Fry head


I seem to be doing a lot of poems for my brother's English class. Yes I did one for him again, i'm just to nice of an older brother. This one is a tad bit more serious than the last though.


(Through the eyes of a back-sliden Christian)

Surrounded by His glory, I am free
The comfort He gives, the passion He shows
His love, never ending, he is with me
Always there at my highs, and at my lows

Wondering why I keep pushing away
I start to compromise, it has begun
Shadows of the night covering the day
Bewildered, I forget what he has done

There is no glory, there is no comfort
His love nonexistant, my soul hardened
My heart chilled, I am no longer alert
I begin to fall, unable to mend

The world is grey, leaving no right or wrong
My days, numbered, in Hell forever long

Not the best poem i've ever written, but i think it's the message of the poem thats important.
Fry head

A short story

This is another story i wrote for my class. She wanted something sexy? I was like...okay? So this is the product. This is also the rough draft, I don't know where the polished version is. And i'm to lazy to correct this one. So, just keep that in mind when reading it.


The Elevator

The familiar bell rang, as Jim proceeded through the opening doors, and into the elevator. Jim straightened his shirt, and reached back to smooth his hair as two young ladies walked in. Jim shifted his weight, and began rolling up his sleeve revealing his fairly new Rolex watch. The lady closet to him, April, glanced at his watch, pulling her stuffed briefcase closer to her. April turned away from Jim’s glance, and kept looking at her, own old worn watch. The other lady, Kate, glanced at Jim as she shifted her little red purse on her shoulder, and looked at April, still figiting with her briefcase. Jim smiled. April looked over at the buttons, none of them lit yet. She reached out her hand to touch the number 4, but was interrupted by someone else walking in. An elderly gentleman, by the name of Dean. As dean, hunched over and using a cane, entered, he gave all of them a half smile. Jim and Kate returned his smile, as Dean made his way between the two girls, and to the back of the elevator. April made for the buttons again, this time succeeding in pressing the number four. She sniffed rather loudly, and pushed her glasses back up on her nose, looking straight ahead, as the doors closed. Jim, smiled as he looked over at April. She did not return his glance, glancing at her watch once more, and taking in a deep breath. Dean coughed and looking over at Jim asked if he could press the number 5 for him. Jim looked over at Dean, smirking, and pressed the number 5. The Elevator had already begun to move, as Jim pressed the number 8, and folded his arms over his chest. Dean, kept looking at the short red mini skirt, that it seemed had been painted on Kate. Kate just kept staring straight ahead with a smug look on her face, causally glancing over at Jim from time to time. Jim looked up at the marquee as it just turned into a three. He took a quick glance at everyone, before returning his focus on the doors. He noticed Dean wearing a green polyester sweater that draped over his brown blotchy pants. This made Jim smile, remembering his father, wearing similar things. He also noticed Kate’s skirt, witch to him was rather nice to look at, however most uncomfortable with Dean constantly staring at it. Jim took another glance over at Kate, who was staring at him. Kate winked at Jim, witch made him turn a slight shade of pink, as he looked back at the doors. Dean, with a look of disappointment, looked down at his worn brown loafers. A four appeared in the marquee above as the doors opened. April, a sign of relief on her face, marched triumphantly out, leaving Jim, Kate, and Dean in the Elevator. Jim reached down in his pocket, fidgeting with a hundred dollar bill, as the elevator doors closed again. Jim noticed his hands becoming very sweaty, and stomach began to do summersaults. “Nice day isn’t it?” said Dean, trying to break the awkward silence. “Yes, yes it is” said Jim nervously, with both hands in his pockets now, looking up at the marquee. Kate looked over at him smirking, as she got a stick of lipstick out of her purse, and started rubbing it on her lips. Jim looked down at Kate, a drop of sweat now coming from his forehead. Everything had gone quite again. Dean looked from Jim to Kate, feeling something strange. He checked his pocket for his bottle, pulled it out and looked at it. Jim, with his hand still in his pockets, looked over at the bottle Dean was holding. Dean noticed him looking and said “There supposed to be for my back, but the doctor gave me the wrong ones” Jim pretended to look interested, as Kate gave a little laugh. Jim looked over at her as the elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. She through her light, blonde hair back, as it fell gracefully upon her shoulders. “Well this is me” Dean said, as he made his way out of the elevator, stopping to give quick thumbs up to Jim as he passed. Kate laughed, as the elevator closed once more, and left her and Jim alone. Jim slowly turned and looked at her, his hand still in his pockets, still sweating. “So you’re Jim uh?” said Kate. Jim hesitated to answer, until finally answering in a sheepish voice, “yah.” “Where are we going” asked Kate, as she pulled up her skirt a little, and puffed out her chest. “Um, just up to my apartment” said Jim nervously, as he watched her with great interest. The elevator became quite again, for what seemed an eternity, until at last the marquee flashed the number eight, as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. As Kate got out first she asked him if it was his first time. “How could you tell?” asked Jim, as they made there way to his apartment door, sweat pouring from his forehead. Kate simply smiled.
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Fry head

