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[Mar. 9th, 2005|10:40 pm] |
Rachael Newell
Melissa Mallia
Katie Amenta
In one year about 9.5 percent of the population (about 19 million adults) suffer form at least one depressive illness. Depression is one of the most common psychological illnesses. Depression can interfere with anything. It causes pain and suffering not only to the person dealing with the depression itself, but also to the people who care with them.
Depression is a disorder that changes how you think and feel. People that suffer from depression cannot “pull themselves” together and get better.
Some types of depression run in families, and are thought to be inherited. Most people that have no self esteem, or are overwhelmed with stress, are prone to depression. A serious loss, chronic illness, stress, financial problems, may trigger a depressive episode.
One major type of depression is known as bipolar depression. Bi polar depression consists of both high and low mood swings. Bi polar is also recognized as a manic depressive illness. The high mood swings are known as manic, and the lows are known as depression. The mood swings can switch rapidly but most of the time they are gradual. On a manic swing people can be seen as overactive, over talkative, and filled with energy. While a person is in a manic cycle, it affects their way of thinking, social behavior, and even their judgment. Manic episodes are abnormally elevated. When a person is on a depressive swing the person could possibly have all or some of the effects that depression causes. Some of the effects are that the person feels persistently sad, anxious, or empty. They could feel helpless, worthless, and maybe even guilty. People in a depressive state also tend to lose pleasure for usual activities, not feeling hungry or maybe even eating way too much.
Bi polar typically begins in adolescence or during early adulthood. There are many types of treatment available for this illness. Without getting help people may turn to drug, alcohol, job losses, break ups, and suicide may even be a result in a depressive mood swing. More than two million Americans have manic- depressive illness. They may even have persistent thoughts of death.
Depression can visit any one, and at anytime. Women experience depression about twice as often as men. Some thing that might cause depression is menopause, miscarriages, pregnancy, and much more. Many women also face many additional stress problems.
Many people think that it is normal for the elderly to feel depressed. In the real world most elderly people are extremely satisfied with their lives, but depression maybe a dismissed part of aging.
Depression in teens is extremely common. About four out of one hundred teenagers get very depressed each year. Some of the problems teen’s have are their grades in school, relationships with friends and family, alcohol, drugs, and sex.
The best thing for people to do about their depression is talk to someone. Many people are willing to help you, such as a psychologist, parents, family member, or even your school counselor. Just know that depression can affect people of any race or age.
Most people with depression can be helped with counseling, and maybe even medicine. With counseling also known as psychotherapy, means talking about your feelings to a trained psychologist who can help change your thoughts. The support of your counselor helps ease the pain, and addresses the feelings of hopelessness that accompany depression. A good diagnostic evaluation will include a complete history of depression symptoms, such as when it started, how serious they are, and what the treatment should be. Some questions the doctors ask about alcohol and drug use, and if the patient has had thoughts about suicide and death.
Another treatment is of course medication. Medication is used to treat severe depression, and they are known as anti depressants. Sometimes people may think that after a while of taking the medication and they start to feel better that everything is ok, but most of the time they are wrong.
Some people that feel helpless and depressed especially teenagers usually have an alcohol or drug abuse problem. Sometimes people use drugs or they drink to escape from their problems, but in the long run it really doesn’t help. Other times the alcohol or drug itself causes the depression.
Some other effects of depression are suicide. Most people who are depressed don’t commit suicide, but depression defiantly increases the risk for suicides or suicide attempts. Any kind of suicidal thought, remark, or attempts are ALWAYS serious. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 9th, 2005|10:40 pm] |
Rachael Newell
Picture Story
For many years now breast cancer has affected people of all ages. Many people have had to struggle for their lives and the unlucky ones had unfortunately hard times, along with rough ones that have ended up to be fatal.
Would I be crazy if I told you that I had a cure to end this horrible sickness? What if I told you that with just the say of your shoe size that it would all go away, sort of like Cinderella with her glass slipper? Well I do have a cure and I know it might sound crazy but it’s true.
There is this one store, a popular store. I know everyone has heard of it, Macy’s, one at every mall that I know, seems to good to be true right? This store carries a brand, a brand that well really isn’t in “style” this brand is labeled pinkies. Pinkie’s carries this one shoe called savior, and once that shoe touches your foot, with in ten hours all the pain with disappear.
Right after that statement was made every news station in the world had this message streaming across the bottom of your television. “ATTENTION ALL TO WHOM HAS SOMEONE STRUGGLING WITH CANCER, THERE IS NOW A CURE. RUN TO MACY’S AND GRAB A PAIR OF PINKIE’S SAVIOR SHOES AND THAT PERSON AFTER TEN HOURS WILL HAVE A HEALTHY LIFE FOREVER MORE!”
It was truly like a super powered shoe. It really worked; millions upon millions of humans once sick were now cured. Since that day there have been rumors about other shoes having superpowers, but none have proven to be correct. Hopefully one day there will be many types of shoes to cure all types of illnesses, but in this case that shoe really had a great and helpful superpower! |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 7th, 2005|01:00 pm] |
Rachael Newell
Love stinks
She was my best friend. My daughter. Her beautiful blue eyes, and luscious blonde lock curls. She was so clever and so bright. Loved by so many, and hated by the jealous. She was the definition of perfect. Flawless of mistakes nothing but perfection. Her smile made people feel warm inside. I never thought she would go there.
It happened around the 9th grade. Her first year of high school, but I wasn’t worried, I knew she’d be ok. She had a group of friends, there were five of them and as far as I knew they were good kids too. Sometimes a mother’s perspective is wrong, and before you realize it could be too late.
She started going out at night to the library to study, she was usually home around ten when the local library closed. On weekends she would go to her friends’ house’s to study. After a couple of months, everything started to change. She started coming home late at night, red-eyed and not wanting to eat. She would go straight to bed, not even a good night, just straight to her room. After a while I had to say something.
I confronted my little girl, asking if she was in strife. She just started shouting and screaming, telling me to get out of her life. I wanted to know what was wrong so badly, as I sat and watched my daughter decay slowly but painfully. It was so disturbing to watch, what had gone wrong?
This all must have started thanks to high school. She had to leave her old friends, and sit there and make new. She was mixing with the wrong crowd so I decided to check her room. As I had suspected there were drugs there, all I could see now was a future of doom. There were so many drugs, some I have never seen before, pipes, papers, and needles. There was no room left for happiness, only a long dark road.
I had to talk to her again, but every word that came out of her mouth made no sense. It’s like she lived in a fantasy world not knowing reality. Her habit must have become worse because when she sat there with me her eyes and her body looked so paranoid and tense.
I had to take another step forwards so I took her to the doctors. There was nothing more I could do. Couldn’t see she how she was destroying me, or even worse, killing herself? When we got home, as we all know she went running back to you know who.
At night I could hear her crying, soft sobs filled the air. I knew at that point she was unhappy and all this had to end. I told her she couldn’t see him anymore, for he was doing her no good. Then she started getting violent with me, and grabbed her things and ran away.
