Bitches are shit.

Ok, let me break it down. Gryffindor's dicks! They're reckless, arrogant, stupid dicks. And Ravenclaw's are pussies. And any and every Slytherin is an asshole. Ravenclaw's don't like dicks, because Ravenclaw's get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes: assholes that just want to shit on everything (you). Pussies may think they can deal with assholes their way. But the only thing that can fuck an asshole is a dick, with some balls. The problem with dicks is: they fuck too much or fuck when it isn't appropriate - and it takes a pussy to show them that. But sometimes, pussies can be so full of shit that they become assholes themselves... because pussies are an inch and half away from ass holes. I don't know much about this crazy, crazy world, but I do know this: If it weren't for Hufflepuff(Boobies), everyone would just fuck each other and get covered in shit. Thank god for foreplay. Thank god for Hufflepuff. Plus boobs are funny, and so are we.

A broken promise is just as bad as a rotten pancake.

You never called. I was expecting it. I am sure you either had good reason, or simply forgot. Either way, it would have been nice to hear your voice again.

I apologize for last night. I was drunk, and it wasn’t fair to make you feel guilty.

The truth is—I miss you. A lot. I think about you every day. I made it seem like I know what I want and that what I want is different from what you think I want. But that isn’t necessarily true. I would love to have never broken up, to have built our relationship a year stronger than it was, and to still be able to see you on Sundays and Thursdays. I realize that this is an impossible measure, especially now. But what I want is a living feeling. It is always changing. I never know exactly what I want until I don’t have it.

My proposition is this: We don’t date. I don’t like dates anyway, so this isn’t a problem. It is the time in our lives when we finally fucking hang out. I mean that! Either just the two of us, we and the cute couple you live with, or whoever! I’m ready to be in your life again, but more importantly, I’m ready for you to be in mine.

So, now that that has been said… When can we play? I'm ready for adventure.

Derek Williamson.

A Day in the Liefe of Derek Williamson: The Derek Williamson Story.

Of 4 billion sold.

More than the bible.

“I'm not surprised,” ~ Taylor Horn.

Most days I don't wake up to my alarm. Instead, my alarm gets drowned out by the sound of something more pleasant. Something like a dream. When I do wake up, it is to find that I'm always late. I thought I avoided this situation by moving an hour closer to my school. I thought wrong

After getting ready, I plop back into my warm sheets and dream of being asleep again. If too much time passes, I make a call. Heads, go to class. Tales, skip class and just pretend I went. More often than not, my imaginary coin lands on heads and I am forced to remove myself from my so wanted pillow.

I hate mornings. They do nothing for society. In fact, they make 90% of the population miserable. I'm included in that statistic. But, as my life requires, I'm forced to embrace what is most hated.

I never have time for breakfast. I don't even remember what breakfast tastes like. Is it sweet? No, that can't be right. Maybe one day the memory will come back to me, but for now, this last resort pop-tart will do. I'll eat it when my stomach is louder than my train of thought.

Class is dull. The sound that is omitted by some of the students at this school is excruciating. At least they're not knitting, though. I hate when people knit in class—almost as much as I dislike the sight of people drinking a soda at 830 in the morning. Don't they know that that is against the law? Or is it me who is just thinking it should be?

After class, I'll attend a facility that helps me get to where I want to be in life. Most people call it employment, I call it work. I try to spend as much time conversing as I can, and do as little work as possible. I hate the society we've become. It seems there is a Monarch in the work force. If you're not wearing a crown, ermine cloak and holding a scepter, you're only a piece of shit. I want to be somewhere else. I dream of it often.

After too long, I return to my home. A long days work is never too long when you know you're long missed pillow is waiting for you to return home-with nothing but a smile on it's indented face an a wag in its metaphorical tail. When my sheets and I meet, it is like a storm of vivid imagination. Colors are sent through my head that can only be described as dreamy. On occasion, the colors correlate with each other and form images. These images create story lines and plots. The plot thickens when I roll over and discover that my bed has transformed into a boat floating on a sea of thought. So much for that train, this ride is much quicker.

