<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738</id><updated>2011-07-08T14:27:02.999+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to my blog!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>68</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8675796547504238671</id><published>2010-04-04T13:00:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2010-04-04T14:45:41.881+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll be waiting</title><content type='html'>This is going to be my last post here, I'm going to move my blog to Wordpress (thanks to a certain someone - you know who you are!). So probably the last post. About a rather sensitive subject but it's better this way than asking a whole lot of questions to someone who's unable to give you answers. Here it comes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm doing quite good, I have to say. Except of the mornings. The second I wake up, reality greets me with a painful slap and each time I wish it would kill me. Same goes for the moments before falling asleep; it's hard to push those thoughts and feelings away. Well, a few minutes ago, I woke up and actually felt good but since the world's against my fortune, my good mood got ruined. I feel like I'm not worth to be even a friend to her. And honestly, I don't believe her words. I just can't. The way she treats me... even with only a bit of truth in her words, her treatment wouldn't be as cruel! It makes me sad and angry. And perhaps this anger is the cause for this second state I'm in. &lt;br /&gt;Myself is split up into three different &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;parts&lt;/span&gt; or &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;selfs&lt;/span&gt;. The first is the one to accept the situation and this way trying to overcome it. The second is pure... well, maybe not anger. It's just that I don't care. Superficially, I don't. About her, about her feelings, about my pain, about this whole misery. This part of me is trying to move on and let her be, maybe even trying to find someone new. And make her find someone new who can make up all my mistakes. Who makes the efforts of her tattoo worth it. So we can say our farewell to each other and live without the other in our lives. And I can move on and get out of this hell. &lt;br /&gt;It's just superficial that I don't care and wish I was able to leave her behind. Deep down there's a fire eating me up from inside, I'm in huge pain, actually. But I'm not going to show it... cause this third part of me agrees with the other two, mostly, that I'll have to find someone new for me. Although no one can make me as happy as she has and she does. I'll have to live with someone that can only make me half-happy but you can't have anything, right? &lt;br /&gt;I really wish I could say, "Damn, then I'll never ever fall in love again." But I can't because I need to love someone and I need to be loved. And the certain love I need is the one I can't get. Yet. &lt;br /&gt;So, I guess, whatever it takes, I'll be waiting. Until her feelings are back, no matter how long it's going to take. I know she doesn't want me to, and that I shouldn't waste my time on it and that I shouldn't give my heart away. But she also says that I'm old and smart enough to decide on my own and I'm fully aware of all the consequences this will bring but I just don't care. I want her, and I want to be with her and I've decided to wait for her and if I'll have to die before I know - I don't care. I love her more than anything else before and I'm not going to give up. I don't have to if I don't want to and I don't want. She's all I've ever wanted and all I'll ever want. &lt;br /&gt;I don't want to lose her and losing her includes losing her to someone else, however it's partly what I want for her. Well, I don't want to lose her to somebody else in particular, I rather want... to see her happy. No matter what it takes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the conclusion of this: I'll be waiting forever if it'll take this long. I think that I'm still here, standing straight and not strong to face the tragedy, I think it shows that I'm able to wait for her. And I will be. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is the last thing I'll say about this topic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8675796547504238671?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8675796547504238671/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2010/04/ill-be-waiting.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8675796547504238671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8675796547504238671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2010/04/ill-be-waiting.html' title='I&apos;ll be waiting'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-3390610797968577772</id><published>2010-03-20T03:05:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-03-20T03:43:12.728+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The very worst part of me is YOU</title><content type='html'>Five past three in the morning, and I'm not able to sleep. I need to clear my mind about something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sick of all of this. I'm sick of not making proper attempt of changing my situation. But I need to. I've got to change, I've got to get rid of what puts me down for years. And this is you. You awful monster inside of me. I enjoyed having you with me when I was little. Getting off that leash of innocence once in a while. I loved to be a bad girl at times. At times. Those other times I was good, lovely. Never been disgrateful, never been disrespectful. But things got of hand and you were making your way to my surface, taking off my guard and letting you win. You know, back then, you were useful. You made me realize that I'm better off alone and that friends and family make you only weak and an easy target. You helped me getting through that hell I've been through, you were a protection shield for me, preventing me from pain, disappointment and even death by making me uncapable of being in any kind of relationship. It was good back then, I wouldn't be here now, without you taking me over. &lt;br /&gt;That was yesterday. I've found friends that are reliable, I've found my place in this world and I can protect myself from now on. Because other than you, I am able to rely on people, to trust them and to love. I'm not fighting them off or seeing them as kind of disease. I know what they are, my family, and they're not making me any weak but stronger than ever. &lt;br /&gt;And with this strength, I get rid of you. I don't need you anymore! The past years you only ruined things for me, turning me into something heartless, into someone who prefers to run from love and luck than drown in its energizing feeling. I don't need you to make me run away from the person I love the most ever again, only to kill myself with pain and desperation. I'll stay with the one I love, the only way I can stay sane.  I won't betray her again only because you're addicted to adventures and risks. I'm not like that, I'm not dangerous. And you're not going to make me believe this wrong image of myself ever again! I know who I am and I can only keep on living without you in me. 'Cause you're my death. &lt;br /&gt;I'm done with you and your behavior. I beat you once, and I'll win this time, too!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-3390610797968577772?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/3390610797968577772/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2010/03/very-worst-part-of-me-is-you.html#comment-form' title='3 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3390610797968577772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3390610797968577772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2010/03/very-worst-part-of-me-is-you.html' title='The very worst part of me is YOU'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5496731056232760862</id><published>2010-01-30T22:29:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-01-30T23:09:17.188+01:00</updated><title type='text'>After all, life's only about cookies &amp; milk</title><content type='html'>Yeah, long time no see... Haven't had the urge to express my feelings and thoughts by blogging until yesterday. Just like Dumbledore says in Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Fire, sometimes your head gets too heavy and filled up with thoughts that you have to share 'em or save 'em elsewhere. So, it's one of those times now. &lt;div&gt;I planned on changing the layout but I'm too lazy these days. My schedule doesn't allow me any breaks but how would a schedule work without breaks anyways? Who am I to not allow me some rests? There I am, sitting in my chair in my room all night, thinking, thinking, thinking. Wondering what's wrong with me. Unfortunately, I didn't come to a conclusion yesterday. All I know is, that I've got the urge to kick my ass or rip off some hair or whatever else. Regrets, like I wanna turn back time so badly to relive my teenage years. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know, I'm only turning 19 in about 3 months but hell, that's my last year as a teenager! I've wasted the best part in my life! The time of life to which people tend to think back when they're older, telling their kids and their kids' kids about the cool or dangerous things they've done. But what will I say? Oh well, I haven't had any friends until age 17. Wasted my life being bullied by my school mates, too shy and frightened to be myself. Damn, I wanna turn back time... I wanna relive my life with the people I call my friends nowadays. I know that it's impossible and it's silly to get desperate about it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The actual thing is, what causes this feeling, that it suddenly dawned on me that I'm growing old. I know 19 isn't &lt;i&gt;old&lt;/i&gt;. But look at it this way. I died with almost 17 and got reborn with 18. Like I only started living last year! There are so many things that I haven't done yet but other people around my age've already done them a few times. Feels like I'm wasting my time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sure, my friends and I spend a lot of time together and we've already done some stuff that I've always wanted to. Like that one time after the festival when we sat on the porch, looking out for falling stars. It's one of my most favorite memories, I love thinking back to it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or my 18th birthday. I drank so much and ate just a little, that I had to throw up before going to bed. But do my friends care? No. It doesn't matter. I think since then, since my birthday party, I feel like... a special connection to my best friend. She didn't drink as much as I did... or she drank more, I dunno, at least she was more wasted than me. But it kinda strengthened our friendship. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the Billy Talent concert I attended with my other best friend last November. All these events just convinced me that this is for real and that this is forever. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mum had her doubts. When I was about to leave school, we had a talk... well, actually, she yelled at me about how much of an idiot, a loser and a coward I was. She said, "Just wait until the next school term starts, and they'll turn their backs on you like everybody else before them." I think she was even referring to my girlfriend. She said something like, "She'll leave you when she finds out how useless you are, just like your father." But look! My friends are still with me and they'll always be. Though, my girlfriend and I are going through a rough time, may affecting our relationship but not our love. And it'll be good, all good in the end. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Still, there's this thought on my mind, almost like a voice. It whispers, "You're getting old. Look at you; you could've become a rebel like you've always dreamed about as a kid." But today I'm nothing more than myself, and nothing less than that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PS: New fanfiction up on my LJ, &lt;a href="http://apparentlyalive.livejournal.com/1635.html"&gt;check it out&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5496731056232760862?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5496731056232760862/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2010/01/after-all-lifes-only-about-cookies-milk.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5496731056232760862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5496731056232760862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2010/01/after-all-lifes-only-about-cookies-milk.html' title='After all, life&apos;s only about cookies &amp; milk'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1013490277341523947</id><published>2009-12-28T16:15:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T17:40:12.088+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Life's coming too fast</title><content type='html'>Recently, I joined the club of book-reading people but other than them, I don't read certain vampire books or books on which are TV shows based on. And the book I'm reading, currently, is the one that animated me to write this blog post. &lt;div&gt;Years ago, when I was an isolated 8th-grader, I would go to the school's library once a week and look for either English books or books about domestic abuse. I read old English books back then, classic books like &lt;i&gt;Bram Stoker's Dracula&lt;/i&gt; or &lt;i&gt;Agatha Christie&lt;/i&gt;. English has always been my favorite language and perhaps, that's why I prefer to read English books. Maybe it's also the reason why I was one of the best in my whole grade in English. Later, I bought some English books for reading at home. I've never really gotten around to read them; either I got bored of them right in the beginning or I had no interest in reading. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of these books is the one I'm currently reading. It's called &lt;i&gt;Catch me when I fall&lt;/i&gt; by Nicci French (A/N: Two authors who combined their names). I started reading it recently and since I only read every once in a while, I'm still not done with it. But I just reached a point in the book where it gets really, really interesting. I love this book. It's so realistic and the emotions and things that happen aren't far-fetched as in many books I've read so far. But before I start telling how much I like it, here's a little description on the story:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;A successful, self-confident woman named Holly Krauss lives her life fast and dangerous. She runs her own little company with her best friend, is married to an illustrator and is like a magnet to danger and trouble. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the beginning of the book, she's in a bar with her best friend and another friend. There she gets to know some other people with whom she spends the evening, drinking, clubbing, drinking and ending up in bed with one of them. That's basically where the problems start: She tries to forget about the cheating on her husband as much as possible. But things get messed up and the guy from that night stalks her. Also, in her company, she runs into big trouble: One of your employees does a lousy job and Holly decides to fire her what ends in a disaster; the fired employee threatens her. Things get out of hand, the stalker, the ex-employee and her husband who is obviously frustrated because of his job. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Holly tries her best to keep on track, to help her husband and try to lead her company (and herself) out of the misery. But it fails and she ends up having insomnia, several times she feels so exhausted that she's unable to move. She's not herself anymore, can't make out the limits of herself or change her behavior. When life finally seems to calm down a bit, she runs into the next big trouble and causes more damage on her life and the people around her than before. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's how far I am. Actually, it's better to read the book. There are so many little details to which I can relate to, that you couldn't just post here. For example:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her husband, Charlie, is an illustrator and works at home. When she met him, Holly thought being an illustrator meant that people want you and call you for a job. She thought it would be easy to work in that field but when she got to know him better, he and his job, she found out that it wasn't as glamorous and awesome as she'd thought before. It's about running around, handing your portfolio to people, work your ass of to have a chance for a job. You can lose everything as fast as you gained it because new, fresh illustrator finish university every year. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First, he convinces her that he'll get a job, so they could pay the mortgage. But later in the book, he reveals that being an illustrator isn't as enjoyable anymore. It's not what he loves to do anymore, it's just work. Drawing, creating things is nothing more than earning money. He lost his passion, his love for art. One other reason is that he wanted to publish a book with illustrations of him but the company denied it for being... crap. It ruined all his self-confidence and made his drawings worthless to him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know how that feels, I just so know it. It's not that I can't handle criticism but when the person whose opinion is the one that decides whether you made a good job or not, when this person doesn't like your work, it just takes all of your respect, self-esteem, love, passion, etc. from you. It kills a big part of you, and makes you stop walking, sit down and watch life pass by. You have this one thing, this one &lt;i&gt;talent&lt;/i&gt; and you love doing it, when that is denied, what else can you do then? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another thing that someone in the book says, is that if you really, really love something, it's sometimes better to keep it as a hobby instead of doing it for money. And I agree on that. I am stuck with art but if I'd do it for a living... who gives me the guarantee that I won't start to hate it? It doesn't have to be like this but what if it would? I don't want to risk it and so I'll keep it as my hobby. Maybe it will grow to something bigger someday but if then, it would be my destiny and not forced. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I think that it doesn't matter what kind of job I'll get someday. As long as I like it and get paid well for it. Since I need to feed a family, and I want my family to enjoy life and not worry about money. ´&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I always thought that I need &lt;i&gt;the&lt;/i&gt; most perfect job to become happy. Therefore, I didn't want to do any job that's actually just a quite nice one. I wanted to do things people could look up to, I wanted people to say, "Wow, she really made it." But who says you gotta have a matching, perfect, amazing job to be happy? In the past few days, I changed my mind about it. I don't the most perfect job in the world, I don't need to work my ass of to get people attention. Maybe I would end up with a lot of money but money's not what makes me happy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In my (new) opinion, it doesn't matter what impression your job has on others. It doesn't matter what people think about your achievements, as long as you have something that makes you happy. Something constant in your life. And I came to the conclusion that there's nothing in the world I want more than a family. My very own family. I would accept any job just to feed my family and satisfy their desires. It would be all that could make me happy. A family would make the past years worth fighting, it would be my paradise. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since my fiancée and I already talk about it, I started to make plans for the next year. I don't want things to happen to fast; I'd rather wait for things to be perfect than hurry up for a mess. The bare thought of what's about to come makes me so happy, it increases my optimism and self-confidence so much. After things have ended in a disaster, this was truly unexpected but it makes it all up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life's coming too fast, kind of. Faster than I've expected but if the result would match my wishes, I'm totally fine with it! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Currently listening to: Paramore - That's what you get&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1013490277341523947?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1013490277341523947/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/12/lifes-coming-too-fast.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1013490277341523947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1013490277341523947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/12/lifes-coming-too-fast.html' title='Life&apos;s coming too fast'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-6096913687977337997</id><published>2009-12-01T13:20:00.011+01:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T20:22:24.959+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Got so far</title><content type='html'>This post's going to be very long and personal. I got inspired to write it last night when I was lying in bed and remembered my first steps as LP fan. Perhaps this will change your mind about me, you'll think that I'm crazy and obsessed. The following will explain many things, hopefully; maybe it will clear up some things and justify some of my actions. &lt;div&gt;If not... hell, I don't care. Read it, ignore it, comment, call me names (that's not an invitation for you, Kathrin!). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Recently, a friend and I talked about a girl from twitter and my conversation with her. This girl agreed with me that fans who are only with the band for their looks, aren't real fans and aren't really a part of our community. Usually, when you have a conversation on this topic, you get curious about the &lt;i&gt;fan being&lt;/i&gt; of the other. In this case, I asked her when she started calling herself a fan of LP. Her answer made me cry - for laughter. I think so did my friend when I told her about it. Actually, I expected that girl to say "for about one year" which would be okay. I know many fans who started listening to LP like a year ago. But this girl still has to reach that mark. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our fan community is very friendly, actually. We're very supportive and we're pretty much like a very big family. I think many fellows agree with me on that ;). But when it comes to &lt;i&gt;newbies&lt;/i&gt;, most of us (particularly the older fans, old as in being a fan) become a bit rude. Let's call it defensive. I think we're sometimes just too proud. We're very careful; like with new neighbors: you try to find out more about them, weight it out and maybe build a fence to protect your territory. We can be really mean to newbies. And that's why we laughed about her. She's a fan for about half a year now, and doesn't know &lt;i&gt;anything&lt;/i&gt;. My friend's a fan for about 4 years now, I think, and I am for 6 and a half years. As I put it: "We're one with the band after such a long time." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember how it was with me, about 6 years ago. I was twelve and just joined a German message board. My first step into a fan community and I wasn't aware about its hierarchy. Back then, I was naive, to some grade I was like the cliché fangirlie; I had a big crush on Mike. The difference between my twelve-year-old ego and a normal teenie booper: When I became a fan, it really was because of their music. Shinoda was one of the last persons of the band who I really noticed. So, I was new, I was naive, I was unexperienced. The perfect victim. They played jokes on me, they laughed at me for my opinion. I still can remember someone's words (actually, one of the few people who were nice to me): "We can have the "die-hard fan" conversation again, when you're 4 years older." Right then, I felt rejected and I was disappointed. Sad and hurt because I thought that I'd finally found friends. Simultaneously, I couldn't believe in those words. I didn't get how they could reject me, when the guys themselves love &lt;b&gt;all&lt;/b&gt; their fans - no matter how young they are. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After being a fan for one year, I decided to put all my energy, all my passion and love on this new family of mine. I wanted to become a member of it, one that people wouldn't reject, one they would accept and respect. LP was all I had back then, all my friends left me during that time, my mum wouldn't talk to me neither be supportive. And I wanted to become someone I could be proud of someday and back then, that was the only way to achieve this goal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a plan; to become a Street Soldier someday, join LPU, meet the band and see them live in concert. I worked for it as hard as possible, there was nothing about the band I wouldn't know, I wouldn't see. At age 14, I think, I could've written a book about them with all details. The LP community (yup, LPC as we called it back then) was my home. It was where I was &lt;i&gt;someone&lt;/i&gt;. Where people paid attention to me, loved me for just being me. And sharing something important with them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In 2007, things changed. The goals on my list were not only simple goals; it was my way to force me to stay alive. It was like, "Don't leave before you visited your first LP concert". Maybe because I knew that it would change my mind and even give me new energy. So, two years ago, I achieved almost all goals on my list, one year later, the rest followed. Already after my first concert, things changed. It wasn't important anymore to be up-to-date. It wasn't important to know everything... I kinda let it float. And after my first M&amp;amp;G, I was close to quitting. There was nothing for me anymore to work for; I achieved everything I wanted. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About one year later, today, I'm proud of the kind of fan I've become. I'm exactly the fan I wanted to become and I'm really proud of it. I've experienced so much and I still love LP. They almost like friends but more important: they've become a part of me. A part that changes with me and that I'm proud of. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm pretty sure that it didn't make any sense. :[&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;Currently listening to Linkin Park - In the end&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-6096913687977337997?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/6096913687977337997/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/12/got-so-far.html#comment-form' title='8 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6096913687977337997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6096913687977337997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/12/got-so-far.html' title='Got so far'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-909071005412807914</id><published>2009-11-13T19:09:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T19:34:30.890+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Love makes the world go 'round</title><content type='html'>Got nothing else to do. Finally, after two or three weeks, I'm done with everything or at least can't do anything until I've got a certain email, and I'm not enjoying it. I would if I had any energy left. Maybe it's just that I'm fucking bored. No one's there, really no one and I don't know what to do. My plans were to finally continue some stories but I don't have any ideas. My head is so empty... &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know the title for this blog post is very kitschy; it's a song by Ashlee Simpson. I used to love that song, was one of my favorite some years ago. Why I chose it? Because I want to express some feelings. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night, I had trouble to keep my tears at bay. My thoughts were with these beautiful photos of Anna and Mike, and every time I take a look at them, I realize that it's what I really want. To be so happy, so in love. Worry-free, I don't want to have worry about money or my reputation. I want to get married someday, have some kids and a house that is just big enough for the family. Maybe a room for my art and a special room for my wife, or a room for our LP love. Bright walls, plants, paintings... everything that represents us. And the longer I think about it, the harder it is for me not to burst out in tears. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wish I could go to my fiancée and promise her that all of her and our wishes will come true, that I'm able to make our dreams reality. But I can't, I just can't. I don't know how our future will be like and it makes me sad not to know it. Sure, we'll be happy to have each other but what about the rest? I know, I fucking know that we'll be happy and I know that we'll stay together and this fact gives me room to worry about all the details of our dream. And I know for sure that I will destroy it, I will ruin it so that there'll be no chance for our dreams to come true. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And every time I look at a photo of Anna and Mike, I realize that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Currently listening to: Dead By Sunrise - End of the World&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-909071005412807914?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/909071005412807914/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/love-makes-world-go-round.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/909071005412807914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/909071005412807914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/love-makes-world-go-round.html' title='Love makes the world go &apos;round'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-135128922616479065</id><published>2009-11-12T20:11:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T23:14:32.852+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Rant #1248203</title><content type='html'>No, not exactly. But I think I do a lot of rants on here. Anyways, I figured that now is the right time to blog, after some certain person drove me mad. Oh, well, I think not only me. &lt;div&gt;And in case you're reading this, here's what I have to say:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All your excuses and apologies for your naive and stupid behavior only make it worse. With it, I mean the way we look at you, the way we think about you and the way we "like" you. I think some of us are so annoyed by you that they don't even like you but don't hate you either. It's just that when there's a tweet by someone who is &lt;i&gt;obviously&lt;/i&gt; mad about something, you &lt;b&gt;don't&lt;/b&gt; just say "doh... this is boring to me, I think this and that is better...". &lt;b&gt;You just don't do it!&lt;/b&gt; You're only making it worse for that someone, they are mad anyways and you naive little girl even say that it's boring? Don't get me wrong - it's okay that you think it's boring BUT don't fucking address it to him, okay? And not in the way you've done. It's about the right behavior, you get it? This is a horrible situation for those guys and you just call it "boring". If it doesn't excite you or agitate you then just keep your mouth shut, okay? If you didn't understand what that article was about then just ask before telling him that his problem is boring! No one would blame you if you'd come to us, asking if we could explain it to you again for your English isn't that good. Mine isn't either but I at least understood how bad this situation must be for those guys! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next time, please think before tweeting, okay? You &lt;i&gt;promised&lt;/i&gt; us you would do it and what happened? Right, it happened again! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gosh... this isn't only about her age, this is about her character. I wasn't so naive when I was her age. Okay, what's different with me is my interest in politics and economy. But hell... this is really about behavior and I really don't get how someone could be so rude! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alright, I'm sorry for this but I &lt;b&gt;had&lt;/b&gt; to get it off my chest. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;Currently listening to: Billy Talent - Nothing to lose&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-135128922616479065?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/135128922616479065/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/rant-1248203.html#comment-form' title='3 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/135128922616479065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/135128922616479065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/rant-1248203.html' title='Rant #1248203'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1422196368078311088</id><published>2009-11-10T15:30:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T16:26:01.436+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll never let this go but I can't find the words to tell you...</title><content type='html'>Actually, I wanted to blog about something else but I can't remember exactly what it was. :/ I really don't know, my memory is so bad nowadays. So, I want to blog about something else...&lt;div&gt;My plans for today were drawing, so to say: a me-time day. Originally, I planned to have it on Thursday, taking a bath and just have a little time for myself away from everybody. I really need that time-off, I'm so stressed out these days. Like my friend said yesterday, "you seem to be a little absent minded." And I am... it's so pretty obvious, huh? I haven't talked to her for a few days and she already knew that something's wrong with me. I love her for that, and for opening my eyes every time we talk. She always reminds me that it's my life and that I decide its pace, and if I'm feeling like I need a break then everyone has to back off and give me that room I need. And I think that she's so right with it! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But taking a break means that I'd have to take a time-off from my site and I don't think I could do that. I love it so much even if it kills me. It's something "constant" in my life and I want to keep it as long as possible. No matter what Mr. Bennington decides to do. I will put all my passion into it even... even when I think that we suck. Not that the work my fiancée does on the site is shit but... this whole site. It doesn't look that good, we don't have that many visitors, our content sucks, really sucks. Our news... we get it from other sites, so what's so special about us? Just yesterday I said to a friend, "I think we're the best of all Dead By Sunrise fansites." And today? Today I'm asking myself what's so special about us. We have what all other sites have, too. So, what's it that people like about us? We're actually not that good. We receive emails from other people sending us pictures and being happy that they can be part of Sunrise On Fire. But hell, they sent their pics to other sites as well, so why does it matter that they're part of us? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't get me wrong, I'm happy about the support we get from all of you but I'm wondering why because we're nothing special. People love our site but is it maybe because they love us? And not  the site itself? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't feel like I'm worth all this, I don't do so much. And I'm not that good as people think I am. I know I'm good at some stuff, and I really do know that. Not just saying it because I want some attention or because I think bad about myself. It's just... I don't know. I don't feel like we're that good, we could do a lot better but I just don't know how. And I fear that I'm blaming it all on myself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Currently listening to: Paramore - Let this go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1422196368078311088?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1422196368078311088/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/actually-i-wanted-to-blog-update.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1422196368078311088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1422196368078311088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/actually-i-wanted-to-blog-update.html' title='I&apos;ll never let this go but I can&apos;t find the words to tell you...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-3619431828397538112</id><published>2009-11-09T18:16:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T18:36:57.886+01:00</updated><title type='text'>When you're insecure...</title><content type='html'>While lying in bed last night, I thought about &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/ive-been-waiting-for-sun.html"&gt;Last Samurai&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; again and asked myself how this inner peace would look like for me. All of a sudden, I felt so unsatisfied, so depressed. I think I'm longing for this peace, for this calmness. And I really wish I had the time for myself to find peace but somehow I don't. &lt;div&gt;Only 6 days left until my short vacation and I'm supposed to look forward to it but... I am, I am looking forward to it but at the same time, there are still so many things to do and I won't be able to finish them before next week! And these white, unused canvas in room make me sad! I have so many ideas but I don't have the time for painting. And that's exactly what I need; some time to paint. Or at least drawing... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, at least I'm going to find some time to relax and calm down next week. &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#990000;"&gt;I love you, Baby!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I promised to write a short M&amp;amp;G review, I know. I think I will do so later... Maybe only a review on my second M&amp;amp;G for the first being "too short". Yeah, I was so nervous that I almost ran away... if Chester wouldn't have stopped me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Currently listening to: &lt;i&gt;Billy Talent - Covered in Cowardice &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-3619431828397538112?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/3619431828397538112/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/when-youre-insecure.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3619431828397538112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3619431828397538112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/when-youre-insecure.html' title='When you&apos;re insecure...