Our lady of sorrows.

And if they get me and the sun goes down

And if they get me take this spike and

You put the spike in my heart

If I were going to spend eternity in the ground,

please let it be next to a small tree.

Come back in a year's time,

and sit below the now blooming tree,

and have a picnic.

Make me a mix,

kiss the tombstone,

tell me you'll be back next year.

I like the well-kept cemeteries in America better

for the reason that they're more suited for

things like that.

It feels like they make it uber-iffy here so

people wouldn't be into things like that.

And then again, there's no space for sitting

so it'll probably be like you're having

a party with a ton of people you don't know there.

I think it's fucked up to die at an age around 13 to 18

because everything is shit and then

you'll never see better.

We hung out with all the people who had

died in the 80s.

From newborn babies, to teenagers,

to 97 year-olds.

Sometimes I wonder if anything we do

has any meaning.

If it's all going to end that way.

Abandon ship or abandon all hope.

I am sick and want to die that is all.

This couldn't be any more timely, because I have Web D

due on wednesday, and it is

the fucking bane of my existence.

Mark and I went to the propaganda centre yesterday,

it would be okay if it existed on its own

but then he reminded me that kids are forced

to go on field trips there.

I am drinking water, seriously,

that signifies the end of

everything as we have known it.

I hope you find it on greener ground and bluer skies.

"The sky looks like the way it is when I drive you home,

way too late."

The streets are pretty empty,

the city slowly waking from the dead of night.

I sing along with the mix I made you,

you drive with one hand on the wheel and the

other holding a cigarette out the window.

It's six in the morning, we haven't had any sleep.

Your eyes are heavy as we crawl under the sheets.

Your skin is really warm but that's

probably cause mine's always cold.

It's nine at night, we're sitting in the

back of the car, feet dangling out.

I eye your cigarette this time, the hourglass,

"one more smoke then I have to go".

I think you're thinking of it too, but in a larger sense.

"It's only a different country, Tiny, I'll still be alive."

We'll be fine.

I know we will.

But for now, California can wait.

Simon was an engineer, scientific stratosphere.

Goldfish keeping me alive,

I've been packing my single-serving meals for

school and it's been fun,

but last night was just a mess

and this morning I couldn't make myself do it,

because it's just such a happy thing to do, you know?

Butter your bread, slice the cucumber,

cut the sandwiches into little triangles,

grab a handful of colourful cheddar fish for your

lunchbox that's made to look like a house?

All the while in your pjs and a yay-good-morning song playing.

Why do I have to complicate my feelings?

I can't seem to be just happy

when I should be.

My brain clicks and some switch flips

and then I fuck every good mood up.

It's not that crazy so don't... worry, anyone.

It's just a strange little thing I go through

and it makes people confused and angry,

and makes me sad and sleep elude me.

Sweet sweet heartkiller.

I shall overlook FallOut3 and

your vicious tickling.

You shall eat my horrendous baking and

listen to my whining.

We will paste stickers in town

and hold hands

and not do anything all day.

if it pleases us.

Twenty four oceans, twenty four skies.

Party photos by Ruth.

Mark Pichay turned 24!

We had a little party (:

*

I'm sick and I passed out over the toilet last night

trying to puke and ended up smashing my lip

on the seat.