Yet, another poem

This poem i wrote for my brother garrett. He had to write a poem for his English class, about good vrs evil. So this is what i came up with.

Marloe & Tole

In a world, surreal
Made of things far from real
Lives a creature named Marloe
Who lives in constant sorrow

His troubles are many
But most of the time, minnie
Yet his life remains dull
Never looking at the glass, half full

Perplexed about what should occupy his time
Marloe turns, to a life of crime
Stealing the talula leaves from the trees
And killing hundreds of small, helpless, little bees

Yet on the other side of the grassy knoll
Lives a happy little elf named, Tole
He has also known despair
But, has learned not to care

Filled with joy and glee
He goes on planting his trees
There branches bearing the rare talula leaves
Which Tole uses, in the garments, he weaves

Negotiations with the bees for there honey
There reply, always with plenty
Thanking the bees, and going on his way
Tole takes in beauty and the warmth of the day

Two creatures with different views
One, filled with cruelty and abuse
The other, a nice warm soul
A look at good and evil, a look at Marloe & Tole
Fry head

Another poem!

This one i wrote for a friend of mine. She said that no one wrote her a poem, so i decided to write one.


I met her in drama class
Thought she was pretty cool
A pretty young lass
I met at school

Getting to know her has been, wonderful
Our friendship, I wouldn’t trade
Always being her self, so vibrant and colorful
Is the impression that she has made

Dreams of Canada, Chicago, and Chris
Her thoughts full of wonder
As she begins to reminisce
The good times, worth a ponder

And many good times are yet, ahead
Because he is still there
The memories, not dead
No time for despair

He is waiting, and shall return
So take heed, and do not fret
For time can not unlearn
The love you have met

And so, one last thing, I must say
I’m glad I know a girl named, mae mae
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    "Southeren Belle" - Elliot Smith
Fry head

A short story

Here is a story i had to write for my short story class. We had to tell something that we didn't want to do, through someone else's eyes. So here it is:

