Vote For Me! Votame!

Mood: Elliot Smith is playing in my head, but I can't listen to music because my mom is sleeping on the couch.

Quote: "We are not hypocrites in our sleep" -William Hazlitt

Blog: After being denied the right to run for the so-called Ladie's President (apparently there is a requisite that one must be a lady, I happen to posses a Y chromosome), I have decided to run for Senior Vice President. So, vote for me! Or don't, but pretend like you did. I must admit however, that my secret desire, should I lose, is to be the Public Relations person. Primarily because I can say I'm the PR person, and who doesn't want to say that. So all of you in the land, vote for me!
Ducks
Dairy
Diaries
Dandelions
Diarrhea
All good things start with "D"

Yours Truly,
Drake Frost

Of Nothing Worth Noting

Mood: Red Hot Chili Peppers

Of Notice: I promise because I have been slacking quotes that I will have a blog post dedicated to them at the end of the year.

Blog: I'm perturbed. I'm bothered. I'm infuriated. I'm angry. I'm any other synonym of angry, in any other language, you can come up with. I don't know where to begin so I won't. I don't know where I'd end, so I'm going to avoid it by not beginning. To summarize the situation, I'm so angry I've started writing poems, I haven't been in a solid poem writing mood since November, that's how angry I am. So here they are. The two poems I wrote for the day (they don't have anything to do with suicide or anything, so don't worry).

The Eye in the Night

The eye in the night is watching

Whispering words of dread

To all of the people to make them fear

The thought of leaving bed

The eye in the night is watching

Looking for a man to find

To whisper rights and wrongs

To make him lose his mind

The eye in the night is watching

Waiting for the sun to shine

Waiting for the men to to rise

To go out, to speak his lies

"The eye in the night is watchig

It told me about right and wrong

Chaos is freedom, unhappiness is bliss

How could you argue such a thing as this?"

The eye in the night is waiting

Waiting for man to be blind

The eye in the night is watching

Watching the free shackled in bonds

So remember the eye is watching

It is colorless and blind

So you it cannot find

Unless you seek it

And let it come inside.

Somewhere Not Found

When people are around

You're wishing they were not

Wishing you were in a place not found

Life is meant to live

Only they were someplace else

So quiet, they could give

The people still around

I'm wishing it were false

With quiet, silent laughter

Wishing all was not

If I could be two places

If I could wear two faces

I would be alone

Walking in a place not found

The other, in my home

Wishing they were gone

But wishing's all one can

Until wishing makes things true

I will find the courage

I will make the time

To take another stand

So there you go. The two poems for the day. Have a significantly more wonderful week and spring break.

When Last We Left Off...

Mood:The Chillax Playlist (basically, a combination of the few quasi-folk artists that I listen to, however, that number is expanding). For a hint check out Iron & Wine, Wilco (The sky blue sky album) and this dude named Kalai with a little bit of Simon & Garfunkel.

Blog:

When last we left off, our young hero was counting down the days until his seventeenth birthday, tired, but excited about life. He had just hooked up his record player, explaining his listening to Elliot Smith (the New Moon album), the sole record in his possession. When last we left off the young, strapping lad who wrote this blog still worked but was feeling the beginnings of the overwhelming that was to come. When last we left off, our young hero was still, for lack of a better word, a hero.
What did we miss in these three months since his disappearance from the cyberrealm? A significant amount, shocking, but when viewed with the realization of the hyper-time at which one's high school career occurs, it is really no suprise. We missed a little bit of love then falling thereof. We missed a birthday, which is, for many reasons incredibly important. We missed working and then a solemn vow of unemployment until the glorious free summer returned. We missed conversations about the most grand and important concepts and the more important conversations about the simple, unimportant, juvenile, and colorful. We missed words, sentences, paragraphs, essays, novels, volumes, series, encyclopedias of the knowledges, fears, braveries, feelings, guidances, philosophies, bravados, curse words, beautiful words, tears (just a few), smiles, frustrations and joys that our hero experienced.
In the last three months we have missed a significant amount about our hero. But, when one looks through the eternal, even temporal, view of what was really missed, it was nothing. A birthday? One of sixty more to come. Philosophy? Small by comparison of what has already been thought when last we had contact, but even more miniscule in what is yet to come. Tears? We have oceans more to pour. Smiles? Laughs? Barrels upon barrels to fill. Frustrations? Angers? We have only felt the beginnings. Happiness? Worlds to fill.
Then what truly have we missed? Time? Time is nothing more than a fleeting illusion, and odds are, if you're reading this it could be spent on something else, and if spent on something else, one would not be reading this. So do what you wish, after all, what are you using? Time? Time the perpetual river that we live in. We think it is important. We think others are wasting it, spending it wisely. After all, we tell ourselves, you can never gain a second back. But what is one second to trillions? Nothing. What is three months to the two hundred and seven that have been lived so far? Negligible, and based on most advanced math, negligible means basically infinite, or the answer you got. So do we really have to care about time? After all, time, wasted or used (productive wasting) ends up the same way, in a history book.
So have we really missed anything since we last left our hero who didn't know what it was like to be seventeen and only had one record to his collection? Not particularly, because now we are left with an older individual who doesn't know what tomorrow feels like with five records in his collection. When last we left our hero hadn't quite figured out the opposite sex, and upon returning we find that he still is completely confused. When last we left our hero he was how you looked at him, and upon returning we find that he is still a person, all depending on the angle.
When last we left our hero, we never really left him, he was still us.