I've been dreaming plenty lately. For the past two weeks, it's been nothing but violent imagery. Gun wounds to the head. Knives. Falling teeth. Stalking. Penises. I blame Tina whose advice about altered sleeping patterns have set off a spark in writing but now it's got a life of its own, and I'm not sure how to control it. I don't believe that dream symbols possess omens but I do believe that they tell truths- I'm not sure I like what I think is going on.

Controversial as the situation at Ishle Yi Park's performance might have been, I think a lot of us went away with some of that magic she spoke of. I never believed in anything that wasn't tangible. Not even God, really. But I do believe in demons strangely, and spirits- but they're all personal concoctions stirred up by the good/the bad in us. Is that cheesy? "We are our own magic" Okay, shut up.

I was going to rant about the state of our youth, starting with the very wronged matter at hand (that you know, they think that I'M cool), but that's old. Just goes to show TV teaches you to hate fat, short-haired girls at an early age. And some unexplainable adoration of High School Musical, Hannah Montana and (gag) Avril Lavigne. I also have the suspicion that they are deliberately picking at their meals to stay thin (they are 8 years old apiece). I have to stop now or I might throw up. Anyway, my point is, if I have to serve as a role model to them, my first act is to renovate my room void of all superficial fashion magazines, dump excess cosmetics, shut tight my closet, destroy all past remnants of former teenybopper identity, uhh become a real, cool grown-up? The world's not collapsing into itself. My mother calls it "maturing".