wlcm2thnethrwrld
 
Profile Views: 316
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Member Since: 03/23/2008
Last Login: 08/23/2008
General Information
Language: 
English
Personal Tags: 
1stickam, 2chatters, 3are, 4retarded
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Biography


I'm female, mulatto ("mixed"), brutally honest usually to the point of unnecessarily being an asshole, non-religious, single, a chain smoker, an occasional binge drinker, a musician, a dancer, a figure skater, an artist, an author, sensitive yet strong, a reliable friend, a dependable lover, a disappointment as a daughter, a harsh critic, an observer, and a sinking ship.


I am Here for: 
lack of a better forum in which to waste my time interacting with jobless idiots.


Hobbies: 
sleeping, listening to music, writing music, making music, writing poetry and other literary art forms, drawing, taking photographs, collecting expensive and unnecessary cosmetic products, collecting cameras, figure skating, inline skating, masturbation, travel, chain smoking, and being an abrasive asshole.




Favorite Movies: 
mysterious skin, the way we were, reality bites, masked and anonymous, apocalypto, pan's labyrinth, cutting edge, bent, derailed, what the bleep do we know?, seven, saw 1&2&3&4, monty python and the holy grail, blazing saddles, the lady and the cowboy, beauty and the beast, the notebook (how predictable), knocked up, star wars the complete saga, etc.






Favorite TV Shows: 
degrassi the next generation, project runway, cow and chicken, america's next top model, planet earth, dirty jobs, anthony bourdain: no reservations, most evil, whatever is on...etc.






Favorite Music: 
bob dylan, bob schneider, tears for fears, red hot chili peppers, hed planet, america, i mother earth, 10cc, jackie-o motherfucker, slightly stoopid, beck, charles manson, the doves, dragpipe, julia nunes, floater, fleetwood mac, harpers bizarre, guided by voices, edie brickell and the new bohemians, sixpence none the richer, hank snow, hope, tracy chapman, jackson browne, jane child, indigo girls, india. arie, beth orton, plumb, duncan browne, jimmie's chicken shack, 311, future leaders of the world, presidents of the united states of america, johnny guitar watson, led zeppelin, joshua radin, marcy's playground, mad caddies, steve miller band, monster magnet, moriarty, new radicals, ron wood, sara barellies, our lady peace, system of a down, skygreen leopards, soul coughing, trae, z-ro, immortal technique, god lives underwater, the bravery, the easybeats, white stripes, thornley, the living end, michelle branch, vetiver, ween, tripping daisy, atmosphere, soundgarden, etc.








Favorite Books: 
wasted, white lines, i never loved your mind, the pigman. basically anything paul zindel. i like depressing memoirs the most. i'll be honest, though. i'm not a huge reader. i'm more of a writer.






I Love: 
long naps, make-up, nerdy glasses, fashion, clothes, lily cole, cigarettes, music, shitty movies, beer, shoes, cameras, art, charcoal, drawing, food, hair, taking pictures, being an asshole, contact lenses, alla nazimova, nail polish, starbucks, skirts, tights, leggings, flats, gigantic necklaces, kisses, hugs, cuddling, oversized cardigans, writing, ukulele, guitar, harmonica, red lipstick, silent films, gum, wigs, hair dye, inline skating, figure skating, dancing, road trips, working, ....








I Hate: 
too many things to list.



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Live Chat Description
Message
April 8th, 2008 -- Congratulations to Stickam user "takeyourlady" because he is the very first person to make my ban list. I've been on stickam for less than two months and already I've had to resort to banning someone from contacting me. Congratulations to you, loser! Get a real job and a pair of testicles you redneck cunt!


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"There were much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust." --Edgar Allen Poe, The Mask of the Red Death


ART. MUSIC. CREATIVITY.

None of the below art pieces are mine, but I've decided to feature three different pieces on my profile every week, maybe every month.









new york city

a ghost sat on my bed asked, what's inside your head? i told him new york city lied there lookin pretty but the ghost was unamused and i could tell he was confused i said let me show you my city and how i got there is a pity i ran away to study fashion masks and dresses are my passion the big apple, my bid, my windy empire i was makin it big, my heart was on fire all a sudden came a chill and i was rollin down a hill manhattan was a zoo the tigers had the flu maybe it was just the season no one knows the biggest reason vogue was selling broken heels and no one knows how dying feels except for dirty, lonely fiends in dirty, lonely queens its neighbor brooklyn bridge where i left my empty fridge i wasn't finished, i wasn't done i went to the bronx with a big shot gun after i ran out of bullets and said goodbye to all the mullets i swam to staten island, had no money for a boat my chains were getting heavy, i was scared i might not float praying that i reached the shore until i showed up at her door i haven't introduced you yet to someone who you might have met lady liberty is my best friend for once she isn't just pretend times square is gorgeous, i'm glad it's mine a city like this is hard to find but all these blinding city lights are keeping me up late at night my bags are packed, i'm going home ill say goodbye, hang up the phone maybe i'll try houston, maybe i'll go to LA i'm not sure where i'm going, there is no other way and when i flee from new york city i'll be home and lookin pretty and i'll sit upon your bed ask, what's inside your head?





empty handed

there's been needles in my throat for years, an excuse for my detachment and i'm so sorry i'm so sorry that i couldn't say or show my gratitude for the dying pulse inside my veins another broken day, another sequin scarf wrapped tight around my neck it looks so grand, it feels so grand, it was expensive and the debts are mine how many pennies could buy away the confusion of my youth? how many clocks could tell the time it took to solidify my doubt? how many numbers sum the bruises in my mind? the equilibrium desire engendered a monster of my kind, a seething sickness, nostalgic, on my hands and knees, begging for your return a return of silence, motionless at best, my worst, what is my worst? i'm dying to be sure words being lozenges, they never healed the wounds, i bought them like toilet paper and i never could get clean your narrow pedipalps searched and felt the yearning in my eyes, a bitter end, the telson stinging every bead, numbing me inside when i light a match a cringe and slow defeat you scream and beg for mercy but there's no salvation, and i'm hanging on to misconceptions deeper than machete stab wounds, bleeding vertically, the letters in your lines, the dirty laundry on my floor, the wait, the self infliction, the eulogy is written on my grocery list, and it just isn't the same no, it just isn't the same all the liquid rage i expel is turning me to rust, your empty conscience in the dirt, i washed it with my tears strident demands in my brain, does she see the flashing lights? does she crumble when you buy her pearls? i'd beat the thoughts to death, ignoring them one by one, i wish i had the strength to scream, but there's been needles in my throat for years, an excuse for my detachment and i'm so sorry





just an observation

diseased hallucination and the funny, cheap sensation no more boundless admiration for the heart of gold translation that comes with abject resignation just say no to violation from a worthless coward nation find another occupation that isn't a summation of another lifeless abnegation giving up salvation welcoming the invitation of endless imitation using dead communication to create an exculpation trying to kill the situation buying classic operation making careful amputation avoiding ceaseless reprobation fearing the creation of some hellish destination is this an obligation? holding on to fabrication lost in inebriation without cautious hesitation meant to save the enervation from denied emancipation birthed in ruthless deviation and the strange appreciation crafted for this generation based on hopeless estimation out of vain determination only fuels the complication caused by mind extermination the pain from desperation by complete association consumed in its frustration getting lost in insolation making quiet observation of diseased hallucination



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