I see a dock. It is made of wooden posts and has rope running across the entire structure. There are other boats made of sheets and blankets there. Some of them are flashing green symbols that I cannot quite make out from this distance. As the tide takes me closer, I begin to hear a sound. At first it is a subtle beep, but soon it becomes an impressive screech. One that begins to cloud the world I live in. The once blurry symbols are now legible. They read, 7:00 A.M.

I hate mornings.

Beema Moo

Have you ever been watching a movie so motionless that you lose the ability to feel your body? You haven’t moved for so long that you forget how your fingers and legs are positioned. Of course, you guess. It kinda feels like they’re all upside down and backwards, but as soon as you go to confirm the position, it isn’t true. Your fingers are just the way you left them, interlocked and resting on your legs that are just curled beneath you. Strange how that happens.

I believe the same thing can happen with a friendship. If one goes too long without change, then you might think that the relationship is just as peachy as it ever was. Sure, shit happens, but for the sake of the friendship, you suck it up and just deal with it. After too long you realize you can’t feel her anymore. You have no idea where she is. She feels all upside down and backwards, so you go to analyze it. It is then that you realize things are not how you last left them. She’s ditching you more and more. She’s making newer better friends; she’s living her life without you.

I never asked to be part of her entire life; I just want to be part of the stuff that would normally concern me. She and I used to be able to talk about anything. Now it feels like if I say the wrong thing, she’ll get annoyed and disappear. But how can I say the right thing if she’s doing things so… wrong?

Just before a star collapses, pressure builds up to the point of exhaustion. She and I have this pressure. I feel like I can’t talk to her, and what is more, I feel like she doesn’t talk to me. For some reason I feel the need to over compensate my kindness towards her. I don’t really feel all that joyful around her, in all truth, she actually pisses me off most of the time. The pressure is building, and I’m afraid of when it will be exhausted.

I just want things back to how they were.

The Group Formerly Known as BOB.

One, two, three, four!

We roamed the halls without a care in the world. The only thing on our mind was what was for lunch and the weekend to come. Altogether we were bob plus me. Me being the boy, the guy, the man. And bob of course being my three female best friends. One was pretty, smart, athletic. She seemed to have it all. But she was a bitch. Two was pretty, energetic, spoiled, and fun. She seemed to have it all. But she was a bitch. Three was pretty and driven. She had nothing to work with but all to fight for. She too was a bitch.

One grew up in the most suburban of homes. Mom, dad, two younger sisters. She made her way from butch to beauty in a mere three years. By the end she has a beautiful smile and gorgeous hair.

Two has had a difficult life. Two moms, but neither of them loved her as they should. Two dads who were just there. But not much help. She was on the fancy side; family drives nice cars. They live in nice houses. But the bruises tell a different story.

Three had very little. She lived with her mom in a two bedroom house with all her siblings. She is yet to have her own bedroom. Barely making ends meet. But always seems to look good.

I knew two first. She broke my heart. I asked her out, and she said yes. But then a week later she dumped me. She moved away and I was happy as could be. One introduced me to three, but two is how I knew one. One and I became friends when two was gone. I said “hey, you are two’s friend right?” and she replied “yeah, but now I’m yours.” And so it began. At first it was a simple acquaintance. But then it grew into something much more. Something fun. Fun for all of us. One was my best friend. She and I would strut our stuff through the halls of junior high knowing that we were the shit and that no one could touch us. We would find a toy store out of a piece of card board, and a candy shop out of a single piece of gum. We loved life. Nothing could kill this high. Three and I were really never great friends until ninth grade. We never had our moments. Not yet. One was the first one to break the silence. Then she was totally dorky. But now she is the shit. We would eat lunch together. Play together. Make movies together—Joke, laugh, kid, wrestle, pound each other’s heads into glass windows while trying to convince each other there was a doughnut on the other side.

I slowly moved into ones locker. And in turn into three’s as well. We were happy. But then I heard them call two’s name over the intercom. At first I was mad. Who the hell does she think she is? She can’t just come back. No, I still hate her. But then I let my thoughts wander. And I found myself imagining her and me together—again. This time it would be different. I would love her and she would love me. And only me. But I couldn’t very well just jump right into that. Plus… she had a boyfriend. I hated him. Two was my first real love. Slowly, I became friends with two again. Talking on the phone, hanging out, chillin at the water cooler—but it never happened. I’m glad it never did. Three and I, by now, were friends. We could hang out just us two. We didn’t, but we could have. That summer before ninth grade is when it was official. They were hence forth referred to as bob, but only by me.