She ran away with her boyfriend, a life mislead. I have heard from police, telling me that my daughter is dead. I miss her so dearly, how I wish she could see. Drugs ruined her, not only her but also me. The pain I sat through just couldn’t be explained.
I wish there was something I could do, something I could say. Watch over your child closely, or her life she might have to pay. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 7th, 2005|12:58 pm] |
Rachael Newell
Old man with very enormous wings
Why did he have to be subjected to a decision like this? It wasn’t fair.
It was something he did often; leaning over the edge of his secret spot to peer down at the world below. He could see everything from the view. He could see the seagulls as they drifted absent-mindedly above the town. He could see the cars that busily made their daily trips to and from the offices where their owners worked. He could see the children playing in the park; swinging, running, biking, playing baseball. Now he saw none of this; he only saw him. Tears running down his face, as he watched silently, from above. This is the time for this child to go.
As the rain falls, tears slide down the cheeks of an angel. Beautiful snowflake wings hidden behind a cloak of sadness, delicate wings that can be torn easily are slowly mending themselves, and soon this angel will be able to fly again, to feel the whispers and the rhythm of his beating heart, a heart that is made for love and protection.
There was radiance with him, a glow from within. I ran my fingers along the curves of the angel’s wings. His clear apparitions of flight are surprisingly sharp. They slice through the tips of my fingers as smoothly as a boat glides through water. My blood runs over him. He is lovely and fragile. He was dropped from heaven and shattered into a million pieces and there he laid with broken wings.
“He’s an angel,” she told them. “He must have been coming for the child, but the poor fellow is so old that the rain knocked him down,” The neighbor woman said. I had to lock up this creature so he wouldn’t be clubbed to death, I must lock him up with then hens in the wire chicken coop.”
“With the first light of dawn, I found the whole neighborhood in front of the chicken coop having fun with the angel, without the slightest reverence, tossing him things to eat through the openings in the wire as if he weren’t a supernatural but a circus animal.”
“How could I be treated like this? I was sent here to protect that child, now all I get is disrespect and food thrown at me as if I am inferior to them? They will have to pay for this, I am sick of being a good angel, and being stepped all over. That lady, the one who said that I was an angel. She is the one who is responsible for this. For now I will just sit back and watch from the heaven above. Maybe something will help me change my mind. if not, then it will be her time.”
For days I watched this little town, as the Pelayo residence went outside to kill more crabs. I watch the child grow, so innocent. Then there was that lady, how I wish she would just go away. I watch as she drives her child to school, and when she speeds on the way to work. I still have this aching pain burrowed deep within, she told them my identity, and she gave me a bad name. I was treated like an animal, when I am the protector. I protect them, and they disrespect me. There was also still gossip about me, on the news, in the paper, and most of all imbedded into everyone’s head. Day by day and night by night, my hatred for this lady intensified. Each day something new, more lies about me being told. Some people say they even see me creeping around at the darkness of night. This is it, I thought, they want bad I’ll show them bad, they did this to me, they made me feed to kill. Or did I, I don’t want to kill but I want this lady to perish beneath the earth’s crust and be forgotten forever.
I didn’t want to just show up and kill. I wanted to wait for the perfect time. A time where everyone could see, and she would be embarrassed for what she has done.
The creature now perched on the edge of the roof, peers down at the lady. Still it watches, waiting for its signal. As if on cue, above all their heads a dove hovers. Its feathers bright white, it flutters down to the women’s shoulder, startling her and making her cry aloud. Slowly, the creature unfolds it wings, the wings scraping against one another, skin from the back of its ribs flakes to the ground. It starts to straighten its legs and arch its back, ready to take off.
The angel looked down at the baby in this lady’s hand as if it knew who she was. The hairs on the back of the woman's neck rose as a chilled breeze sweeps past them. A tingling sensation sweeps across her body in waves, she shivers and rolls her neck. The angel started to look around nervously, fluttering its wings.
It rose into the air, sending out a scream. Its mouth wide, its wings spread staring straight in the eyes of the watchers. The angel leaped into the air, immediately releasing its danger. The creature beat its wings and rose above her, then dropped down grabbing her shoulders in its clawed feet, blood running from where they dug into her skin. It dragged her into the sky and grabbed her with its arms, lifting her to its face. It looked at her, screamed again then shook her violently. Blood covered her top where its nails had pierced her and where they were now tearing at her. Her body went limp, and it threw her to the ground and turned around again, searching for what was supposed to be in the woman’s arms. It hovered for a second before rising into the sky and disappearing over the roof tops, leaving unfound, the baby, now silent as it lies in the growth beneath the tree.
That was the last time we ever spoke about that angel, and hopefully the last time we will ever see his image again. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 4th, 2005|10:12 am] |
Rachael Newell
Modern day lotto story
It was October 31st, hollows eve. A night when kids of all ages even adults embrace the evil spirits. There is nothing good about Halloween except for the lottery. In this small town the lottery is not just an ordinary lotto. Every six years the mayor of town has to take out two completely different lotto boxes. One box is deadly and the other pure ecstasy.
On this evil day a box, a little black box, covered in spider webs and filled with dark futures would be opened and ruin some ones life forever. This box was cursed. Mystical, magical everyone in towns name was put into this box. No one knew how their names got there but they did. Babies, mothers, everyone. It was quite odd. There was a bad side to this box, that’s why it was so evil.
The other box was quite beautiful, with a radiance seen for miles. This was the box that held a section for hope, love, and cash. The cash part was only to families because more people equals more needs, which equals more money. The love draw was for young girls, who are searching for their romance. Hope was to the rejects of the town, so that one day they would have hope and actually make it some where in life.
“As you all know my name is Kenny Armstrong, mayor of the wonderful town. Today will be the drawing for the lottery boxes, Also it will be a disturbing draw and three wonderful draws.”
All the children wondered what could be so horrible about a lotto draw because most of them were very young when it happened, or they weren’t born during the last ceremony.
The major pulled out both boxes and set one on the ground and the other on a glowing white pillow, a pillow that looked like it was sent from heaven. The crowd gasped in awe.
“Everyone today has gathered for a time of pity and a time of party. Let’s let the show begin.”
The major took out two keys. Of course one key was drastically gorgeous, decorated in luscious diamonds and pearls. The major opened up the dark gruesome black box and pulled out a name.
” Mary Stone”
Mary Stone slowly started to turn away and make a run for it, but the major’s assistants grabbed her tightly by the arm. She was dragged on stage and chained up while the started sawing her away. Her screams were echoed through out the town, no one said a thing, it was pure silence. Then she was dragged to the lake and tossed in to drown.
“No more dirty work for another six years the major joked. Time for the next drawing.”
The people were stiff, barley breathing, children were crying for they have never seen something like that before. Out came the angelic box.
“Three names will be called and those three names are going to be brought into pure ecstasy. Jon Epperson, Alice Johnson, and Lisa Pit please come make your way and a new step to a new beginning.”
Lisa Pit won the draw of love for she was not so pretty but once she kissed the box that same angelic beauty repealed from her face. Not long after she was happily married with three kids.
