Now this is Vintage 9:19 PM

New template up, needs some tweaks. There's a few elements that I really don't like but I hope to change them soon. I still wish I knew how to build a snazzy website from scratch, but I don't have the time to learn. This'll do for now.

From the inside out 5:46 PM

I was going over my drafts and editing all sorts of prose and free verse when a thought hit me: people liked this blog better when I was "emo". When I spilt guts. When I let 'em have it. When my thoughts weren't secret and my feelings were all over the goddamn place. I think I lost most of my readership when I decided to take a break from passionate postings. Hell, it's all still here, I just don't feel like posting it. But maybe that'll change. I'm sure there's a compromise to be found. I just got sloppy; I needed a break.

Recently I found myself rewriting my novelette "My Dear Child". In between completely rewriting the ending and adding more introspective dialogue, it dawned on me: I had forgotten how good it felt to lay down a little of myself into emotive, concise sentences. I've been writing/editing in bits and pieces, and every second of it is a joy.

I found my muse again. Or rather, she found me.

Que? 12:12 AM

Nothing I have to say comes out longer than 140 words, so I guess my Twitter is taking over as my preferred means of communication. Even then, it's quite empty.

Goshdarn I'm ashamed.

Goshdarn? The **** is wrong with my vocabulary?

Will ya look at those shoulders 9:21 PM

Here's a little gem I found, right in time for Valentine's.

Something about a word picture 12:16 AM

Really, it's become a rather trite subject, this boohoo-I've-got-a-hole-in-my-heart business. Sometimes I feel schizophrenic, like my evil emo twin is posting on this blog and making me look like an idiot. I hate seeing pieces of half-written, powerless, inexpressive prose on this webpage. I think I'll just delete them all. I can write better than that crap. Really.

When cars were a novelty, I'm sure that when one passed by people stopped to awe over it. Now, cars being an accepted and widely used form of transportation, one would be considered a schmuck of sorts if he stopped in his tracks to stare. There are too many "cars" (whiny grievances) in this little highway of my life, and stopping to write about them is a waste of time and makes me a schmuck of sorts. My personal issues aren't so novel anymore.

Now, it's really just part of my personality to want to express my innermost feelings, but I guess I had to learn self-control at some point, now being better than never. This is not really an apology, and I'm not saying I'm never going to attempt to write something that is emotional and straight from my heart (*gush*), but I am truly and honestly sick of half-witted attempts at expressing something which I hardly care to express anymore. I guess all I'm saying is that I need to switch my subjects up, for crying out loud. Pain and sorrow are not even that big a part of my life, anyway.

I feel the need to reinvent myself. And maybe, who knows, I might be schizophrenic after all.

All that remains 2:38 AM

I don't like this feeling. What is it? Regret, perhaps? It's a ghost limb feeling; there's no warmth where you once lay.

I can't bring myself to believe that I want, I need to have you here. Right next to me. But I'll roll over and leave a space of the bed empty, because I'm going to sleep tonight. Without you.

I Thought It Over 12:13 AM

When you peered
into me,
you sneered
at what
you saw.
Now
I need
a new place to hide.
There's nowhere for you
in the only
bruised but alive
corner
of a heart
that slowly
dies.


I guess disappointment is all I'll ever find in you. Still, I keep hoping.