Monday, May 16, 2011, 11:47 PM
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Today, im gonna post random bits and pieces that I’ve written for one reason or another but haven’t finished or haven’t used them else where

Firstly. This is called Dear John, I wrote it after learning of the murder of someone I knew at school. We were in no way friends and he was basically an asshole to everyone, but the fact that he was shot in front of his house, and reminded me of my brother, really got to me. its only short but i still like the feeling it evokes in me

It’s funny how life works. One minute you are alive. And the next you aren’t and everything about you ceases to exist. Your heart stops beating. Body turns cold and you begin to rot. People forget the way your voice sounded, the dimples in your cheeks when you laughed and the smell of your hair.
And then your die again. The last time your name is said out loud. Your personality melts away to nothing. People talk about that one time you went there and did that, or the time at the party or the beach or school. But the memories always fade. Until there is nothing left but a few discoloured photographs.
We all know death is coming. But it’s so unexpected. It’s so confronting and painful. it leaves us alone, a gaping hole in our lives. An empty void no one is able to fill. And we continue living. Continue on. Expected to cope because we all know death is coming. And it’s inevitable. But sometimes we just can’t. and sometimes we just don’t want to.

and this is just a crazy bunch of shit. i have no reasons behind this. but i like the Eclectic-NESS

Have you ever been in a situation when you know exactly what is going to happen next but aren’t sure if you should go along with it? When your heart is racing. You stop breathing. Your stomach drops and twists into your gut and you, for just one moment, are completely alone in your head. Trying to make your mind up as quick as you can. Your body is so tense and it feels like hours have past, yet it’s only been a fraction of a second. And when your decision is made you second-guess yourself over and over. This is one of these times. Im not sure if I want to have sex with her. We only just met.

Before I start, I must warn you, there is nothing particularly interesting about me. Or the way I live my life. I don't want to change the world and I don't want to conquer it either. I know I am going to die young. And I know there is no compelling reason as to why you should waste your time reading my story except for the fact I want to tell it.


He first caught my eye at the train station. His well-groomed black suit stood out against the terracotta walls. He looked about 30. Hair combed back and a leather brief case. Everything about him was well polished except his eyes. They pierced through me with this sad look of desperation. He looked ravenously hungry, wanting devour me whole. Me made me feel as though his entire world had had no meaning up until he saw me. that is so self obsessed but there is no other way to describe it. as the train pulled up, he stared more intensely. I had two options, go to school and act as if it never happened, I never saw him. Or to stare back, walk away and hope he followed.


There are times when you just miss someone so much that it hurts to even think about them. When you try and forget every reason you liked them in the first place. Forcing yourself to believe they aren’t important to you and you to them. Where you need something to distract you but everything reminds you of the time you did this. Or the time you went there. You remember every little detail the way they say certain words, they way their hair fell out around their face, the way they’d crinkle their face when they sneeze, they way they smell. At those times, there is no other way to cope but to escape yourself.


He followed me home. I still don't know his name. We walk upstairs. I take off my clothes and he begins to cry. He thanked me all the way through.


Three kids smelt the tangled mess of seaweed and driftwood from the opening of the sea cave before the pile was even in sight. The stench was consuming and intoxicating, spurring them on to explore deeper. Unaware of what exactly they had found and excited by the possibility of a seal or a shark carcass, they poked and prodded inquisitively with the soles of their shoes. The eldest boy broke a branch off the wood and thrusts it deeper into the mound. It didn't move. Showing more audacity than the precautious proceedings, he ran his hands over the leathery skin. It was warm. A vain sign of life breathed into the body by the pounding rays of the summer sun. He turned the mess over. The little girl let out a blood curdling screamed as a man’s face lolled towards her. Eyes vacant of any life and mouth twisted with pain. A sinister gaping hole in middle of his forehead was most likely the cause of his demise but every inch of his body was covered by brutal cuts and scratches inflicted by animals at sea. A crowd had started to gather unsure of what to do or say. A few had quickly hurried forward to the body, covering it with beach towels and pushing the crowd away. The little girl was still screaming for her mother.
I know that it is creepy that I fantasize about my own death


The last thing Amy said to me was
“I never regret anything.”
Less than two hours later, she was dead. And she didn't regret a thing. I feel so pathetic; there are so many moments in my less than 17 years of life that I regret. How could she live, and die, with such abandon?
I regret not knowing her better.
I regret not taking the pills.
I regret not saying yes to even one of the guys that makes a pass at me.
I’m not going to regret anymore.


Cant even type wors properly can i>
I,so drunk
I’s rahetr be dead than sober.
People live their lived not knowing how to reaLX and enjoy life the way iots ment to be?
I hate knowing thsat when I wake up ill be sad again.
Why dop they even make the emotion sadfess. Its such the worst emotion ever.
I want to live. I want to be in an eternal trip
I don't want to come to terms with what IM FEELING. I just want to forget anything ever happened and just enjoy being on this earth.
When im born again all my pain will go. Too much pain in this life it must mean NOTHING SAD in the next.
I wanted to puchthat old slut in the face. You RE OLD stop chaing the muching you fucking cow. And sto[p tucking you dress into your undies. Yuck. Fucken bitch face mole
I should sleep
But I don't want to. But tetre is nithingb else to do. And I cant even type right, but I just did that one really good.and that one. Im getting better. I wonder how many words I could type in an allotted time amount. A lot I bet, im pretty good.

I maked many words and now I should sleep
But then I lose myh insightful ness.
But ican feel the sober creeeeping in;.
And no. no sober/
I must stop drugs.
But theyb make me feel happy
And the only reason to live is to be happy/ fuck everyone else/


I enjoy catching the bus. Something always happens on the bus. I think they feel safer than trains. I guess because you can see everyone’s face. Trains, to me, are too clinical. They must run on time. Tickets from machines and you don't even have to say a word. You stand and wait on the platform, being informed by a robotic voice. The doors open and you step in. you sit down and hope no one sits near you. And that's it. there isn’t a connection with anyone, unless someone sneezes in your direction. Trains just seem cold. Its different on a bus. You a greeted at the door. You have to talk the bus driver and walk past people to take a seat, you can see who they are, their faces and personalities and they can see you. And busses have that familiar grumble of a big family car. Maybe I’m biased.