Jon Epperson won hope, for he was a poor man with nothing to his name. He had always hoped that he would become a famous designer, and that he became. The little town they lived in was the hometown of one of the greatest designers in the world.
Then there was Alice Johnson who won the cash. Growing up she was middle class, had a car and a pool, but not she has 5,000,000 dollars to do as she pleases.
After a couple of congratulations the towns people began to disperse, the major went back to his office, and that was the end of the lotto for another six years. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 2nd, 2005|10:16 am] |
Depression
Questionnaire
1. Do you or any of your peers suffer from depression? _____________________________ __________________________________________ ___________________________________________
2. What do you think depression means. __________________________________________ ____________________________________________ ___________________________________________
3. What are your views on cutting? ___________________________________________ __________________________________________ ___________________________________________
4. How many treatments can you list for depression? _____________________________ __________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________________
5. What age do you think depression occurs in? ___________________________________________ __________________________________________ ___________________________________________
___________________________________________ |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 2nd, 2005|10:15 am] |
Consent form
“I agree to allow my data to be included in the experiment and for it to be used to draw conclusions. I also understand that the information I provide is confidential.”
Name: _______________________________________
Signature:_____________________________________
Date:_________________________________________
Age & grade:___________________________________
Male or female:________________________________ |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 27th, 2005|08:50 pm] |
Rachael Newell
English essay
4. In the book bless me Ultima Antonio’s mother Maria has many views on sins and sexuality. On page 31 Maria says, “and what it is a sin it is for a boy to grow into a man.” Maria wants her youngest son Antonio to grow up and be a priest. If this were to happen Antonio wouldn’t have to deal with her son doing bad deeds and sinning.
Maria’s three other sons come home from a war and Antonio have a dream about them on pages 70-71. In this dream Antonio see his brothers going into Rosie’s house. Rosie’s house is a house of whores. One of Antonio’s brothers names Andrew says, “I will not enter until you loose your innocence.” Tony replies to this by saying, “but innocence is forever.”
Maria thinks that if her son was to grow up and be a priest she wouldn’t have to worry about him performing sins like his brothers. She thinks that what her three other sons do is wrong and a sin. If Tony was to grow up and be a priest Maria says, “Just think what an honor it would bring our family to have a priest.” She also says, “if only he could become a priest. That would save him! He would always be with god.” All this was said on page 31.
It is obvious that Maria has strong thoughts on god and wants her son to remain innocent and go to heaven. All of these thoughts put many pressures on Tony because he wants to fulfill his mothers dream. His brothers didn’t fulfill them so he feels the need that he has to. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 27th, 2005|08:49 pm] |
Rachael Newell
English bless me Ultima essay
2. Antonio has a conversation on the way to El Puerto that basically helps Antonio out for the rest of his life. Antonio’s friend Florence passed away now long before Antonio left to El Puerto. Florence had much disbelief in god. Florence had questions and they happened to be the same questions that Antonio also wanted to know and understand. On page 196 Antonio says, “The questions Florence has posed were the same questions I wanted answered. Why was the murder of Narciso allowed? Why was evil allowed?” both of them wanted to know why, but Florence had no belief and Tony did, he wanted to be a priest.
On page 243 Tony has a dream and the dream involves Narciso and Florence, both he has witnessed die. Tony says,” Florence! I shouted as he appeared before me, is there no god in heaven to bear my burden?” at this point in time Antonio is really lost in his thoughts.
On pages 248-249 Tony has a talk with his father abut good and evil. His father explains to him that “most things that we call evil are really not evil at all; it’s just that we don’t understand those things so we call them evil.” Basically Tony is finding out what reality really is. He learns that there may not be room in heaven for everyone and that some people just deserve to go to hell. There is not only pleasant in the world but also bad. Resolving this on page 248 Tony says, “So I learn to accept reality.” From that conversation Tony learned a lot more about life then he really thought he knew, and it changed his view completely, and now he understands. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 16th, 2005|11:05 am] |
Rachael Newell
SCAR
Each day that went by with him, every moment, each second a scar so engaged and so immeasurable grew upon my heart.
He told me he loved me and I was the one, I trusted him, I believed that was the honest truth. From that point on I had no worries I was the one for him and no other could compare to me. He had no desire to see other people, no desire to search, and neither did I. We were in love.
After a while he started to lie, I had a feeling he was cheating but I truly believed his words from before,” ill never hurt you, you’re the one I love.”
He would say he was at home, when I heard many people in his surrounding, but I kept my little mouth shut because of my little friend named trust. Then I heard the real truth. He was with me for love and we knew it but his friends say he had a different girlfriend. Was he ashamed that I was his girlfriend? I had so many thoughts so many questions. Was he really cheating?
What about all those times he said, “I love you.” All those times he called me beautiful, was that all a lie? My heart was punctured, so hurt and wounded. I felt so degraded so worthless, all trust lost. I gave out my heart and believed his words, but it was now silent and trust was gone.
I stayed with him, I couldn’t live with out him and this scar on my heart just continued to mature. After a while tiny scratches began to emerge everywhere, clashing with one another. Eventually my heart was cracked, shattered into tiny little pieces, pieces that illustrated a little piece of hope and trust. These hopes and trust were now broken and lost.
Every time I get a compliment, I know it must be a lie, I can’t trust anyone. I have a very hard time trusting people because of how bad I have been hurt by this person. Not trusting people effects my life in many ways because I cannot explain my self, and no matter what anyone says what I say is right, and it is right because I know I am not lying to myself. So until this day for me to have relationships is extremely difficult because in one way or another I think your there to hurt me and everything you say is a lie. I have lost one thing that everyone needs and that is trust.
I have improved and I am in a relationship that I consider a family. I know that they aren’t there to hurt me, and I know I can trust them with anything I say, but sometimes fights do occur because of my way of thinking. I am getting better, and hopefully one day I won’t have this problem with trust, and my once wounded heart will fully heal. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 11th, 2005|09:33 am] |
You brought so much happiness,
into my life.
That I don’t even know how to,
thank you.
But I will try to bring you,
as much happiness.
As you have done for me,
when we are together its like.
It’s not true.
As if we are in a dream.
But reality hits me,
and
I feel so relieved that,
now it’s just
you and me.
Saying I love you means
wanting to be your lover
and best friend.
Wanting to see your face
first thing every morning
and last thing before
I close my eyes each night.
Wanting to stand beside you
in everything you do.
Wanting to laugh with you
when you're happy
and cry with you
when you're blue.
Wanting to share my hopes,
my dreams, my secrets
and my life
forever,
Only with you.
When you need someone to talk to
Or simply some one you can lean on to
Don't be desperate
I'm here willing to communicate
When you feel lonely
That you're almost going crazy
Don't loose your temper
I'm just here, waiting for your sweet surrender
When you feel so sad
And you cant help but to get mad
Just relax, take it easy
Because I'm here, I will always be
When you feel like crying
And you cant stop it from flowing
Its ok, don't worry
I'm here, I'm more worthy
When the sun wont shine on you
Don't be scared, because ill guide you thru
And when it always rain on you
Ill be here to shelter you
When the world turn its back on you
Smile, because I'm here to see you thru
And when the world hates you
Smile more, because I Love You!!!!!!!!!
SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT
THE FIRST TIME I REALIZED
THAT I LOVE YOU...
IT WAS AS IF MY EYES
TOOK A PICTURE AT THAT MOMENT
AND SHARED IT WITH MY HEART.
SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT
HOW MUCH MY LIFE HAS CHANGED
BECAUSE OF YOUR LOVE.
I THINK ABOUT YOU,
I THINK ABOUT YOUR HAPPINESS,
I THINK ABOUT US,
AND I THINK OF OUR LIFE TOGETHER;
THEN I REALIZE YOU ARE...
AS MUCH A PART OF ME,
AS THE AIR I BREATHE...
AND THE DREAMS I NURTURE.
BUT, FROM TIME TO TIME,
I STILL LIKE TO REMEMBER
THE FIRST TIME I LOOKED INTO...
THOSE BEAUTIFUL EYES.
I LOOK INTO THEM, DEEPLY,
AND REALIZE I SEE MY FUTURE...
WITHIN THEM FOREVERMORE!!!
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY,
I LOVE YOU, ALWAYS AND FOREVER.
HAPPY
VALENTINES DAY
I LOVE YOU
Rachael and Mike
8-29-04
A.A.F |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 11th, 2005|09:31 am] |
I love you more
when you look at me
all those times you stare
that gave me the creeps.
I love you more
when you hug me
the way you do
all tight not wanting me to leave.
I love you more
when we talk on the phone
we argue a lot
but is worth it,
by hearing your voice.
I love you more
when you tell me
you love me,
it makes me feel
all bubbly and spongy
I just love you more
You are my angel
Your wings you cannot see
You’re the angel who changed me
You have changed me in a good way
You have helped me see the way
You made me want to live another day
You make me smile when I think of you
You made me shake when I was next to you
You make me miss you when your are near
You are the angel of my dreams
You are the angel God has sent to me
You are the angel who made me Me
You have made me feel loved
You have made me feel needed
You have made me see that you care for me
So when I call you an angel please believe
That an angel to me You will always be.
I have seen a double rainbow
And days of cloudless skies
The endless look of affirmation
Deep in a mothers eyes
I've seen the very special place
Where true love starts to grow
The feeling deep inside your heart
The moment when you 'know'
I have seen the very best of friends
Drift apart like ships in the night
The tears that they don't want to fall
The embrace that says 'goodbye'
I've seen grown men weep
From a child's endless laughter
Fairy tales coming true
And happily ever after
And I have seen the sunset
Over a sea of crystal blue
But of all the beautiful things I've seen
Nothing compares to you |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 11th, 2005|09:29 am] |
Every time I see you,
I get butterflies.
Maybe because,
Of your gorgeous eyes.
Every time you smile,
I start to fill with glee.
I love you so much!
You mean the world to me!
Every time you hug me,
I just love being in your arms.
That is when I feel very safe and know,
You will protect me from any harms.
Every time we kiss,
It feels like it is just you and me.
That is when I remember,
I love you just as much as you love me.
The softness of your touch makes me feel so safe and secure.
The way you love me makes me feel so sure
Feelings of comfort, happiness and bliss fill my heart
I can't picture us ever being apart
I could lay here forever wrapped with you
it takes my breath away to be in a love so true
It's like paradise, I'm floating on cloud nine
We'll always be together, forever you are mine
It's amazing how anyone could make me feel like this
how your life can change with one sweet kiss
your love is so strong your words so sincere
I can't imagine my life without you here
when I'm with you, the rest of the world is no longer in view
The whole world disappears and its only me and you
looking in your eyes and getting lost in your stare
I suddenly see all the sweet times we share
all the magical kisses and long talks we've had
we're able to share our feeling and for that I am glad
so if your asking when I'll leave you the answer is never
If your asking if I need you the answer is forever
If your asking who I want the answer is you
If your asking if I love you the answer is , I do
Every moment I was with you,
you did something no one else could do,
you brought so much happiness into me,
you made me feel joy and happiness,
your enchanting eyes make me melt some inside,
your smile brightness up my gloom’s day and makes my anger subside,
your warm voice makes me feel dizzy until i am almost insane,
the feelings you steer through me are too hard to explain,
saying I love you isn't enough to show how much I really care,
I think of the memorable moments that one day we might share,
I know for a fact that you and I were meant to be
I love you |
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| for mike |
[Feb. 11th, 2005|09:25 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blank | ] |
| [ | music |
| | slipknot- blackheart | ] |
When I'm with you,
eternity is a step away,
my love continues to grow,
with each passing day.
This treasure of love,
I cherish within my soul,
how much I love you,
you'll never really know.
You bring a joy to my heart,
I've never felt before,
with each touch of your heart,
I love you more and more.
Whenever we say goodbye,
whenever we part,
know I hold you dearly,
deep inside my heart.
So these seven words,
I pray you hold true,
"Forever and Always,
I will Love You."
I don't know what to say
What haven't already been said
So I'm looking through the words
And what to write instead
When I'm with you,
It's a different me
Too many words to explain
Except for these three
" I love you" so much
But don't see how to prove this
I want to show it to you
But every chance I get, I miss
It's just everything about you
That takes me away
My heart falls in love with you
Every single time, and day
I have nothing to think of
But about you and I
I never want to lose you
You're not an ordinary guy
I was lost
But now I'm found
Just because
You came around
I was dying
Now I'm so alive
Just because
You arrived
I was wrong
But now I'm right
I felt dark
But now I'm light
I was scared
Now I'm OK
You made my pain
Go away
You saved me
From myself
You put my sadness
On the shelf
I was sad
I was blue
But I'd be nothing
Without you |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 9th, 2005|01:19 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  accomplished | ] |
| [ | music |
| | mr. mann | ] |
Rachael Newell
Love stinks
She was my best friend. My daughter. Her beautiful blue eyes, and luscious blonde lock curls. She was so clever and so bright. Loved by so many, and hated by the jealous. She was the definition of perfect. Flawless of mistakes nothing but perfection. Her smile made people feel warm inside. I never thought she would go there.
It happened around the 9th grade. Her first year of high school, but I wasn’t worried, I knew shed be ok. She had a group of friends, there were five of them and as far as I knew they were good kids too. Sometimes a mother’s perspective is wrong, and before you realize it could be too late.
She started going out at night to the library to study, she was usually home around ten when the local library closed. On weekends she would go to her friends’ house to study. After a couple of months everything started to change. She started coming home late at night, red eyed not wanting to eat. She would go straight to bed, not even a good night, just straight to her room. After a while I had to say some thing.
I confronted my little girl, asking if she was in strife. She just started shouting and screaming, telling me to get out of her life. I wanted to know what was wrong so badly, as I sat and watched my daughter decay slowly but painfully. It was so disturbing to watch, what had gone wrong?
