Chronicles of L. VonDeadly

Hokay, So.

What asshole really creates computer viruses as a hobby? Are you really that poor that you need to attempt to steal my personal information? Clearly you have the skills in information technology that you should be able to get a job somewhere. Also, I am not stupid enough to keep documents on my computer with social security numbers and bank account information in them. Besides, you don't WANT my credit information. Apply for a credit card with my name. I dare you. Please record the conversation and let me listen to it later because I can bet they would laugh in your face. Do you really want all of my passwords? Oooo, MySpace, Facebook, Flickr, Hulu, YouTube, Typepad.... There are some interesting websites that no one else in the world uses. Very important information on there. Are you really that bored? Go see a fucking movie. Go bowling. Visit a friend. Are you really that friendless? Join a fucking club and/or organization. Go talk in some geek chat room or post your Yahoo Personals page. But staythefuckaway from my COMPUTER you flaming sack of giraffe shit.

Oh, P.S. hacker freak, I restored my system to a week ago and reinstalled AVG. No more Feedwater virus pour moi. Suck on them dry powdered milk titties.

I Got A New Attitude.

And today was a day just like any other.

I wake up to find it's another
Four aspirin morning, and I dive in
I put on the same clothes I wore yesterday.
When did society decide that we had to change
And wash a tee shirt after every individual use:
If it's not dirty, I'm gonna wear it.
I take the stairs to the car
And there's fog on the windows.
(And I'm fighting the words...)
I need caffeine in my blood stream,
I take caffeine in the blood stream.
I grip the wheel and all at once I realize:
(And you're getting away...)
My life has become a boring pop song
And everyone's singing along.

Since when did it become normal practice to try and fuck up Lauren's already fucked up life? Hmm? Tomorrow maybe I'll screw with her and her husband, the next day maybe I'll make her feel weak and insignificant, the next day maybe I'll forget she exists all together. And today was a day just like any other. Wasn't it? You know, all things considered, I am kind of an awesome person. I take care of people in ways they never notice, and I don't expect any kind of thank you. Because I enjoy doing it. Most days. But I am officially putting in my two weeks before I say au revoir, suckas. I'm in control and my worries are few. I got a new attitude. Patti LaBelle, watch the fuck out. ;)

Change The World.

Life seems to always fall back into the same place it has always been. It takes a major change to see any real difference. And I'm so sick of making huge decisions that seem so monumental to me, and no one around me seems to notice. I took the step. I did it. For once I spared someone instead of watching them drown. And it's fucking hard damn it, so a little props would be nice. But since this seems to be a normal practice in daily life. Alas, earwax.

There is a saying, one step forward and two steps back. I go two steps forward and two steps back. Always in different directions. North, south, east and west. Forward, backward, side and side. Diagonal, zig-zag, across the bridge and through the woods. [Funny things can happen in the woods.] And I always take the two steps back to my original starting place. I am always in the same place. Dragging, lagging and always in the same place. I never knew being predictable was so tiring.

I wish I could change the world. This has nothing to do with you, or with me or with the general population, but rather the entire world. I, Lauren VonDeadly, am so sick of this world. In all it's beauty, I am still not convinced the wicked doesn't overcome. Doesn't reign free. I am not convinced. I sit, cross legged, in the middle of the grass. I see prancing dogs, sunshine, blue skies and life all around me. Then I hear the rushing of cars, the laughter of people and the sweet sound of music. None of this compares to the emptiness I feel. The wicked inside, has won for today.

Heaven.

Where do you go when you go there? You disappear and you always come back, but I miss you when you go. And I get lonely. People see me with you, but they don't see how you've left my presence. Your eyes, glazed. Your jaw, clenched. Your hands, wringing in your lap. Where do you go? Can I come too? Or is it a solitary place. Is it a calming oasis or a blindingly painful place? Can I come either way? You know I'd go to the ends of the earth to fully understand you. Thinking about everything has it's downfalls. You can't change the world, but I can still be the sunlight in your universe. I never thought that for every hour I get with you, I get two without. Though I can't get too upset, you do always come back. Different than before, snapped out of a reverie I don't understand. A place of confinement. Solitary confinement apparently, seeing as how I'm not invited. Is it because you're scared? Do I scare you? Or does me knowing your innermost thoughts scare you. That scares anyone. I told you I'd get used to it though I don't want to get used to it. We are young and wild and free. But let's be those things together. Yes I know it's complicated, but LIFE is complicated. Me and you. We can't be a we if you don't let me in. I can't crack open your skull and get comfy. Walk around and learn the sights. I wish I could.

So you are just going to have to let me in or you will lose me.

Please don't lose me.

Words To Count Upon.

The cause of this, I know not
Whither they left, nor why.
But I do remember their laughter
And the bright of their smiles passing by.
Their presence is always upon us,
However alone we feel,
The memories we keep replaying,
Do not help us heal.

I search in vain for the reason
Cause this I do not know,
I do know youth is lovely,
I do know youth must go.
The pain has not yet settled,
The pain just will not end.
They left this world without us,
They left us with one less friend.

To The Ones Who Can't Hear Me.

I always cry at night. I don't know why, but right before sleep everything seems much more monumental. All the suffocations become too much to take. It is why I am awake. It is why I don't sleep. It is why I am writing to you now.

I have this fire constantly burning in my chest, small nuances are slow drips of lighter fluid. ACUs. Blue trucks. Lollipop by Lil Wayne. Southern accents. Pictures. How was I supposed to know you were on Yahoo News? I just wanted a quality picture of your handsome face. Instead I was faced with a quality picture of the salute they gave your coffins. Fuck lighter fluid, that was a tank of gasoline.

