| All work and no play makes Homer something something...
Go crazy?
Don't mind if I do!
Our vacation is longer but in any practical sense it is much shorter as we lose half our lives to a timeclock.
And then when we do get a day off, it just so happens to be "National Can't Catch a Fucking Break Day" and everything in the world that is inconvenient happens.
Today's observation:
Everyone that's pissed off is pissed off for a reason.
Don't fuck with them, they could snap at any second.
For example: The waitress that's always in a bitchy mood at work might be married to a Mexican piece of shit that won't take care of their kids and instead pawns them off on her mother, who is dying of cancer at the age of 46.
Read Bukowski, listen to Leonard Cohen, watch Adult Swim, consume mind-altering substances, sleep in late, swim and drink like a fish, sweat in the 90 degree weather while Michigan is generous enough to let us have it, and never let anything get to you.
Because nothing
matters
any
ways. | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment   |
| HAPPY DEVIL'S DAY EVERYBODY!
It only comes once a century, so make it count.
-Sacrifice an animal
-Carve a pentagram into your flesh
-Burn down a church
-Go see The Omen
-Put on a Devil costume
-Buy and read the Satanic Bible
-Sacrifice a human
-Carve pentagrams on everything else.
-(Get drunk and play Spite and Malice/Tetris Attack with friends)
Just a few suggestions. Now get out there, you little heathans, and be as evil as you can be. | | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment |
| From Memory:
Old Godzilla was hoping around Tokyo City like a big playground when suddenly Batman burst from the shade and he hit Godzilla with a bat-grenade. Godzilla got pissed and began to attack, but he didn't expect to get blocked by Shaq, who proceeded to open up a can of Shaq-fu, when Aaron Carter jumped out of the blue and he started beating up Shaquille O'Neal but they both got flattened by the Batmobile but before he get back to the Batcave, Abraham Lincoln jumped out of his grave and pulled an AK-47 out from under his hat and blew Batman away with a rat-a-tat-tat, but he ran out of bullets and he ran away, 'cause Optimus Prime came to save the day! (Have you ever seen such a run-on sentence?)
This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny. Good guys bad guys and explosions as far as the eye can see, and only one will survive, I wonder who it will be. This is the ultimate showdown...of ultimate destiny.
Godzilla took a bite out of Optimus Prime like Scruff McGruff took a bite out of crime and Shaq came back covered in a tire track, but Jackie Chan jumped and he landed on his back, and Batman was injured and tryin' to get steady when Abraham Lincoln came back with a machete, but something (uh...caught his leg and he fell and he tripped?) Indiana Jones took him out with his whip, and he saw Godzilla sneaking up from behind so he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find because Batman took it and he shot and he missed: Jackie Chan deflected it with his fist. Then he jumped in the air and he did a sommersault while Abraham Lincoln tried to polevault onto Optimus Prime but they collided in the air and they both got hit by a Carebear-stare!
(Chorus)
Angels sang out in immaculate chorus, when down from the heavens, descended Chuck Norris, who delivered a kick that could shatter bone into the crotch of Indiana Jones who fell over on the ground writhing in pain as Batman changed back into Bruce Wayne, but Chuck saw through his clever disguise, and he crushed Batman's head right between his things...
And then Gandalf the Gray and Gandalf the White and Monty Python and the Holy Grail's Black Knight and Butinni Mussolinni and the Blue Meanie, Cowboy Curtis and Jambi the Genie, Robocop, the Terminator, Captain Kirk and Darth Vader, Lo Pan, Superman, every single Power Ranger, Bill S. Preston and Theodore Logan, Spock, the Rock, Doc Oc and Hulk Hogan all came out of nowhere lightning fast and they kicked Chuck Norris in his cowboy ass. It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw with civilians staring on in total awe. The battle raged on for a century. Many lives were claimed but eventually the champion stood, the rest saw their better.
Mr. Rogers in a blood-stained sweater.
(Chorus) | | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment |
| Last night, I dreamt of buying shirts with blue collars. I had over a dozen, all different lengths and widths. Some had racing stripes, some were black, some were plaid, but they all had blue collars.