Busses at twilight are the most interesting. The majority of the crowd is home. Or atleast heading there. There is enough fleeting light to see around you and everything has a dull shaze.

comments? even though you never do, i'd appreciate them

x Kurt

Post a Comment
Sunday, May 15, 2011, 11:10 PM
You can go your own way

SO due to the fact I was busy Friday and Saturday the entire blogger was down, I didn't post. Can you really blame me? Friday night was spent celebrating Grace’s birthday. with Joely and Mikel. I really enjoyed Grace’s party because I caught up with some peeps I only get to see 3 times a year. At the same 3 parties. Halloween, Sookie’s Birthday and Grace’s Birthday. and I swear for the past 4 or 5 years I have attended them and its usually the same crowd, give or take a few. But we have known each other for ages and we are just so comfortable around each other. The first year I didn't even talk to anyone, I found them a bit intimidating, and I guess they didn't know me other than the fact that I used my GAYNESS as a shield to stop anyone trying to anything untoward happening to me. but I learnt their names and party after party we got closer and talked more and now I consider them all great mates. I don’t see them outside the three times a year and I don't know much about their lives, but it is just nice knowing that we can just forget the troubles of the world and enjoy ourselves when we are together. I’m also a bit sad that I missed Meltem’s Party but extenuation circumstances didn't allow me to attend. I hope she had a good night.

ALRIGHTLY. Enough of the blah. This piece was written for no particular reason, except that I was angry at the world and wanted to write a big fuck you to it.

You know that saying “better to be safe than sorry”... yer, fuck it. It is complete shit. Safe is boring. Safe is warm fuzzes. I love winter...
“Sex drugs rock and rave, lets act up and misbehave, on speed and weed and little E’s, get so high we talk to trees, cos life’s a bitch then you die so fuck this shit let’s get high!” ...Okay maybe not so cheerful but it gets the message across. Life is messed up. Humanity is twisted. If there is anything I’ve learnt in my 18 years of life it would be “don’t try, don’t fail” None of this lovey-dovey bull crap about giving it your best and having a go. Fuck that. Why would you want to disappoint everybody by achieving? Yer, too much effort. Your just gonna fail in the end. You always fail. always.

Optimism isn’t really a word i use much. Well actually at all, reality is more my thing. Reality and finding ways to escape it. The concept of optimism puzzles me, I don’t get it, and I was reading the news paper about a man who was ecstatic that he didn’t lose his left hand in a car accident. And at the same time I’m think to myself DUDE, you lost your right one, who cares about your left, you don’t have both your hands and your screwed for the rest of your life, but he was happy, seriously delusional much?. What is Happiness? Again, I don’t get it, Achieving Nirvana and all that jazz. Just give me a joint and I’m good for the next few hours.

Another thing I don’t get is why drugs are against the law. I think they are good things. Anything thing that help you cope with/escape reality is fine by me. Someone told me they ruin families; eat up all your money, bad for your health, blah blah blah. Alcohol, cigarettes or gambling anyone?

While we are still on the topic of things I don’t understand. Hate, why? I really can’t grasp why people go out of their way to hate someone they don’t know. Especially racial or homophobic hate. People can’t change the way they were born. Accept them for who they are.

Wow, this is a really bad suicide letter.
How about “Goodbye cruel world”?

Yer. Fuck that too.

I like it. it gets my angry and sarcasm across very well without being obnoxious or ridiculously obscene.
NOW im running out of stuff I am willing to post. This story was written for a practice paper for my sc. Around 2006 possibly. The short story section either gives you a pictures, or the first few lines to a story that you have to finish and this is what I came up with. I can’t remember the begging exactly, I don’t know why I didn't save it with the story, but it was something about looking through a window and seeing a man with a scar on his face. it set up the story better (now it feels a bit empty, you be the judge)

“Aulora?” asked a strong, stern voice
“Yes officer, that is the man that raped me, I’m sure of it, I could never forget that scar,” my voice wavered then I burst into tears.
“And you Cassie?”
“Yes sir Number four, that scar is what I remember” she sobbed loudly
Cassie I cried together, a consolation prize.

Only hours earlier

I laid on the sand, letting the waves wash over my body, hoping that they would take all my hurt and pain away. The salty water, the same water that carried my innocence away stung my eyes, but nothing could take that image burned in to my mind away. That gruesome scar…

Aulora could her name being called, yet stayed still not wanting to feel the pain of embarrassment. But it still called on, unchanging. A sweet melody that took her away from her human body. Her soul was drifting. Then a single word that ripped her from her cocoon and shook her back into the salinity. Aulora got up coughing and splattering, tears still falling from her eyes. She was weak but could still mutter a few words.

“I was…” the pain was unbearable but she had to tell someone “I was raped” then fainted Aulora from exhaustion. That one word echoed in Cassie’s mind over and over. Who could do such a thing? She felt sickened by that one little word. Cassie could hear someone coming. She panicked and fled to the near by bushes, the salty leaves stung and whipped her legs and body as she went. By the shape she could tell it was defiantly a man. He walked over to her as she lay on the beach and kicked her. Yelling filthy words and calling her dirty names, Cassie yelped in pain. The man turned and as he did she saw an image burned into her mind forever, a disgusting scar. The man left in a hurry down the beach. Cassie ran to where Aulora was laying and got out her phone and rang the police but the line was busy so she tried again and again. On her forth attempt a lady pick up “ Good evening, how may I help you, which service will you be requiring?” she spoke agonizingly slow.
“Please help me. I just found girl who has been bashed and raped. I don’t know what to do.”
“Ok, ok slow down, now where are you”
“ I’m at the north end of nambian beach, please hurry she has fainted”
“The police and ambulance should be there with in 5 minutes, Please just stay with her and keep calm. Also look out for the ambulance.” Cassie hung up and waited anxiously.

It felt like a lifetime before I could see unmistakable red and blue light of police cars flashings in the distance and they were approaching at a rapid pace as I raced down to try and wake the girl. She stirred a little yet I couldn’t wake her. The ambulance pulled up and two officers raced out, yelling.
“Hello, is anyone there” they yelled in unison
“Yes, down at the shore, I’m with the girl,” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The medics ran down with a back brace and carefully placed Aulora on it and returned to the vehicle. I ran along side holding her hand. As she stepped in to ambulance, the officer protested, “Only family can travel in the van”
“I’m her um… I’m her sister” I lied and walked on.