This all must have started thanks to high school. She had to leave her old friends, and sit there and make new. She was mixing with the wrong crowd so I decided to check her room. As I had suspected there were drugs there, all I could see now was a future of doom. There were so many drugs, some I have never seen before, pipes, papers, and needles. There was no room left for happiness, only a long dark road.
I had to talk to her again, but every word that came out of her mouth made no sense. It’s like she lived in a fantasy world not knowing reality. Her habit must have become worse because when she sat there with me her eyes and her body looked so paranoid and tense.
I had to take another step forwards so I took her to the doctors. There was nothing more I could do. When we got home, as we all know she went running back to you know who. Couldn’t see she how she was destroying me, or even worse, killing herself?
At night I could hear her crying, soft sobs filled the air. I knew at that point she was unhappy and all this had to end. I told her she couldn’t see him anymore, for he was doing her no good. Then she started getting violent with me, and grabbed her things and ran away.
She ran away with her boyfriend, a life mislead. I have heard from police, telling me that my daughter is dead. I miss her so dearly, how I wish she could see. Drugs ruined her, not only her but also me. The pain I sat through just couldn’t be explained.
I wish there was something I could do, something I could say. Watch over your child closely, or her life she might have to pay. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 8th, 2005|11:17 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  happy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | mrs downen | ] |
Columbus brought two kinds of trouble back from the New World. One was gold with all the mischief that went with it. The other was tobacco.
Renaissance botanists and herbalists were immediately taken by tobacco. The American Indians had used it sparingly and ceremonially. That, in itself, gave this new plant an aura of importance.
Pesaro:
Northeast of Rome, in an Adriatic beach resort and shipping port named Pesaro, Giancarlo Guidi of Ser Jacopo, a master pipemaker generally regarded as the chief archi-tect of the Pesaro style or "school," shows us around his laboratorio (workshop) and offers a cogent explanation of the different schools. "Pesaro is artisan," he says. "We all started by ourselves or in small groups of two or three to make pipes 20 to 30 years ago. We had only a few machines for drilling and polishing, but did all the cutting and shaping by hand, or at most with a lathe to turn the pipe while we shaped it with tools.
"Milan and Varese, on the other hand, had the indus-trial tradition of the north of Bruto Sordini of Don Carlos Italy," he continues. "You can trace the anima (soul, spirit) of Brebbia and Savinelli back to the great Fratelli Rossi factory near Varese. They made up to 50,000 pipes a day at the beginning of the century. That's 12 million pipes a year from one factory! When Buzzi (Brebbia) and Savinelli started together, and then split up, that was their tradition. To this day the factory concept drives both of their thinking and shows in their classical shapes, which I think are the best in the world. Even though they do make some very fine hand-carved pipes, they start conceptually with what can be made by machine and go on from there. The pipemakers around Gavirate-Ardor, Talamona, and others, are in the Savinelli-Brebbia orbit."
"What about Castello?" we ask, intrigued by Guidi's opinions and urging him to continue.
"Castello started the new Italian pipe. When Carlo Scotti began the company right after World War 11, his concept was to make radi-cal innovations on standard forms and to make only the highest quality [product] for a small market of connoisseurs who could afford to pay the price. He used a very basic machine to cut the rough forms for consistent shapes, and then completed all the rest by hand. Great pipes, beautiful shapes. Of course there were also freehands, but only a small percentage. Ascorti and Radice originally worked for Castello, and when they went out on their own they carried out a similar idea: variations on classical themes, as seen in machined pipes. For that kind of artisan work, I think that Roberto Ascorti is one of the best pipernakers in the world today."
Asked about the difference between the northern schools and Pesaro, Guidi responds, "We started as self-taught arti-sans, who then learned from each other. Some had worked in the northern factories, oth-ers spent time in Livorno with Cesare Barontini (a major sup-plier of raw briar for the Italian pipernakers and a large scale contract manufacturer of pipes to the world market.) I was self taught. As a universi-ty student of art and design, I started to make my own pipes and then, because there was no work in my field, decided to do that for a living. The only machines I had were a saw, a lathe, and a sander. And that's all I have now, although more of the same."
Guidi's first company wasn't Ser Jacopo; it was Mastro de Paja, which he started in 1970. In 1982, Guidi left Mastro to his partners and started Ser Jacobo, where he continued to make large and over-sized "organic" shapes determined by the grain of the wood, and implemented elaborate ornamentation at the joint between the wooden shank and the lucite stem. "In my exploratory phase with Mastro and then in the new company, I made sculpture, not pipes that were comfortable and smokeable. Then I returned to the clas-sics, as a type of maturity. I search for thematic material in folklore, art history, and pipe traditions," Guidi explains.
One of the major accomplishments of Giancarlo Guidi is indi-rect: whether in the earlier phases of his career or the most recent, most of the Pesaro pipernakers have come under his influence. Either they worked for him or learned from him as apprentices. For example, Bruto Sordini origi-nally studied medicine but was entranced by pipernaking, and learned the basics from a local carver in his native town of Cagli, in the mountains an hour west of Pesaro. Guidi supplied briar and the two became friends. Then Guidi asked Sordini to join him when he started Ser Jacopo in 1982. Since 1988, Sordini has made his own Don Carlos pipe in a purpose-built workshop in Cagli.
With a spectacular view of the mountains through the huge windows that flood his workshop with light, and opera blasting on his stereo, Sordini, his wife Rosaria, and one assistant make some of the finest examples of large freehand classics we've seen from the Pesaro school. Guidi's influence is evident in the clean lines and balanced proportions, with surprising angles and curves, although the Don Carlos pipes are gen-erally larger than his men-tor's. Sordini also likes to add substantial ornamentation to the mouthpiece/bowl joint, like Guidi. Sordini's pre-pipe medical studies show too, with his scientific background leading him to invent and patent a carefully researched water filtration and mois-ture removal system in his "Hydra" pipe. His early apprenticeship with the local craftsman, along with the rugged local geography, also influence the outdoor character of his carving.
A more subtle Guidi influence is on Il Ceppo. According to Franco Rossi, who heads the company now, his sister and co-worker Nadia founded the company with her hus-band, master carver Georgio Imperatori, now retired. Imperatori worked with Guidi in the early days and started Il Ceppo when Guidi start-ed Mastro. Somewhat younger, Franco Rossi started at Mastro after Guidi had gone on to form Ser Jacopo, and learned the Guidi style of pipemaking, the style Mastro still uses today. Later, Rossi joined Imperatori at Il Ceppo, and eventually took over.
Rossi, an amiable man who instantly makes you feel that you've know him forever, has a passion for classics, all hand-turned, but with differences in proportion from the traditional shapes. An unusually wide shank will flow from a narrow bowl, or vice versa. Innovative silver bands adorn the shanks, and the mouthpieces are jewel-perfect in size and proportion. "The classi-cal mode comes from Imperatori," Rossi says, "but the freehands have the flavor of Montini's Mastro, courtesy of Guidi."