High school began and things were awesome. Love interested bloomed from one, two and three, but not in that order. Two still had the upper hand; three was next, followed closely by one. As it failed with all of them, the idea of a relationship beyond friendship was pushed under the carpet. As high school progressed, one met four, making us more. I dated some random number, as two was with a string of read heads and three was with strangers. Four seems to be the only one to stay.

Soon after high school, three fell out of our lives. ‘Twas I, one, two and four—we were real cool. Then, again, as it seems, another seemed to slip through our fingers. But not before we meet five. Five is a cute girl in a normal life. She is pretty, funny, silly and driven. As I was saying, two began to fade. She became a mere memory even with our best efforts to keep her intact. All is well that ends well, though. I, one, four and five are having the time of our lives.

Of course, the numbers don’t stop at five. Our numbers have only gotten greater. There is six, the used-to-be curly headed fuck who we adore, caring, passionate and in the army, six is who we live for. There is seven, eight and nine, but they’re just siblings of one. Ten I met through a friend. She is pretty, silly and a bit of an alcoholic, but that is what we love most about her. She does things by year, perhaps because of some OCD she’s got going on. Yes, the numbers go on, too many to count. But who wants to spend time counting when we could spend time having fun? My number = adventure, and it is so much better than math.

On the occasion, I do miss the group formerly known as bob, but I don’t think they miss me. I try to keep in contact with three, but I feel as though she thinks she is better than us. But we really just want her to come back. And while I miss three a whole lot, I hope to never have to deal with two again. One phase of my life I am happy that it’s complete.

Not Till the Sky

Lets look back at the year. Lets turn our heads, open our eyes and see what we were. Who we were. What lessons we've learned. How we've grown.

People learn lessons everyday. Some lessons are for a guitar, as teenagers and middle aged men want to learn to play. Some lessons are harder learned. Lessons as "simple" as behavioral sciences of the schizophrenic mind, or as complex as trust. Those who learn these lessons have a pulse; they breath, walk, talk, eat, sleep. They are just like you and I. But what keeps those miraculous little muscles dancing?

The heart is a miraculous muscle. It not only pumps our blood for our own health, but it functions as an alarm as well. The heart alerts us when something is frightening. When things are glorious, exciting and scary. It tells us when we're in a place we shouldn't be. A single chest begins to pound when walking down a dark alley way, or in a house full of drugs. The heart also tells us when we know we're in the place we should be, whether it be among friends, or in the arms of a loved one. Have you ever felt that feeling of flight? That feeling of escape. The feeling one feels when words are whispered. Three simple words can take your breath away, but not because the lungs can no longer release the contractions they create, but rather because the blood is suddenly rushing from one end of your body, to the next. It has to pass through your chest; through your heart. Millions of cells are at work for three simple words. The same millions of cells are at work for the words that are never said. They work for those who never get to hear the words. For those who long to hear them. I love you.

We're all looking for one thing; that is something we've all got in common. Many artist write songs about the phenomenon, many groups of teenagers and young adults sing drunken songs about the concept. A brush is touched to a surface with the idea in mind. A dancer warms his body in preparation to glide across a stage. A father prepares a favorite meal, a mother leaves early from work, a dog wags his tail; all in the name of love.

But what is this thing we call love? Is it something you can buy? Is it something you make, borrow or steal? Does love expire? Even now my cursor blinks in search of a definition of the word. What is love?

Many people wake up everyday in hopes of finding the answer to that question. They clean the house, go grocery shopping, take the kids to school, rake the leaves, attend class, mail bills and letters, and ignore or embrace thousands of thoughts while doing it. Is it not always on one's mind? Subconscious, dormant, hidden from immediate thought. Love is what we're always thinking of. When will I meet him? When should I ask her. Will he say yes? What if she says no? Where should we go to dinner? I love her. I love him. I love you. I love you too. these are the subtext thoughts to all things said, thought, written, read and heard. But our question remains, What is love?

