Or, at least, it will be. I have beats and rhythms pulsing through my head almost every second. I move to my own groove, as basic as that beat it is. It comforts me to write something. Just simply punching down each word warms me. It's bloody hot out, but that hasn't stopped me from feeling cold. I'm sensitive to heat, and I cannot stand the sun or hot air. It's all around me, though, I still feel chilled. So frozen that you could stick my heart in your drink and it would be perfect. It would give "on the rocks" a whole new meaning. But, in a less literal examination of my title, each thought I have hurts in some special way or another. I want to slap myself over the head, and move those gears back into, eh, gearing right. The way they are gearing at this point -which is also how they have been gearing for quite awhile- is just about unbearable. In other words, I just got back from my friend's service. The actual funeral was private to family, but this one was to friends and loved ones. I doubt he even remembered me. I definetely remembered him, though. Moving on... Dictionary of Happiness Entry: Poetry. Dictionary.com definition: –noun | 1. | the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts. |
| 2. | literary work in metrical form; verse. |
| 3. | prose with poetic qualities. |
| 4. | poetic qualities however manifested: the poetry of simple acts and things. |
| 5. | poetic spirit or feeling: The pianist played the prelude with poetry. |
| 6. | something suggestive of or likened to poetry: the pure poetry of a beautiful view on a clear day. |
How uninventive. Dictionary of Happiness entry: 1. A tree belonging to Edgar Allan Poe. 2. A common synonym for angst. 3. A word usually associated with skinny, pale people who haven't been outside in years. 4. The result of tears, broken innocence, word magnets, and a blender. 5. Mixed with alcohol or other mind blowingly incapacitating substances, it is the main cause of FUI arrests. (Fruitcaking Under the Influence) 6. The main way little children can let the world know that daddy is a masochist and mommy is a sadist without getting caught, however, it's usually too late by the time the poem is translated out of shakespear-ian. Example: Little Sally work for months on a poem which detailed her pain ridden childhood and how everyone would make fun of her. She then sent it to a poetry magazine to be published within it. The magazine sent it back saying that it seemed like she just put a few words together meaninglessly. She was heart broken, but ewas determined to get the magazine to publish it. She modified the poem from censored to uncensored, detailing her rape, diagnosis of cancer, the euthinization of all her pets in one day, and the suicide of boy she loved. The magazine accepted it, and filed it under comedy. Heh, I really do not like myself. ^_^ Chill, you spazerts. \,,/~Joe~\,,/ | 