At the end of the rack of shirts there was bookshelf. I picked out a large book with the word "FICTION" engraved on the spine in golden letters.
When I opened it, I found myself reading the bible.
The lakes are warm and when we jump in them they hug us with the idea that summer is here.
The drive home from the beach in the dark night air, damp from the water and still warm despite the wind through my open windows, is a feeling I was looking forward to all winter.
Hail Summer
Hail Satan
Hail Molly
Hail Something | | comments: 8 comments or Leave a comment |
| New Things:
Assassins. Grant Hyde, Matt Robinson, Ryan Wood, Drew Funni, Dan Lowe, Ryan Newer, myself and a few others are trying to kill each other for a fifty dollar prize.
Molly. My brand new baby rat. She's just about as small as a mouse and she's badass. | | comments: 8 comments or Leave a comment |
| Home for the summer.
No more cafe food.
No more dorm room.
No more papers.
No more tests.
No more hair.
No more cold weather.
I have a car, a job, and a house now.
Commerce has never looked so good.
The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined - E.E. Cummings. (Released in 1935)
The boys I mean are not refined
They go with girls who buck and bite
They do not give a fuck for luck
They hump them thirteen times a night
One hangs a hat upon her tit
One carves a cross in her behind
They do not give a shit for wit
The boys I mean are not refined
They come with girls who bite and buck
Who cannot read and cannot write
Who laugh like they would fall apart
And masturbate with dynamite
The boys I mean are not refined
They cannot chat of that and this
They do not give a fart for art
They kill like you would take a piss
They speak whatever's on their mind
They do whatever's in their pants
The boys I mean are not refined
They shake the mountains when they dance | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| Dear Police,
Please stop trying to arrest my friends.
Fuck the police
Comin straight from the underground
Young nigga got it bad cuz I'm brown
And not the other color so police think
They have the authority to kill a minority
Fuck that shit, cuz I ain't the one
For a punk muthafucka with a badge and a gun
To be beatin on, and throwin in jail
We could go toe to toe in the middle of a cell
Fuckin with me cuz I'm a teenager
With a little bit of gold and a pager
Searchin my car, lookin for the product
Thinkin every nigga is sellin narcotics
You'd rather see me in the pen
Then me and Lorenzo rollin in the Benzo
Beat tha police outta shape
And when I'm finished, bring the yellow tape
To tape off the scene of the slaughter
Still can't swallow bread and water
I don't know if they fags or what
Search a nigga down and grabbin his nuts
And on the other hand, without a gun they can't get none
But don't let it be a black and a white one
Cuz they slam ya down to the street top
Black police showin out for the white cop
Ice Cube will swarm
On any muthafucka in a blue uniform
Just cuz I'm from the CPT, punk police are afraid of me
A young nigga on a warpath
And when I'm finished, it's gonna be a bloodbath
Of cops, dyin in LA
Yo Dre, I got somethin to say
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
M. C. Ren, will you please give your testimony to the jury about this fucked up incident.
Fuck tha police and Ren said it with authority
because the niggaz on the street is a majority.
A gang, is with whoever I'm stepping
and the motherfuckin' weapon
is kept in a stash box, for the so-called law
wishin' Ren was a nigga that they never saw
Lights start flashin behind me
But they're scared of a nigga so they mace me to blind me
But that shit don't work, I just laugh
Because it gives 'em a hint not to step in my path
To the police I'm sayin fuck you punk
Readin my rights and shit, it's all junk
Pullin out a silly club, so you stand
With a fake assed badge and a gun in your hand
But take off the gun so you can see what's up
And we'll go at it punk, I'ma fuck you up
Make ya think I'm a kick your ass
But drop your gat, and Ren's gonna blast
I'm sneaky as fuck when it comes to crime
But I'm a smoke 'em now, and not next time
Smoke any muthafucka that sweats me
Or any asshole that threatens me
I'm a sniper with a hell of a scope
Takin out a cop or two, they can't cope with me
The muthafuckin villian that's mad
With potential to get bad as fuck
So I'm a turn it around
Put in my clip, yo, and this is the sound
Ya, somethin like that, but it all depends on the size of the gat
Takin out a police would make my day
But a nigga like Ren don't give a fuck to say
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Police, open now. We have a warrant for Eazy-E's arrest.
