To Be Good Enough For Me

VS.

What It Takes To Be Good Enough For Me.

If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
Then I’m finally thin

I’m not good enough, good enough.
Take a scale, any scale and make it weigh 0
Choppin limbs off just to lose more weight.
All they’ll be able to say, after today is she, has nice waist
Cause that’s, all thats left of me
I drained all the water from my body
cause that was taking up too much space
I motivate myself by starving for three weeks
Then I finally get to eat a feast, of
Air.

If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
Then I’m finally thin
Then I’m finally good enough, good enough

I’m not yet good enough, good enough.
Pick a size any size, and make it be 0
I’ve got more legs than calories
This toothbrush is good enough for me,
Fingers work too, pens and screws
Just enough to lose, a few more

If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
Then I’m finally thin

I’m not yet good enough, good enough.
I’m not yet good enough, good enough.
Maybe I’ll be good enough, good enough
Take a scale, any scale and make it weigh 0
If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
(Fingers work too, pens and screws
Just enough to lose, a few more)
If you can see my ribcage, protruding through my skin
Then I’m finally thin


I wrote this song, and I'm currently in the process of recording it. (I have a knack for writing extremely difficultly and my producer is bitching about how much work it's going to take to write music to this, because apparently I broke a lot of the rules, which.. is what I intend to do until the day I die.)

Anorexia and Bulimia is so terrible. It's something we've all seen, and we all know of. Eating disorders are just sad people. Just sad. I did a project about Eating Disorders last year, and I showed a website that a girl made to give her some thinspiration. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen, and I'd show it to you, except it's been taken down (my guess is by the site administrators). It had pictures upon pictures of skeletons, and tips on how to lose weight. (One was called the "Opaque Cup Trick" where you spit your chewed food into the cup and dump it later so no one notices. Another recommended that you turn down your thermostat because you burn more body fat if you're cold, because your body has to work extra hard to create warmth.)
My mother has had an eating disorder for the entirety of my life. She's skinny, but not skinny enough. She's the product of a husband who never tells her she's beautiful, and never treats her like she has any worth. She eats half a cookie, she skips meals and is constantly taking something to help her lose those 5 extra pounds.
I've been anorexic by choice and not by choice. Once because I thought I was hideously overweight (This was in grade 7) and once because my depression got so bad, food wouldn't go down my throat.
This song is sattiracle, but there is a smidgen of truth within it.

Falling Asleep In Paradise

(Trail of Lies - Jedi Mind Tricks)

I'm playing with this idea of falling asleep in paradise.
It's ironic and incomprehensible. I mean if you're surrounded by perfection and beauty, why would you ever want to close your eyes.
The reality that we live in is beautiful. The complexity of it all, the fact that the way our heart beats and the spots on a cow are in sync, the way that the ripples in the desert and the formation of an embryo are in sync. It's all mysterious and wonderful, and yet here I am. I'd rather not. I'd rather not take part in staring at the blue sky. I'd rather not listen to the melodies of the birds, I'd rather not feel the sun on my skin. I'd rather not. I'd rather not count the raindrops as they whisper their secrets. I'd rather be asleep. Maybe this is paradise, and I'd rather be asleep. I'd rather be in my dreamland.
I'm slightly afraid of saying all of this. I'm afraid of going into complete detail of how screwed up I truly am. I've put my parents through hell and back, and not because I've ever been rebellious, but because of trips to the hospital on my own accord. The countless tears I've made my family cry simply because I cannot be happy. I've taken their hearts and incinerated it, and even still, I'd rather be asleep.

Graphic Short Story

So I have to do a short story for writers craft, however I have to make it a graphic short story. -_-
The project inspired me to read both: The Watchmen and Maus, both wonderful books that I would highly recommend for someone looking for a new read. Personally I enjoyed Watchmen more, but maybe that's just because I'm such a fantastical person, plus I'm a huge colour person and Maus is done in black and white. Black and white is very appropriate however, because Maus is about a Hallocaust survivor, and Watchmen is about superhero's!

So for my graphic short story I'm going to do some depressing thing, because after all, it is written by me! And.. when do I ever write happy things? ;) It's of course inspired by reality, all of the written world is inspired by reality in some way or another! A gilr in hell commenting about God. The comments about God are all my thoughts, my personal experiences. The hell part is basically what I see, what I live in only it looks pretty damn beautiful. She takes some pills that she bought at the Happiness Shoppe, and then continues to commit suicide. Which then sends the viewer to pictures of her quickly opening her eyes as she lies in bed, and the whole first page of the story is repeated.
Taken somewhat from Dante's Inferno, though I've never read it. (I did read the Gargoyle, which talks alot about The Divine Comedy.) The fact that in Dante's hell, successful suicides turn into trees, forever as trees which lose their leaves and grown new ones. However the process of losing the leaves is so painful, and yet it happens, again and again and again. The sense of helplessness that my story gives I think is really powerful. It doesn't matter what you do, you can't be happy and you can never escape hell. (How morbid Michelle, how wonderfully like you!)

