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i keep a diary's Journal

10th January, 2008. 10:29 pm.(32oldwommmman)

центр медицины, клиники медицины, история медицины, судебная медицина, медицина лечение, тибетская медицина, оао медицина, нетрадиционная медицина, институт медицины, медицина скачать, китайская медицина, народная медицина лечение, семейная медицина, кибернетической медицины, новости медицины, лазерная медицина, современная медицина, медицина катастроф, работа медицина, москва медицина, медицина книги, спортивная медицина, век медицина, профилактическая медицина, социальная медицина, медицина рецепты, древняя медицина, восстановительная медицина, технологии медицины, восточная медицина, медицини, доказательная медицина, ветеринарная медицина, медицина журналы, развитие медицины, рецепты народной медицины, практическая медицина, сайты медицины, ооо медицина, медицина традиционная,


ао медицина, медицина болезни, клиника современной медицины , репродуктивной медицины, медицина петербург, генекология, геникология, здоровый образ жизни, здоровье, аптека, лекарства, поиск лекарств, большая медицинская энциклопедия , медицинская энциклопедия, болезни , заболевания, лечение импотенции, уролог, урология, хирург, хирургия, медецина, анатомия, рефераты по анатомии_, лечение рака, онкология, рак, мед центр, медицинский центр, медцентр, медицинские сайты, здравоохранение, здравохранение, кардиология журнал, кардиология, врач, доктор, беременность, календарь беременности, роды, анализ крови, расшифровка анализа крови, глаукома,

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1st August, 2005. 3:00 pm.(jazzybabyfame)

poetic
x____poetic

- A rating community for poets!
- Weekly Prompts!
- Critiques!
- Lots of poetry!

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5th June, 2004. 10:51 pm. The Spark Inside(methoddan)

it's alright
to tell me
how you feel
i've heard it all
a million times over before
it doesn't scratch my skin

it doesn't hurt to be alone
it's nothing new to me
ignore the mist in my face
it's just sleep in my eye

you were just the spark inside
the thing that makes me go
you were just the fuel inside
my putting engine heart

you were just the spark inside
and now it's gone i dunno where
you were just the spark inside
and i dunno how i go without
you were just the spark inside
yeah yr just the spark inside

Current mood: emo.

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5th May, 2004. 8:46 pm. Black Out the Mirror(methoddan)

No one's posted anything up in this bitch for too long. This one's called Black Out the Mirror.

i couldn't stand the sight of myself
so i punched out the glass in the mirror
the shards cut through me
skin parts and blood drips
as i confuse the pain with pleasure

i thank god i'm me
cos i might have to look at myself
if i could be someone else
i would give whatever you wanted
if i could black out the mirror
and never see me again

Make Notes

15th March, 2004. 12:56 am.(methoddan)

running down the street waving torches
burning down the houses of the unholy
make a connection, get a reaction
strike down strike through
crossing out the unwritten rules
male to male signal connection
the message spoken without words
just a strong arm throwing the brick
breaking down the old order sculpture
and selling it for scrap iron

tall dollars can't buy respect
can't buy yr life back
can't get yr soul back
can't make you whole inside
can't make yr wife less annoying
can't make yr life more fulfilling

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22nd February, 2004. 10:04 pm. Masturbate Me(methoddan)

masturbate me
the way you come to me
the way i go into you
masturbate me
you know what you want, right?
you oughta know what you need
i wish you knew what i need
masturbate me
cleaning fluids paper products
we can't come out of the closet yet
there's a mess
oh such a mess
masturbate me
masturbate me
masturbate me
release

Current mood: snarky.

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18th February, 2004. 11:46 pm. Rolling Rock(methoddan)

I wanna run away with her
I wanna get lost in the city lights
Melt into the concrete and fog
Become the nobody I am one
She's my rolling rock to hold

I wanna throw up
I wanna shoot up
I wanna tear it up
I wanna forget it all

I'm gonna get lost in the city by the bay
I'm longing for the city by the lake
The sparkle that lets us know we're alive
That I haven't had for so too long

I'm dead inside
I feel ashamed
Complacency
Apathy
Numb to the world
Incapable of love
Backed to the wall and hard up for escapes

I wanna throw up
I wanna shoot up
I wanna tear it up
I wanna forget it all

Make Notes

16th February, 2004. 7:53 pm. You Can Pick Your Friends, You Can Pick Your Nose....(methoddan)

.... And If You Can't Pick Your Nose In Front Of Your Friends, You Need New Friends

I pick my nose. And I'm here to tell you about how punk rock that is. For one thing, picking your nose grosses people out. That's always cool. And when you do it in front of them, it makes a very bold statement: "I couldn't give a fuck what you think." Think about it. You don't pick your nose in front of people whose opinion you care about, who you want to think you're cool. But if you don't care what anyone around you thinks, there's no reason not to have at it.

Personally, I think it's really funny to gross people out. Picking your nose is a lot like masturbating: practically everyone does it, but most people won't admit it in public. I'd rather pick my nose in public than masturbate, any day.

Current mood: playful.