Grave digger

I’ve always hated funerals. Not by any means, that it has to do with death, or the mood it puts people in, I very much like both. It’s just that everyone mourns over something that they cannot get back. Why cry over someone who you’re not going to see again, there life is over, and yours is not. Sure the family member has a right to cry, at least in attempt to save face with those around him, to show how much they “cared” for the loved one. I myself do not find funerals, nor death, miserable things at all. In fact I find them most intriguing. I always wondered where you go when you die. Surely it must be better than here, unless you appear as something else. This I would greatly dislike. To come alive in some animal, and have to re live life’s troubles through a different point of view; however, if I did have to come back to this wretched place, I would rather be a ghost. Able to haunt those I want, and drive fear into the hearts of others, ha, yes that would a most rewarding experience. To think what I could do with such power. It reminds of my first funeral. Yes, my very first one, my, it has been a long time. Though I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was just a young boy then, my mind full of wonder and mischief. I recall sitting by the fire playing with my toys, when mother got the call. Her face had turned a harsh pale, as she started to cry, and left the room. Being so young, I really didn’t know what to expect. So I remained with my toys by the fire. In all honesty it really didn’t shock or upset set me, being that I had seen that same face many times before. Next thing I knew, however, she had taken my hand, led me to the car, and shoved my sloppily packed suitcase into the back along with hers. She kept muttering something to herself, as we drove away from our peaceful home, and headed toward some far away place, I would later find out, was my grandparents house a few hours away. The car ride seemed to last an eternity, at least for a child, but it also seemed to be a blur, as I cannot remember anything of it. I had also been very tired that night, remembering only pieces of our arrival at grandma and grandpa’s house. There house was not filled with happiness and cheer, or with the scent of freshly baked apple pies. No, much to my dismay, everyone seemed to be in a solemn state. It did not dawn on me until the next morning at breakfast, that I had not seen my grandfather. Very confused, I was, as my mother tried to explain to me about his accident. My mother hoping not to upset me, tried to break the news gently to me. What she did not know however, is that I was neither sad nor happy. I never really liked my grandpa, this much is true, but he was nice to me. I found my self not thinking about grandpa’s death, on the way to the funeral, but about death itself. The very thought of death was captivating to me. You see, I’ve always thought of death as a form of release. Death is an escape from this treacherous world, and an escape from all the people and things in it. For some reason, I felt an unusual high at the funeral, something I had never felt before. Completely forgetting about my grandfather, I began watching people’s reactions and responses, laughing at how fake some people were. I was also watching, with great interest, the people lowering my grandpa down into the earth. These “grave diggers”, as my grandma called them, were fascinating. To be around death, to experience it first hand, the though was exhilarating. I knew that’s, what I wanted to do. To help people escape from this world, and all of its troubles. From that day on, nothing plagued my mind more than those wonderful images. I guess that’s why I love my job so much, the idea of helping people escape. From then on till now, I went to as many funerals as I could. Looking them up in the paper, and renting a nice suit. I was hooked, addicted if you will. I had to be there to experience the death, the sorrow. I guess that’s what makes me so good at what I do. The passion that is released, when I help those longing for freedom, escape, the feeling is sublime. The only thing I long for more, is the day when someone helps me escape. The day when someone, sets me free from this place, the day when everything will become clear, this is what I long for. To one day embrace death with open arms, and finally be free. But until that day, I go on giving people what I really want, an escape.
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Fry head

Here is a few poems I wrote


The wind, blowing its icy breath
The trees, swaying to its rhythm
The leaves, falling to there death
The grass, welcoming them

A silent overcast
The sky, with strands of silver
A feeling, that won’t last
The clouds, flowing like a river

The night, as flakes begin to fall
The morning of freshly fallen snow
My breath as I begin to call
Her response, the one I’ve come to know

Nature, having many more things in store
Beauty surrounding us, leaving us, wanting more


A figment of my imagination
Lingering in the depths of sorrow
An unknown destination
The hope for tomorrow

Memories come and go
Embracing the despair
Time has taken its toll
My heart begins to tear

To gaze upon her beauty once more
Feeling the warmth of her touch
Watching, as she walks out the door
Knowing it had been too much

Words begin to fail me
As it all comes to an end
If only I could make her see
My heart that does not mend

The time has come
Standing at your gate
Feeling nothing but numb
It is too late

Darkness begins to fills my eyes
Ending the misery of our lives
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Fry head

I'm back

Well i quite Xanga, so i'll be posting over here now. I really don't have anything interesting to say right now, but just thought i would let all two of you who know i have this.

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Fry head

Weird i guess

well, its been ah while since i've updated this, probably because no one ever reads it. I really don't feel like writting much, but, its very weird to be graduating. I guess in the back of my mind, whenever i graduate i will feel more like an adult, but i just don't feel like it for some reason. And most people feel sad or happy when graduating, i however feel nothing. I don't its strange, but i could really care less. I'm looking forward to getting on with my life, and pursuing my film career, but its just not that big of a deal. hmmm...i dont know. well thats all i have for now.

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    One of these things first -Nick Drake