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-6939749951048459245</id><published>2009-11-08T14:21:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T15:21:14.652+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I've been waiting for the sun</title><content type='html'>Phew... Headaches. Not that bad but it's enough, moving my head hurts. I didn't sleep that much last night, got to bed at 10 to 3. I had to stay downstairs to watch a movie (my TV is broken), I don't know why I was so eager about watching the movie because I don't like those kinds of movies but I'm really glad that I did. It was &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Last Samurai&lt;/span&gt; on Pro7 that I watched. I don't like Tom Cruise but he's a damn good actor. And the movie is amazing, not only the landscapes are great but the story itself. It's not really about fighting and the art of fighting, it's more about finding yourself and finding your peace. For sure, there are definitely too many kitschy action scenes but at least they don't fuck. I remember that I hated &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Tiger and Dragon&lt;/span&gt; (I can't remember if there were any sex scenes) when we watched it in school. I found it too cliché, and maybe I felt awkward because of this whole asian-tradition-ninja-fighting-stuff. It's not easy to like japanese movies when all people show you about Japan is Manga and Anime, and that's something you dislike. So, perhaps that was why I didn't like to watch &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Tiger and Dragon&lt;/span&gt;. Maybe I would like it now. I do love &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Last Samurai&lt;/span&gt;. Not really the fighting scenes but the quiet moments he spent in that little japanese village. When he got there, he was a desperate alcoholic, having nightmares about all the wars he had fought in life and having these regrets for killing innocent people. By the time he left the village (only to come back to it later), he was sober, he had found his inner peace in that little mountain village, he knew what sense his life had and where he wanted to be. And there was this one scene when the boy asked him why he would fight against the white people for he was one himself, and Nathan said, "Because they want to kill what I started to love." That's how I understood it, how I construed it: He lost his love for his own country, his pride in being an american soldier, Captain to be precise, for all of the wars he fought, for all the women and children he murdered, and realized that this little village that was supposed to be his enemy, was his inner peace. Those people showed him what life and love was about, they were kind and helpful to him even though he had killed their husbands, fathers and sons.&lt;br /&gt;The movie wasn't too kitschy, it was amazing. I would watch it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, this post is going to be very long. I have another thing.&lt;br /&gt;After 5 years of on-and-off obsession with Brad, I think I finally found out what I like about him. First of all, his guitar playing. Second of all, his sense of humor. But that's not really something special, I think we all have many people we like for those two things. I think for me, it's his smile. His mysterious smile, that he shows so often in interviews. It gives you room to think about his words, it makes you question yourself what he would mean with it. The same goes for his humor I think, he has his very own sense of humor which many people find arrogant.&lt;br /&gt;The thing with me is, whenever he puts on this mysterious smile, my brain starts to work harder; I start to ask myself questions about his smile and what he could mean with it. There are so many questions in my head, I want to know so much, i.e. how he deals with certain questions in interviews, how he thinks about his answers, how he chooses his words, etc. He's the type of guy who sits there in interviews, staring either at his bandmates or the interviewer but no matter what, he gives you the impression of being in a totally different world with his mind. As if he wasn't part of the scene but all of a sudden, he gives like the perfect answer that causes you to ask yourself: "What the hell? This guy wasn't even listening to the question!" And that's his mystery. That lets my brain work harder and faster, overloads it with questions and wondering but what agitates me the most: I won't ever get an answer to any of those questions. It'll remain a mystery.&lt;br /&gt;Same goes for my girlfriend; sometimes I'm wondering about her process of thinking as well since in some situations, her answers are so full of different meanings. Definitely, her words are well-chosen, and I don't mean all of the said as an insult. It's just... I'm someone who needs to have it clear. I need to know it precisely and I need to know much as well, for all of these damn questions in my head. It's like I need to study my fellow men from head to toe before I start feeling comfortable around them. But most of the time, you can't find an answer to your questions, so they remain unanswered, you remain unsatisfied. It's agitating, at times it drives me mad not to find the answers but that's what keeps it a mystery. And I think I'm attracted to mysterious people, living with them is a challenge for me and I love to challenge myself, particularly when it comes to that stuff. That I don't get an real, clear and satisfying answer to each question I ask my girlfriend, I think that's what fascinates me about her. She has this mysteriousness as well, and it's one thing I love about her.&lt;br /&gt;And I think that's what makes me like Brad that much, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it for today. Things to do today: Posting the bio's, finishing the message board, and maybe continuing some writings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Currently listening to: Paramore - We are broken&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;I am outside&lt;br /&gt;And &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#990000;"&gt;I've been waiting for the sun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With my wide eyes&lt;br /&gt;I've seen worlds that don't belong&lt;br /&gt;My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize&lt;br /&gt;Tell me why we live like this&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep me safe inside&lt;br /&gt;Your arms like towers&lt;br /&gt;Tower over me&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-6939749951048459245?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/6939749951048459245/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/ive-been-waiting-for-sun.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6939749951048459245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6939749951048459245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/ive-been-waiting-for-sun.html' title='I&apos;ve been waiting for the sun'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7693018365460558249</id><published>2009-11-07T20:43:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T21:02:11.043+01:00</updated><title type='text'>New Layout and other random news</title><content type='html'>There I am, back with a new layout. Dark, gray and kinda depressing. Let's say it's my reflection of fall. Fall brings most of the people into a colorless state, so I think the lack of color fits here pretty well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I assume that everyone noticed how busy I've been for the past few days. &lt;a href="http://sunriseonfire.net.ms"&gt;Sunrise On Fire&lt;/a&gt; kills me someday. Either that or I should loosen my grip on it for a bit. On the other hand, I love it so much. I wasn't able to work on anything a few weeks ago for my computer broke down twice. Repairing twice in such a short time can be really exhausting, and this stupid thing is bitching again. So, I didn't get to work on Sunrise On Fire or my blog or anything else. The only thing I did was watching cartoons online. Which is not really a bad thing but... I didn't even noticed how much effect it had on my mood. I didn't until I started working on several wallpapers; I suddenly felt alive again. Complete. Those experiences show me that there's nothing else I should rather do for a living. If I had a job that wasn't from that field and I wouldn't have enough spare time for art, I'd pretty sure go insane. &lt;br /&gt;And I think I'm getting better, more experienced and yeah, I start liking my own stuff. Which highly never happens, actually. But what hasn't changed in my life? I started to like bands I used to hate, I fell in love with Family Guy which I used to find boring and it's hard for me to get depressed. No matter what happens. I'm doing good. Oh, I'm listening to LP regularly again. I only have Paramore, Billy Talent, Hey Monday, LP and Dead By Sunrise on my hard drive, so my iTunes is shuffling through all these songs all day long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I think I'm wrapping this up right here. Have a nice and save day :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7693018365460558249?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7693018365460558249/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/new-layout-and-other-random-news.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7693018365460558249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7693018365460558249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/11/new-layout-and-other-random-news.html' title='New Layout and other random news'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-793189360661223245</id><published>2009-10-25T23:58:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T00:30:03.377+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I had the time... of my life</title><content type='html'>This is going to be a response to my best friend's livejournal entry (Not quite sure if I'm allowed to link to it). I planned on writing this a while ago, never gotten around to do it, so here it is. She reminded me of it. ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to thank my best friends for being there for me. This sounds cliche, easy to say or whatever but it has never felt so right before, so right to say it. For sure, I had real friends before you but they either lived on another continent or in another part of Germany or were never there when I needed them the most. All the people I liked to call my friends, they only pushed me around, they were never interested in my real self. They were disappointed in me for not putting my trust in them while they were talking behind my back about me. They let it happen, that I got forced into another skin, they let others kill me. Without doing anything, and even turning their backs on me when their torture turned me into wreck. I was so scared, so insecure about myself when I came to the new school. I remember that I had hopes to find friends. I've never been an unsocial person. I've always had friends but sadly never real ones. My best friend in kindergarten "abandoned" me for not being a boy, in Elementary School I had to like the stuff the girls liked in order to have friends. In High School I finally found friends but after that "incident" between 5th and 6th grade, I had changed to much, I was so quiet. I isolated myself from the others, and no one asked what was wrong. &lt;br /&gt;So I hoped that with the new school, everything would get better for me. And it did. Redoing the school year was the right decision because I found my best friends. Friends who do care about me. Friends who allow me to be me. Friends who helped me to discover what I am like. Friends who have my backs, and I couldn't be happier with them. Even though, this year doesn't end the way I wanted it to, it's been a great year so far! I had the time of my life, a summer I will keep as a memory. We've done so many things that I've always wanted to do with my friends and I finally found people who seem to share it with me. &lt;br /&gt;You guys taught me so much. I used to be a few steps ahead, always, only to be cool for others. Being always a few steps ahead can be very exhausting and that's what happened to me. So, therefore, I am glad that there's no need to be it for you. Even if I don't know about anything I actually should know; it's okay. When I say something wrong; it's okay. And when it feels okay to be wrong sometimes. You can't always be right and real friends don't make a big deal out of it. It's like a comfort seat, this friendship. You can rest some and still be part of it, still not losing track. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all I wanted to say is that I love you for being there, for being close, for being my friends! I've never had real best friends who live in my area and I am so glad to have you guys! You mean so much to me! &lt;br /&gt;I guess you know who you are... ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-793189360661223245?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/793189360661223245/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/10/something-i-wanted-to-say-for-quite.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/793189360661223245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/793189360661223245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/10/something-i-wanted-to-say-for-quite.html' title='I had the time... of my life'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5659730885911546637</id><published>2009-10-17T22:20:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T22:21:50.039+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Surprise, surprise...</title><content type='html'>... it's a horrible part of my fanfic. Oh well, I'm not sure. Maybe I keep it that way. I dunno. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I want to show it anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt; It could've ended better. Not in a disaster. And yesterday happened a fault that he doesn't seem to get rid off. It happens over and over again and it always makes him feel worse than he already does. What happened yesterday left him paralyzed on the kitchen floor. He should've known, he should've fucking known what Brad expected from him but has he? Instead he kept cleaning the house, letting his boyfriend sit in their bedroom and wait for him to come upstairs. &lt;br /&gt; That is why they fought yesterday during dinner; Chester thought Brad was mad at him, therefore didn't want him around so Chester spent the day with cleaning. But in reality, Brad wasn't upset, he actually even wanted to go out and do something special with Chester. The ladder stayed away from him as much as possible which disappointed Brad so much that he didn't feel like talking to him while dinner. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry for any mistakes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5659730885911546637?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5659730885911546637/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/10/surprise-surprise.html#comment-form' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5659730885911546637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5659730885911546637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/10/surprise-surprise.html' title='Surprise, surprise...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7304608561399672609</id><published>2009-10-15T21:03:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T21:49:47.402+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Personal note</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Paramore - CrushCrushCrush&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alright... I know I will hate me for doing this but I have to get it off of my heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mr. B., you shouldn't ever know about this and I've never wanted someone to know about my feelings. Mainly because I feared about what people could think of me; additionally, it's something deep inside of me. And with that, I mean deep buried inside of me. I'm not digging it out now, I'm only writing from my memory. Just so you know, it will remain there forever. I buried it, it's my past, it's what I've left behind. No longer a part of me. No longer affecting me. I've gotten over it. At least that's what I think. I wish I was convinced that I've gotten over it but... I'm not. Just because of &lt;b&gt;you&lt;/b&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Every time I look into your face, something inside of me gets either numb or hurts. Every word you say, just hearing your voice; like haunting memories in my head. Your songs, they should help me but without the supporting melodies of others, they're torturing me. Every thing you do, it either hurts me, drives me mad or changes my state into any other negative one. To form my feelings and thoughts into words: &lt;b&gt;I hate you&lt;/b&gt;. I hate you so much, more than I hate any other person. Usually, I don't let it get so far that I start hating people. Before that happens, I try to push them out of my life so that I don't pay any attention to them. Rather don't care about it all than lose energy by hating. But with you, it's impossible to not hate you because you're a fucking part of my life. You're everywhere I go because I'm holding you in my heart, you own that fucking place in my heart that you actually don't deserve. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I could start to call you so many names. I could say so many things about you. How I'm thinking of you, especially while writing this. But it doesn't change anything and wouldn't say much about my feelings for you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I do have feelings for you; perhaps even positive feelings. Like respect. And I don't want something to happen to you. I couldn't live without you, just like you couldn't live a healthy life without one of your important inner-organs. You're there, just there, inside of me and I really don't want to cut you out of my body, I don't want to lose you. All I want is to change this; to change that you're always remembering me of what has happened. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How I wish it was different. Less complicated. Less childish. And in all honesty, I've got blinded by your new appearance that I really thought our relationship has changed. It hasn't. You proved me that it hasn't changed at all. There's still this hatred planted inside of me, still those images appearing in front of my eyes whenever I'm listening to your voice. Do you actually know what you're putting me through? How am I supposed to be okay again when you're always up to remember me of the bad times? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;From the very first second, I felt something strong about you. Something that wasn't right, something my heart better didn't feel. When I got to know you... that's when everything started. I started hating you for reminding me of what I had pushed away so far that it's been possible for me to remember it ever again. &lt;b&gt;You&lt;/b&gt; brought it back to me. &lt;b&gt;You&lt;/b&gt; broke my heart into pieces. &lt;b&gt;You&lt;/b&gt; left me alone, picking up all the pieces and putting them back together. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So many times, I've expected you to be there for me. But how were you supposed to help me when you weren't even able to help yourself? You've always disappointed me. Always. You've never been there for me, never. And I don't want it to change. I won't let you in, I won't. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm thankful for sharing your feelings. Your experiences, your good and bad times. And it wouldn't be that horrible if I wouldn't feel the same way about my life. I like to pretend that it's not like that; I like to pretend that I have no connection to you. Well, I guess I cut the strings, didn't I? I've run away from you, and you know what? It was the damn right decision. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What you gave to us a few days ago, I think it's nothing important. Neither breath-taking nor touchy. And why? Because it's how I felt years ago, how could it be special? I know it all and I know that you know that. I knew that you would write about it. It's what I've expected from you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To end this, I want to say that I won't change anything about the way I'm feeling about you now. I respect you, I like what you do but I will keep on hating you for what you're doing to me. I know that you don't know about it and I know that you won't know about it. And I don't want you to. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I learned to be strong and maybe someday, it won't affect me anymore. Someday, this all will be okay. I hope.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Until then, I'll keep on hating you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Paramore - Ignorance&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7304608561399672609?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7304608561399672609/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/10/personal-note.html#comment-form' title='3 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7304608561399672609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7304608561399672609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/10/personal-note.html' title='Personal note'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8492335640968853509</id><published>2009-09-14T22:06:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T22:13:29.866+02:00</updated><title type='text'>An announcement</title><content type='html'>Sounds serious, huh? Oh, well, as long as I get your full attention for this, I'm fine with it. :D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only want to say that I know that I have tons of stuff to do, still. And if there's someone who wants me to do their next layout... that has to wait! Because...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I want to take a few days off! Sounds funny because I'm actually not going to school or have a job but the things I have to to for you are taking their toll on me. &lt;br /&gt;The actual reason is that I have to white canvas and I have two or three ideas. And I fucking miss painting. I've done so much digital stuff that I really need something I can... touch. And because I can't paint downstairs why my retarded PC lives, I will have to do it upstairs in my room. That means that I will check my emails and check twitter and update our fan site every day but I won't do any layouts or other works for like... one week. I need some "me-time". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you all understand that, it's nothing to worry about. Well, you actually would have to worry if I won't get these ideas outta my head and on the canvas. XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Current song: In Between by Linkin Park&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8492335640968853509?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8492335640968853509/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/announcement.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8492335640968853509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8492335640968853509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/announcement.html' title='An announcement'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8932349397826625327</id><published>2009-09-14T03:13:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T20:19:38.548+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Too many things...</title><content type='html'>I will add something to this post later, just too tired now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only wanted to let you know that I have a new story up on my &lt;a href="http://apparentlyalive.livejournal.com/1526.html"&gt;LiveJournal&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will be linked in the sidebar under "Stories" as well. I only posted it on there because it would've been TOO FUCKING long for a blog post on here. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THERE IS GOING TO BE A SECOND LETTER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New photo on my dA profile, check it out &lt;a href="http://popupwixxerin.deviantart.com"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;. More photos to come ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I shouldn't be sad because I'm the one spending my whole fucking days, with updating sites, designing layouts, working mostly for other people's pleasure, and not being noticed nor mentioned, when I'm the one always telling people that I don't want a credit or a mention. &lt;br /&gt;I shouldn't be sad because it's my fault. No matter if it was my idea and people don't even know that, no matter if the layouts and other works I do are claimed as someone else's work. Who cares? It's the way it is, it hurts but well...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8932349397826625327?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8932349397826625327/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/small-update.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8932349397826625327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8932349397826625327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/small-update.html' title='Too many things...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7737177210096803207</id><published>2009-09-13T15:37:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T16:12:18.032+02:00</updated><title type='text'>My sins have made me blind</title><content type='html'>Seriously, there has to be something wrong with my brain. It can't be that whenever I think that someone behaves differently or something is different that it's actually not. That those people tell me that everything's the way it has ever been. &lt;br /&gt;The current thing that I think is different is the way my fiancée behaves towards me, only at the beginning of our conversation. Maybe I always await her too eagerly that, when she's home and I can talk to her, I literally jump on her and pin her on the ground and slam my words into her face. Perhaps it's like that. It usually takes up to half an hour until she behaves the way I know her. Until that happens, her answers are sometimes not longer than 3 words, her reaction to hugs and kisses leave to be desired. And she doesn't answer to my tweets, which is not &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;that much&lt;/span&gt; of a problem. I always try to calm myself down by saying "She's just exhausted from work, it has surely nothing to do with you." And perhaps that's right. But there's always some room for the masochistic, doubtful and scared side of yourself, that imagines what else could be the reason for that different behavior. That scares you with its theories about her behavior. &lt;br /&gt;But luckily, my heart doesn't believe in those theories and it's strong enough to fight against the dark side and say, "Everything's okay." Because that's what it is; everything's alright, maybe the circumstances aren't the best and they'll kill us some day but until then, there's a lot of time to change them and until then, we do our best to make our relationship as enjoyable as possible. For sure, there are times when it's hard and the idea of breaking up comes into my (maybe hers, too) head but it gets destroyed immediately; living without her is no option for me, and breaking up only because of the distance is stupid, since it actually works perfectly. &lt;br /&gt;We know that there'll be a time when everything will be the way we want it to be, and maybe spending the time until then together only makes our love stronger. To know that some day, we will have our own home, that we'll only need to buy everything once, that we'll be able to sleep in one bed every night; it all makes the wait and the good and bad times worth it, the fighting for this day to come makes it worth it. It's all that I want, a life with the woman I love, to see her happy, to have her around every day, to have a family with her until forever ends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, I think some writing has to be done. ;) Started a new story a few nights ago, it's another songfiction but this time it's an old, very old actually, song by a german singer. I won't say which song. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But here's a preview (it's unbeta'd):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;And outside, the streets were silent, a sleeping neighborhood. Darkness surrounding the houses, a cold breeze dancing with the wind. It could've been early in the morning rather than a late Sunday evening. A rustling in the trees that were lined up on each side of the street, their limbs and twigs moving along with the wind. It was so silent, you could've thought this neighborhood was lifeless. No lights guiding the way down the street, no signs showing the avenue's name. If you wanted to, you could've walked down the street, and walked, and walked until you would reach the end on which you would find a crossroad, one way leading outside the suburb. One leading to the town's heart, the other leading to the suburb's downtown; it would be up to you, whether to choose the way to nowhere or the way to the town's center.&lt;/blockquote&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Current song: Sin by Stone Temple Pilots&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7737177210096803207?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7737177210096803207/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-sins-have-made-me-blind.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7737177210096803207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7737177210096803207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-sins-have-made-me-blind.html' title='My sins have made me blind'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8041544742403475769</id><published>2009-09-09T23:25:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T00:06:21.366+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The world's falling apart</title><content type='html'>Blogger is having problems right now. I don't know what's wrong with it again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm fighting with my heart, to stay calm and let something distract it. I don't want it to hurt so much, but it does. &lt;br /&gt;And maybe it really is all my fault, maybe it's really me freaking out. Even if it feels like I'm all calm, maybe I'm not. Right now, I'm not, I'm not calm at all because it's hurting so much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried my best to change myself. I used to chicken out; you could easily yell at me, telling me that it was all my fault and when you even added that it hurt you as well, i would immediately say that I'm sorry and that it's all my fault. My fiancée hated it when I behaved like that, so I tried to change it. And actually, I think I succeeded. I think I'm saying now what I don't like and what I think could be better. And I always try to say it as nice as possible. &lt;br /&gt;But for some reason, people think I'm mad at them whenever I tell them how I'm feeling about their behavior. Much like today.&lt;br /&gt;My Mum was making a salad when she found out that the melon was rotten. And because there were already some pieces of a pineapple, some apples and other fruits in the bowl, I suggested her to pick the melon pieces out, so we wouldn't have to throw the other fruits away. It was just a suggestion but from her facial expression and her slamming the drawers shut I could tell that she was mad. But I didn't mean to upset her, I only suggested it! &lt;br /&gt;That's how it's going for a few weeks with my fiancée. Whenever I think I say something in a friendly tone, and whenever I'm really calm, the opposite gets through the internet to her. Is it just me or is it normal or what the hell is wrong? It makes me feel like all my effort, everything I changed on myself wasn't worth it. It feels like my world's falling apart; how can I change what's going on when my heart tells me that I'm doing the right thing? Apparently, I don't! &lt;br /&gt;And I'm close to tears, it just hurts so much. I thought everything was okay again but I think I was wrong, like usual. I'm always wrong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck, yes, I AM a person who needs a lot of attention! Yes, I am demanding a lot more love and affection and what not than others do! I'm glad that I finally found people that would give all that to me, I've never had anything like that. Is it so hard for me to be happy? To be okay? Am I damned to screw my life up?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Now I'm running for the light in the tunnel but it's just the train, &lt;br /&gt;(But it's just the train) &lt;br /&gt;Yeah I'm looking for the right type of pleasure but all I find is pain, &lt;br /&gt;(Oh) &lt;br /&gt;Now there's no light to guide me on my way home, &lt;br /&gt;Now there's no time to shine my rusty halo...&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8041544742403475769?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8041544742403475769/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/worlds-falling-apart.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8041544742403475769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8041544742403475769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/worlds-falling-apart.html' title='The world&apos;s falling apart'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-6736103650537927416</id><published>2009-09-08T19:01:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T19:24:32.023+02:00</updated><title type='text'>3, 2,1...</title><content type='html'>...only a few "updates". I think I will post more of my fictions on my blog, and for those who want to read it later or again and are too lazy to look through my archive, I will put them in my sidebar ;) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So... another thing, it's not really new but I want to say it again because most of you didn't even know about it, ah, well... I am done with therapy! :D It wasn't really therapy, it was more a counseling than a therapy (but calling it therapy is way easier). And I'm finally done with it, after only 11 appointments! She said that I really seem to be okay again, that I seem so happy and content with my life that there's no need for me to come back! Just a few weeks ago, I was so afraid of that day when she'd say that I wouldn't have to come back because I thought that I wasn't ready. But last thursday, I really felt like I was ready to end the therapy. And in case I need her help again, I could call her and we would arrange another appointment. I'm just so happy about! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then... I started another layout today, for our sweet Ryanne. If you didn't want people to know about it, then I'm really sorry but I wanted to show you what I've done. It's not done yet, I only want to hear your thoughts on it. &lt;br /&gt;Because if you won't like it, I wouldn't have to continue. It's just a small preview picture, it's only the header image, not the entire layout. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SqaSypiM3nI/AAAAAAAAAaE/GSQBAtQQRnE/s1600-h/rylay2preview.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 145px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SqaSypiM3nI/AAAAAAAAAaE/GSQBAtQQRnE/s200/rylay2preview.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379148203781054066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's already 7.23pm and my eyes still didn't watch the video for "Crawl back in". I'm fine with it. I don't think that I really want to watch it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-6736103650537927416?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/6736103650537927416/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/3-21.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6736103650537927416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6736103650537927416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/3-21.html' title='3, 2,1...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SqaSypiM3nI/AAAAAAAAAaE/GSQBAtQQRnE/s72-c/rylay2preview.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-4238949241777291482</id><published>2009-09-07T22:31:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T22:49:56.287+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Darkest Of White</title><content type='html'>I hate to promote my own works but thanks to&lt;a href="http://faily-o-mcfailson.deviantart.com/"&gt; Faily&lt;/a&gt;, I want to post it on here. So this is going to be a very, very long post. The fiction surely has something autobiographical, so, understanding the fanfiction would mean understanding a part of me, a part of me I finally got rid off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, er... if you don't like angst!Mike or suicide!Mike or child-like!Mike, then you shouldn't read the following.&lt;br /&gt;For those who do, feel free to comment. ♥♥♥&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Darkest Of White&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blank white walls, white wooden floor, which he's sitting on. Some paint here and there, green on his shirt, blue on his hands and arms and cheeks. Even some red and purple on the canvas in front of him, but still no idea of what to create with the colors. The given colors, green, blue, red and purple. He has wasted the red paint; still there's red on the canvas. Fingertips moving on it, tracing a purple line which in the end, forms a figure. And as he notices that all the purple lines are red now, the red from his index finger drops down, hitting the canvas right under the figure's left eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Oops,” escapes his mouth, he analyzes the new red point, not a second later holds the canvas up vertical, so the red color runs down the cheek of the figure until he puts it back on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It cries.” His only words, accompanied by a wide smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looks at the painting a few minutes longer before tossing it over the floor to the other, mostly red, paintings. Everybody would get sick of all the red paint after a while but he still prefers to draw and paint with it. Even if it's long empty, the bottle of red paint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sighing, he lays down on his back, trying for a few minutes to position himself in the most comfortable way, fails, gives up. Sits back up again, looks around, then closes eyes. Feeling the way he's feeling for weeks; lost and abandoned. His thoughts are stuck in his head, their own little prison, with no window, with no hope for a rescue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The white surrounding him makes him feel dirty, makes him feel used. However a fresh new canvas is even brighter as the white in which the walls and the ceiling is painted, neither does the wooden floor look as shiny. Depressing, he thinks. Frustrating, it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only he does not want to leave the white room. Still he feels caught. Caught in his illusion of being safe in a simple room, with no windows and just a broken door. That's when he tells himself that his creative mind protects him from falling apart, from losing grip. But the holes in the door, the cracks in the wood he uses to sleep on every night, it all distracts him from soothing himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He doesn't know if there is someone out there who thinks of him. They promised to look after him. Maybe they're still in time, maybe they're too late. What time is it? What day? Is it still February?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An other canvas gets assaulted, touched by red and blue fingertips. His fingers stroke the white under them, painting another face. Again without a mouth to speak. Because he doesn't like speaking, he doesn't like to talk. What's the point in talking? You only say things that either you shouldn't have said or aren't heard. So why wasting words? Why wasting thoughts when you rather keep them for yourself and repeat them over and over again in your head.