This still feels wrong. This isn't the way this was supposed to be. No one I love was supposed to be hurt. But now they are shot, mangled, torn and murdered. And for what? Can you answer that? Do you even know? None of it would matter anyway. Nothing is worth another human life. Not religion, not culture, not societal norms.

You shouldn't have beat your friends home.

Nick Sturian.

How funny is life?

So I'm sitting in my black leather chair, drinking delicious cranberry zinger tea and watching Charmed with my homies, when someone just walks into my house. I mean, I'm used to friends just walking in, but when the majority of them are already sitting on my couch I get a little confused. So, everyone meet Nick.

Nick Sturian is a magazine salesmen who has traveled to 41 states and is vying for one of 4 spots on a trip to Europe. Amsterdam being one of the stops he absolutely must make. Where he can smoke a doobie in public, as he says. He also wants to squirt Chewy with my squirt bottle for barking, and I say only if he barks at you again. [Which he proceeded to do as Nick shook my hand, and he was delighted to spray him.]

He also says that he just wants to, "be a baller."
And I say, "Shot caller?"
"20 inch blades,"
"On your impala?"

It was at this point that I decided to support Nick in his quest to smoke a doobie on the streets of Amsterdam. So I whip out my Visa and buy 36 issues of Maxim for $69.00. The hilarity of the final price was not lost on dear Nick.

So, dear stranger who walked in my house and before saying goodbye, asked if I knew anyone who could sell his some weed, I hope your quest for happiness is found with your bi-sexual girlfriend and trip to Europe.

Love always,
VonDeadly

Recycline.

VonDeadly is coming to you live from her living room, fresh off of brushing her teeth. When she realized she needed to share the awesomeness of Recycline. I mean, there is a lot to be said for keeping cool places a secret, so that no one can jack yo shit. Alas, if I share this website with just one person I may save some trees or something eco-friendly like that. So, back to the story: VonDeadly was brushing her teeth when she looked down at her 45 degree angled, soft bristled, made out of recycled material toothbrush and thought to herself, if everyone used products from this company we would all be better off. So she dashed to her laptop, used her trusty wireless internet to spread the good word of the FSM to her people. And all was well.

Buy their shit: HTTP://WWW.PRESERVEPRODUCTS.COM

When it is time to throw away that nasty toothbrush you're currently using.... Buy one of these. Then when it's time to buy a new one from Preserve, send the toothbrush and case back to them using their postage-paid label to be re-processed into plastic lumber for picnic tables, boardwalks and decks.

• Handle is made from 100% recycled plastic, including Stonyfield Farm® yogurt cups
• Curved, easy to grip handle makes it easy to reach every part of your teeth and gums
• Soft, virgin nylon bristles placed in a tri-level configuration with softer outer rows to protect your gums and tooth enamel
.• Available in Medium, Soft, and Ultrasoft

Word to your motha.

Local Wisdom.

Otis Redding has one of those voices that speaks to your soul. What happened to music like that? Is it truly gone forever? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy some modern music. I love a good Britney mix CD. Sublime rocks my socks. But there is a relatively short list of songs that whenever I listen to the original recording, my chest feels like there is a light coming from it. My throat gets choked up and sometimes I even get tears in my eyes. Because they are raw and emotion in it's purest form. They made music because if they didn't, their soul would die. And how can anyone deny the beauty of the music when it was still music. With instruments. Not technology. Music just isn't made like that very often anymore. There are a few instances when modern artists cover the songs and actually do them justice. And when they do it's light a beacon of light giving me hope. When they don't it's a crying shame. It just is. So watch these. Some of the best songs. Ever. And they are just the ones stuck in my head right this second.

Please, Mr. Postman.

I woke up this morning with this absurd energy. And by absurd, I mean normal amount for normal people. I have been trapped for a couple weeks. Oh, I went out, I did things. I laughed and joked and listened to music and ate and slept. I was normal. But something was off.

I can feel it coming back again. It creeps. It stalks. [I made french toast today. That's a big deal. I wouldn't boil water yesterday to make rice. It was too much work. Oh yeah, I said it. Boiling water is too much work.] I can still feel it creeping this morning. I've found that unless I am actively fighting it off, it comes and gets comfy without me knowing. It dresses me up in what it wants me to wear. It nudges me in the ribs to laugh when there is a pause in the conversation. It removes the smile from my lips when it is lingering too long. It twists the top off the Tanqueray bottle. It loads the snake. It lights the cigarette. It tells me to get in the shower when I start to smell a little too much like the dog. It reminds me to try and send one package a week. It makes me hum Please, Mr. Postman at the post office to make the postal guy laugh. He knows me by name now. So far so good. I think it has successfully run my life for the past couple weeks. And successfully convinced everyone I was okay.

This morning when I woke up, I felt no nudge to make tea. I just did it. Then I made french toast. Took the dog outside, played with him. Turned on some Beatles, I Feel Fine. [Irony kills me.] And then I realized I did this all on my own. I'm doing this all on my own. And I'm okay. I mean, some moments I want to just fall to the ground and stay there for a while. But I don't. That's the key. I don't fall to the ground. I take a scalding hot shower. I scratch my inner arm. I feel. I can still feel. And I can still smile. I can do this. Me, who protested and fought tooth and nail for over a year against the exact thing that is happening now, is doing it. And I am amazed at my own strength. I am an incredibly resilient person, cheer from the peanut gallery who know my life history. But this was beyond my wildest nightmares. And here I am not only surviving it, but doing reasonably well. I am creating a pseudo-life.

It's been a hard day's night.

Peace to your motha.