The next stop on our journey is Mastro de Paja, where Alberto Montini shows us his immaculate factory, where five micromanaged pipernakers are kept busy. "Mastro de Paja is still producing the freehand style pipes the company pioneered in the early days, except that the sizes are a bit small-er," Montini tells us. One mandated innovation here is that the finishers work on different shapes randomly sorted to keep their attention fresh and to avoid the numbing repe-tition of looking at the same pipes all day long. Montini, a keen observer of business trends, notes that he too is moving toward moderate sized classics in his 1998/99 collections. "The younger men want smaller, less obvious pipes," he says, "and we want the younger men as customers. This is a market-driven business."
Whether the members of the Pesaro school acknowledge or deny it, their history echoes Giancarlo Guidi's own. All of them run small artisan workshops that they started, with difficulty, when they decided to go it alone, and all use limited machinery. All hire workers who can carry out any phase of pipernaking, some of whom, in fact, split their time among the different makers' workshops, as the season and production schedules demand. All, moreover, bring a high degree of similarity in method and style to their work, with the distinct differences that personality dictates.
The Pesaro pipernakers have one other thing in common: they all have a prominently displayed picture of the world-renowned tenor Luciano Pavarotti smoking one of their pipes. A passionate pipe smoker, Pavarotti has a home nearby on the Adriatic shore, and homage paid to him with a gift of a specimen briar from one of the pipe maestros begets a photo posed with that pipe. And we are assured that Pavarotti smokes them all.
Because of the Italian Renaissance of the pipe is in its full PipeSMOKE made a pilgrimage to Italy. We started in Rome and continued a peregrination around the country northward to visit the industry saints or sinners (depending on whom you ask), and hand carvers in smaller workshops, as well as large factories. But, with so many pipe manufacturers and an enormous range of stylistic variations, we decided to acquaint or readers with the pipe culture of Italy and look at the “schools” of pipe making. Rather than trying to list everyone or trying to establish hierarchies we tried to find some unifying ideas to help understand this recent phenomena Because it is nature and nurture in Italy to argue ones opinion vehemently and passionately, but without personal animosity, we must emphasize that the ideas expressed below are those of the individuals interviewed and not necessarily those of this magazine.
ROME: Shopping for Style and Culture
Fincato is a pipeshop dating to 1932, and located in the old Roman center near the eternal Pantheon and the ephemeral government offices. Here, Fauso Fincato holds court:: this is his empire. The shop's street level features well-stocked display counters and wall racks with all the standard brands of tobacco and pipe. Up a flight of steps is a lounge-like showroom and museum outfitted with arm-chairs, couches, coffee, magazines, and tobacco humidors for a fill. Here, customers who drop by for a smoke, a chat, a sample, or a purchase find Fincato’s best offering - his personal attention.
A universally acknowledged spokesman for the Italian pipe world and publisher of the distinguished magazine, SMOKING, this suave, silver-haired gentleman has a style that would serve well in the diplomatic corps - discreet and direct, but with an agenda. He says, for example, that Italian pipe smokers mostly don't buy what is commonly thought of as an "Italian" pipe - a large, freehand, fancy shape with baroque form or rococo ornamentation. What they like are the classics - standard. shapes that are time-honored but modified by the pipemaker's artistic sensibility "As with great big cigars, huge pipes in everyday use are moments of exhibitionism. The pipe will remain, as it always has, classic. It promotes the image of elegance and refinement," Fincato explains as he lights up a well- used Savinelli Golden Jubilee with a billiard bowl, a bit taller but slightly narrower than the sandblasted, thinner-shanked Dunhill bil-liard I am carrying with me.
We admire the Savinelli and the Dunhill, in the universal show-and-tell pipe lovers use to get acquainted, along with a Peterson billiard with silver mount and spigot that I withdraw from my pocket. "I can see that you like the classics too," Fincato remarks. "Look at the perfect form, the balance between bowl, shank, and mouthpiece. This Savinelli is the classic Italian billiard; yours are the traditional English or Irish versions," he points out.
In fact, most of the pipes Fincato displays in his upstairs area are classic and elegant, clearly, at home in a polished, urbane setting. "A pipe is something to carry in the pocket, part of the equipment of a gentleman. Novelty pipes sensa anima (without spirit) don't create their own future, but all of these classics do," Fincato opines. Creating the future is part of what the Italian pipe culture is about, but to do so it stands on the shoulders of the past.
This day, we are Fincato's luncheon guests at the Circolo della Pipa (Circle of the Pipe), housed in a 15th century villa that belonged to a Vatican official, and probably was occupied by the painter known as "Raphael" (Raffaello Santi, 1483-1520). The Circolo, self designated as "associazione cul-turale," a pipe club composed of the Roman noblesse oblige, uses this elegant little villa, high up on one of the city's seven hills, as a luncheon and dinner club, and as a gathering place for the members to meet for a convivial smoke, drink, card game, or chat.
A preference for the pipe, fine wines, and gourmet food unites Circolo members, and they discuss their passions over a meal, as a preamble to smoking (it is considered brittafigura - bad form - to smoke while others eat). A wide range of topics are discussed and argued: Is Ascorti the best designer of the Como school? Is it true that Radice is his cousin? Does Savinelli still uphold the old standards? Is Brebbia shifting away from classi-cism? Can you really classify the pipe carvers of Pesaro as a school with Giancarlo Guidi (Ser Jacopo) as their leader? What about Bruto Sordini (Don Carlos)? Are his pipes successful in the U.S.A.? Isn't Franco Rossi (11 Ceppo) a true classicist? Do Americans still like Alberto Montini's Mastro de Paja? Is Ardor well known in the States? Besides Aldo Velani and Thomas Cristiano, are there many brands of Italian pipes exported to America but hardly known in Italy? A lot of pipe knowledge here, and boundless curiosity.
After the meal, fine leather pouches emerge from pockets or the small leather handbags so many Italian men carry, and are passed around for approval or sampling. Treasured pipes surface and are examined. The air is filled with fragrant aromas of mostly nat-ural English-style mixtures and Virginias, and a few of the lighter Dutch and Danish cavendish blends. A bond is formed through the act of dining and smoking togeth-er in this unabashedly men's world of pipes, good food and drink, and fra-grant coffee.
Back in everyday Rome, we visit the shop and work-shop of Becker and Musico, just around the corner from the Trevi Fountain (as in "Three Coins in the one of the most densely tourist packed areas in Rome. Here, Paolo Becker, the son of the late famed pipemaker Federico (Fritz) Becker, and Massimo Musico work at making and repairing pipes. For pipe lovers it's a respite from the outside world, again with comfortable seating, magazines, tobacco samples, and glorious pipes. Massimo is known as one of the best restorer/ repairmen in Rome, and even performed "emergency" surgery on a dam-aged pipe in my travel pack.
Becker's work created a large following in the U.S. dur-ing the 1970s and '80s for large freehand shapes, mostly with a rusticated finish, and rare, per-fectly grained, smooth pipes. These days Becker still carves the freehands but is emphasizing a more classic line of medium-sized pipes with a British look and an Italian flair. "With so many younger professional men getting interested in pipes," he says, "most of my sales are [pipes] in the medium-size range and are intended for daily use, not for col-lecting."