The ride to the hospital was very long and Aulora wasn’t moving. Aulora wasn’t doing anything at all. Cassie squeezed the girls limp hand harder, hoping for a reaction but her prayers were unanswered. With hope fading, the van slowed and finally stopped.
“At last we are here,” Cassie thought jumping out. It was late and the small suburban hospital was near empty, luckily. Cassie raced to find a doctor but was stopped in the corridor by a middle-aged nurse.
“Love your in a hurry” as she spoke, the words were soothed Cassie’s core into a state of relaxation, “ who are you looking for love?”… “Oi love?” she repeated
“Oh I’m sorry, I came here with a girl who was raped. I think she is seriously hurt. Is there a doctor around?” Cassie was frantic again.
“Ah yes. She being treated to, your not her sister are you?” the nurse was smart.
“No, but I couldn’t just leave her alone!” Cassie was about to burst into tears.
“ Oh I'm sorry love, but it was good of you, the police want to meet with you to get a statement, I know this seem heartless right now but they think they have the guy”

“Now Miss Cassie Webster, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth or so help you god” the police man sounded strong
“I do” I replied meekly
“And you Miss Aulora Johnson?”
“I do” Aulora said, sounded more confident than my response.”
“Please girls, identify the rapist”

I remember writing it well. I remember what I wanted the beach to look like, there was a party going on a few hundred meters ahead of the girls, and the girls didn't know each other. Aulora was drunk and coxed away by the rapist and cassie had a fight with her boyfriend and had stormed off when she found the body. I remember thinking that the rapist walked away to find somewhere to hide her and came back to kill her when cassie yelped. I don't know why I didn't include any of that in the story. Since Im running out of shit to post, I think I might and try re writing what I have posted. I have been feeling the urge to since I have been re reading them.

BUT HEY, atleast I this blog ticks both my categories, Rape and Suicide.
x Kurt

Labels: , ,

Post a Comment
Thursday, May 12, 2011, 11:42 PM
New Age Electronica Club

I am enjoying the consistency at which I am posting, 3 days isn’t bad, especially in my books. Now, the stories I am posting today. The first one is actually the original draft of the pac man story I blogged two posts ago. (Untitled (train pac man english). I thought it might be cool to show how it evolved, and I also asked a whole bunch of peeps to read it for me and then I didn't use it, so I guess it deserves some attention now. when I got the train idea, I used this part (minus the pacman references) to start another Alice in wonderland-ish drug induced fantasy world story that went nowhere fast. She met an elf/fairy named Tavi and was shit scared. Again my problem was a lack of any substance, which is something that seems to be a recurring theme in all my failed ventures. ANYWAY enjoy.

Our bodies twisted, entwined. The cold lock on the bathroom stall of “Utopia” clicked shut. I giggled at the thought. We shuffled together down the walls of profanity until we were parted by the discoloured porcelain. As if our bodies foretold, our lips tangled in heated passion, an eccentric mixture of lust and sweat. Sexuality reeked from all of our pores, egging us on. A hand crept over my body, feeling every curve, every contour, reading the story of my skin like Braille. I could hear the dull thumping of music coming from outside. It was distorted as if the music was being played through cotton wool. Sinister. It sounded so good; I was enthralled by the continuing presence of this hypnotizing composition. Comforting amongst chaos. A finger traced a line up my body slyly continuing under my top, moving ever so slowly, teasing, caressing the soft skin underneath. I let out a hushed moan, muffled by the kiss.

What seemingly felt like an eternity of ecstasy ended briefly, our swollen lips parted, as if only to breathe. The cold air pierced.

Instantaneously our foreheads parted, letting loneliness sink into my skin. I closed my eyes and let the sensation over-whelm me. Eyes open, my clandestine lover, who smirked, resting two small pink pills on the end of his tongue. We kissed again this time harder, more passionately, as if oblivion would ignite if we ceased. The bitter taste lingered, and I cringed.

A hand moved with craft and coy around my waist, lust consuming, under the covers of red and black lace. I slapped it away; pulling away from me I saw the disgusted look in his eye.

I’m sorry.

He pushed me and stormed out of the cubicle. I slid down slowly, ever so slowly down the wall and let the salinity sting my eyes. I cried, and cried and cried….


I stagger out of the bathroom, trying to compose myself. The erratic club lights are screaming into my eyes, blinding me. Recovering, my eyes scan the room, trying to find a familiar face or… something. All I see is…Him

I’m not here. I need to escape. I run. Chase. Run chase. Run. It’s a game.

There is no escape. He has got me. make it stop. Please. Stop him.
Oh. If you want to read the 500ish words with Tavi, just say so, I’d be happy to oblige.

This second story I wrote just because. And I think it is one of my personal favourites. I sent it (in its first draft stage) to my favourite author via the wonder that is Myspace, Alasdair Duncan. Sushi Central is probably my all time favourite book ever. His style of writing is something I take inspiration from and I find it so intense and consuming. ANYWAY he read it and replied

Totes lame, but it meant the world that he “liked” it
So the story is kinda a hybrid. I wrote the story then kinda added an epilogue to it. so ill post all of it and you can tell me if I should keep it or scrap it.

I am Oliver

So, yeah. I'm standing alone in this room. Well, I'm not really alone... and it is not really a room. I'm in this “New Age” Electronica club. The club feels strangely comforting; there is something mesmerising about it that calls me in. I can't remember the name; I just forgot it I guess.. I don’t how I got here, or where here is, but being here, it just feels so right…

Or it did.

The erratic club lights are screaming into my eyes, blinding me. Recovering, my eyes scan the room, trying to find a familiar face or… something. I turn around and, and there is this guy is charging towards me holding two drinks. I’ve never seen him before, He looks really out of place here, like too old to be in a club like this, everyone in the nightclub looks under age and I’d say he would be 26-ish… maybe. His hair is deathly black and smoothed flat with excessive hair grease, it looks really over done. He has repulsive brown eyes that pierce through me and his jeans are fashionable ripped, defiantly designer. His tight, white shirt rippled over his torso, revealing his muscular physique, he looks like a real pretty boy. Reluctantly, I accept the glass but I don’t drink any of it, instead I place it on the shiny marble table separating us. He grabs my arm and pulls me onto the dance floor
I’m sort of half dancing with him, half trying to get away, get out of here and now he’s, like, getting closer, more intimate, touching me and I’m really uncomfortable. He draws closer. I can feel the bulge in his pants, I feel so dirty and used. He takes two pink pills out of a small clear plastic bag, puts them his mouth and kisses me, trying to push whatever drug it is into my mouth. I really don’t want him to. I try to push him away but he just smirks and pulls closer. Again, I push him away, but again he pull closer and tighter. I kick him and He whips me around, yelling an unknown profanity. His grip tightens; his fingers are really digging into my pale, white flesh. I yelp, but my screams are drowned out by the music.

