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[ website | Telia W. ]
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So Very Much Like Last Year [Sep. 3rd, 2008|08:14 pm]
In Science.
Except That We're Making Cardboard Kayaks.
And We CAN Use Duct Tape.


I'm Sure Nobody Cares What's Going On With Me, Since I've Been Sort Of, Well, GONE.

My Computer Crashed For Like A Whole Fucking Month.

And Plus The MCRmy Won't Let Me Go On.


So Yeah.
I'll Try To Post More Often.
Though [Hopefully] I'll Get Both My Websites Up And Running Soon, And You'll Be Able To Read My Blogs At www.devonwhalen.com,
But Until Then [Right Now It Comes Up As Domain Hosting Whatever] I'll Post On This.YepYep.
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Oh. My. Fucking. God. [Apr. 4th, 2008|09:32 pm]
[Tags|, , , , , , , ]
[Current Music |NOTHING, Since It's ALL GONE.]

My Mom Is Such An Inconsiderate BITCH!

First,She Yells At Me To Turn On The Light, Even Though I Clearly Have A Headache And Can't Stand It Right Now.

But When I Do, The Cord For My iPod Is Ripped Out.
Now ALL THE MUSIC On My iPod Has To Be Replaced, Because Apple Is Run By A Bunch Of Fucktards.

So I'ce Lost Some 800 Songs,
And I'm Sitting Here Crying [Wouldn't You?!?]

And My Mom Goes "Oh Chill Out. It's Just A Couple Songs"
I Even Tried Explaining To Her There Were A BUNCH Of Songs On There, Some That I PAID For, Plus I Took HOURS Of My Time
To Get The Lyrics And Artwork.

And It's ALL GONE.
Every Single Song!

And She's Going On About How I Can Get It All Back And Blahblahblahhh....

I Can't!
I Can't Get Those Fucking HOURS BACK THAT I Spent Working On iTunes!
My God, She Can't Even Sympathize For A SECOND, She Just Goes "Oh." And Walks Out!
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Random Babbling And Excitedness [Apr. 4th, 2008|08:12 pm]
[Tags|, , , , , ]
[Current Music |Stay [ Live, Duh ] - MCR]

I Can't Waittt Untilll I Start Bass Guitar Lessons!!


Ima Lozerr.

But I'm Mad At The Same Time Because People On Myspace Don't Comment On My Fanfiction.


1 Month Exactly Until I Go To MCR!!!!!!


I Can't Wait!!
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What's Wrong With Me? [Apr. 2nd, 2008|11:28 pm]
[Current Mood |depresseddepressed]

I Seriously Don't Know.

Am I Ugly?
Am I Frightening?
Am I A Bitch?
Are My Interests Lousy?


Am I Really That Awful And Repulsive?

Am I Doomed To A Life Of Wondering This?

Really, What?
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Homophobia Is Gay [Angry Rant] [Jan. 24th, 2008|09:15 pm]

They're Bashing Heath Ledger For Playing A Gay Role, Saying He's Going To Hell!
She's Like, "He Was A Fornicator! HE SUPPORTED HOMOSEXUALITY!" And She Keeps Saying "Of Course" Like It's EVERYONE'S View!




Agh! I'm So Mad I Can't Even Focus On Anything!

Oh My God!
Just READING The Shit They put On Their Makes Me Want To PUKE!
Go Look For Yourself!


Listen To The Audio Stream!

I'm Going To Be SICK!

Leave Comments If You Agree.
I'm Off To Go Hit Something...
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Yuck. [Jan. 21st, 2008|10:52 am]
[Tags|, , , , ]
[Current Location |Ohio]
[Current Mood |angryangry]
[Current Music |Rage Against The Machine - Killing In The Name]

Ew I Officially HATE Science Class.

My Teacher Wants Me To Build A Cardboard Chair.

That Can Hold 15 Pounds.

Easy Enough, Right?


I Can't Use Duct Tape, OR Glue.
I Can Only Use 1sq. Meter Of Cardboard.