A few streets away, Augusto Ain the Wuof. About herrascenzo's spartan shop, Regali Novelli, has the largest selection of Castello pipes this side of any-where. And so it should, because Parascenzo is the designated dis-tributor of Castello. Here the pipes are larger, more freehand than we've seen at the other shops and are "More for the Americans and Germans," Parascenzo tells us. This street-level store is built for speed, not comfort, a far cry from the cul-tivated and leisurely connoisseurship promoted by Fincato or Becker & Musico. Pipe culture is somewhere else, but the Castello selection here is fabulous. Choice reigns, not elegance.
But Rome is for buying: the real "schools" of artisans, their work-shops, and the larger factories are elsewhere.
It's tough not to love Italian pipes. Whether from Pesaro or the area around Como, north of Milan, Italian pipe makers have a sense of flair and elegance that sets them apart in the pipemaking world. This update spans those two major Italian pipe making regions, with Ser Jacopo and Rinaldo from Pesaro and Ardor, Radice and Brebbia all from near Como. Though there is a neoclassical streak in almost all Italian pipes, there are considerable stylistic differences between the two regions.
The Pesaro style, or school, is most closely associated with Mastro de Paja and Ser Jacopo and the man behind both companies-- Giancarlo Guidi, who currently runs Ser Jacopo, but previously headed up the pipemaking team at Mastro de Paja. According to Guidi and others, the Pesaro school was created in the 1960s and 1970s by small groups of local craftsmen who then splintered off into the various brands. The cross-pollination of ideas generated during the early years established the Pesaro school and that exchange of ideas continues today. Il Ceppo and Mastro de Paja are the oldest brands from the area that still make pipes, with Guidi splitting off from Mastro de Paja in 1982 to found Ser Jacopo. Georgio Imperatori, who founded Il Ceppo, worked with Giancarlo Guidi in the very early Pesaro school days, before Guidi founded Mastro de Paja. Similarly, Bruto Sordini of Don Carlos got his start under Guidi at Mastro de Paja. Many of the newer Italian brands, such as Rinaldo and L'Anatra, also have close ties to one of the older companies.
The Pesaro School is most traditionally neoclassical. Essentially, that means that they took classic English shapes-- Billiards, Dublins, Bulldogs etc-- and recreated them in new and interesting ways. Shapes are in many cases determined by the grain-- certainly not to the degree that many Danish, German and American pipes are-- but unlike most English pipes (especially in years past), the Pesaro school certainly considers grain in the making of their pipes. Looking back at the beginning of the 21st Century, this seems almost obvious. However, in the 1960s, neither the Italian pipe renaissance, nor the Danish revolution spurred by Sixten Ivarsson and Preben Holm, had yet come to pass. Until then, while attractive grain was considered positive, if it happened, it happened by accident. One need only look at Dunhills, GBDs, Barlings, Comoys and other great English pipes from the 1950s and before to see this. Combining this regard for traditional shapes with a concern for grain, one begins to understand the Pesaro pipe. Other influences are involved also, though. For lack of a better descriptor, Pesaro pipes look Italian. English pipes reflect British culture to a great degree, perhaps best articulated by traditional, refined elegance. Italian pipes, like Italian cars, are thematically more modern and more chic in their elegance.
To maintain the vehicular analogy for a moment, Italian, and especially Pesaro, pipes are to English pipes as 1960s Ferraris are to 1960s Rolls Royces. Both are of high-quality, but they are entirely different in terms of design and conception. Pesaro school pipes, both as a further explanation of their 'Italian-ness' and as an adjunct to it, also have an architectural flair that focuses on clean lines and holistically and cohesively designed shapes. Clearly, discussion and assessment of the Pesaro style, be it from an artistic or a craft perspective, is far from simple.
In the part of Lombardy north of Milan-- Como, Cucciago, Varese-- is the other center of Italian pipe making and the second hotbed of pipe development during the 1960s and 1970s. Though much of it can be traced to the Castello factory in Cucciago, influence and history of pipe making in this region is more widely distributed and indirect than in Pesaro. Certainly, Carlo Scotti's Castello deserves the reputation it has for being the first maker of upper-end, high-grade pipes in the region, beginning in 1947. Further, both Luigi Radice and Pepino Ascorti started their careers with Castello in the 1950s. They later (1969) formed Caminetto, which is now run by Roberto Ascorti, son of Pepino. Luigi Radice created the Radice brand in 1980 and parted ways with Pepino. The second piece of the story lies with Brebbia and Savinelli. The Brebbia factory (or rather the factory that later became the Brebbia factory) was founded by Achille Savinelli and Enea Buzzi, originally to supply pipes to the Savinelli shop in Milan. Later (in the early 1950s), Savinelli opened its own factory and the Brebbia name was adopted. Brebbia and Savinelli are different from every other maker mentioned herein in that their culture is that of a factory, not a workshop. Brebbia produces about 40,000 pipes annually, whereas, for comparison, Radice and his two sons produce less than 2000 pipes annually, usually between 1500 and 1800. Brebbia's focus has always been manufacturing efficiency-- being able to bring a great pipe to the market at a reasonable price-- over small scale artisanship. The other great pipemaker in northern Italy also started as a factory: Ardor, perhaps somewhat influenced by the success of Castello, moved their production from machine made, mass-produced pipes to meticulously crafted, hand-made pipes during the 1960s under Angelo and Dorelio Rovera.
Indeed, Giancarlo Guidi argues that this is the great difference between the pipe making culture in the Como region versus that in Pesaro. He argues that the Pesaro tradition has always been one of small craftsmen, while the tradition to the north is one of manufacturing. While he is correct in saying that the origins of Ardor, Brebbia, Savinelli and, to a lesser degree, Castello are manufacturing oriented, the hand made pipes coming from the likes of Luigi Radice, Roberto Ascorti (Caminetto) and Dorelio Rovera ( Ardor) suggests that this is certainly not the case today.
This region's style is certainly not as cohesively definable as that of Pesaro. For example, in the case of Radice, there are considerable elements that are traceable to Castello and Caminetto, but much of the shaping seems to have also been influenced by the Pesaro school. Ardor has a style that is very difficult to trace to another tradition. It is also difficult to quantify, except to say that it is exceptionally inventive and often whimsical. While their pipes are clearly recognizable as Italian, the Roveras have such a style of their own that it is nearly impossible to trace a stylistic lineage. As for Castello and Caminetto, there is a focus on traditional, strong shapes with clean lines. Savinelli and Brebbia are both imbued with a manufacturing mentality that is necessary given the way they make pipes. High-end pipes from both companies (such as Autographs from Savinelli) combine vestiges of this mentality (in terms of simple, well defined, robust forms) with the rigorous focus on hand made perfection espoused by Castello and Caminetto.