I’m scared.

I don’t know what to do. I’m sweating. I’m choking and I just wanna get out of here. I can’t; I’m stuck. I try to pull away and I succeed, but then he grabs my wrists and holds them tighter than ever. It’s really hurting. I’m crying. The shrill screams of the female voice pounding through the speakers seem to be directed at me “you deserved it, you wanted it, you asked for it”, her bone chilling giggles penetrate to my core, like sugar coated razor blades, sweeting cutting me from the inside out. The man screams something into my ear, but the pounding club beats, again, play louder and his words are lost into the hypnotizing composition. He’s dragging me somewhere, I don’t know where. I’m scared.

We’re outside now, in an alley. He yells and pushes me against the cold brick wall, an overwhelming swirl of terracotta... He kicks me; I scream and sink to the ground. He laughs at me. I try to get up and run, but my legs are too weak to carry me. He is laying on me now, trying to undo the zipper of my jeans. I pray that it gets stuck, and it does, but the man pulls the zipper off completely, ripping my jeans to shreds as he went. I hit him and hit him but, again, he just laughs it off and punches me in the face. I can’t feel anymore…


I can taste the sour metallic tang of blood. It’s my warm salvation to prove I’m still human, prove I can still feel. Tears burn down my cheek…

You deserved it, you wanted it, you asked for it, giggle.

You deserved it, you wanted it, you asked for it, giggle.

You deserved it, you wanted it, you asked for it, giggle.

He pulls my pants down and rolls me over with little resistance. I'm weak. I try again to scream but there is nothing but silence, I yell at him to stop, He tells me to shush because I will enjoy it. My eyes sting with salty tears.

I hear him unzip his own pants and, and…

* * * *

He gets up and throws a twenty dollar note on my bruised body. I hear the distancing thud of his shoes. It is still dark, I get up and walk. I can hear the dull thumping of music coming from inside, it is distorted and scary. I can feel its presence pounding against my body. I pull my hoodie over my head, I don’t want to look at anyone. Tears burn down my swollen cheeks, each one, darkening the pavement. Every movent is painful. Every breath stings. My body is throbbing. I don’t know where I am. I walk on. A Taxi pulls up next to me. I get in, wordlessly

* * * *

I crash into the bathroom and, for the first time, I see my reflection in the mirror. Grasping on to the vanity, I throw up. Split and swollen lips, deep purple bruised eyes and gravel rash on my cheek. I can’t bare to take to off my shirt.

I stumble to the bath, with each step, I winch pain. I grab the tap with the insignia “H” and turn it, but the water is freezing cold, I turn harder and faster, but no change, I turn and turn and turn and turn the tap, it pulls off… Water gushing everywhere. Hot, finally. I grab half full bottle of body wash my brother uses and empty its entire contents in the steaming water. It’s not enough. Opening the cabinet under the sink I spot another bottle and dump that it in too. next the bubble bath, I squeeze and crush the container, pouring every last drop into the now foaming water. I do the same with the shampoos and conditioners, but it is still not enough. I grab the shower cleaner; emptying it into the now steaming bath. It is still not clean. Toilet cleanser, washing powder, disinfectants and shower cleaner. The bath is now overflowing. Ripping my clothes off, I jump into it, feeling the searing hot water. I scrub and scratch at my tarnished skin until it is red raw. Purifying myself. Cleansing my soul.

I’m still dirty.

Hi, I’m Oliver. I’m 17.


x Kurt

Labels: , , ,

Post a Comment
Wednesday, May 11, 2011, 11:55 PM
Rolling in the Deep

I feel empowered. I have been re reading all my old shit, deciding what to post and its really made me see how much my writing has changed over the years. Im really proud of how far I have come.
Ok this is the Prologue of a novel I started, but lost interest in writing. Ill post the prologue and a part of chapter one. There are some bits and pieces I want to take away and use else where without losing publish rights. Blah blah its boring, and I might explain it one day

This is Innocent Skin

Innocent Skin


I don’t understand why people call sex “losing your innocence”... there was really no way you could’ve called me innocent, like I abused my body with all different chemicals, drugs and alcohol, whatever. But I don’t know. I’m different in some way. A part of me is somehow changed. I didn’t lose anything but... I don’t get it at all. I’m not different. I haven’t changed. I’m innocent now.

I went to raves; I took everything I could get my hands on, ecstasy, speed, acid, anything that would make me feel good, anything that would help me escape reality. I was about 13, coming home from a rave, I was as high as a kite and loving life, looking back, I wish I had savoured those moments a little longer, things are never the same as they were once upon a time...

The rave had finished early, 2 or 3 am and someone’s parent, Ellen.ecstasy, rainbow raver or someone else with a “scene” name that-was-both-witty-and-completely-dull-at-the-same-time’s parent, I can’t recall, but it doesn’t matter, a father who was not mine was driving was driving a group of us home. I was in the front seat. As he drove I remember watching the street lights whoosh past, marvelling at the colours, at the blurs of light that trailed from the lamps, I remember giggling and making up some story about a fairy that had escaped and was playing in the darkness, the car then filled with laughter, I was truly happy, grinning on the inside. This was probably the last time I’d escape this way, feel this type of euphoria, see these fairies, be this innocent. The man drove further, weaving in and out of roads and side streets, with each stop, the load got lighter and the car got quieter. The low hum of the engine cut out, silence. I looked outside. This wasn’t my house. I turned back and there was no one else there, I was the only one left. He put a hand on my knee. It didn’t faze me, I didn’t feel it. I was numb. I looked back out at the distorted lights. Nothing could go wrong. I was safe, the lights would save me, he couldn’t hurt me. The sudden clicking of his seatbelt lock pierced the silence. My mouth was dry. Opening my door, picking me up. I go blank here...

Kneeling in the dirt, looking up at the play ground, longing to hang of the monkey bars, to sit on the swings. They are just out of my reach. I want to play like a kid again, I want to feel carefree... safe. I can taste him but I can’t feel it. ...Blank... Looking at the blinding street lights. My fingers are tingling. ...Blank... He is now sitting on the swing. He lifts my body up on to him, twiddling his finger inside of me, it’s hurting ...Blank... Almost all sensation has returned. I can feel his presence smothering me now. Inside me. Desecrating the walls of my bowels. ...Blank... It burnt, his presence in my body. It hurt so much. I want to get off the swings now. Searing drops of salty water blaze down my cheek. I can hear him. “Don’t cry, it will be over soon” he said and pushed my hair from my face. The lights scream into my eyes ...Blank... It’s done. I can’t stand. He is holding me up. He lets go. ...Blank...

I can feel the warm presence of the ruby liquid; it is covering my face, suffocating me. ...Blank... I’m lying in the dirt. I can’t move. A cat looms over me and begins licking the blood from my face, I can’t shoo it away. I feel dirty ...Blank... I lay there for hours. I can see the sun in its entire glory rise into the sky, the humiliating sun, warming my face, breathing life into me, revealing my tarnished body. Sadly, I know I will survive. My strangled spirit longed to be free. Unable to look at the swings, I peer to my left; a twenty dollar bill mockingly flies towards me, as if fate had commanded it. I want to cry, but I can’t, I had no tears left.

I could hear the sound of feet pounding the foot path. Please don’t see me, I begged. A dog. Its owner screamed. Sirens and lights. Sirens and lights.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

I’m not a victim. I can’t blame him but he took something from me, something I can never have back.

Chapter One. Appear innocent, young but look old... enough.

After 5 years, you pick up a few things. It’s more than just getting paid to fuck; you need to learn the politics, the food chain. If you want to make any kind of money out there you have to follow the rules. It seems odd for something that is so lawless to have structure but it works. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m not forced to do it, i choose, I don’t have a pimp, or report an agency. I do it for the thrill of being desired, wanted. Nothing is more exhilarating then seeing grow men crave you so much they fight for the pleasure to be with you, paying you to get them off. Oh, And for the shiny new presents. I fend for myself, I had to teach myself. I started at raves, clubs and parties, giving head to the guys there for change to pay for my “indulgences”. I got good and started charging more, that’s when i heard about them. Parks, back streets, toilets and changing rooms. “Cruzing zones” they were called. The places that you went to make more than pocket change, places where you turn the real tricks, places with real risks, and places that pay real money. But if you want any money you need to know how to work it. One. Appear as sweet and innocent and as blissfully unaware as possible. Seem like a kid. Play the part. Open up your big blue eyes, batter your long black eyelashes and pout your shiny pink lips. Be coy and shy, play with your hair and chuckle. The daddies love that. But look old enough. And don’t act like a sissy. Smoking a cigarette helps. Gives off a masculine and rebellious James Dean vibe. But don’t wear leather jackets or anything that will attract attention or tell a story. Plain white singlet, jeans and runners. Let the “john” make up his own fantasy.

History sucked. Some blah blah bull shit about some war about 50 bajillion years ago. Nothing i care about. I hate history. What’s in the past can stay there. I know that is a bad attitude to have but i can’t stand history lessons, i love school though, it is... safe? You can choose who you want to be in high school, it is all just a giant theatre. Myself, i play a drifter. Too mysterious for anyone to know, but hot enough to make everyone want me, vein huh? But you know my type. There are always rumours about my 6 stays in juvenile hall, or my 3 children or my addict to cocaine, none of which are true, but hey, if it keeps me in the spot light, i’m not saying anything. That is my one downfall. My one addiction. Vanity and being desired.

basically the kid gets raped and turns into a male hooker, and the story was about how he coped in life with school friends and his career path. i enjoyed writing what i did, but the it was all a bit one dimensional. i might have another go somewhere down the track, giving it a little more depth and substance.

oh btw, you might notice that if im not writing about rape, it is about suicide. not sure why im always so morbid, but i think its because i love the emotion in it.


x Kurt

Labels: , , ,

Post a Comment
Tuesday, May 10, 2011, 2:56 AM
Somthing Old, Somthing New

with the overwhelming success of my weekly story idea (note sarcasm) ive decided to try and get my creative juices flowing by posting things i have already written. some from last week, some from years ago. i have a file of odds and ends of things that i have written for school or just for fun, and i like'd to revisit my successes and failures. some things may be good, but mostly they will be terrible. all ideas and criticism are welcome, if you like(or hate) one particular part, point it out. if you think i should continue the story, tell me. and if you think i should change or add or subtract anything, LET ME KNOW. FYI you may or may not have previously read these.

ok. i guess ima be generous and post two things.

Firstly. this poem. it was the first thing that i have written and was proud of. seriously depressing and morbid. but at the time i thought it was brilliant. i think i might have a go at re-writing it now. but that is for later.

Hung By Love
I saw you hanging from a rope
It was tied around your swollen throat
I tried and tried to cut you down
But your limp body just fell to the ground

I looked where your smile was replaced
By this ugly and Unknown face
Your eyes were sad as they looked into mine
“Please don’t go, it’s not your time”

Your gentle fingers wiped my tears
Your calming voice chased away my fears
I cried with you, in a loving embrace
Your soul has gone, and left no trace

How could you leave me like this?
No good-bye, not even a kiss
The salty water stung my eyes,
Is this it, our last good -byes?

I held your body on the floor
As the police burst through the door
They ripped your body from my hold
And left me standing in the cold…

As I write this note to you,
You must know my life is through
With out you here, I can no longer bear
The image in my mind of your Lifeless stare.

YES. i know. it is very 13 year old emo. but thats what i was when i was written. very immature in style, but i will always love it.

and This second piece, i wrote about 3 years ago for my English HSC short story section. i also really like this. the topic was Journey, and i kinda love the twist. there isnt a title, but it is saved under the name "Train pac man english" which is a perfect title

Untitled (train pac man english)

Beep. Beep. Beep.
I awake to a pristine white, assaulting my eyes. Alien tubes protrude from my hands, throat and nose. I’m scared. I try to pull these snakes away. A cool hand holds mine.
“Don’t do dat, love” a warm and gentle voice offers “‘dey is ‘ere ta ‘elp ya”
I’m not alone. More beeping.