Get down and put your hands up where I can see em.
Just shut the fuck up and get your muthafuckin ass on the floor.
huh?
and tell the jury how you feel abou this bullshit.
I'm tired of the muthafuckin jackin
Sweatin my gang while I'm chillin in the shackin
Shining tha light in my face, and for what
Maybe it's because I kick so much butt
I kick ass, or maybe cuz I blast
On a stupid assed nigga when I'm playin with the trigga
Of any Uzi or an AK
Cuz the police always got somethin stupid to say
They put up my picture with silence
Cuz my identity by itself causes violence
The E with the criminal behavior
Yeah, I'm a gansta, but still I got flavor
Without a gun and a badge, what do ya got?
A sucka in a uniform waitin to get shot,
By me, or another nigga.
and with a gat it don't matter if he's smarter or bigger
[MC Ren: Sidle him, kid, he's from the old school, fool]
And as you all know, E's here to rule
Whenever I'm rollin, keep lookin in the mirror
And there's no cue, yo, so I can hear a
Dumb muthafucka with a gun
And if I'm rollin off the 8, he'll be tha one
That I take out, and then get away
And while I'm drivin off laughin
This is what I'll say
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
The jury has found you guilty of bein a redneck,
whitebread, chickenshit muthafucka.
Wait, that's a lie. That's a goddamn lie.
I want justice! I want justice!
Fuck you, you black muthafucka!
Fuck the police
Fuck the police
Fuck the police | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| Quote of the day:
"If you can blame a gun for killing someone, then I can blame a pencil for my spelling errors." - An excerpt from a conversation I overheard while walking through campus. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| I suppose the rest of the insomniacs have something better to do than sit online this late at night. Well, I'm tired of videogames and I'm saving the last twenty pages of Galapagos for tomorrow and I don't feel like writing, so I end up doing something very stupid.
I read my old deadjournal.
I think it's because there's no one on to talk to right now, and reading all the entries and comments kind of makes me feel like I'm making contact.
They're good for looking back on, but I must say I'm a little surprised at what the 15 year old me thought it was okay to say on a public internet forum.
I'm also a little surprised at how long I've thought the same way.
I've been saying the same exact things since I was 15.
For example, an excerpt from a rant entitled Human Filth Parade:
"Things go as they will, just live like you want to live, don't get so fucking caught up in the set path like so many angry drunk divorced men and women in America thought they should do. There is no exact answer. There is no perfect choice, no perfect person, no perfect job, no perfect life, no perfect goal, no perfection anywhere. Life is nothing but imperfection, mistakes, failure. Why is that so bad?"
I forget over and over again what a cynical little bastard I was and am.
What a sad, sad thing to be doing at 4:30 in the morning.
Maybe I'll look back on this one day, and everything will have come full circle.
(Also, to add to this incredibly pathetic night of reflection, I just realized that I've been making almost all of my subject lines the lyrics of songs for over a year now, which comes as an incredible shock to me. I had no idea I'd been doing it that long.) | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
-Allen Ginsberg, 1956 | | comments: 8 comments or Leave a comment |
| Well, this is how the world works.
All energy flows according to the whims of the great magnet.
What a fool I was to defy him.
I was going back to Tech.
I had no choice. | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
| The tattoo on my back reads "MURDER AND CREATE"
I must say, I like it quite a bit
The parents aren't big fans of the word MURDER being etched onto my back for the rest of my life. No surprise, but nothing can be done about it now, to say the least.
Sonata in 23 days.
School in 4 days.
Guess which one I'm looking forward to more.
The break was short. Much too short. I imagined all this free time in which to be productive and see so many people, when really I saw too many too scarcely, if at all. And as for being productive...well, I should've known that wouldn't happen.
King Kong should've been titled "Everything Goes On Way Longer Than It Should On The Island Of Very Big Things."
What an awful movie. If you can't get the audience to give a fuck what happens in three hours, you should get the fuck out of Hollywood.