Is love not being able to keep someone out of one's mind? Having them always on the train that we call our thoughts? Riding through one's everyday, comfortably, with a pillow and a tasty drink? Is the absence of love, therefore, not having that person on one's mind? I don't think it is that simple. I feel as though love begins before that moment.

Every time one opens his or her mouth to say the words, "I love you," he or she is not only expressing the love for the person meant to hear it, but to him or herself. That sentence begins with the word, "I."

Love begins with oneself. The ability to love oneself is power. It is, as I believe, the greatest power there is. And this is because I believe love is what powers the world. One may hear the words, "Above all, I believe in love." Or, "All you need is love." Every one assumes that these words mean that we should all find someone to love, but what we're missing is that the one we should love the most, is ourselves. I'm sure that there is a biblical scripture denoting the same concept, but I'm not about to find it.

How can we share love, when we ourselves don't hold it. How can one have a best friend, when one doesn't get along with him or herself. I am my own best friend. I have the most fun with me. I'm always there in the times of need; my shoulder is the closest for my crying eyes to fall on. I'm present at those moments that we think of when we hurt, when we want to laugh, or when we're being attacked by Dementors.

I am excited to share what I have with someone else. Because if they can feel a fraction of what I'm capable of feeling for myself, that person will know that my love is honest. They will know that my love is true.

As strong as I am, and as ready to love as I think I am, I'll wait. I'll wait to go after you. I'm not ready. But I will be one day, and when that day comes, you can bet that I'll be at your doorstep.

Marvelous will happen again.

I owe it all to him.

No, I don't mean that literally, I'd like to say that I'm pretty great without him, and that I've got my own ways of giving back... But still.

I'll explain what the hell I'm talking about. This holiday season I've been more charitable than past years. I think it is because I actually have the money to this year. Last year I was so down on my coin that I made all my friends their gifts. This year I did it again, because I loved it, but this time, with the money I've saved, I've managed to give Christmas cheer to more people. I've got a better job and I spend less (arguable) money on myself and stupid things this year.

Hmmm... Maybe we should fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was walking through the union building at WSU when a hot coco machine caught my eye (best marketing tool ever). I stopped for a cup, knowing that you don't actually have to do whatever the hell those tables always want you to do. As I was pooring, I felt bad that I didn't even inquire as to why I'm getting this delicious free coco. Then I inquired as to why I was getting the delicious free coco. It turns out that the lovely people behind that purple table were promoting something called "the Angel Tree Program." Not unlike the "Giving Tree" where you take a paper flyer-ornament-thing (has the name of a child, age, and sizes, along with their wants and needs for Christmas). Anyway, you pick one and buy a gift for a needy child that would otherwise have nothing under the tree. I took two. I knew that I could afford it this year.

When I told my mother about it, she offered to help pay for it. She bought the clothes, and I bought the toys. This was cool because I was only planning on buying the toys. Anyway, on my way to the station the other day, it occurred to me that maybe we were only supposed to buy one of the gifts... As it was after Student Involvement Office hours, I consulted the inanimate "Angel Tree." Because the tree doesn't speak, it answered no questions. Instead, I picked up another child. I went shopping for them today. While out, I came across a blanket for a good price. It was so warm and fuzzy. I remembered that there was a child that needed a blanket on the tree. I bought the blanket. I get to take the last two children's gifts in tomorrow; I already took in my first two this afternoon.

This is all so helpful! I love it!

In addition to that, I donated 20 of my pay check to something about warming the soles of children (there was a shoe involved on the design of the flyer)... I wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it is all for a good cause!

No, I am not trying to toot my own horn, but I am trying to toot a Horn. Every time I donate, I think of Taylor Dewey Horn. He is so selfless. He is amazing and thoughtful; he is caring and giving. He will one day save this world from the thing it has become. It all starts with just knowing him. I have someone that I care because of. I hope that we've all got someone like that. Someone that makes us stronger and nicer and kinder and just all around better people.

Go out of your way to give someone else a Christmas this year. Please.