Is This Remotely Funny To You?

http://rawstory.com/rs/2010/0405/video-shows-forces-firing-killing-reporters/

How far has our world fallen? How fast have we slid down this downhill slide?
We live in a world of technology, a world of instantaneous communication, and yet it took about 3 years for this video to get released!
Freedom of speech? That doesn't exist.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkkLUP-gm4Q&feature=fvsr

Look at that shit! And the government and the people in charge sit on their thrones laughing at us stupid fools who swallow all their spoon fed lies. Maybe I'm paranoid, but maybe I'm right. This man got tazered for asking a simple question "were you a member of the skull and bones secret society?"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skull_and_bones

Skull and Bones is a secret society housed at Yale University, and if you look at the long list of people who have been in it, you'll know almost all of their names. That's how influential these people are. That's how big these people are. In all honesty this has all been recently revealed to me, I'm no expert on our government systems. I was asleep for most of civics class, doing what I usually do and slacking my ass off until the day before the exam! However, though I'm not very educated on all this subject matter, it still has the power to evoke strong feelings of anger inside of me.
How can the leader of a country justify hurting someone simply because they asked a controversial question? If they're hiding something like this from us, then what else are they hiding? It's no secret that governments are liars, that they have secrets and skeletons in their closets.
(What about the third building that fell on September 11th 2001? How come no one heard about that one, y'know, the one that just fell on it's own accord without a plane crashing into it? It's kinda funny how the news stations just simply forgot to tell the world about that one hey? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImW6DppIyDc&feature=related)
How do we trust in a government with such a shaky foundation, if you'll excuse the pun ;)? How do we trust these "just" men who laugh at bodies getting run over by trucks? How do we believe that war is going to solve anything when our soldiers are referring to civilians as "bastards".
"It's their fault, they shouldn't have brought their kids into a battle."
How can someone justify their actions, how can someone justify murder by saying "they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, they deserved it."

Maybe I'm crazy and paranoid, let me know what you think.
Is this remotely funny to you?

Words Make Me Immortal

I’m giving up writing and I’m giving up reading.
Just like I’m giving up speaking and I’m giving up breathing.
I’ve reduced my self and I take refuge in the hands of apathy
And the parents are running scared cause they can no longer protect me
And it’s funny, cause they’re scared of myself, they fight daily to protect me from myself
It’s For my own health they say, and they try and take me away
And they can take me anywhere in the world but I’ll still hate theses classrooms
“listen boys and girls!”
Let’s talk about boys, naw let’s talk about girls
Let’s talk about me, cause I’m the most important one in the world
You see, this face is a rock and boy I can make you harder, and crumbling off,
You’ll be the light, that got too close to the moth
I break more hearts then I do pencils.
You listen to this, but this is my gift,
I’m forcing you down like rape victim
And you don’t even notice as I pour the poison in
Imagine, just imagine for sec
What if you had something I want? Do you doubt my words could get it?
You see I don’t say I love you in four letters, I say I love you in paragraphs,
carefully constructed to tug at your heart strings
It’s just a spell though, a deceitful little lie
Cause when I’m 6 feet under, my words will also die.
You’ll look back and see that you never really cared
But something indefinable, something was always there
My letters, my words, and I can tell when you catch the spell
Cause you’re returning my verse, like you showin it off for show and tell.
I’m giving up writing and I’m giving up reading though
Cause it’s been made clear to me, how deep my wounds can go
You struggle cause those physical blows have nothing on you like a girl who takes off her clothes
But my words are like glass the dig down deep, and every step that you take you push it in further
And soon enough your footsteps resemble bloody murder
You don’t even own me, yet you still try to control me
What do you think that I’m stupid?
Isn’t that ruthless? Don’t I deserve the truth from the surface?
Am I even worth this?
Don’t I deserve the risk?
No, cause I don’t even deserve to live.
That’s why I’m giving up speaking and I’m giving up breathing
Because I still feel empty even when I’m eating.
And I know that I could hollow you out like a jack-o-latern
But it’s about time that I crash and burn
About time that I learn for once what’s good on this earth
And maybe one day when they dig up the dirt
They’ll also dig up a chorus or verse
And recite it in their heads or bring loud to the sky
And for that small amount of time, they can be larger then life
They hold the world in the palm of their hand and decide what to do with the living and the dead
Cause maybe one day when they dig up the dirt, they’ll also dig up a verse
And recite it in their hearts or bring it loud to the sky
And know that though I’m 6 feet under, my words will never die.

A Writers Life

I'm so into this. I've been writing since I was born, I've been a writer since I was born. Before I could even spell I had pages and pages filled with scribbles, then the alphabet, then stupid little stories that are garbage now that I look back! I've got notebooks piled beside me, canvases and paints, books, pencils, pens, a typewriter, a computer, and my music. I've got a half consumed can of gross tasting iced tea. I'm grateful for all of the things that I have.
A writer doesn't just write, a writer experiences. Which just goes to show that anyone who has ever experienced something can write.
For some reason George Orwell's reasons for writing has been something that has stuck in my head despite the fact that I learned it from an evil English teacher.
Writers write for: Sheer egoism - we just want to hear ourselves talk/force other people to listen.
Aesthetic Influence - We like the way words sound together, the beauty of the English language.
Historical Impulse- To record history
Political Purpose - We want to change things, improve the world by showing the world it's faults through words.
Personally I am at the stage of aesthetic influence, I love English, I love writing, I love the beauty and freedom it has to offer. I love it all.

"Upon my word, they will shout at you, it is no use protesting: it is a case of twice two makes four! Nature does not ask your permission, she has nothing to do with your wishes, and whether you like her laws or dislike them, you are bound to accept her as she is, and consequently all her conclusions. A wall, you see, is a wall... and so on, and so on."
Merciful Heavens! but what do I care for the laws of nature and arithmetic, when, for some reason I dislike those laws and the fact that twice two makes four? Of course I cannot break through the wall by battering my head against it if I really have not the strength to knock it down, but I am not going to be reconciled to it simply because it is a stone wall and I have not the strength."
- From Notes From Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky.