Well I thought I would finally update a little. I have barely paid any attention to this site in a long while. There are plenty of comments that I need to leave people. All the ones lately have been kind of lack luster and I apologize. I’ve just been busy/lazy.

I had a lot of fun in Lexington for two weekends and last weekend was alright (strip club drunkenness). I need to go to class more I think but you know how sometimes you can get apathetic and not want to do anything.

I am coming home this weekend which should be good fun. I still need to find my brother a present. Everyone’s birthday is in September for me. Talk about a little drain on the pocketbook.

Two new HIM concerts I get to go to. One with Kristi and Jesse and the other with my older brother and his girlfriend. You can already listen to the new album online at heartagram.com. It’s awesome, but you’d expect me to say that. It comes out next Monday, so go buy it.

I am going to put some of my writings that I did over the summer up in the next few days. A lot of them are short one verse poems with no title, some stand on there own and others could be great parts to others, but I don’t want to leave them on little pieces of paper in my room anymore. If your inbox is filled with untitled poems yeah that was me. But I don’t really care.

Well that’s a little update with me, sorry it was so long. I’ll leave you with two poems that stuck with me over the summer.

“As I look back
over my life
I am struck by post cards
Ruined snapped shots
faded posters
Of a time I can’t recall” James Douglas Morrison (the words of an alcoholic)

“Often, to pass the time on board, the crew
will catch an albatross, one of those big birds
which nonchalantly chaperone a ship
across the bitter fathoms of the sea

Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space,
as if embarrassed by its clumsiness,
pitiably lets its great white wings
drag at it sides like a pair of unshipped oars.

How weak and awkward, even comical
this traveler but lately so adroit-
on deckhand sticks a pipestem in its beak,
another mocks the cripple that once flew!

The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds
riding the storm above the marksman’s range;
exiled on the ground, hooted and jeered,
he cannot walk because of his great wings.” Charles Baudelaire


Okay now peace out!