And I Have To Finish TONIGHT.

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Artificial Beauty 2 [Jan. 19th, 2008|12:12 am]
[Current Location |Ohio]
[Current Mood |artistic]
[Current Music |Radiohead - Fake Plastic Trees]


“Can you get rid of those, please?”

Dr. Davis looked confused. “What?”

“The flowers. Can you hide them or something?”

He took them off of his desk. Then he took out a legal pad and pen. “Why do they bother you so much, Famina?”

I knew everything I said would be written down for his report. No way in Hell would I tell him they talked to me. “Fake flowers are ugly.” That was the truth. They were nasty little bitches. Real plants were sweet, and caring, but the silk ones were disgusting.

“Some people think they are beautiful.”

“Well those people have no sense of beauty.”

“What is beauty, Famina?”

Beauty is seeing everything as an object, not a personality. “A Sunset.” I replied.

“I see. And?”

Nobody in this place. I can see through you all. “Waves on a beach.”

“Famina. I asked what you thought beauty was. Not what you should think beauty is.”

Well that’s too bad, old man. What I think is not for you to know. “I told you what it was.”

“We can’t get anywhere if you’re not truthful. You don’t want to be here your whole life, do you?”

No, I don’t. Which is why I’m not telling you I talk to plants, or days of the week, or paintings. “No, Sir.”

“Well. I’ll See You Friday, then.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dumbass.

--- --- ---

“Why?” I asked the poppies. He didn’t forget. He stopped caring. You knew he’d stop caring. “SHUT UP!” I threw a book at the vase, causing it to fall and shatter. I heard a knock at my door. “Yeah? Oh hi Craig. Sup?”

“Do you have anything good to read? I’ll trade you.” He held up a tattered book, of which I couldn’t see the title.

“Oh. Yeah. Here…” I handed him a few different books. “Enjoy.”

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Artificial Beauty 1 [Jan. 13th, 2008|04:50 pm]
[Tags|, , , , , , , , , ]
[Current Location |Ohio]
[Current Mood |thoughtfulthoughtful]
[Current Music |Radiohead - Fake Plastic Trees]

What Is Beauty?
What Does It Mean?



The brightly colored fabric flowers on my bed stand were mocking me.  You know not my pain… I thought to them.

I glanced up at the tear-away calendar that the nurses updated every day. Tuesday, the 7th of Nov. Tuesday. It was like the wallflower of all weekdays. Everybody paid attention to Monday, it began the week; Wednesday was the middle of the week; Even on Thursday you could say “It’s almost Friday!” But no. Tuesday was my day. It was disowned by its family, the rest of the week.  I got up, wincing at the cold of the tile, and took the day off. I put it with all the others in the shoebox.  I picked up the pencil from inside the box, and erased the four written on the top. “Five. Fifty-five.” I said aloud. Fifty-five weeks I spent here, along with every other day. Fifty-five weeks since I had lived with my parents, and my brother.

The thought of my brother made me perk up a little. He came every week on Tuesday, at 1. Frankie was the only one in my family who still loved me.  He’d come and bring me gifts, things like CD’s of bands nobody had heard of, and new books to read.

I looked at the clock. 11am. If I want breakfast… I better go down.

--- --- ---

I drummed my fingers nervously on the arm of the metal chair. I glanced at the clock again. 1:57. I went back to drumming. 1:58. I ran my hands through my hair. 1:59. I looked out the window. 2:00. It’s okay… maybe he’s in traffic. Or... maybe he lost his keys. He didn’t forget about me. No, no, no. He wouldn’t forget.

I left the room, and went up to the receptionist at the front. She was hard to look at, with her pink nails, and matching pink suit, with a horrible fake rose pinned to it. Another flower. Stop mocking me!

“Yes?” She asked, clearly wanting me far from her station.

“Have you gotten any calls from Frank Iero?”

She glanced at the computer monitor. “No.”

I walked back to my room, trying not to accept it.

By dinner time, though, I had to.

He wasn’t coming. He forgot about me.

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