“What’s your name?” his voice isn’t gentle. “Where do you live?”
I couldn’t tell them, I didn’t know.
“Do you know what happened, how you got here?”
Where is here? Who am I? What is this?
‘No’ was all I could offer.
The carriage was cold but offered some salvation from the whipping winds that licked at my heels. I am struck with an eerie feeling of déjà vu. I tightened my scarf in vane, trying to gather the remanence of warmth in my body. Inside, the lights were blinking in perfection synchronisation with every jolt they took travelling on the worn tracks. The carriage was near empty, save two men in impeccable suits, DG or Amarni , fiercely reading the tatters of what I presumed as remains of today’s mX newspaper, given out at selective train stations in the city. Down the stairs, the walls screamed profanities at me. I reached the nearest useable seat, only minor tears in the lustre of faux blue leather. An empty hope of authenticity in the illusion, but with a touch, hope vanished, it was almost defiantly 'made in china'. A wave of sadness enveloped my body; I shed a tear for this dilapidated carriage, every inch desecrated. Nothing sacred, nothing holy. A high pitched, nasally voice announced my station, pulling me out of my melancholy thoughts.

Again, the wind thrashed against the skin of my scantily clad flesh, promiscuousity was not my intention, I was yet another victim of fashion, hostage to my own career ambition. The thunder of train tracks fading into a dull ramble, merging with the general traffic. The stinging wind causing tears to burn down my face, darkening the pavement with every drop. I felt sick, an unease in my body, there was something wrong. I turned the corner, and there they were. I crossed the road. They wolf whistled and yelled slurs. “hey baby, come here and we’ll show you a good time”. I quicken my pace, looking down. I try to remember what they taught us in school. SING. Side, instep, nose, groin. But there was 4 of them. Big. I’m still crying. I’m not here. I need to escape. I run. Chase. Run chase. Run. It’s a game.

An insignificant alley. Ms. Pac Man shakes, worried and yellow, floating under the street lights. The music starts; chunky, electronic, hypnotic, drowning out the sounds of traffic. It is distorted as if the music was being played through cotton wool. Sinister. She begins to move, looking back, slowly gaining pace. She has lost her purpose. There are no pills left. She is just running, escaping.

Ms. Pac Man moves to the left, searching for an escape, nothing. She turns a corner in the maze, running. Nothing. Again, looking for an escape. Nothing. The red ghost is swerving blindly around the maze. The look in his eyes is totally blank, empty. He has one mission: find Ms. Pac Man. No matter how much mindless swerving it takes to get there. His legs won’t cease moving, pumping with adrenaline, stalking his prey. Ms. Pac man leaves a trail of tears in her wake, screaming for help, she is unnoticed. The blue Ghost is free. His look is emptier than the first. Find Ms. Pac Man, make her pay. Pay for what, what did she do? Both ghosts are behind her, the end is insight, sigh of relief. Bouncing off the walls, the last two ghosts are now chasing. She isn’t free; she was being herded like cattle for the slaughter. All of them begin to swarm Ms. Pac man, gliding down to the lower left-hand corner of the maze. She swerves to the left, then the right, still nothing. She has to find help. She has to.

Dead end. Ms. Pac Man is in real danger now. The Red ghost almost connects with her, but falls back. Red almost connects again. It is like a dance to the hypnotic composition. A small car is passing by. Just out of reach. Ms. Pac man swerves to the right to flag down the car. An invitation to her own demise. Idiotic. Just a blur of terracotta. Ms. Pac man crashes against the wall of the maze and cries, and cries and cries… Game over

I reach for the power button on the shiny game console; I have to save the batteries. Piercing. I hear a strange noise, familiar yet unrecognisable. I look up to see the most beautiful lights dancing in the darkness. The lights are hypnotizing, round and bright, still dancing. Coming closer.
and Closer.

Honk. Crash.


x Kurt

Labels: , , , ,

Post a Comment
Tuesday, March 1, 2011, 2:00 AM

ok. story number one. thanks to andy.
i don't want to make the items obivious, so ill post them before the next story, but can you tell what they were??

also. fuck word counts hahaha

be honest.

It’s overcast. One of those days where you just want to sit and stare at the world outside your window. The sky looks menacing, threatening to rain at any minute. I just stay inside. It’s warmer here. I feel safe. I’ve gotten out my drawing kit. A few pencils, a ruler, felt tip marker. And specialist architecture paper my dad uses. It’s expensive, but he left it on the floor so fuck it. The page is blank. I’ve been sitting here for about 30 minutes and I just don’t know what to draw. I can’t just crumple up the page if I don't like it. I need to be as definite as I can be. I look around my room for some inspiration. Dusty uni textbooks. This stupid super Mario mushroom plush toy I won in one of those Japanese play lands in the city and a broken TV set. I should throw them all out, but my room my room would look to sterile without them. Nothing worth drawing.

“ERICA!” comes a shriek from down stairs. Mum.
“I’M IN MY ROOM” I call back
“Have you seen my …va ...dles?” her voice is muffled and I can’t make out what she is saying
“Your what? Sandals?” the screaming continues
“No, my candles” her voice is getting louder as she walks up the stairs “guava scented candles, I need them for my coven meeting at Dundas this afternoon. I saw them just yesterday, I’m sure of it”

Mum. How to describe her. Frantic new age hippie that is always loosing something. She has this recent obsession with candles. I can’t take it all that serious; she never sticks with anything until the end. The house is full of last week’s “recent obsessions”. Moonstones, charka beads and some pray clothes from Tibet. But she is a good mum. Full of love. She knocks on the door before she enters, as always. Mum respects people’s privacy and that’s something I admire about her. Her hair is a wild ginger mess. A lions mane.

there is a blue candle and two orange ones on the window sill. I point at them.

“that it?”

“No, they are pink” shaking her head, she turns around and hurries out, screaming something that gets lost outside my door. Forever frantic

The revving sound of the postman’s motorbike draws my attention outside. He looks so cute in his little sun hat. That's when I see it. This dead tree that over hangs the fence in our front yard.. It looks mangled and beautiful. i just stare at it awhile. I’ve seen it every day of my life, but today I see it in a new light. It’s changed. Nothing much is happening really. Few cars drive past. A cat leisurely climbs its branches. But then a sleek black car pulls up, across the street, in almost complete silence. Most likely one of Mrs. Marshall’s many suitors. She has been having countless affairs for as long as I can remember. I don’t really know how her husband hasn’t caught on its not like she is very discreet about it. It is one of the main topics for neighbourly gossip. I haven’t seen this car before though. A man in a crisp black business suit steps out. His suit and car match. I’m not sure if he set out to for that, or if it’s purely coincidence. His hair is shaved close to his scalp and has a 5 o’clock shadow. At 11 am. Shoes, irritably shiny. Big, dark sunglasses block out his eyes, and most of his face. This man looks nothing like the others. He is clean cut and obliviously not a tradesman, like the others. I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach, and I just can’t place what it wrong. I watch him stroll through the front door, pushing past Mrs. Marshall, as she peeks out to checking if anyone is watching. Her face is worn and tired looking. Something isn’t right. She closes the door and that's it. Nothing happens. So I start to draw the tree, and it looks nothing like what I can see, but I like it still. In its twisted beauty.

