The rules:
1. Post these rules
2. Each person tagged must post 8 random (hopefully interesting) facts about themselves
3. Tags should write a journal of these facts
4. At the end of the post 8 more bloggers are tagged and named
5. Go to their page and leave a comment telling them they're tagged.

Ok, so here goes. I'll try and come up with the weirdest shit I can.

1) People live in the back of my head. They're usually original characters, though, and I argue with them all the time. I swear this is not schizophrenia. Sometimes they take over the front of my mind, though, and that isn't much fun. Least of all when its Jamie, because he usually takes over the forefront of my mind when he's emo, and it makes me all disoriented and forelorn.
2) I think the words fetus, coitus, copulate, fornicate, boob, leather, guava, palm, blurred, travesty, and fuck and motherfucker are hilarious. Right now fetus is my favorite, even though dead babies make me sad.
3) The best line of prose I ever wrote was in a porno I wrote for my best friend's birthday. I will never be able to top that line, no matter how hard I try. The line?
Skinny Jamie tasted of liquor.
4) I think one day some really scene kid is going to sneak up behind me and beat my ass for hating Morrissey and screamo. But I just really hate Morrissey. He seems like such an egotistical dickweed. On the same note, I really like vulgar insults and poking fun at famous musicians. I also hate the Beatles, while I'm alienating people. And Avenged Sevenfold, though I get the feeling I would like the last one a lot better if they got rid of their lead singer. But I'll listen to anything once, on the chance that I may like it.
5)Despite what it may seem like, I'm actually a very happy person. Small things make me happy, like walking outside in the rain in San Francisco, or seeing a picture of Brian Molko. Or just going to the Control website. But my favorite is long walks in the city with good conversation. If you ever meet me in person, I laugh a lot and make obscene jokes and reference odd music all the time. I also talk a lot like how I type. But its more friendly in speaking than in type.
6) I'm pansexual. I am attracted to emotional connections, actually. I'm not gender-biased when seeking a relationship. Which I am not currently doing.
7) I give hugs to Joy Division fans, because I meet so few of them. It usually freaks them out. Then again, if you're a Joy Division fan (and you are not Pete Wentz) you probably need a hug. I think I might hug everyone at the theater to see Control, if I feel up to it. I also ask everyone I meet about their taste in music, and if they've seen Fight Club. In other words, I freak most people out.
8) I constantly fear that people that act nice to me hate me. Like my roomates. I am terrified that Nikko hates me, because I poke fun at her a lot, even though I mean it as a gesture of love. And my friends from home, I'm scared they hate me too. Actually, I'm quite certain that some of my old friends from High School hate me, but they make it rather obvious, I'm just waiting for them to drop the formalities and tell me I'm a dick. Of course, I might be paranoid and completely wrong. I'm willing to accept that too.

On that rather happy note, GO SEE CONTROL, OCT 10!!!!

And does anyone want to read the rest of From April Until Forever that doesn't already know how to find it? Because if I get enough requests, I'll go back to posting here. For now, though, there will very rarely be new shite on this page.

At the center of the world there is a statue of a girl.
She is standing near a well with a bucket bare and dry.
I went and looked her in the eye and she turned me into sand.
This clumsy form that I despise it scattered easy in her hand.
And came to rest upon a beach,
with a million others there.
We sat and waited for the sea to stretch out,
so that we could disappear into the endlessness of blue,
into the horror of the truth.
You see, we are far less than we knew.
Yeah, we are far less than we knew,
but we knew what we could taste.
Girls found honey to drench our hands.
Men cut marble to mark our graves.
Said we’ll need something to remind us of
all the sweetness that has passed through us.
(fresh sangria and lemon tea).
The priests dressed children for a choir,
(white-robed small voices praise Him)
but found no joy in what was sung.
The funeral had begun.
In the middle of the day,
when you drive home to your place from that job that makes you sleep
back to the thoughts that keep you awake long after
night has come to claim any light that still remains
in the corner of the frame that you put around her face.
Two pills just weren’t enough.
The alarm clock is going off,
but you are not waking up.
This isn’t happening, happening, happening, happening, happening.

It is.
(Bright Eyes)