EmpireOfCandy

HAAII GAIISSS. (:

I have been super dead which is okay because I don't mind! (: But I figured I should leave a little something for the, like, five people who care about my whereabouts!
I think it goes without saying; Merry Christmas! If you're into that sort of thing, I mean. Other than that, happy new years (We all know you're into that, you little drunky), and happy birthday to me! In January I'll be aging another year. Yay, oldness. But the best part is my present.

A wig.
It's sort of ridiculous, I know. But I figured, hey, why damage my hair to hell and back when I can just buy something to stick on my head which will ultimately look prettier, anyway? Also I don't ever really need to do my hair, except for when I need to buy a new one. Anyway, that's a lot of fun, I'm super excited. GURL, THAT WEATHER BE HAVIN' WEAVE SNATCHIN' ABILITIES.

Poop.
So yeah!
I'll maybe kinda be posting again soon. I COULD write poetry until I get a camera, which will be decades from now it seems.. but.. well.. AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT. (:
So here we are!
If anyone's reading this, the password is "potato yarn".   ;_;  The seagull will know what it means.

Anyone else want more pictures of 'em? I have some pretty adorable one's, but I don't want to annoy anyone with my pet addiction.

So, I don't know anyone who's going to read this, but. Yeah. There was a fire drill at school today for a legitimate fire. It was raining as we stood outside for maybe ten or twenty minutes. Bad day to sport an afro to school..  It was caused by a fire in a small transformer box in the maintenance room, I believe.

But aside from that (Which was actually pretty awesome).. I got admitted into talent fest, which is awesome! Andddd.  Stuff! Expect more pictures up soon, I suppose!

I promise these aching breaks,
The hurt that trembles inside me.
I promise they're not because of you.
This throbbing anger within me.
I cannot describe in which my sorrow expands,
It is not me you're seeing, a copy, a double.
I cannot describe in how quickly it cools,
Only to leave grotesque regret, pain, and agony in my once clean head.

I love you.
How the words have grown so familiar,
I could spend the rest of eternity saying so,
These words,
Nothing but words,
Noise pollution, but darling..
I simply cannot stop.

I wish these beliefs would not set me off,
That a passive statement could be thrown into your ears and eyes.
I wish I could stop this stampede of affliction before they break through our walls of affection,
But it's impossible, ridden with angst as the roots flow through my hardened veins.
Please forgive, how my hate filled blood is the result of countless injections,
A needle walks these very halls.
Please forgive, the one and only who's love reaches no boundaries,
I am still the woman, the woman in disguise with hate.

I need you.
How the words have grown so permanent.
I could spend the rest of eternity saying so,
These simple simple words,
More than just words,
Corrupting our planet, but darling..
I simply cannot stop.