&lt;br /&gt;Which feels so heavy from all the thoughts. From all the memories that he turns into hungry, never satisfied monsters on the paper. Somehow, it's sad, he thinks sometimes. The memories of better times come to him at night, with their claws reaching out for him to pin him on the ground and rip out his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He shifts some, looking down at the painting, grimaces and kicks it to the other screwed up paintings. All he needs is a change. A change in this room, for the beginning. The rest would follow someday, he's convinced. With a look at his hands, he gets up, walks over to the pencils and brushes. Between those, there's a broken glass cup, he uses to put the water in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, he doesn't care if they're still in time to look after him. He's fine on his own, he needs no one. Releasing some of the pressure that's on him, is all he needs. For now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After breaking the glass cup another time, taking the broken piece of glass and cutting his hand  along his life line, he tips a finger into the blood on his hand and starts to paint on the white walls. This is supposed to be his best work ever, it's made with all his passion, with all his love and pain, it's painted with blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as he's lying there on the ground, exhausted from the painting, they're on their way to him. Keeping their promise to look after him and, they're not too late to break the promise. On time to find him lying in his own blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They all knew, that day would come, but no one wanted to realize it. Still, there are shocked voices echoing his name in the almost empty room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Mike, Mike, Mike...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the wall, his last words, “I couldn't wait.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-4238949241777291482?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/4238949241777291482/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/darkest-of-white.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4238949241777291482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4238949241777291482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/darkest-of-white.html' title='The Darkest Of White'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5372600997087294442</id><published>2009-09-06T01:01:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T01:12:25.926+02:00</updated><title type='text'>The Script</title><content type='html'>Just found them on Myspace, and found out that they even got some videos! I'm such a genius!&lt;br /&gt;Well, my story: I heard "The man who can't be moved" several times on our local radio station but never really got around to look for them on the internet. Luckily, my music taste is similar to their music and my last.fm suggested them. And because I remembered their name, I added them to my last.fm radio. And fell in love with them! They're so so great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is &lt;a href="http://myspace.com/thescript"&gt;&lt;i&gt;their myspace&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and here's a &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTGev5ADBSQ"&gt;&lt;i&gt;nice video&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt; of their song "We Cry".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my favorite parts of the song (written down from mind, so I apologies for any mistakes):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;There comes a time when every bird has to fly&lt;br /&gt;At some point every rose has to die&lt;br /&gt;[...]&lt;br /&gt;I'm so sick of looking for the heros in the sky&lt;br /&gt;That teach us how to fly&lt;br /&gt;Together we cry&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5372600997087294442?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5372600997087294442/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/we-cry.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5372600997087294442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5372600997087294442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/we-cry.html' title='The Script'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8010636213657073573</id><published>2009-09-05T14:16:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T18:39:31.344+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Another rant.</title><content type='html'>Recently, my fiancée and I had a conversation about some people and some others we follow on Twitter. Just to name names. This is the story:&lt;br /&gt;She had to log into my Twitter to follow some of my followers for me for my PC is too stupid to make this possible for me. So, she was able to take a look on my list of people I'm following. She: "Oh, you're following Chester's ex-wife. How come?" I have to admit - I don't know. I really don't. The only famous people I'm following are Evan Taubenfeld, Sisky (The Academy Is...), Trent Reznor and Phi (the ladder only for fun reasons). She knows that I have my reasons why I won't follow Talinda or Chester or any others who seem to belong to us. [Ok, just noticed that I'm following Ryan and Amir as well... oops]. But well, that's how the conversation has started. We talked about Samantha first, why we're following her and what we're thinking about her. &lt;br /&gt;That topic leads to the one I specifically want to point out now: Talinda. First of all, yes, I had my problems with her, too. That was when she was "new" and I still hated Chester, therefore I couldn't stand her either. But well, it has changed and today, I really really like her, she's such a sweet person! I will never ever forget what she said to my fiancée when she was down and needed an advise from someone outstanding, that has really changed my mind about her. &lt;br /&gt;I'm not the only person thinking that way about her but unfortunately, there are others who really hate her. Which I really can't understand. She hasn't done anything wrong. She's a good mother, and in case nobody noticed but she aged so fast in the last few years, she's not only hanging around at home lazily. And even if she doesn't do anything other than household and taking care of their kids - is that nothing? Maybe it's even something Chester wants; that way she has a lot of time for him, that way he can get the attention he wants and perhaps even needs. What's so wrong about that? Rather having her taking care of their kids than a babysitter. Of course, there are other options so she could still work. But who says she doesn't work? Maybe she works at home, there are many jobs that allow you to work at home. &lt;br /&gt;And if she was an It girl or an airhead or whatever, she wouldn't be with Chester still. I think that you &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;can't&lt;/span&gt; be with someone like Chester when you're like that. He's definitely a very complicated person which isn't a bad thing at all. Assumed she only married him for the money - &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;how&lt;/span&gt; could you stay with a man who's mentally sick? And not sick like i.e. Scott Weiland who seems to give a shit about recovery. &lt;br /&gt;There are people who know no better than a crazy, chaotic world full of drugs, pain and darkness, full of lies, hopelessness and wrong people. Who hardly remember real love. And remembering Chester's words, he was in a real terrible state a few years ago. A misery that Samantha's "love" couldn't deal with anymore, his stopped dealing with anything long before that. So, I think, looking for something, for somewhere where you notice that it's better than home, is just natural. And leaving "home" for that place is maybe even healthy. They've worn out this love and maybe Talinda was the one who showed Chester how wonderful life could be without pain. Without looking into your lover's face and being confronted with your whole past. He needed that change. Talinda definitely &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;knew&lt;/span&gt; what was wrong with him, she definitely knew what would come if she would fall in love with him. And I am convinced that I wouldn't want to be that close to someone like Chester when that someone is so depressed. Even if it was it for the fame. Even if it was for money. But it was for &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; and that's why they're still together, and that's why Chester's &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;better&lt;/span&gt;. She reanimated a part inside of him that has been dead for so long, and that part is today's Chester.&lt;br /&gt;To those who want the old Chester back: You're so naive, it's fucking stupid. You want the depressed, drug-addicted, alcoholic Chester back? Are you serious? You can't seriously wish for that. Why couldn't you just wish him the best? Why always the worst? He likes the way he is these days, that's so obvious. Just leave him to it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, well, kind of sounds like this guy begging people to leave Britney alone...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8010636213657073573?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8010636213657073573/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-rant.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8010636213657073573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8010636213657073573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-rant.html' title='Another rant.'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-6765100006405302641</id><published>2009-09-04T20:41:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T13:35:22.428+02:00</updated><title type='text'>FRGT/10</title><content type='html'>I so fucking love this song!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;We're stuck in a place so dark you can hardly see&lt;br /&gt;The manner of matter that splits with the words I breathe&lt;br /&gt;And as the rain drips acidic darkness around me&lt;br /&gt;I block out the sight of the powers that be&lt;br /&gt;And duck away into the darkness, times up&lt;br /&gt;I wind up in a rusted world with eyes shut&lt;br /&gt;So tight that it blurs into the world of pretend&lt;br /&gt;And the eyes ease open and it's dark again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen to the sound, dizzy from the ups and downs&lt;br /&gt;I'm nauseated by the polluted rot that's all around&lt;br /&gt;Watchin' the wheels of cars that pass I look past&lt;br /&gt;To the last of the light and the long shadows it cast&lt;br /&gt;A window grows, captures the eye&lt;br /&gt;And cries out a yellow light as it passes me by&lt;br /&gt;And a young shadowy figure sits in front of a box&lt;br /&gt;Inside a building of rock with antennaes on top&lt;br /&gt;Now nothin' can stop in this land of the pain&lt;br /&gt;The sane lose not knowin' they were part of the game&lt;br /&gt;And as the insides change the box stays the same&lt;br /&gt;And the figure inside could bear anybody's name&lt;br /&gt;The memories I keep are from a time like then&lt;br /&gt;I put on my paper so I can come back to them&lt;br /&gt;Someday I'm hopin' to close my eyes and pretend&lt;br /&gt;That this crumpled up paper can be perfect again&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like a wall I can hide behind and start breathing again. I so love this song! Still reminding me of our travel home from Stuttgart. I was listening to it while sitting in the train and watching into the darkness. Oh, well. This song reminds me of the travel, it reminds of the moment I realized that I didn't enjoy the short stay in Stuttgart. I did enjoy it but not as much as I should have. That makes me sad, still. I don't know why. Maybe because it brought me back "home". From... late 2007 until July 2009 it got less and less with my "love" for my favorite band and I really didn't feel like I was still a fan. Well, I surely was but it didn't feel like it used to. But since Stuttgart, it's all back, it's feeling different now but it's there. I think I've grown up and this "love" has changed. Surely because I set priorities. And LP is one of the 4th or 5th on the priority chart so... they're not everything to me anymore. There are other people I love more than them. They're not &lt;i&gt;the point&lt;/i&gt; anymore, they're rather surrounding me. Ouch, sounds bad. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I keep on listening to the song over and over again. While all of you are chatting with Mike, I'm having him rapping those beautiful words into my ears. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-6765100006405302641?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/6765100006405302641/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/frgt10.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6765100006405302641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/6765100006405302641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/frgt10.html' title='FRGT/10'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8850987260825883100</id><published>2009-09-03T20:40:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T21:13:40.671+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Rant on...</title><content type='html'>...girls who are in love with a famous guy. In general, I couldn't care less about them but now it's annoying me. And the reason why it does is actually simple, at least for me. &lt;div&gt;They're crying about these guys for reasons that I really know all to well: They want to hug them, they want to kiss them, they want them around. They don't want other girls getting what they wish for, so jealousy is one of their biggest problems. But it's fecking retarded to think that their problems are on the same level than those of people with real partners. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening to girls like them, it fucking pisses me off at times. Specially times like these. I'm missing my love so much, on some days it's hard to deal with this torturous feeling of longing and my heart's so weak that even the smallest things could remind me of what I'm missing, no matter how hard I try to push the thought away. I want her around, I want to hide in her arms; but I can't. Because she's not there. And I can't go to her. &lt;i&gt;That's missing&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Having a crush on a star, on someone who is so far away that you barely see their light, that's really not like being in love with someone you know, you really know. Someone you know better than your own house. Someone you've already touched and kissed. Someone your heart is addicted to. How can you miss someone you've never seen in real? How can you miss touching them when you've never touched them before? What you've never had, you can't miss. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then the other point; jealousy. They're jealous of the people who are closer to their crush than they are, they start to hate them. They maybe even feel so "hurt" that they can't talk about them [A/N: About the one they love] and what not. It's not a big deal; they can be as jealous as they want, their love can do whatever they want only because of one reason: famous people are always there. They're always on TV or on the internet. They won't go away because one girlie was too jealous of their newest girlfriend. But the reality isn't like that, not at all. In reality, your partner &lt;i&gt;can&lt;/i&gt; leave you and that's why you learn to fight for them, and that's why you learn to discuss, to make compromises because you love the other one and you don't want to lose them. Because you know that they are able to leave you. Forever. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stars won't leave you when they don't even know about you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that makes you wonder if these girlies are able to keep a relationship healthy. Or keep it even at all. Things are easy for them; they can imagine their "partners" to be the way they want, they can believe what they want and they don't have to fight for them because -as stated before- they don't have to fear that they might lose them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Recently, I said to a friend: "Love's a serious business." And I think that's the truth, real love can't be treated carelessly. Or otherwise it will fade like a flower. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe this all doesn't make any real sense but well, I don't care to be honest. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my iTunes is playing me love songs... I hate you, iTunes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8850987260825883100?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8850987260825883100/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/rant-on.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8850987260825883100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8850987260825883100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/rant-on.html' title='Rant on...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-4634629320540417024</id><published>2009-09-02T23:09:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T23:19:03.170+02:00</updated><title type='text'>New layout</title><content type='html'>Yes, it took me a while but well. Worked hard for my fiancée &amp;amp; my &lt;a href="http://sunriseonfire.blogspot.com/"&gt;fan site&lt;/a&gt;, worked on the layout for my fiancée's blog, and etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love white. And grey. And I'm missing emoticons here. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I actually wanted to write a very long entry but... can't concentrate. And I have to go to bed in a few minutes anyway, so...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*heavy sigh* Mood sinks. Dunno what I should do. As I said... can't focus on anything. I hate it what this happens. Well. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ignorance is your new best friend. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;I best be on my way out. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-4634629320540417024?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/4634629320540417024/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-layout.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4634629320540417024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4634629320540417024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-layout.html' title='New layout'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1085705020063280361</id><published>2009-08-20T22:24:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T22:26:15.384+02:00</updated><title type='text'>My LP Universe</title><content type='html'>So, there they are, the photos I took of my LP Merch. It's deffo not all I own but I don't know where the rest is... &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will add a story later, only wanted to upload those fecking photos. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Tahoma, serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/popupwixxerin/MyLPMerch"&gt;MY LP MERCH&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1085705020063280361?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1085705020063280361/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-lp-universe.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1085705020063280361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1085705020063280361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-lp-universe.html' title='My LP Universe'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5888890896291062466</id><published>2009-08-19T18:00:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T18:02:19.068+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Email quote</title><content type='html'>This is what I emailed just a few minutes ago. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;I didn't want to offend you. There are so many pretentious fans out there and for you, as a real fan, you get easily pissed off of them. &lt;br /&gt;You can like Chester as much as you want, I won't share your love with you since it's only Chester for me. I do love LP, too, I think I can even say that I dedicated my life to them to a certain extent. I spend a lot of time in supporting them, so I really do love them too, for the great music they do and maybe even for the great persons they are. &lt;br /&gt;I never wanted to believe that you have to have a few years of being a fan behind you, before you can consider yourself as real fan. But that's true, you have to work for this relationship, you have to create it, it doesn't just happen. &lt;br /&gt;So, for me, the guys from Linkin Park are nothing more than great people I know, I at least meet once a year. They're something like friends but no famous stars that I can only reach out for. &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5888890896291062466?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5888890896291062466/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/email-quote.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5888890896291062466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5888890896291062466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/email-quote.html' title='Email quote'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8304896394584931815</id><published>2009-08-18T19:34:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T20:08:36.050+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Writing, drawing, writing...</title><content type='html'>I'm taking requests. Haha, no seriously. &lt;br /&gt;Have to write a angst!Rob fanfic and I want it to be as good as possible since it's a request. And I somehow feel comfortable with my writing. Even started posting them on deviantART, LOL. There were even people commenting! XD &lt;br /&gt;Anyways. I wouldn't mind any more requests, prompts, whatever. I don't care. &lt;br /&gt;I write everything, songfictions, normal fan fictions, fictions... everything 'cept Bennoda. x3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Glad that it's not as stressful as yesterday and the day before that. Keep a site up-to-date is not easy and you have to put a lot of work into it. It's not like I regret creating the site but at times it's a bitch. If things don't go the way you want them to, even after the 10th attempt, then you get annoyed and that's not the best for a good working atmosphere. &lt;br /&gt;But I think that we finally got a routine. And that we got used to it, kind of. It starts to be a lot of fun, now when people seem to like what we're doing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still not sure if I want a new layout on here or not. I'm so lazy these days. Well, we'll see. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8304896394584931815?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8304896394584931815/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/writing-drawing-writing.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8304896394584931815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8304896394584931815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/writing-drawing-writing.html' title='Writing, drawing, writing...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-3646328703895526166</id><published>2009-08-17T20:52:00.001+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T20:52:40.436+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't look down and don't step wrong</title><content type='html'>This is not a story that you've heard or you know&lt;br /&gt;Everyone in black from the head to the toe&lt;br /&gt;And I'm sitting in the back in the very last row&lt;br /&gt;Hearing everyone ask why I had to go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ladies and gentlemen we're gathered here today&lt;br /&gt;To talk about the end in a friend gone away&lt;br /&gt;Talking about pretending they don't know what to say&lt;br /&gt;And they're tripping over words but they're talking anyway&lt;br /&gt;Mingling and singing all these really sad songs&lt;br /&gt;Talking of what I did right and forgetting all my wrongs&lt;br /&gt;Saying how they'll miss me so much now that I'm gone&lt;br /&gt;Man this is depressing&lt;br /&gt;Let's move on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's move on&lt;br /&gt;Come back to life like the light of the dawn&lt;br /&gt;It's like a tightrope just move right along&lt;br /&gt;Don't look down and don't step wrong&lt;br /&gt;We don't have time so just move on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends from my past wiping tears on their sleeve&lt;br /&gt;In between people that were never close to me&lt;br /&gt;And as I turn my back on everyone to leave&lt;br /&gt;I know that I'll be back to see them all eventually&lt;br /&gt;I've gotta go away just to try something new&lt;br /&gt;Cause what I'm used to isn't all that I can do&lt;br /&gt;Just a change of scenery, just another view&lt;br /&gt;Take it back to the beginning&lt;br /&gt;Take it back to the roots&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's move on&lt;br /&gt;Come back to life like the light of the dawn&lt;br /&gt;It's like a tightrope just move right along&lt;br /&gt;Don't look down and don't step wrong&lt;br /&gt;We don't have time so just move on&lt;br /&gt;Come back to life like the light of the dawn&lt;br /&gt;It's like a tightrope just move right along&lt;br /&gt;Don't look down and don't step wrong&lt;br /&gt;We don't have time so just move on&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-3646328703895526166?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/3646328703895526166/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/dont-look-down-and-dont-step-wrong.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3646328703895526166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3646328703895526166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/dont-look-down-and-dont-step-wrong.html' title='Don&apos;t look down and don&apos;t step wrong'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-370389324697830450</id><published>2009-08-17T20:13:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T22:02:34.513+02:00</updated><title type='text'>No comments anymore [EDIT]</title><content type='html'>I think I successfully turned the commenting function off. So, if you have something to say, there's a shoutbox, I have an email address, I have a telephone, I have a home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for commenting, anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Commenting function is back on, dunno for how long though. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-370389324697830450?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/370389324697830450/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/no-comments-anymore.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/370389324697830450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/370389324697830450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/no-comments-anymore.html' title='No comments anymore [EDIT]'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-2979617166118855167</id><published>2009-08-17T01:43:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T05:11:32.052+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing around with colors [EDIT]</title><content type='html'>This is me playing around with colors and experimenting: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SoiaC62cThI/AAAAAAAAAUM/dxZk9zCjEZg/s1600-h/technicolor+%232.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SoiaC62cThI/AAAAAAAAAUM/dxZk9zCjEZg/s200/technicolor+%232.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370711930587336210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many mistakes in it but I don't care at the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SojKCIvoBBI/AAAAAAAAAUU/2canKWxnp2o/s1600-h/forcefully.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SojKCIvoBBI/AAAAAAAAAUU/2canKWxnp2o/s200/forcefully.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370764693695104018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SojKPithU-I/AAAAAAAAAUc/npqMVESgopI/s1600-h/The+amazing+Phoenix.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SojKPithU-I/AAAAAAAAAUc/npqMVESgopI/s200/The+amazing+Phoenix.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370764924003898338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-2979617166118855167?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/2979617166118855167/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/playing-around-with-colors.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2979617166118855167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2979617166118855167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/playing-around-with-colors.html' title='Playing around with colors [EDIT]'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SoiaC62cThI/AAAAAAAAAUM/dxZk9zCjEZg/s72-c/technicolor+%232.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-2799703304917984588</id><published>2009-08-16T20:15:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T21:30:09.832+02:00</updated><title type='text'>My weekend + LP high school?</title><content type='html'>I feel stupid. It's not the first fansite I own, it's like the third I think. And it's not the first &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;site&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; I own, I work on, I update. But still I get the feeling, every time I am supposed to do something that I don't know anything about sites and updating. I feel so dumb each time. Last time I was expected to do something, I did it wrong. However I thought that it was okay because it made it easier to look over the way I posted and commented it. But it was still wrong. So I think that I don't know as much as I think about sites and stuff. No offense. I still love what you do for the site!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other thing I want to blog about is kind of funny, naive and stupid. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;I don't care&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. This came to my mind while watching "Live in Texas" at 3.30am with too much caffeine and the weird feeling of being too awake to sleep and too tired to stay awake.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I thought about the 6 years of being a fan of Linkin Park, about how things have changed, about me having a crush on Mike when LIT was released about 5 years ago. About how it all has started, how much I have learned and what I've become. It feels like I've &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;graduated&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Like I'm now ready to walk onto the field and start fighting (haha, Street Soldier, LOL), like I'm now ready to represent my favorite band. Because that's what our job is about, representing our band in the most efficient way, if it's through art, writings, hanging up posters everywhere, wearing the band's merch or just telling someone else about the band. This only goes for people who committed themselves to LP.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it's what we believe in, maybe this our "holy being" we like to believe in and we sacrifice for. Maybe there's a reason why we work so hard for them, why we spend so much time in supporting them. Maybe it's our way to say thank you. And maybe, yes, maybe we work so hard to keep it going because we know that if we stop working that hard to keep the LP system running, it'd come to an early end, maybe a disastrous end. And no one wants this to happen, so we do whatever we can to prevent it from happening. What is a band that does everything possible for their fans, that has only become so huge because of their fans, without their fans? Nothing. Well, at least not as huge as they used to be.&lt;br /&gt;The actual thing that I came up with while watching LIT was the image of an LP school. It's funny and silly, but I do like the idea. Only an foolish idea, only an image in my head. But how would a school like this look like? First of all, the goal of this school would be training "kids" to become "Street Soldiers" (would require a new deffiniton of the term), means people who are able to promote LP without doing it for the money but wholeheartedly though. So there would be basic classes like for example "band history", "lyrics (class)", "behavior", "discography" &amp;amp; "videography" and other classes you can choose on your own like "fanart", "promotion" and "music" and there'd be trips to the concerts and other celebrations, like the anniversary of Hybrid Theory's release.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;Further explanations on the classes:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;band history&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - speaks for itself, I think&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;lyrics (class)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - teaching you the lyrics so you can sing along at concerts ;) and background informations on the lyrics&lt;br /&gt;* &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;behavior&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - how to behave at concerts: don't risk to kill your fellow fans only to get closer to Mike or Chester, learn to respect their privacy, don't claim them as your property (because they're not), etc.&lt;br /&gt;* &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;discography and videography&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - it's mostly about the meaning of the videos and any other informations on the albums, songs, videos, process of making them and other details&lt;br /&gt;* &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;fanart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - drawing the logos and maybe even cd covers and everything else that has to do with it&lt;br /&gt;* &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;promotion&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - how do i best set up a fansite? what do i have to focus on, what's important and what's not? where do i best hang up a poster? (since there ppl who think that the best place to hang up a concert poster is at the venue instead of in the city)&lt;br /&gt;* &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;music&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; - learning to play the songs ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;Any other ideas? Anything I left out? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;Third topic&lt;/span&gt;: I am still tired. Been to a festival last night, only to see two bands but it was so exhausting. At least the first one. But it was great. ;) Had a lot of fun with my best friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#009900;"&gt;Edit:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Funny, I even spent half an hour on writing the idea down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-2799703304917984588?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/2799703304917984588/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-weekend-lp-high-school.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2799703304917984588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2799703304917984588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-weekend-lp-high-school.html' title='My weekend + LP high school?'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7963836745889773236</id><published>2009-08-14T00:54:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T01:25:11.004+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead souls</title><content type='html'>Is it normal to dream about dead people? It's the second time that it happened to me last night. The night before last night, it was a dream about a terrorists' attack in a fictional town. Dead people everywhere, people running around, and as I left my flat in my dream, there were still bombs crashing into buildings, exploding and killing another 100 people. And it felt so real. I remember running in search for the safest place for me to be in that moment which -i really don't know why- was in Chester's arms. It was the first person I found. Well, it was more like... yourself in the dream knew why and yourself in the dream knew where to run to but your reality self didn't know anything. It was like sitting in front of your TV and watching yourself running for your dear life. It was scary. When I woke up, I literally sat in my bed, eyes widened and in shock. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream. &lt;br /&gt;Last night, another dream of that sort. First, it was about a very weird Meet&amp;Greet. Me, walking up the stairs to reach the table (b/c the m&amp;g was in a staircase oO if that has any symbolic meaning, let me know!). It was a very weird M&amp;G, I don't even remember it, I only remember hanging out with the guys in a mall later. Then, everything went very fast, it was like sitting a roller coaster. I only remember hospital beds, spirals, well, like falling down a spiral, standing on the roof of a very high building, a pool with blood instead of water, dead bodies, little girls sitting next to their dead mothers (or grandmothers in some cases). And then everything went black in the dream, like heavy dark clouds moving closer together. The next day (in the dream) I woke up in a hospital bed. Somehow I remembered having an appointment with Mike and Rob, so I left the hospital (what no one noticed) and already knew that I was too late. By the time I found them, they were very pissed at me. I still don't know why the appointment was so important but it must've been important, very important since Rob was snapping at me for being late and that they had to do everything on their own again. Maybe he meant hanging up posters on walls and buildings because that was what Mike was doing. I walked over to Mike who was yelling at a little girl and punching her in the face. The kid ran away, bleeding like hell. Rob wanted me to apologize to Mike for being late, so I went closer to him, and as I was standing right next to him, I apologized and smiled and said that I would help them now. But it seemed worthless because he turned around and walked away, murmuring "mhm...forget about it". And the scariest part about it was the smell that left his mouth while speaking, he smelled of alcohol and cigarettes and i really smelled it, maybe not only in the dream... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, maybe no one is interested in my dreams but I thought I blog about it since "Dead souls" by NIN reminded me of the dreams. &lt;br /&gt;Anyways... has anyone heard of Chester being in hospital again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7963836745889773236?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7963836745889773236/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/dead-souls.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7963836745889773236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7963836745889773236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/dead-souls.html' title='Dead souls'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5035097100989677824</id><published>2009-08-12T23:48:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T00:00:51.739+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Try to save myself but myself keeps slipping away</title><content type='html'>Maybe it's just me thinking to much again. &lt;br /&gt;I'm tired and it's only 11.50pm. I slept the whole day, went to bed at 4 o'clock in the morning (yesterday) and I'm still tired. I don't know if that's the cause but... I haven't drunken any coffee for a few days. No energy drinks either. Usually I drink 3 to 6 cups of coffee and half a liter of an energy drink. Maybe that's why. Because I'm addicted to caffeine if that's possible.