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Stop Picking On Me Because I'm A Geek

I'm Strange To You... You're Strange To Me

Jane St. James
5 June 1979
External Services:
  • selain@livejournal.com
  • hehehe jabber
I'm not an ink slinger of any kind. I am no wordsmith, and I do not wish for any one of you to imagine that I'm being modest or humble. I just transfer my thoughts and sentences to the paper or screen, my words are formed together with passion and thought, not an urge to end sentences with similar drama.

Sometimes I write things I do not remember writing, and think things I vaguely remember thinking, and say things I always mean to say, and then I confuse the three but it all comes out in dreams and journals.

I lay awake at god-knows-what-hour and throw around words to describe what I'm feeling at that very nanosecond and scribble it down so as not to let the passion wash away by the harsh golden rays of the sun.

Those are the curren(cy)t sea (you k)now how to pay(?). Someday, I'll reveal more inklings of my person(ality).

A spot of obligatory lyric from a good song that accurately conveys my view on life:

Papa says it's best this way, and it's all the life I've known
Still I wonder what it's like to call the Raven's speed your own
To hear the voice of a distant friend and see a distant face
But you can't pick roadside blackberries if you move at such a pace.
~No Hurry, by Escape Key, my favorite filk band.