My hand starts to cramp, so I decided to go to the bathroom. It’s almost icy cold as I walk to the vanity. My hair is a mess. I have my mother’s genes. The door to the medicine cabinet is ajar, I open the mirrored doors. A bottle of my father shaving cream has fallen over. I stand it back up and notice a box of pore strips. There is two left. What the hell, I think, and rip one open and plaster it on my nose. The sharp smell of eucalyptus assaults my nostrils. I don't mind, I think its smoothing. i can hear the kettle boiling from down stairs.. I make my way into the kitchen and listening to it whistle for a bit and then turn off the gas. Not in the mood for tea, so I just leave it. Mum is nowhere to be found. Back up the stairs. And into my parents bedroom. Their bed is mess and the artworks are lopsided. Except for the photo of the embassy building dad designed in San Juan, Puerto Rico. My parents are polar opposites. Dad is structured and disciplined and mum is free-spirited and messy.

Back to my bedroom. The first thing I notice as I look out the window, the car is gone and Mrs. Marshall is standing at the door, crying. Not sure what about, did someone die? I don't want to think about it. I’m not sure if I should go over and comfort her. I don't want to get involved. Does that make me a terrible person? I list the pros and cons and fight with myself for at least 5 minutes, before Mrs. Marshall makes up my mind for me and closes her front door. I hope she is alright. But I don't want to get involved.

Post a Comment
Monday, February 21, 2011, 11:33 PM

I don't think I explained this 123 game of mine very well.

Although, it seems Andrea understands, but that might just be best friend syndrome.

Ok. So I can get new ideas and concepts and even excerpts to help me get on with my novel, I need you guys to give them to me, in the form of basic concepts.

1. People: May be names of people (real or otherwise), or titles of people i.e. Bus Driver, Nurse
2. Places: Actual places, suburbs, countries or building i.e. House, bathroom etc
3. Objects: random objects.

And its called the onetwothree game because I want you peeps to give me 1 thing from a categorie, 2 from the next and 3 from the last. It can be in whatever order you want or need. 3 people 1 place and 2 objects or whatever combination you can come up with.

Also. You can request something for the story. Like set in modern reality, or on a space ship etc. and I will do my best to accommodate.

With all things, I get the final say, however I will try to fit everything in the story within reason. Im not going to stick a random thing for the sake of having it in there if it doesn't sense.

Be as specific and vague as you feel necessary and we can see where this goes.

Ill try and turn out a story at least once a week, maybe twice, depending on the quality and length of the stories.Aiming for 1500-2500 word length, but it all depends. And I want to post within 7 days of the last story.

Also, I welcome any and ALL criticism. Be brutally honest.


Post a Comment
Rabbit Hole:
these are my views and my thoughts, not yours. dont like it? then fall down some other borrow

OFF with your head:

I'm not all there
but i am here

Tea Party:












world of my own:

We can dance and watch the world fall apart around us and then float off into eternity.


I'm late!

