In my head

There are conversations going on in my head even as I write this. Long, drawn out dissertations, short stories, comic strips and even the lunitic raving of a completely mad person.

There hve been many nights of conversations lately. Conversations with people (a good thing,) and conversations alone. Ideas and thoughts spiral down into a morass of thinking goo that solidifies, sometimes for the good, sometimes not.
The good times is when the solid formation is that of complex variety, an idea that incorporates my strange interests with tibits of knowledge I've managed to gleen off this rock.
And other times, more often times, it's me having a screaming match with myself. This usually results in the solidified block of "shutupShutUpSHUTUP."

Self-censorship is something that has been brought up and turned over recently. Very often I find myself censoring the things that I write, say, and do, based on perception of the recieving party. I do a lot of things based on perception.
But perception is just that: the mask, the facade; that which is put forward for people to see, that which they want to see, that which they can conceive.

I find these perceptions amusing. I have devloped them over time, out of neccesity. I have gathered my armor and it serves me well. Too well. I have built my tower, and every day I build it a little higher, a little stonger.
Because Kragore the badass does not exist outside perception.
It has been prooven that Kragore has an extraordinarily squishy, sensitive middle. This is usually done in fighteningly painful fashion, as so the armor grows, the tower gets a little higher, and I get a little more distant, the lunitic mad voice a little louder.

Very few people have taken the time to peek under the armor, pry back the jaded black-coffee covering and see that Kragore, is well... not exactly made of brass as everyone seamingly likes to think.

*blink*

Ahh well. One of the voices says it's time for bed.

- K.

*snarf*

Sloganized! (http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan)

The Fitchburg State College With The Hole.

and for irony:
The Curiously Strong Kragore.

Mmm.. awake, and feeling like that truck from the weekend backed up over me. Gotta go to class though...
*snuffle*
where's my dayquil.....

Fingers

So I extended a hand to someone today. I half expected to pull back a bloody stump, but was pleasantly surprised to only get nibbled fingers.
Energy's flaggin' and here I am giving it away. *sigh* Well, he's a good boy. He's learning the hard way. It's kinda funny what a KitKat will do for a person.

Been stupid-tired lately. Probably just end of the semester draggin'. Yea, that's it. And if you keep telling yourself that it, maybe it'll be true.

Nervous, worried and edgy lately. An odd sence of peace today though, when I was in the theater hanging lights. Physical labor often does that for me. Hauling lights and running cable is good for the soul. Not for the allergies, but what do you want...
Maybe I should change my major. Wouldn't that be funny. Not funny ha-ha, no, not in the least....

Have decided that there a few programs I have to get my paws on and play with. Macromedia Director, and AutoCad. I know I don't have much time, but I think I should really at least be able to function these...

And now, the chair leg of truth demands sleep.

- K.

The Change - by Tony Arata, Wayne Tester

One hand
Reaches out
And pulls a lost soul from harm
While a thousand more go unspoken for
They say what good have you done
By saving just this one
It's like whispering a prayer
In the fury of a storm

And I hear them saying you'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me

This heart
Still believes
The love and mercy still exist
While all the hatred rage and so many say
That love is all but pointless in madness such as this
It's like trying to stop a fire
With the moisture from a kiss

As long as one heart still holds on
Then hope is never really gone.