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11th February, 2004. 12:37 am. In a shell(methoddan)

This boy lived in a shell. He had been rejected so many times that he didn't bother talking to people any more. He just wanted them all to fuck off and die. They were fucking stupid, with their noses in the air and somehow their heads in their assholes at the same time. Other boys usually thought he was a fag, he was unathletic and effeminate, not one of the bros. He felt more comfortable with girls, because they didn't judge him for being sensitive and secure enough to joke about how much he loved cock, and they sometimes even thought it cute how he was socially awkward and didn't have a lot of friends or sexual experience and he knew more about music and computers and history and geography than about beer bongs or talking girls into dropping their knickers so he could stick his cock in them. But he usually liked them more than just friends, as in he wanted to fuck them so hard they would not remember their names when he was done, and they would always push him away and say "nnnnnno, I don't like you that way." And he always hung his head and mumbled "yeah, it's cool, i understand," while his cock wilted and his heart turned into a lump of stone and coal and scar tissue. He had strong black coffee in his veins, and he didn't even drink coffee, he was so bitter. Half the time he couldn't listen to his girls talk about the boys they were seeing, because they would talk about how great the sex was, and he had a hard time containing the urge to beat them senseless with his dick and scream "why don't you understand we're meant to be, you stupid fucking whore?!?!?"

But he always seemed to smile and joke about it. Humour was his defense mechanism. He was always joking around and being nutty and trying to make people laugh. Laughter was his salvation, because he couldn't take himself seriously. He loved making people laugh, and he loved to laugh himself. Often he was the only one that laughed at his jokes, but that was good enough. He somehow turned a little of the pain into laughter, and that made it bearable. He was proud that he could do it, turn some of his pain and loneliness and make it funny, that he could joke about how he couldn't get laid to save his life, how his bad vibes repelled women like a magnet of the same polarity. He was like a leper, no one would come close enough to cure his disease.

The boy liked to drink alone. He typically drank straight bourbon whiskey and chased it with cola or fruity drinks. But he often got bored and reached out and touched someone. He was well aware of his drunk dialing tendencies, but didn't care, much like he didn't care what he said when he drank with others. For one thing, he thought it funny that he liked to call people, drunk, at night, just to shoot the shit, because he was bored. He saw it as a means to an end, an aid to expressing things that he wouldn't express inhibited. He long thought he would be a belligerent drunk, because he was so angry, but he was actually a very mellow, pleasant, sociable one. The alcohol numbed the raging pain and brought out his inner hippie. He loved to hug all of his friends and rave about how much he loved them between swigs of the magic sauce. When he drank, he could actually talk to people he didn't know. The results were more or less the same as when he was sober, but he didn't care.

He smoked whenever the opportunity presented itself, solely because it was bad for him. He refused to give money to the tobacco industry, but whenever someone offered him a cigarette, he rarely said no. He smoked because he couldn't cut himself. He tried, but it was too hard to pierce his soft but surprisingly tough skin. So he abused himself in other ways, because from inside himself, he couldn't see his beauty. He had short hair and he was painfully gaunt; even though he ate lots of fried food and refused to exercise more than necessary, depression cut his appetite down so he couldn't gain weight. He sometimes shaved his head down to stubble, because he thought it made him look mean and intimidating, until he realized that he didn't have the muscle. It made him look like he either had a terminal illness like cancer or AIDS, or like he had just escaped from Auschwitz, because he had a big, hooked Jewish nose. Sometimes girls thought he was cute, and once in a while they'd even sleep with him, but he thought they were trippin, or that they somehow saw through his outer ugliness. He often wanted to ask strangers how they think a guy like him would contract AIDS. He figured he wasn't handsome or well groomed enough to have contracted it heterosexually, so if they answered, they would essentially have to call him either gay or a junkie. He figured that ugly as he was, and skinny as he was, being a junkie was the most likely reason.

Rarely did a week go by that he didn't think about the needle. He was a sheltered suburban boy, he'd never SEEN real heroin. But the comforting numb oblivion was certainly attractive, and he always said if he knew the world was going to end next week, he would be mainlining like a pro. He had too much to lose, but he knew if he ran out of things to lose, dope would go from vaguely enticing to irresistible. You have to hit rock bottom before you can get higher, and he couldn't wait for the other shoe to drop.

Current mood: drunk.

Make Notes

5th February, 2004. 12:46 am. I Don't Know You, But I Love You(methoddan)

And I couldn't live without you, even though I don't know who you are. I don't know what you look like, if you have natural brown hair or blonde or dyed chlorophyll green, if you're thin and fragile and look like a junkie, or if you're thick and curvy like a 50's pinup babe.

I don't know your name, your birthday, where you're from or where you are now.

I know you have a wonderful sense of humour, and even though you know a little bit about sadness and angst, you don't let it stop you from having fun.

But I don't know if you have an exotic ('exotic' being 'non-Californian') accent, or if you have a high pitched girly voice (perhaps because you're a survivor of abuse), or if you abuse East Bay lingo like I do.

I dunno if you used to be a junkie, or if you were a straight edge kid. (I hope you're neither now, but maybe I'll help fix that. I'll teach you to drink and smoke trees. Or if you're already on hard shit, I'll help you quit. I always tell Kelly that she needs a boy to get her mind off the junk and onto another kind of junk.) I do know you're tough, but warm and sweet and genuine, like a cheap steak covered in melted Ghirardelli chocolate. Maybe you used to hop trains or squat, but decided you wanted to do more with yourself.

And I know while you're a punk rock girl at heart, you actually like to think and step a little beyond the oi oi generic fashion punk archetype.

I don't know how you take your coffee, if you have big tits or small, if you have scars from self mutilating, or whether you swallow after giving a guy head.

I do know you're a feminist, but not so militantly that you won't give a guy head.

I don't know if you vote, but I hope you do, and I know you wouldn't disapprove of me voting Green.

I don't know what your folks are like, if you have siblings or whether you get along with them.

So, what's your name, sweetie? I like to know first and last names for everyone I sleep with.

Current mood: kind of sappy.

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