Dec 2014

This XML file does not appear to have any style information associated with it. The document tree is shown below.

<livejournal>

<entry>

<itemid>159205</itemid>

<eventtime>2014-12-04 00:09:00</eventtime>

<logtime>2014-12-04 05:09:32</logtime>

<subject>

Ode to the Soggy Paper Plate that Are Your Convictions

</subject>

<event>

by Emmit Other I thought we bonded My so called friend But an expletive ended our association No warning on your part No depth No consideration of the merits of why No ponderings Merely a desire for petty vindications As is oft so wanton on the book face I really dislike the creation of Zuckerberg Pig It cleaves families It ruins friendships No more You got your professed wish I shall reign in my political vitriol Not because my thoughts are any less jaded But because if you are a soggy paper plate Then who among us has any hope of worth Whatsoever? My quest for the truth Has been akin to a German pyromaniac Obsessed with fire at the cost of all else It is fine in a game Or a work of fiction To burn the Shoggoths of our mystery But life carries on And has real people God isn't over my shoulder giving me a thumbs up The greater good is only as subjective As there are a million billion people I am the Phoenix And I change And will change And will do more good Keeping my god damn mouth shut At least for a good while Until I know who is real And who is a paper plate.

</event>

<security>public</security>

<allowmask>0</allowmask>

</entry>

<entry>

<itemid>159429</itemid>

<eventtime>2014-12-26 22:02:00</eventtime>

<logtime>2014-12-27 03:02:34</logtime>

<subject>A Dead Twin Soul</subject>

<event>

by Redwin Tursor Thomas means twins And that's true enough A wandering wonderer by night That sees the stars And the spirit of every living thing And the living thing in all that isn't An animistic playground of delights And hope And stark realities of Good and Evil Of passion By day the stark realities of office cubicles And desk chairs And long commutes on parked roads There is magic in everything If you know where to look for it Just as there is mundanity In even the most mysterious of places Even elves go to the toilet But for the most part This balance works One of us pays the bills And the other makes life worth living Or have a meaning Beyond a simple ball of flamable gas rising in the east As compared to the Sun A star that sings to us to join its kin But wonder doesn't put food on the table At least it doesn't for most people But daylight keeps us honest Keeps the underlying truth in context But what do you do when you see the truth That your wonder means NOTHING in daylight to near anyone else but you It means that you keep going Keep striving Keep seeking But you've got a dead half of your soul sandbagging the Zepplin Deadweight you can't quite cut As you try to fly over the rainbow And you have to go there and back again Just as much as birds have to fly Or fish gotta swim The journey is worth itself That's what they all say But they don't really MEAN it There's supposed to be a Monte Cristo at the end of that tunnel Even if you never use it When all there is is the harsh granite floor. But deadweight or no We're still going on Even if it makes things harder.

</event>

<security>public</security>

<allowmask>0</allowmask>

</entry>

</livejournal>