We're all looking at you Peter Jackson... | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
| Is it really that time again?
Do I really get to see Sonata again already?
Oh hurray!
If you have seventeen bucks and a free night on Saturday, January 28th, you would be a fool not to go see Sonata Arctica in concert. | | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment |
| I just read way too many old Plynth livejournal entries.
I believe that's all these things are for. They're for nostalgic purposes only. So on a Thursday night at 4 A.M. I can sit here and read my past and want it back.
Maybe I should just delete this thing. I've thought that from the very beginning. I thought it four years ago when I was using a deadjournal. These things allow you to feel at least some connection to the world outside your computer on late, isolated nights. So you write with a feeling of communication, even if the only people that read it are people you see every day, so it's absolutely meaningless. You do this, and then later you look back on it, and it slows you from moving forward. I've noticed that most people write these entries, especially serious ones, to a wider audience than who will read it. Everyone knows who reads their livejournal, and the audience probably isn't all that big. But some people, myself included, act like they're writing for the whole world. That's for the future-you, I'm convinced. Or maybe I just do it because I'm conceited and think that everyone in the world really should read what I have to say, because I'm fucking right.
The track forever moves us forward when all we want is to look back.
It's dangerous to have so much documentation of life so easily accessible. I have journals laying around here somewhere. Real ones with blurbs and thoughts in them. Those I keep tucked away in drawers and boxes. But this thing is right at my fingertips if I get bored online.
The past is always more appealing than the present when you're alone in your house at this hour of the morning. Even if your present is better than your past, you don't care, because the past was familiar and comfortable.
Forge ahead, you weak mother fucker. If you look behind you all your life, you're going to fall off a cliff eventually.
How sad.
I could be writing a novel right now.
Instead I'm writing in a fucking livejournal. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| Not like anybody gives a fuck...
Subject lines:
Weezer - Beverly Hills
T.S. Elliot - The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock
Leonard Cohen - Closing Time
Simon and Garfunkel - Sound of Silence
Sonata Arctica - Broken
Queens of the Stoneage - The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret
The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army
System of a Down - Prison Song
Sublime - Badfish
Jimi Hendrix - Castles Made of Sand
Trans-Siberian Orchestra - Who is This Child
Prince - Purple Rain
George Carlin - Heckler
Rob Zombie - Superbeast
Sublime - Badfish (again)
Bad Religion - We're Only Gonna Die From Our Arrogance
The White Stripes - Little Ghost
Marilyn Manson - Irresponsible Hate Anthem
Queens of the Stoneage - Burn the Witch
Sonata Artica - Black Sheep
Coldplay - The Scientist
Fear Factory - Slave Labor
The White Stripes - The Hardest Button To Button
Sonata Arctica - The End of This Chapter
Mindless Self Indulgence - Prom | | comments: 5 comments or Leave a comment |
| They were crying when their sons left
God is wearing black
He's gone so far to find no hope
He's never coming back
They were crying when their sons left
All young men must go
He's come so far to find the truth
He's never going home
Welcome to the soldier's side...
Mesmerize/Hypnotize is finally complete
I can't wait to see everyone back home.
I can finally watch Adult Swim again | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Venice Beach - Charles Bukowski
the lost and the damned
the wounded and the intellectual
the boozed and the debauched
the negative and the
uninspired
and the police
and the police
and the police
this a poem that, while it may capture Venice Beach in the writer's eyes, flawlessly captures college life
and you know what we say?
fuck the po-lice | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| More upcoming concerts.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra: Palace of Auburn Hills, Dec. 9
Sonata Artica: Harpos, Jan. 28.
Not quite as close together as I generally prefer, but I'll take it.
Both bands are so epic and so amazing. I am so fucking excited to see Sonata again.
The newspaper is going well, I've had two stories on the front page. All my grades are up to par and I haven't gotten in any legal trouble, so I'd say I'm having a pretty successful college experience thus far.
I'm looking forward to Lindsay's coming home bash and an upcoming double-Christmas because Matt and I skipped Christmas last year due to a lack of funds. Of course, now the lack of funds is more lacking because college has taken our wallets and then slapped us across our faces. Ah well, life goes on.