Sometime this week, Monday I believe.. my grandfather passed away. He was healthier than grandma. He was my mothers father.  I visited him on Christmas with my brother and father (Who is divorced from my mom..) for the first time in a very long time. My mother had decided not to come and see him. She said next week, she would.
I find myself wondering how life could work like this. To be there one second, and gone the next? I weep not for him, for he was an extraordinary man.. but my mother, who has yet to realize that whether or not she would have seen him before his untimely demise, he would still be dead on this day.
We attended the funeral service today, and I believe that I learned more of Thomas McNaughton this day than I had in my entire life. He was an icon, and object, in my life. Whom I cared for deeply. He loved me more than I could have ever comprehended. Sometimes I wonder if it hurt him that I cannot feel the pain for him, or the love for him in which I should.
Though I like to believe that he knew. Maybe in the way that I admired him silently, or in which I looked to his soft grey face. He lived an interesting life. Though I don't expect many of you to keep reading, I will continue writing. It's all I can do to make sense of how I feel for this situation.
At the ceremony, we spoke little of who Thomas was. It was.. more comforting words, inspiration that this is a tough journey for the lot of us, but that it must be taken at some point in our lives. Had I had it my way; we would of spoken of who he was. For the years he was alive are far more important than the several minutes it took for him to pass away.
He loved ketchup with a passion. It was his favorite food, which he would put on the oddest of things. Many teased about it perhaps even being a food group in it's own for him.  He restored old cars. OOOOLD cars. Dating back to the early nineteen hundreds, and he did a beautiful job. He was a skilled craftsman, and chairmen of the local Masons. His father (or grandfather) migrated in from Scotland, I believe. And somewhere down the line; the McNaughton castle still stands today. On Christmas day he told stories to us of the fourteen bedroom house his relatives had built in their first Canadian years. About how they had visited the castle, him and Florence (my grandmother) only years back. Though they hadn't been allowed to enter, for it had been purchased off of the family some time ago.
At the ceremony, I went to comfort my mother. She was clinging to me like a child, and it was hard not to break down myself. Not for me, but for her. My arm around her as the choir sang and echoed, and my grandfathers pictures and urn staring back at us. It was, to say the least.. depressing. I had in that moment decided my own funeral would be influenced by a rock concert of some sort. Remember who I was, and not what I am now. Dead. Let us remember,and move on. But this is besides the point, ahah.
My uncle Ian had some beautiful words shared with the room. Upon later discussion with my cousin, I discovered he had left parts out. I don't blame him. It was emotional. Beautiful words, and I'm proud. Of the entire family. But anyway..
After he had left, the priest had asked us if any of us had any words to share. I would have stood up, made something up on the spot, SOMETHING to offer some sort of comfort to these waiting people.. but I couldn't. I had nothing. I hadn't the guts to talk about a man I barely knew myself. It was more respectful to stay silent.
I met some of his friends that evening. Several girls. Them, their husbands, Florence and Thomas were called the.. "12 SomethingOrOther ( Ican't remember.. xD)".. And they were basically the trouble makers of the town back then. I learned then that, Tommy, whom I was named after.. was more like me then originally thought. A quiet, humble man, who knew how to have a good time. I felt honored. I loved this man, how little I knew of him. He's the reason I am here today, and I couldn't have ever asked for more.
I love you, Thomas. Even if it doesn't count for much anymore.
After this, I visited my grandmother for the first time in several years. She has Alzheimers. She did not know who I was.. though.. there were moments in which she would approach me, take my hands and look me dead in the eye. I knew there was something in there. I told her several times I was her granddaughter. She would stare in disbelief, "You're not Maxine!"  .. "No, grandma. Maxine is YOUR daughter."   It was harder on my cousin. I did not take it personally. Her childlike innocence was refreshing, and when we had broken the news of how Thomas had died.. she looked utterly confused. Her first reaction was, "Who's Thomas? That sounds familiar.."    "He's your husband, ma. He passed away."   I KNEW it had sunk in. I don't think the others saw it, but the look on her face was outstandingly painful. There was some silence, and she stared off into space. "Well, I'll be darned."  She let a chuckle out, half heartedly, and it was all forgiving. Even if she were to forget. Telling her has got to be worth something. It's simply.. right.
I was more than surprised when ten minutes later, she was trying to remember a name. She had said, "Oh.. you're.. Tom, right? No no, of course not. Tom's dead.."   
I don't think anyone else noticed it.. but I couldn't believe my ears. Had it really sunk in? As fundemental law, will she believe Tom to be dead? As if he had ALWAYS been dead? Who knows. Time will tell.

We hung his picture on her wall. She did not recognize him. He looked older.. oh, how he had aged in his last year of life. Just when he recovered from heart issues, swelling of his legs, and three broken ribs.. so suddenly a heart attack had taken him while he sat in his recliner, reading right after dinner.
I may not be religious, but bless him. And bless Florence. I will miss you.
And I'll be okay. I'm okay now. I'm.. surprisingly happy. And while you, Thomas, move on from this life into whatever lay beyond it, if anything.. then  take comfort in knowing that I'm content. I'm loved. I'm adored. And I'm needed. You are no longer needed, Thomas. Your bonds are broken. You're finally free from the burden.
And how does it feel, darling?