I will speak knives to them; they will not know it.
The crowds bleat and holler, unaware and unconvinced.

All the while, my teeth are becoming slick with their innocence.

Eventually they will be empty of it, drained of it;
so removed from it that they will continue the tradition.

The thing is, Knives get rusty.

I don't know what to write, but I will regardless.

I'm happy now. For how long is anyone's guess, I'd be the last to know. It comes and goes, but it's been getting better. Oh, it will pass, make no mistake, but I'm making the best of what I've been given for the time being. A colloquial "Fuck it" should suffice concerning my inherent, if subtle moping; I really need to stop it. Nobody likes a whiner, even one that doesn't complain.

I think I might fail english. Which, to be honest, is a downright travesty, considering what I've been told. I'm still not convinced, but others are. I don't learn anything, hell, I've already learned to bullshit semantics, argue idiotic idiosynchronies and use words like facilitate, dogmatic, altruism, platitudinous, esoteric and vivparous into paragraphs that make no sense, except in a scholarly setting. The class isn't even hard, and I would even venture to say that I'm failing out of principle, if I weren't lying. I'll try, and hopefully I won't, as I've payed good money for it. Good money for a bad class. Heh. She's not a bad teacher, the students are sharp and actually quasi-diverse and funny; even I feel comfortable, and enjoy the company for the 1 hour that I am there. I'm just not good. Oh well, we'll see.

Gawd, Univers Zero and Godspeed You! Black Emperor are incredibly good writing-music bands.

The one thing that amazes me is that I don't even know anymore; what I want to do with my blip of an existance, mind you. At first, I wanted to do something in writing, then I ventured into gaming, then graphic design, then back into writing. I'm thinking about music, but I'd be no good in a band, I'd be terrible. Teaching's out of the question. The simplicity of childhood, and it's effect on future outlooks is interesting, if incredibly nerve wracking; it's never that simple. There's a reason we value simple things in life - They're a rare commodity, and a coveted one at that. If you find one, you might think about never letting it escape. It's all very fleeting.

The melodies in my head never cease. I never really noticed it until I started my crusade of musical indulgence, but it's an omnipresent thing, it is. I love music, but can't play it. I make so much of it, that most don't get it. I don't get it. But I'm content with it. My life has been a series of me taking things for granted, being selfish and appreciating few things, and then repeating. Music has been one thing that I never stopped caring for; it's always there, as pathetic as it sounds. It may even be one of the reasons I'm still here. Yes, the melodies - endless- endless as they might be, are glorious. I love it. It makes me smile.

Yes. Opeths bone crunching, delicate metal; Godspeed You! Black Emperor's emotional rollercoaster rock; Sleepytime Gorilla Museum's raging, apoctalyptic avant garde meanderings; Pain of Salvation's emotional and psychological delvings; K'naans stirring, gritty accounts; Estradasphere's confused genre placement; Pete Tchaikovsky's mesmerising piano; Behold... the Acrtopus' manufactured madness; Corb Lund's head noddin', thought provokin' country; Blue Scholars soul hop; Meshuggahs bone crunching riffs; Idiot Flesh's disturbingly playful nonsense; Beethovens ability to get me back into orchestral music; It's all good.

All of them make me smile. All of them.