Time for class. | | comments: 6 comments or Leave a comment |
| Pacheco and I drive full-speed towards heaven in a bright yellow car, the marijuana kicking in just in time for me to be able to fully appreciate the scenery. On any other day I would say we are driving to Detroit, and on any other day I would acknolwedge the significant difference between Detroit and heaven, but this is an exceptional day. This day is magnificent. After the joint had been stamped out in the parking lot of some gigantic religious office building, we spotted a rainbow. Now on the freeway, speeding towards the city skyline, I could actually imagine us driving under this rainbow like the St. Louis arch. The clouds are all bright pink and blue and purple and they swell up out of Detroit like Candy Land just went up in flames. Black clouds, what I suppose are the remnants of the storm clouds that loomed earlier in the day, hang lower in the air like giant mythological beasts. I see ravens the size of sky-scrapers screaming through the sky alongside dragons and low-flying airplanes.
And we hadn't even gotten to the concert yet.
Queens of the Stoneage attacked the audience with a spectrum of colors and songs. They let no album be forgotten. No familiar faces graced the stage but long-time singer Joshua Homme, but songs going all the way back to their first, self-titled album were played. And while the new bass player, in my own personal opinion, can't hold a candle to Nick Oliveri, he was very reminiscent of some caricature of an angry lumberjack/trucker/biker in some bar in northern Michigan. Juxtaposed with the black suit and red shirt-wearing, black hair-having, punkish guitar player, the new Queens of the Stoneage might even be weirder than their previous formulas.
Nine Inch Nails were...ok.
Closer was good.
The trilogy of concerts and the most amazing week of music in my life is over. May another one come all too soon.
Oh, and I work for a newspaper now. It's the Western Herald, but hell, it's still a newspaper. I'm not actually hired, but hell, it's still work. After three weeks I'll be considered for actual employment which includes $12.00 a story and two or three stories a week. | | comments: 7 comments or Leave a comment |
| The theme of the night pretty much boiled down to this:
Jack White will do whatever the fuck he wants.
He first appeared on stage in a mariachi outfit, shredding out a distorted version of Dead Leaves On The Dirty Ground. He all but refused to play a single song the way his fans might recognize them from the albums. And some songs, like I Think I Smell A Rat, simply bored him and he quit in the middle, quickly moving on to Passive Manipulation, which required he and Meg to completely shift to the left of the stage to a giant pair of drums. Perhaps the the most impressive song of the night was The Nurse, in which a loud, feedback-heavy guitar part plays on the third beat of each measure. This guitar part was played through a pedal on the floor of the stage just below the xylophone that Jack White played while he sang. The pedal was hooked to his guitar, which he left facing his amp throughout the song, and then picked up and played for the rest of the set afterwards.
At one point Jack randomly ran off the stage and reappeared without his mariachi coat, but instead with a black t-shirt three sizes too small, showing off the gigantic arms that had the Von Bondies singer looking like a punching bag a few years ago. The encore was prompted by a few minutes of shameless begging from the thousands of people that packed the Masonic Temple. The most ear-piercing noise of the night was not the screeching of Jack White's high-pictched, distorted guitar solos, or even the banshee-esque voices of the young children in an opening band by the name of The Maldunes. It was the sound of the crowd as Jack and Meg walked back onto the stage to their instruments to accomodate the crowd's demanding cry for more.
Next stop: Queens of the Stoneage and Nine Inch Nails | | comments: Leave a comment |
| |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
happy_homicide's journal![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/determined.gif){kind=small}
determined![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/devilish.gif){kind=small}
evil![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/blah.gif){kind=small}
bored![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/eek.gif){kind=small}
paranoid![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/bigsmile.gif){kind=small}
excited![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/irked.gif){kind=small}
aggravated![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/sick.gif){kind=small}
sick![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/nostalgic.gif){kind=small}
nostalgic![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/shocked.gif){kind=small}
surprised![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/red.gif){kind=small}
tattooed![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/exhausted.gif){kind=small}
tired![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/whee.gif){kind=small}
awake![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/loxocosmic/lumplings/lazy.gif){kind=small}
content