Anarchist Road

Spaghetti-O!

The Dean's car exploded. Wow.

In other news, I'm getting the hell out of here for a few days, and I need to state a few public messages:

Dot, you rock. We need to hang more when I get back, 'cuz last night was rockin'. Email me if you want me to say anything specific, or I can just give the general sentiments. I know what to say.

Byron, I thank you for the bottom of my unapologetic rich boy hating heart. You're awesome. Seriously, thanks for this. I'll pay you back as soon as I can manage.

Violet, the rest of the project is sitting in your inbox. Freddy, you rock more hardcore than anyone, buddy. Uncle Sasha, thank you for the letter. Smutty Molls, keep truckin', your drummer'll be back in just a few days.

Wish me luck in England, fuckers. I'm outta here.

I woke up in Violet's room. I must have gone way overboard. It happens once in a while, but this is just fucking ridiculous; I've never woken up in a more hostile environment; and I ain't just talking about her attitude.

It's fucked up, because somehow staying there makes me feel... I don't know... profaned. Fuck. Where's Gytha when I need her? Fucking England is where. I'm all sorts of messed up, I haven't gone a binge that bad since fucking... I dunno, two years ago, almost. I wish I could see her.

Fuck this shit. I'm outta here.

To: christoutofgytha@exiled.net
From: anarcothingone@exiled.net
Subject: Life.

Hi. I am beat. Beat beat beat. This job is so fucking taxing, babe. I mean, school and then work and just... nothing to come home to. I'm planning something pretty big. I'll send a picture when it's done, if I can get one at the moment it happens. It might be tricky, I don't know.

I miss you, Gytha. I've gotten paired up with Violet again in Sociology, and it's killing my brain; I can't get past it. This project is going to leave me braindead. I may just drink myself stupid and go do the project that way, just to piss her off. I'll probably be just functional enough to get us a passing grade, anyway; the class is fucking easy.

Everything still okay over there since the last time we emailed? School? Your dad? I know I'm being pushy I'm just desperate to know you're all right.

I can barely type, I don't know what to say. I need to go anyway, I have to work on this paper and go to bed or I'll be too tired after class tomorrow for work.

I love you, Agatha.

Mikhail Bakunin.

Locked to Dot and Freddy.

Crash and burn.

She's gone. He took her on the plane and she was just... gone. I'm empty all over again. I don't know if it's all the weirdness here that's at fault; it really doesn't matter to me. I crashed.

Now they burn. Simple deal.

Locked to Gytha, Freddy, Dot, Byron, Shelley, and Hoffmann.

So I was going to paint the school red yesterday. Literally. But I was asked to chill for a while until we have a better grasp and some of the people are safer, so there you go. Never say I didn't do nothin' for you, people. Heh.

I'm ... torn. But that's for another day.

Gytha, Freddy: I'll let you know when it's going down, of course.

Byron, Shelley, Hoff: I'll tell you guys about it, see if you're down with it.

If we pull it off, I'm the only one who could possibly take the fall, and it'd be a stretch. Anyway, hit me up on IM or whatever and I'll tell you all about it. I'm going to go take a nap now.

Electric Six are fucking hilarious. Freddy and I are definitely making a video this semester. It will be a documentary of Icaria, focusing on Eupheme. We will be wanting your participation, fellow students. Interviews are obligatory. I am terribly exhausted as of late, and am sure no one is wondering why. I have a hate/love relationship going with the weather. As soon as the Dean makes some fucking official declaration, I will start writing my article for the paper. Drama has abounded; it must be quenched with a firm and unrepenting hand.

Fuck. I need more condoms. Fucking weather. HI ALFRIC.

[Friends Locked]

So my bed is broken and I'm sleeping with my mattress on the floor. It's not at all uncomfortable. It kind of sucks, though, 'cuz the squeaky sounds were kind of nice. Alfric caught us and called our parents; mine didn't care much, since... well, they sent me to a private school so they could toss money at problems to make them go away.

Gytha, what did your folks say? Everything cool? Can we do something soon?

Also, my class schedule was presented to me.

French
Sociology
Film Studies
Political Science
Portrayal of Religion in Literature
Physical Education

Huh. So, Alfric basically handed me most of this schedule by force; his face suggested he wanted to use it as a condom to rape my sense of morale. I mean, seriously, Portrayal of Religion in Literature? Does he want me to light this place on fire? No, seriously. Ugh.

Well, at least I have French, and Film Studies with Freddy. We should do something with that, Fredster, make a documentary: Dean Alfric: Dendrophilia and Algorythmic Masturbation, or something. Phys Ed won't be a problem, I'm not in bad shape, and the rest is par for the course; but... man, fifth period is going to be Hell.

So fucking Pinochet is dead, the torturous fuck. They're saying heart attack. I'm saying bullshit.

Good riddance to the khuy, I hope him and all his kind rot in their own fucking filth.

Okay. I had this whole post planned out. I had a subject. I had a song I wanted to be playing when I wrote it. I even had an icon picked out.

I can't write that. It's... uh... yeah, I can't write that.

I would just like the world to know that:

This is much, much better. Thank you.