Though Italian pipes and pipe making deserve a far more exhaustive analysis than can be provided here, I hoped this served as an interesting introduction into the great world of Italian pipes. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 7th, 2005|10:20 am] |
RACHAEL NEWELL
Purity song lyrics
We broke up on February 14th, Valentines Day. A day full of love and warmth, a day when couples walk the streets and night holding each other close, a day where the roads are filled with the tasty smell of baking goods. It was a day of love, and then it turned into a day of hate. She left me on that day, telling me she didn’t want to take the pain anymore. How did I hurt her? What pain was she going through? I was so good to her and all she did was reject me, but this won’t happen again. I will never forget how she hurt me. She would come home late at night, sneaking in the door, with a bottle half empty and her tank was on full, SHE HURT ME, but yet I stayed because I loved her and she was my life.
Everyday I miss her more and more, do you blame me? I miss her smile, her beauty. Her absence has made me insane. I was in love with her, why did she hurt me? Couldn’t she see how much she meant? I see her walking around, driving to work, and going out at night. She is fine with out me, I am tore up, my insides have buried themselves alive, and there she is walking down rush street, on her way to a near by bar. I never wanted anybody more than I wanted her. She was home to me.
“Morning purity.”
“Morning tom”
“Tom, I am still getting letters from my x-lover. I’m getting a new one at least three times a week and each letter that I get becomes more and more violent. It’s scary, he always knows where I am, and I feel like he’s staring at me and watching every single step I take. These thoughts stick in my mind, they become too repulsive that I start to lose my sanity.”
“Why don’t you go to the police, purity he’s like a full time stalker and you’re a nervous wreck, you look like you haven’t slept in months.”
“I know I have to rest. I mean he has been doing this for months now, but I’m starting to get really freaked out. At first his letters just said that he missed me and he wanted me back even though I wasn’t the best of girlfriends. He just keeps writing that he loves me and he really wanted me back. Lately his letters have been full of hate, telling me about all the times that I hurt him, about all the times I did something wrong. He tells me that I am his and no one can have me but him. I have such bad feelings at night when I lay down that I don’t know what to do with myself. I live alone, and I know that he sees me, I know that he watches every move I take. That’s why I can’t go down to the police, I know he would see it and I’m just scared.” Here is a part of his last letter. Obsession, take another look. Remember, every chance you took. Decide, you want to live with me, or give up, any thought of wanting to be free.
“I’m sorry but can we end this conversation now, I really would rather not speak about it. I’m going to head on home a little bit earlier, it’s a perfect night to go running.”
“Sure no problem, have a good night, bye purity.”
“Bye Tom”
“It’s a cold night purity, you know better than to walk the dark streets at this time, don’t you?”
“Who’s there?”
:: bam, clank, boom ::
“Morning beautiful. How did you sleep last night? I bet you wish you could scream, is that rope tied to tight around your wrists? Does it feel like your circulation is frozen, are you in agony? That’s how I felt, that choke of words, and your heart throbbing. I told you if I couldn’t have you then no one could. I see you walking down rush street, club hopping like nothing is wrong. Something is wrong though, my pain, that’s what’s wrong purity and now you belong to me. All this time I have realized you cannot kill what you did not create, so I wont kill you ill just suffocate you until you die.”
:: Attempted screams ::
“How do you like that wooden box? I created it just for you, handmade for my dearest purity. I even decided to decorate it so I put thousands of Edgar Allen Poe quotes all over your pretty coffin. Sit in there purity, think of all you have done wrong, think of me and scream. Scream like you never have before, scream! Scream till you can’t scream anymore, scream! Scream like your throat is bleeding, scream! Scream till your heart stops beating. SCREAM FOR ME!”
Finally some silence, I didn’t think it would take that long. This is where I shall keep you, under my home, buried down deep, where your heart will sleep, and you will be mine… forever. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 3rd, 2005|08:20 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  tired | ] |
| [ | music |
| | box of sharp objects- the used | ] |
Rachael Newell
Corey Taylor Biography
Corey Taylor is the vocalist for the band slipknot. He was formerly the band singer for Stone Sour. He has been known to be load and out of control on stage, but off stage he is known to be calm and very down to earth. He has been known to dress like a priest on stage and he wears a leather faced mask.
Corey’s mask was made out of real leather with brown and blond dreads (his dreads were made of his real hair but they would hurt when he took off his mask so now they use fake hair!) People think that the masks are to hide their faces because they are ugly but that is not the reason. “I wear the mask and it is complete pain, it represents everything I rally against, there is so much spit and what not in that mask that every night it reminds me why I am here still playing. I go from me now to the person I was when I wrote the song.” Taylor also doesn’t wear his mask during interviews unless they are being recorded. Another reason for the mask is because it hurts like hell and it intensifies his performance.
Corey also has several types of singing / shouting. In some songs he actually sings, and then there is crazy screaming, slow talking, fast talking, melodic, raspy scream, and a normal scream.
Taylor was born in des monies, Iowa, on December 8, 1976. While growing up he liked to listen to Elvis, metallica, slayer, and anything else that was rock. He knew he wanted to be in a band since he was a little boy. On stage Corey has gotten injuries from being lit on fire, various cuts and bruises, with severe whiplash from head banging.
Corey is the heart of the band, and him and the other slipknot members appreciate their fans with every inch of their hearts! |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 26th, 2005|11:05 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | accomplished | ] |
| [ | music |
| | issac reading | ] |
Favorite song story
Wait and bleed- slipknot
I finally got home from school. Every day getting more stressful, making it harder to wake up in the morning. Wanting to go back to my old days, wanting to feel the burning sensation deep beneath my wrists.
I was admitted last march to a hospital so I could get help for my server self mutilation. It was hard to stop, hard to take reality. When I see a sharp object my entire body starts to tremble. Tonight was the night; I “found a box of sharp objects, what a beautiful thing!” I promised my self I wouldn’t do it, but I just wanted to keep the razors by my side, I wanted them near me, close to me, I wanted them to be a part of me.
I sat next to this box sitting, thinking about how much I hated this world, how much I wish it would all disappear. I wanted it to go away. The pain was to hard to bear. I was an outcast, I didn’t want to follow trends people wore, I didn’t want to listen to the same music that these people listened to. I was different. I was always told how good it is to be different, for a while I was proud, but now it was too much. I go places and get stared at, like I am a creature they have never seen before. It was hard.
Once again I come home alone. Once again I eat in silence. Then go off to my bed, filled with nothing but pillows, and off to bed I went.
“ once again alone in the bath, just you no one else. Razors sitting next to you begging for you to use them. They talk to you now, screaming at you, reminding you that you are a loner. Use us just once and a smile will come to your face, just once and youll have that escape you used to have. The water kept rising, and the razors kept talking. Then I woke up.”
The water was cold. I could hardly breathe. The tub is all red. My wrists were bleeding. The burning was there. This wasn’t a dream it was reality, but I am deciding to just wait and bleed.
“ I FELT THE HATE RISE UP IN ME, KNEEL DOWN AND CLEAR THE STONE OF LEAVES, I WONDER OUT WHERE YOU CANT SEE, INSIDE MY SHELL I WAIT AND BLEED.” |
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