&lt;br /&gt;So right now, half-asleep, having Robert Smith singing creepily into my ears about spiders. It's funny because you're half-asleep, means -at least for me- that this wall between reality and illusion/dream is very thin, and out of glass. So if I wasn't that tired, it wouldn't have this effect on me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I fall asleep on my keyboard, I want to show you my favorite song for the week. I hate to post videos in blogs but... hell. I don't care right now. And anybody who wants to talk about coffee with me... I'll kick your butts! &gt;&lt; I need coffee, more than any other essential things (such as...food XD). &lt;br /&gt;So here's my favorite song. :3 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="340" height="285"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dsvU5mFPyiM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00&amp;hd=1&amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dsvU5mFPyiM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00&amp;hd=1&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="340" height="285"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5035097100989677824?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5035097100989677824/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/try-to-save-myself-but-myself-keeps.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5035097100989677824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5035097100989677824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/try-to-save-myself-but-myself-keeps.html' title='Try to save myself but myself keeps slipping away'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-939268487955937475</id><published>2009-08-10T23:18:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T23:23:21.544+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Vessel</title><content type='html'>Too many fanfictions, too much Nine Inch Nails, and my fiancée showing me weird photos, and this comes out:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SoCPaUZdm_I/AAAAAAAAATs/Va8wpu32XUY/s1600-h/vessel.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SoCPaUZdm_I/AAAAAAAAATs/Va8wpu32XUY/s320/vessel.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368448438140509170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Click on the image for a bigger view. I'm sorry. But I just had to do it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-939268487955937475?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/939268487955937475/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/vessel.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/939268487955937475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/939268487955937475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/vessel.html' title='Vessel'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SoCPaUZdm_I/AAAAAAAAATs/Va8wpu32XUY/s72-c/vessel.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-9106638569213661670</id><published>2009-08-09T16:20:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T16:33:34.302+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Fucked up</title><content type='html'>Sometimes, I really wish I couldn't speak. Well, I can't speak up for myself, I hardly fight for my freedom but... speaking, talking in general, it's just a waste of air. I have to listen to everything that happens in here, I am expected to say something, but most of the time I am too scared to say anything at all. So why speaking? I won't be heard anyways. &lt;br /&gt;My aunt controls me, reads what I chat about with my friends, yells at me whenever I decide something on my own but still blames me for being too childish, too naive, too helpless, too lazy, too dumb. &lt;br /&gt;My mum barely listens to me, only yells or tells me about her problems over and over again. The same problems, how much she hates my aunt for controlling us and for being so damn lazy. For ruining her life. &lt;br /&gt;And I know I should stand my ground, I should fight for myself, but I just can't. It only gets worse in the end. I know I suck, I know I failed, I know that I'm too lazy. That I didn't give my best. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I know that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, all I want to do is to disappear. Or run away, far away from here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-9106638569213661670?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/9106638569213661670/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/fucked-up.html#comment-form' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9106638569213661670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9106638569213661670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/fucked-up.html' title='Fucked up'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5056742248770060559</id><published>2009-08-09T02:41:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T03:30:27.712+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Screwed</title><content type='html'>Quick note to Mr. EmKeySee: Why not trying to rap a verse from "Dedicated", huh? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, hell, I screwed it up. No, I ruined it. All I wanted to is to improve but all I did is destroying everything she worked for. I'm such a jerk. Such an idiot. I only wanted to change the layout because I couldn't see the old one anymore and now everything's gone and she has to work on it again. Again. I'm so dumb. I should've known that the gadgets will be deleted. But somehow I didn't. &lt;br /&gt;*sighs* I do have a backup of the old layout somewhere but I don't that it would help. I RUINED IT. And there's no way to rescue it. &lt;br /&gt;I am so dumb. And I'm quite sure, the effort won't pay off in the end, because no one will like it! Who was I to think I'd make it better? Me? Me making things better? I should've known it. &lt;br /&gt;Now, I'm sitting here and all I can do is watching it falling apart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I AM SCREWED.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edit: My ears hurt. And I'm still an idiot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5056742248770060559?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5056742248770060559/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/screwed.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5056742248770060559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5056742248770060559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/screwed.html' title='Screwed'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1364651562916580098</id><published>2009-08-06T21:52:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T22:26:51.380+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Heaven &amp; Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;ATTEMPT No.1 - Proper blog posts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case, there is something like Heaven. And in case, there is something like Hell. And  assumed that the way people, religious people imagine Hell and Heaven to be, is true. Then I should get my ugly ass off my chair and find out how high the rent's like in Hell because I am quite convinced that I will go to Hell. Well, only if Hell really exists. Which is what I doubt. Like the existence of something like Heaven. There is nothing like that. &lt;br /&gt;Despite that I dislike everything that has to do with Heaven and Hell, I just finished a very nice fanfiction about this topic. The author creates a world that includes Hell, Heaven and Earth in a way that I like. It's not all about shiny, shiny, innocent happy Heaven, full of Angels and other creatures that only want you to behave the way the bible says. Actually, it's not about all of those things, not at all. &lt;br /&gt;So what if, there is a Heaven but its leaders change every few years, which means there would be no God. Really, Heaven can exist without a God. Without Angels, without white clouds, without souls of the best human beings that have ever lived on Earth. &lt;br /&gt;Why are you damned and have to go to hell only because you're homosexual, only because you curse, only because you do have enemies? Why when you treat your loved ones like kings and queens, when you protect them the best you can, why do you have to go to hell when you're actually one of the nicest persons on Earth but you don't go to church every fucking Sunday? What's that about? &lt;br /&gt;I don't believe in any of that but it only seems to have no sense at all to me. &lt;br /&gt;In the end, Heaven is only the place you wish to go later, when you'd reach the ending of your shitty life. Hell is the place you want your enemies to go. It's just what I think about it, so please don't take it as offense. Believe in what you want, it's your decision, not mine. And I'm not the one to judge or tell you what to believe in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;I wanna be as big as a mountain&lt;br /&gt;I wanna fly as high as the sun&lt;br /&gt;I wanna know what the rent's like in Heaven&lt;br /&gt;I wanna know where the river goes&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by Stone Temple Pilots, "Where the river goes"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1364651562916580098?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1364651562916580098/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/heaven-hell.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1364651562916580098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1364651562916580098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/heaven-hell.html' title='Heaven &amp; Hell'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-4515157840751606253</id><published>2009-08-06T17:37:00.009+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T17:53:30.256+02:00</updated><title type='text'>New haircut.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr5zEWiD9I/AAAAAAAAASo/5AA1l52bv10/s1600-h/P8020183.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr5zEWiD9I/AAAAAAAAASo/5AA1l52bv10/s200/P8020183.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366876561702260690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr5Vy12zLI/AAAAAAAAASY/MYKSAH9ZJwg/s1600-h/P8020181.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 161px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr5Vy12zLI/AAAAAAAAASY/MYKSAH9ZJwg/s200/P8020181.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366876058785598642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Short, maybe even too short but they don't look good this way. &gt;&lt; let's wait until tomorrow. I'm so fucking unphotogenic!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And look what I found:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr7M3Mx3xI/AAAAAAAAASw/5w5Ikx4vzVA/s1600-h/Letting+it+go+again.png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr7M3Mx3xI/AAAAAAAAASw/5w5Ikx4vzVA/s200/Letting+it+go+again.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366878104359919378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr7lyOjE-I/AAAAAAAAAS4/tGK7svQYOhc/s1600-h/Sell+me+down+the+river....png"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr7lyOjE-I/AAAAAAAAAS4/tGK7svQYOhc/s200/Sell+me+down+the+river....png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366878532521890786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only good one I could find on my PC. Haha. Good ones...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-4515157840751606253?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/4515157840751606253/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-haircut.html#comment-form' title='4 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4515157840751606253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4515157840751606253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-haircut.html' title='New haircut.'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snr5zEWiD9I/AAAAAAAAASo/5AA1l52bv10/s72-c/P8020183.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-9200740486902352178</id><published>2009-08-05T02:33:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T02:34:39.436+02:00</updated><title type='text'>If I could start again, a million miles away</title><content type='html'>I love Nine Inch Nails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I hurt myself today &lt;br /&gt;To see if I still feel &lt;br /&gt;I focus on the pain &lt;br /&gt;The only thing that's real &lt;br /&gt;The needle tears a hole &lt;br /&gt;The old familiar sting &lt;br /&gt;Try to kill it all away &lt;br /&gt;But I remember everything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have I become? &lt;br /&gt;My sweetest friend &lt;br /&gt;Everyone I know &lt;br /&gt;Goes away in the end &lt;br /&gt;You could have it all &lt;br /&gt;My empire of dirt &lt;br /&gt;I will let you down &lt;br /&gt;I will make you hurt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wear this crown of shit &lt;br /&gt;On my liar's chair &lt;br /&gt;Full of broken thoughts &lt;br /&gt;I cannot repair &lt;br /&gt;Beneath the stain of time &lt;br /&gt;The feeling disappears &lt;br /&gt;You are someone else &lt;br /&gt;I am still right here&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have I become? &lt;br /&gt;My sweetest friend &lt;br /&gt;Everyone I know &lt;br /&gt;Goes away in the end &lt;br /&gt;You could have it all &lt;br /&gt;My empire of dirt &lt;br /&gt;I will let you down &lt;br /&gt;I will make you hurt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could start again &lt;br /&gt;A million miles away &lt;br /&gt;I would keep myself &lt;br /&gt;I would find a way&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-9200740486902352178?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/9200740486902352178/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/if-i-could-start-again-million-miles.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9200740486902352178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9200740486902352178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/if-i-could-start-again-million-miles.html' title='If I could start again, a million miles away'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-647943061268879066</id><published>2009-08-04T01:14:00.000+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T01:15:34.635+02:00</updated><title type='text'>------</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;What do I do to ignore them behind me?&lt;br /&gt;Do I follow my instincts blindly?&lt;br /&gt;Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams&lt;br /&gt;And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?&lt;br /&gt;Do I sit here and try to stand it&lt;br /&gt;Or do I try to catch them red-handed?&lt;br /&gt;Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness&lt;br /&gt;Or do I trust none and live life in loneliness?&lt;br /&gt;Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin&lt;br /&gt;I make the right moves, but I'm lost within&lt;br /&gt;I put on my daily facade, but then&lt;br /&gt;I just end up getting hurt again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-647943061268879066?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/647943061268879066/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/647943061268879066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/647943061268879066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/blog-post.html' title='------'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-9080249935634213437</id><published>2009-08-04T00:28:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T01:18:39.918+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomness</title><content type='html'>New story - &lt;a href="http://apparentlyalive.livejournal.com/1076.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"Smell" on my LJ&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WE WON! WE'RE THE BEST! *dances around* THE BEST CLASSIC SONGWRITER. Dunno which song but as long as it's not "Numb" I'm fine with it XD well... wouldn't happen again. XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love music that sounds like someone jumped around on the MP3 and threw fridges at it. &lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next drawing: Mike, the unicorn from heaven. Credit goes to Chester for this. Thank you. =D&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and gotta work on a new layout for SoF, the current one is so damn ugly -.- *sighs*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, Anne, I seriously wanted to drive to Oldenburg yesterday and look for this guy that stood next to us D:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-9080249935634213437?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/9080249935634213437/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/randomness.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9080249935634213437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9080249935634213437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/randomness.html' title='Randomness'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-2108870723834822601</id><published>2009-08-03T21:14:00.006+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T21:34:52.928+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Rainbows on the wall</title><content type='html'>Finally done with the drawing(s). Started in the middle of last night, just finished it. Two parts, inspired by an FF called "&lt;a href="http://www.lpfiction.com/story.php?id=14275"&gt;Donkey punch&lt;/a&gt;" by Trash, posted on LPFiction.&lt;br /&gt;Here's a part out of it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;But by now, you’d think Chester had learned that telling Brad he couldn’t do something was like telling Rob Bourdon that he couldn’t draw on the walls – he wastes his breath then still comes home to fucking rainbows drawn on the wall leading up the stairs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here are the drawings, PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT. &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;P L E A S E&lt;/span&gt; ! And even if it's only to tell me how bad it is but PLEASE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snc7TObWPXI/AAAAAAAAASI/PsnJn0-ZwNs/s1600-h/Robbie+drawing+rainbows+I+klein.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 131px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snc7TObWPXI/AAAAAAAAASI/PsnJn0-ZwNs/s200/Robbie+drawing+rainbows+I+klein.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365822682511588722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snc7gkYdK_I/AAAAAAAAASQ/ijYNsik8d_E/s1600-h/Robbie+drawing+rainbows+II+klein.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snc7gkYdK_I/AAAAAAAAASQ/ijYNsik8d_E/s200/Robbie+drawing+rainbows+II+klein.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365822911743339506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-2108870723834822601?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/2108870723834822601/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/rainbows-on-wall.html#comment-form' title='6 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2108870723834822601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2108870723834822601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/rainbows-on-wall.html' title='Rainbows on the wall'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Snc7TObWPXI/AAAAAAAAASI/PsnJn0-ZwNs/s72-c/Robbie+drawing+rainbows+I+klein.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-590299199194912759</id><published>2009-08-03T00:17:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T00:31:43.029+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Fun is the one thing that money can't buy</title><content type='html'>haha, look I drew something just a few ago&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnYTfWjUX1I/AAAAAAAAARw/vKZI92wM04A/s1600-h/scan0013.