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Lisonkat
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Name: Allison
Gender: Female
Interests: Damien Rice. George Orwell. Debussy. Chocolate Smothered Strawberries. Schizophrenia...no not kidding. The Streets. John Eldredge. Tea. Muse. Shakespeare. Jesus-Freak Young Men. Donnie Darko. Nine Inch Nails. Bowie. Hershey's Kisses...when they melt in your mouth. Sarah McLachlan and pointless blogs from CVCA.
Expertise: I have none persay but I try....
Worshipping Through Improv Piano. Gardening. Dancing My Heart Out. Being the Coolest Aunt Ever. Giving Advice Whether Wanted or Not. Driving a Bit too Heavy on the Throttle. Loving With the Truth.
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
9/13/2004
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| “The first time it was reported that our friends were being butchered
There was a cry of horror. Then a hundred were butchered.
But when a thousand were butchered and there was no end to the butchery,
A blanket of silence spread.
When evil-doing comes like falling rain, nobody calls out ‘stop!’
When crimes begin to pile up they become invisible. When sufferings become unendurable the cries are no longer heard. The cries, too, fall like rain in summer.”
From an article about the Middle East. Read the article here. | | |
| I pulled over on the side of the road today to pickup a local. She's old as can be with the mental capacity of an 8 year old. She walks everyday up and down East Ave and I stopped to pick her up in during a cold, lightless rain tonight. You know what people did? They angrily honked and honked and honked when they had to go around my little car at the side with her hazards on. Thank you, world. | | |
| Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you
It's the wrong time
but she's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
And all that you do
I said leave it, leave it, leave it
It's nothin' to you
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me so good
So you can let me out, let me out, let me out From havin' you around
Let me out, let me out, let me out
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| I was thinking... I'd like to live in a little dusty village. Just a small one, you know...no cars really. no tv's no magazines. virtually timeless...who likes alarm clocks anyways? I wouldn't mind leaving candy bars and french fries at home. I wouldn't mind wearing baggy denim everywhere. I wouldn't even miss the shampoo...I think I've come to terms with the curls. But you know what i'd really miss? A soft bed. That's probably why I won't go. | | |
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