I don't have the energy or the will to do anything about it. So,

2009-11-12T02:30:40Z

thnx fr the mmrs.

falsifiedmemory @ 2008-11-04T20:21:00

2008-11-05T04:22:15Z

FUCK YES OBAMA

falsifiedmemory @ 2008-06-16T18:20:00

2008-06-17T01:35:18Z

So guess what? I got tattoos.

Om nom nom pain! :D

Outline! Completed and sexy.

Ooh, coloring. Joby's so awesome.

D-done!

And then!

Sexxay.

Also. HEALING IS FUN:

Gross, that was like...thursday?

Pieces that came off, ewww. I didn't pick them, taking off my sock did it! D:

AND THEN YESTERDAY, Oh my god, it was awesome, I was wearing sock and a non-open shoe and it got SOCK RIDGES:

Also, I got this when I turned 18, the day of:

The conch, btw, not all of 'em.

falsifiedmemory @ 2008-03-08T00:23:00

2008-03-08T08:23:48Z

You are 99% 4chan material.

You are the true face of 4chan. You're the type of person who finds racist jokes and sick humor hilarious, raids CoS, makes personal army requests whenever you see someone you dislike on Youtube, gets off to 5-year-olds, and calls Gamestop at 3 AM to ask for Battletoads. You scare me... and yet, I love you.

How 4chan are you?
See All Our Quizzes

...I don't know if I should be proud or terrified. OR JUST LURK MOAR?

Joey Comeau reminds me of the scent of rain.

2007-06-16T23:17:03Z

Excerpt from his new book, It's Too Late To Say I'm Sorry:

Red Delicious
Apples aren’t red. Apples are cold and crisp. I took a bite and someone sat down. This is Emmett, Sherri said. When Sherri went to the little girl’s room, Emmett asked me whether I knew he was Indian or not from his voice. I told him no. He sounded just like everyone else around here. I told him I knew he was Indian from the joke a boy made under his breath at the next table, about huffing gasoline, when Emmett came into the restaurant. He let me touch his face, so I could see his big Indian nose.

Emmett’s mother let him take the car once, to go for groceries. It had windows that you could roll down. I couldn’t get over it. When I was a little girl I used to roll and unroll the window when we went for Sunday drives. Now our car has electric windows. Everybody’s does. With a button, god knows what is happening. I like to feel the window move. I like to know. I rolled down the window and fastened my seatbelt. Then I rolled it back up again. Then I rolled it down.

The sun is bright, or the moon is bright. That is what people would tell me. This light is bright. Grapefruit insides are bright pink. I didn’t get it. I used to tell him that. It was frustrating. Like colours. I heard the click of his pocket knife. “This is bright,” Emmett said, and he cut my thumb.

Emmett had six apples in a bag, three each. We stood where I could hear the cars rushing down below. “Tell me when,” Emmett said. A car was coming. It rumbled, then wooshed. Another car: Rumble. One, two, Woosh. Another rumble, then, “Now,” I said. And we dropped six apples. Glass cracking and brakes squealing. I unfolded my cane, and later showed a man my blind card. We were the innocent blind girl and her doting boyfriend. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” the angry man asked. I felt Emmett’s protective arm around my shoulder. “Sir, I think that was in poor taste,” he said.

“Can you hear people’s hearts beating?” Emmett asked me. “Can you tell if they’re lying? If you lose one sense, your other senses compensate. You get super hearing.” I told him, “No, but people can change colour for me. When my mother broke her finger, she was pink, crashing around the house. Then she was suddenly green.” He pulls me closer in the front seat of his own mother’s car. “What color am I right now?” he whispers. He’s pulling at my belt. He’s violet. He’s rose. He’s orchid white.

The car roared up the hill and I felt heavy. Then all of a sudden I was floating. My stomach was somewhere below me. Then it was over. “That was blue,” Emmett said beside me. “That was what color the sky is.”

Emmett died in a car accident, someone told me outside the school. It was another one of his jokes. Oh no, Emmett is dead. I better throw my arms up and cry. He’s standing across the street, waving because he knows I can’t see.

They let me touch him before the funeral, so that I could say goodbye. It wasn’t him. They got the big nose right, but it was the wrong colour. Emmett’s mother said, “It didn’t feel real until I saw him.” I sat up straighter, expecting Emmett’s voice, “I felt that comment was in poor taste.” But all there was was the air conditioner and her wet breathing and red.

I've got troubled thoughts

I don't have the energy or the will to do anything about it. So,

falsifiedmemory @ 2008-11-04T20:21:00

LOLBILL

falsifiedmemory @ 2008-06-16T18:20:00

falsifiedmemory @ 2008-03-08T00:23:00

Joey Comeau reminds me of the scent of rain.