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I’m Back! Again

So, internet, I have returned to my post as blogger. Many things have happened since we last spoke, so……………. okay. I’m going into highschool, for my first year EVER in highschool, as a freshmen, and I am scared. I read Tuesdays With Morrie, and I really really liked it. I’m going to read House on Mango Street. Hopefully this will be a dft.ba site when you read this. Also no more poetry because I am just done with that. My friend Kristina is really good at drawing and she will be here also putting up her drawings. That’s about it.

It's Like He's Vaguely British, or Something

Everything. Happens. In. London.

Everything.

Mainly Doctor Who stuff, yes, but still! ENGLAND. I need to move to England! There is like a Doctor visit every other day! Given that it generally means there are hostile aliens involved but- but nothing. THE DOCTOR VISITS THERE ALL THE BLOODY TIME. ……..

Dear New Post Button,

I found an awesome picture. Just a picture. I wanted to post it, and share the joy. Guess what I got? A bucket full of disappointment . Is it because you hate Doctor Who spam? This is unacceptable.

You

Disappoint

Me

Loathing and hatred,

Tempest

Layers

I like layers, especially in music. I love layered music. Confused? Lemme explain. Listen to Tom Milsom, anything off Explorers 4. Now listen. Can you hear them? Pick them out? Layers? The uke over the piano over everything else, all those other instruments I cannot identify. There are two different ways to listen: pick out layers. Find one specific one, and focus on that. Or to listen to the whole thing. Throw your head back and listen to all the sounds swirling. It makes you happy. Not overwhelmed just…. busy. Listen to Toy, my favorite. Listen to the lyrics. Smile. Listen to the piano. Smile. Listen to the xylophone-ish clicks. Smile. Listen to In C. Listen to all the pianos.How many are there? How many hands and fingers? It’s sweet, the song. And I love it. And It doesn’t matter Tom and I had a disagreement on a Tumblr I no longer have. And it doesn’t matter the Tom is on what I can only call a downward spiral, and that all his new stuff doesn’t quite hit like the old stuff. Because here, trapped in time, I am happy. And I can hear he is too.

I have to Tumblr, but I am determined to hold onto this site. One site. It’s nothing compared to my Tumblr, but it’s a start. I guess…… No one ever reads this. I can tell my deepest darkest secrets to a site so empty with every tap of the keys I hear infinite echo. I’d apologize for being corny, but there’s no one to apologize to. So I will talk like a poet, like a lonely minstrel on a desolate road that is life……… Alright no more of that .   http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=H5Y4U3h1ZzE here’s a little gift from me to you, go ahead and jazz out. Promise no judging. 🙂

My Tumblr has been taken away

And it is gone. I want it back. I am upset because it is gone. so there

Review for Charlie McDonell

Videos: charlieissocoollike

Music: Charlie McDonell

I love you, if you read this, first of all. Not in a creepy way though!

The videos are… Odd. In a beautiful, nerd-fighter sort of way. You are funny. And cute. The videos I definatly recommend. They are funny, simple, and diverse. I really like them.

The music…. OMG. I love it. This Is Me. New favorite. The music itself is nice, sweet, and of course uke. The lyrics are beatiful. Relatable. Love it. Love it so much. Still Got Legs is okay, but This Is Me is my favorite. Go listen! ~Tempie

I was gone for awhile. BUT NOW I’M BACK. And…. Did you miss me? It’s my birthday! If anyone has anything for me to review or whatever, go ahead. Comment. Feel free. I don’t bite. Unless provoked.~Tempie

I always imagined hugging him. I’d never meet him, I know, never seem him as anything more than pixels on a screen. I always imagined hugging him. Slipping my arms around his thin waist, and squeezing, and making him feel a little better. He seems so sad; I know I could cheer him up. A hug, a smile, a joke followed by senseless grins, and silence.  What is any of it to anyone, really. I will NEVER meet him, we live worlds apart, meeting on this digital common ground. You met him, he knows nothing of you, and never will. You will stare at every angle and aspect of him and break it all down, analyze every fact and figure of the man you don’t know, and make him into a person. Further than that, make him a person who loves you. He feels you on his pages, he knows you are there. He loves you, knows you, he’s just too shy. But then again he isn’t shy, it was given in simple terms in the beginning. You’ll find a way around that just like everything else, you can make yourself believe whatever you want.  You break everything down around you, make everything simple for… for who? You? God? Forget that, go back to what you know. You know him, now you’ll go and listen to him some more, straining your unused mind to find every subconscious ideal in his songs, and you make your ideals fit his. Is this obsession? Of course not. He will only be yours for as long as he holds your attention, you will move on again. You need the rush, you see, of finding some handsome young man with immeasurable talent and imagining for a few short days he is yours. He- well not really just him, all of them- live in different states, countries, continents, worlds. This makes it better. Because part of this strange rush is the realization that you will never meet, he can never hurt you. You have been through hell for boys, none of them are worth it to you anymore, so you find the mini obsessions I have known. They can never deny you like so many you have known, and you feel happier for it. Like bungee jumping, all of the rush and none of the danger. You are perfectly safe, on separate sides of the screen, unable to touch each other in any way. You will never experience what the foolish poets write about in their delusional states, of losing yourself. Why do you want to lose yourself? Keep yourself, lose them. Never invest, stay behind the glass and metal wall you built yourself. There is no sense in simply stripping down all your protection then handing someone a gun and trusting them not to hurt you. Logic is the wall I hid behind, I am not ashamed. I can never feel, but I can never hurt. ~Tempie