1. Involve my friends in helping me complete this list 2. Throw a huge party and invite every one of my friends. 3. Skydive. 4. Go skinny-dipping at midnight in the South of France. 5. Have my portrait painted. 6. Learn to speak a foreign language and make sure I use it. 7. Tell someone the story of my life, sparing no details. 8. Be an extra in a film. 9. Make love on a train. 10. Make love on a forest floor. 11. Learn to rollerblade. 12. Buy a round-the-world air ticket and a rucksack, and run away. 13. Give my mother a dozen red roses and tell her I love her 14. Be a member of the audience in a TV show 15. Send a message in a bottle 16. Ride a camel into the desert. 17. Fall deeply in love -- helplessly and unconditionally 18. Sit on a jury 19. Drink beer at Oktoberfest in Munich. 20. Go to a rave in Berlin 21. Shower in a waterfall. 22. Learn to play a musical instrument with some degree of skill 23. Spend a night in a haunted house, with friends 24. See a lunar eclipse. 25. Witness a solar eclipse 26. Spend New Year's in an exotic location 27. Get passionate about a cause and spend time helping it, instead of just thinking about it. 28. Experience weightlessness. 29. Drive across America from coast to coast. 30. Drive around Australia 31. Own one very obscenely expensive but absolutely wonderful business suit 32. Write my will. 33. Go wild in Venice during Carnival 34. Find a job I love. 35. Spend Christmas on the beach drinking Pina Coladas 36. Donate money and put my name on something: a scholarship, a bench in a park? 37. Buy my own house and then spend time making it into exactly what I want. 38. Drive a convertible with the top down and music blaring. 39. Get high with all of my closest and best friends 40. Scuba dive off the Great Barrier Reef. 41. Go up in a hot-air balloon. 42. Kiss someone I’ve just met on a blind date 43. Give to a charity -- anonymously. 44. Lose more money than I can afford at roulette in Vegas. 45. Let someone feed me peeled, seedless grapes 46. Make love on the kitchen floor. 47. Fart in a crowded space. 48. Go deep sea fishing and eat my catch. 49. Go to Cafe in Amsterdam 50. Make myself spend a half-day at a concentration camp and swear never to forget 51. Run to the top of the Statue of Liberty. 52. Learn to bartend. 53. Write a script for a TV show 54. Do stand-up comedy 55. Write a children's book 56. Ride a gondola in Venice 57. Dress up and visit the Harajuku Bridge in Japan 58. Learn how to salsa dance 59. Visit a Renaissance fair 60. Take a picture of the Mona Lisa, in person... in the Louvre... in Paris... right after I climbed all 1671 steps of the Eiffel Tower. 61. Learn archery 62. Take horseback riding lessons. 63. Learn how to ice skate 64. Become fluent in French. 65. Learn Spanish and Travel south America with Andy 66. Learn to say "hello" in 50 languages. 67. Learn sign language. 68. Learn Russian. 69. Learn German 70. Learn Turkish, and have conversations with Meltem 71. Choose a country and learn not only the language that is spoken there, but also study its customs, its cuisine, its art, and its history. (Japan) 72. Travel Asian with Artiene and Sonjae 73. Go to the Philippines with Carla 74. Learn to play the piano. 75. Take signing lessons. 76. Learn to play the guitar. 77. Learn to yodel. 78. Compose a song. 79. Release an album. 80. Learn to sing opera. 81. Swim with sharks 82. Fire walk 83. Go bungee jumping 84. Go white water rafting 85. GO ZORBING 86. Visit The Grand Canyon 87. Visit Victoria Falls (between Zambia and Zimbabwe) 88. Visit Iguaçu Falls (between Brazil and Argentina) 89. Visit The Galapagos Archipelago 90. Visit The Northern Lights (the Aurora Borealis). 91. Visit The Amazon Rainforest 92. Attend Mardi Gras in New Orleans 93. Attend Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 94. See Times Square on New Year's Day 95. See the Cherry Blossoms in Japan in full bloom 96. Visit the Seven New Wonders of the World 1. Machu Picchu, Peru 2. The Colosseum in Rome 3. Petra, Jordan 4. Christ Redeemer, Brazil 5. The Great Wall of China 6. Chichen Itza, Mexico 7. The Taj Mahal, India 97. Go to Disney World 98. Swim in the largest swimming pool in the world, off the coast of Chile. 99. Learn to juggle. 100. Learn to read tarot cards or runes 101. Learn how to use a pogo stick. 102. Learn to play chess. (well) 103. Learn to play poker (or bridge). 104. Learn to play pool. 105. Take up photography. 106. Learn to make pottery. 107. Learn to sculpt. 108. Take up astronomy. 109. Learn astrology. 110. Fly kites. 111. Learn how to perform magic tricks. 112. Make stained glass windows. 113. Learn to make candles. 114. Grow prize-winning roses. 115. Paint - watercolours, oil, acrylics. 116. Meet Paris Hilton (or maybe party with Paris Hilton). 117. Meet Hugh Hefner. 118. Meet Sofia Loren. 119. Meet Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie 120. Hit the Big time 121. Be interviewed on Oprah. 122. Be Time Magazine's Person of the Year. 123. Be interviewed by Larry King. 124. Be listed as one of People Magazine's "50 Most Beautiful People" 125. Be on the cover of "Rolling Stone" Magazine 126. Have a street named after me. 127. Win a Nobel Prize 128. Receive a knighthood from the Queen of England 129. Be inducted into a Hall of Fame 130. Donate blood. 131. Be awarded a star in the Hollywood Walk of Fame 132. Enter the Guinness Book of World Records 133. Be 100% environmentally friendly 134. Get an article published in a magazine. 135. Write and publish a book. 136. Write a book that makes it to #1 on the New York Times Best Sellers List. 137. Make a documentary film. 138. Be in a Broadway Musical 139. Be in a West End play 140. Time travel 141. Shop in Rodeo Drive 142. Sleep in a castle 143. Invent something 144. Swim with dolphins 145. Go whale-watching 146. Save a species from extinction. 147. Go on safari. 148. Become a vegetarian 149. Adopt a pet from the animal shelter. 150. Milk a cow 151. See gorillas in the wild in Uganda 152. Mush a Dog Sled 153. Grow Bonsai trees 154. Own A penthouse on 5th Ave., New York 155. See every show on Broadway 156. Visit the Wreckage of the Titanic Aboard a Submarine 157. Become a Reiki Master 158. Take up Yoga 159. Heal my past 160. Have a past life regression. 161. Meditate for 20 minutes a day, every day for a year 162. Write in my journal/blog every day for a year 163. Learn a new word every day 164. Put 5 dollars away every single day for 365 days. At the end of the 365 days invest the money 165. Ask for forgiveness from all of the people I've hurt. 166. Adopt or sponsor a child. 167. Every year from now on--on my birthday--I will plant a tree. 168. Send my parents on their dream vacation. 169. Take a year off and live in the woods. 170. Plant an herb garden. 171. Trace my ancestry. 172. Spend the whole day naked 173. Walk the Great Wall of China 174. Touch a Tiger 175. Wear the best costume at a party. 176. Walk to the crater of a volcano 177. Witness the birth of a baby 178. Attend the Anzac memorial at Anzac cove 179. Visit new York 180. Write a profound message on a public wall 181. Set off a fire extinguisher 182. Participate in every protest I am able to 183. Make someone cry of happiness 184. Meet, in person, friends I've become close to on the internet that live far away. 185. Save a life 186. Crowd surf 187. Become a wizard 188. Face down a charging bull 189. Go dancing in the pouring rain 190. Drive a convertible down route 66 with friends by my side. 191. Dazzle a crowd of people on the dance floor 192. Own my own island 193. Read all 7 Harry Potter books cover to cover, back to back, one after the other with no interruptions! 194. Discover something that changes the world for the better. 195. Stand atop Buckingham Palace and play 'God Save the Queen' on an electric guitar 196. Write a film script 197. Deliver a letter by Owl post 198. Go cliff diving in Acapulco 199. Learn about Egyptian history and visit the pyramids. 200. Go on a long hike in the mountains, without getting lost. 201. Stop a war from happening 202. Learn to take criticism gracefully. 203. Be in Two places at once 204. Be able to make that someone special go weak at the knees with just a look 205. Make sure I tell my friends and family how much I love them so that when I DO die... they won't wonder and I'll be at peace. 206. Have a crowd burst into song and dance 'Grease style'. 207. Go club hopping and dance dance dance. 208. Stop worrying about the things that I can do nothing about and start doing things about the things I can 209. Attend Comic-con in full cosplay 210. Be part of a Flash Mob 211. Have a spell duel in a public place 212. Learn an Ancient language 213. Learn an Ancient Religion 214. Visit Inca and Mayan Temples 215. Live Chile and teach English/help build schools 216. Learn to cook a dish from every major nationality 217. Attend Woodstock, or an event like it 218. Learn how to use a whip like cat woman, and use it 219. Read every Holy Book and texts I can get my hands on 220. Learn advanced origami 221. Make 1000 paper cranes 222. See a sunrise and sunset on every continent 223. Make love on every continent 224. Do everything on my list 225. Be a contestant on Big Brother 226. Be a contestant on Survivor 227. Be involved with an art performance piece 228. Be Happy

Court of Hearts:

Base Code and Image: Kookies
Edits and Revamp by :Kurtyy