#daft stuff

FlyBoy : Hey I just met you and this is crazy

WarpCoreQueen : What?

FlyBoy : But here’s my number, so call me maybe

WarpCoreQueen : Aren’t you on the bridge?

FlyBoy : It’s hard to look right at you baby

WarpCoreQueen : You are I just checked!

FlyBoy : But here’s my number so call me maybe

WarpCoreQueen : Are you trying to kill us?

FlyBoy : And all the other girls that want my babies!

WarpCoreQueen : That’s not the line.

FlyBoy : Ha!

WarpCoreQueen: Fuck!

FlyBoy : But here’s my number so call me rrrrrrrrrrr

WarpCoreQueen: Tom?

Captain[One&Only} : I hit him

It seems this year, well. I am not sure how to say this. I know people have their lives to live, and that they are busied with jobs, duties and problems, but it seems this year, my works have not been receiving feedback from friends as it had last year or the two years prior. Do you think my work has been boring anyone? Some people have told me my writing is pathetic and my art is terrible to look at. They then tell me I shouldn't post anything and forget about writing or creating art.

I didn't want to say anything, as I didn't wish to pester or burden anyone with something apparently petty as this when compared to other problems. But the thing is, writing and art make me feel alive. You see, it is rather hard to live in a town where crime rates are high and there is nothing to do unless you are of the higher class, live in the upper-class sections of town, and can travel to places like State College.  Even going outside is risking one's safety. There have been some occasions where my parents were nearly mugged when they were walking home from stores and such.

You feel trapped. You sort of envy people who can do things, meet people and travel to places. It's wrong of me to envy, but it's something I have to battle and sometimes I loathe myself. I know it could be worse- like living in a Third World Country, or living back in the slum we used to live in. But still, writing and creating art are the only outlets I have that quicken the pulse of my spirit. Sometimes, it just gets so stifling living in the parts of town where the majority are violent, drunk or on drugs, or abuse each other. Seeing police cars and gun shootings are commonplace, I daresay.

Heck, even back at the slum, below our story was a drug dealer. There was a shoot-out with the police, and we all had to hide in the bathroom to avoid the bullets that were flying outside. One bullet even crashed through our living(and second bedroom for my dad and brother, since we only had one true bedroom for my mother, my sisters and myself)window. The next morning, the police arrived at our apartment and removed the bullet from the window for evidence.

It's impossible to meet other people because of the crime and violence. Children have difficulty even playing in the parks because of drug dealers and the like. My parents (when my siblings were here), along with the library, are the only solace I found, next to writing and art. (And prayer, of course) People have lives, I know, and it is wrong of me to complain, but this fear that people might think my work, the work I spent hours at night when I have time from work and chores, is just silly and poor drivel, gnaws at me. I have been rather reluctant to post much here because I fear people are bored. And even with the Audacious Project, I feel like it must appear quite daft to people here. Some people have informed that having a WOC heroine like Minuk is pathetic, and that she is ugly.

dA has been my second home, and all my friends are my family. Seldom have I met such kind, sweet, well-mannered and compassionate people. I wish dA could be a tangible world- like Middle Earth or Narnia. Please forgive me for this daft ramble,but it was weighing so heavily on me, I had to unload this burden off of me. Please forgive me, my family of brothers and sisters.

You have always been there for me and this year, you have been one of the three few that have continued to encourage and remained by my side despite my silly and boring journals and deviations.