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 128px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnYTfWjUX1I/AAAAAAAAARw/vKZI92wM04A/s200/scan0013.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365497435409112914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's "rubber fish" in english XD &lt;br /&gt;Don't ask what's it about. I dunno.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-590299199194912759?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/590299199194912759/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/fun-is-one-thing-that-money-cant-buy.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/590299199194912759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/590299199194912759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/fun-is-one-thing-that-money-cant-buy.html' title='Fun is the one thing that money can&apos;t buy'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnYTfWjUX1I/AAAAAAAAARw/vKZI92wM04A/s72-c/scan0013.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1963304863264715367</id><published>2009-08-02T22:50:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T23:04:48.875+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Let icons be bygones</title><content type='html'>Oh yeahz, this is supposed to be a real blog like post. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time I listen to Reanimation, I wonder how I could hate it years ago. I only listened to metal, goth and straight rock, a little bit of rock/pop back then, and everything that had an industrial sound to it was music that I disliked. I don't know why, only remember that I felt weird whenever I listened to this kind of music (which is hard not to when you love LP). So I tried to stay away from that kind of music, as much as possible. &lt;br /&gt;And I didn't like too old music. Too old meant like The Cure or The Beatles or Simon &amp; Garfunkel. &lt;br /&gt;Nowadays, I love The Cure. I really do. Whenever I'm feeling kinda sad I listen to them, and the music cheers me up again. &lt;br /&gt;I love NIN, and I do listen to Julien-K quite often. I think it's the music I can best relate to, it's so unique, so dark yet freaky. And yes, indeed, it's weird music. But so am I.&lt;br /&gt;So, one of my favorite songs is "FRGT/10", I fucking love that song! Well, I already love the original version of the song but the remix is just awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this blog post sucks. *sighs* Gonna draw now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1963304863264715367?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1963304863264715367/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/let-icons-be-bygones.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1963304863264715367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1963304863264715367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/let-icons-be-bygones.html' title='Let icons be bygones'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7574026087737887545</id><published>2009-08-01T20:11:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T20:16:18.057+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Not alone</title><content type='html'>I am fucking not alone! Because I got Rob. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnSFyBjZYoI/AAAAAAAAAQU/pNGJIkLSta0/s1600-h/rob+being+bored.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 166px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnSFyBjZYoI/AAAAAAAAAQU/pNGJIkLSta0/s200/rob+being+bored.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365060150561956482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how I look whenever I'm feeling bored. XD So glad, that I'm not alone with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New layout, finally works. Isn't Brad awesome? &gt;-&lt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I'm so readeh for mah noodles! Noodles, me is coming! :D&lt;br /&gt;This song's making me hyper again, I can't help. XD&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7574026087737887545?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7574026087737887545/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/not-alone.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7574026087737887545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7574026087737887545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/08/not-alone.html' title='Not alone'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnSFyBjZYoI/AAAAAAAAAQU/pNGJIkLSta0/s72-c/rob+being+bored.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7584281482713523777</id><published>2009-07-31T19:14:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T22:26:13.296+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead and tired.</title><content type='html'>Old, I'm feeling old right now. Physically and mentally. Every single part of my body hurts, not because of the jumping and pushing, mostly because the waiting I assume. What was it? A 9 hours wait? Oh hell, maybe even 12 hours. I don't remember. I think I started to get annoying right after soundcheck, I asked my friend for time like every 30 minutes. Mostly, because I wanted to stand somewhere else. &lt;br /&gt;Seriously, you're getting used to it. I don't feel as damaged as usually after concerts, my voice is still there! XD I can talk! But I'm tired. And kind of exhausted. Back to the feeling of being old.&lt;br /&gt;As we sat there and waited to get in, we listened to the conversations of the &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;fans&lt;/span&gt; around us. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Fans&lt;/span&gt;, well... let's put it this way: mostly people who think that they're fans. They may be, but no real fans. I don't know why and when I started to consider myself as real fan but... I think I am. A real fan isn't only there to look at only one LPer, a real fan knows everything, 'specially when it comes to the lyrics, the ups and downs, the whole structure of Linkin Park, a real fan knows everything about the LP system. About traditions, about behavior, about... well, everything. Of course, you can't know every little fact, that's not what I'm trying to say.&lt;br /&gt;You don't have to be a fan for 9 or 6 years (like me) to be considered as real fan. It's like... real fans feel who's a real fan and who only pretends to be one.&lt;br /&gt;Coming back to yesterday's show in Stuttgart... there were soooooo many pretentious fans. You could feel that. Or hear. They said that there were about... 31.000 people, and in our corner, it seemed like we were the only two die-hard fans. Except the guy next to me. He was new to this whole concert thingie, it was his first one but still, you could hear that he was a die-hard fan. I mean there were people who didn't even know how the band looked! And they considered themselves as fan! There were so many people who couldn't sing along with Crawling or In the end or One step closer, people who didn't understand why some of us were rocking even more to One Step Closer, why we reacted that way to the song. I mean, come on... if you think you're a fan, you at least know the lyrics! And as sad as it was, at least Chester and Brad noticed that. Most of the time they stood in front of us and even pointed at us because we knew every single word. &lt;br /&gt;I'm not angry or anything, not mad, I don't have the feeling of ripping off their heads or something. It's just sad. Even though, Stuttgart was a very good show, the crowd was great, the singing was good. The band was good, the venue was huge. All in all, a great experience, worth the pain, the frustration. &lt;br /&gt;Back to the feeling of being old. I've been a fan for 6 years, Stuttgart was my 6th show, and I really started to feel old. So did my friend. There were fans either fans for 8+ years but pretentious or fans who are actually only fans when there's an occasion to be one. And it was sad that there were so many LPUers who didn't sing along. &lt;br /&gt;I felt so old only because of the experiences I made. Because I could stay calm when Mike walked by, I mean... it's Mike. And even with Chester. I already did touch them, I know that I will have the opportunity to talk to them properly someday. So why pushing against everybody, jeopardize like my life, only to touch Mike? Or a sweaty, half-naked Chester? Even if you've never touched them, there'll be a time when you'll be able to. As long as you don't plan to quit your job as LP fan, there's no reason to hurry or bring yourself in danger, only to get closer to them because it will happened someday anyway in a way saver way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dunno, if I really want to upload my sucky pictures of the show. Maybe the ones of Funeral for a friend I made. THEY WERE FUCKING AWESOME! &lt;br /&gt;Coheed and Cambria sucked, they didn't involve the crowd. And the singer of Funeral for a friend asked, if we'd be looking forward to see Coheed and Cambria and everybody was like "yeah...". Like, "Oh, he's nice, let's just give him a fake answer so he's happy." But you could hear that no one wanted to see them! XD It was soooo fucking boring. At least I was able to watch the people backstage. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So... I made 3 great photos of Chester, I'm proud of them. The ones of Brad would've been great but there was something on my camera oO well... Brad distracted me so often! Was so awkward that he looked at me so often. I don't really like that...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EDIT:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNSNAX1bUI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/T3I8eJYMmkk/s1600-h/P7260142.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNSNAX1bUI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/T3I8eJYMmkk/s200/P7260142.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364721964520140098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNSv0gYOKI/AAAAAAAAAOY/oJ5pCLaSSV8/s1600-h/P7260122.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNSv0gYOKI/AAAAAAAAAOY/oJ5pCLaSSV8/s200/P7260122.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364722562630170786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNTDI5OEPI/AAAAAAAAAOg/0M42U293hBc/s1600-h/P7260137.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNTDI5OEPI/AAAAAAAAAOg/0M42U293hBc/s200/P7260137.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364722894520586482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I own these photos! &lt;br /&gt;And... nice dog of yours, Rob. x3 Cute!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7584281482713523777?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7584281482713523777/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/dead-and-tired.html#comment-form' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7584281482713523777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7584281482713523777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/dead-and-tired.html' title='Dead and tired.'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SnNSNAX1bUI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/T3I8eJYMmkk/s72-c/P7260142.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7284946974075450702</id><published>2009-07-28T02:07:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T02:13:25.148+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Ernie got wasted II</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Sm5CiXidcNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/UqxpM7gYXmo/s1600-h/scan0011.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Sm5CiXidcNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/UqxpM7gYXmo/s200/scan0011.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363297364446376146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So, finally done. *sighs* Hopes, anyone would like it. Hopes, anyone would see it. oO &lt;br /&gt;It's the most colorful drawing i've ever done (well, childhood drawings don't count). I like the idea. x3 Mikey, Mikey... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*yawns* Off to bed. Gonna be a long long day today, friend's coming over, we will have to get early to bed since we're going to head off to Stuttgart Wednesday morning, 5 o'clock. So, i won't be able to update or talk or tweet or whatever. XD &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parteh song! :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7284946974075450702?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7284946974075450702/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ernie-got-wasted-ii.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7284946974075450702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7284946974075450702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ernie-got-wasted-ii.html' title='Ernie got wasted II'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Sm5CiXidcNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/UqxpM7gYXmo/s72-c/scan0011.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1345240527184051406</id><published>2009-07-27T21:12:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T21:14:16.834+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Quizzzzzz!</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEyNDg3MjE4MjkzNDMmcHQ9MTI*ODcyMTkyOTY3MSZwPTcyMjU1MSZkPSZnPTEmbz1lZGU4NjI1MWUwOTM*ZGVkODU*OGIzM2I2NWU4ZTI*NCZvZj*w.gif" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://fun140.com/quizzes/3567-witch-character-from-linkin-park-are-u-/take"&gt;&lt;img align="center" alt="" src="http://www.mtv.com/shared/media/news/images/l/Linkin_Park/sq-brad-delson-phones-vma01-mtv.jpg" style="width: 200px;" /&gt; I just took the "Witch character from Linkin Park are u ?" quiz and got: Brad Delson! What about you?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1345240527184051406?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1345240527184051406/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/quizzzzzz.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1345240527184051406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1345240527184051406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/quizzzzzz.html' title='Quizzzzzz!'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-9037015439760851821</id><published>2009-07-27T18:50:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T20:01:03.848+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Bubbles...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Sm3q1pe5V1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/rgrFdJ1CBww/s1600-h/scan0009.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Sm3q1pe5V1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/rgrFdJ1CBww/s320/scan0009.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363200938657535826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe there's someone who likes it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-9037015439760851821?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/9037015439760851821/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/bubbles.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9037015439760851821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/9037015439760851821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/bubbles.html' title='Bubbles...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/Sm3q1pe5V1I/AAAAAAAAAN4/rgrFdJ1CBww/s72-c/scan0009.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-2825601672285113273</id><published>2009-07-27T03:20:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T03:36:26.344+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Ernie got wasted</title><content type='html'>*glances over to table on which Braddles and Chesta are lying* Brad's face looks so off &gt;&lt; &lt;div&gt;Where's my self-confidence? It's gone again. And left me with my doubts. I'm in such a conflict right now, it just hurts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Besides, my headaches are getting worse. I should really go to bed. But first, I wanna finish my drawing. :) Happy Bradford with his Bubble-friend Chesta. Seriously, after six years of Chestaness in my life, I had to look for a photo of him on which he shows his flames because I wasn't sure about the colors XD Naaaah, he will forgive me. Well, he has to. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, thanks for the shouts, i love comments! Comments! Comments!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Listening to &lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#006600;"&gt;Stone Temple Pilots - No way out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-2825601672285113273?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/2825601672285113273/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ernie-got-wasted.html#comment-form' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2825601672285113273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/2825601672285113273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ernie-got-wasted.html' title='Ernie got wasted'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7282672719331446455</id><published>2009-07-22T23:44:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T23:50:55.903+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I got my hands on a miracle...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SmeIl3PADwI/AAAAAAAAANo/7ENfrwEkhhc/s1600-h/scan0007.1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SmeIl3PADwI/AAAAAAAAANo/7ENfrwEkhhc/s320/scan0007.1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361404065471270658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I actually wanted to add some links to my sidebar but that doesn't work. Missing my laptop! D: &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, this is Chesta, and I tried to work on him in the sucky PhotoImpact 12 with a normal mouse and look how it went on! XD it looks so horrible!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways... back to mah day. We talked about Mike during therapy, was kinda fun. We found out that I think it's embarrassing that Mike said that my drawing I showed him a year ago looked good. And yes, it's still embarrassing. However, he should know what's a good drawing and what's not, I don't think that it was that good and... why should it be? XD &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But well, then again - it's just Mike, so I won't win a prize with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7282672719331446455?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7282672719331446455/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-got-my-hands-on-miracle.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7282672719331446455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7282672719331446455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-got-my-hands-on-miracle.html' title='I got my hands on a miracle...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SmeIl3PADwI/AAAAAAAAANo/7ENfrwEkhhc/s72-c/scan0007.1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8756944138630315697</id><published>2009-07-22T19:42:00.004+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T19:55:27.493+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not broke, I'm just a broken hearted man</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SmdQTkJXmXI/AAAAAAAAANg/aGYoJRjznmw/s1600-h/scan0006.1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 250px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SmdQTkJXmXI/AAAAAAAAANg/aGYoJRjznmw/s320/scan0006.1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361342178458573170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, this is what I'm working on currently. Nothing spectacular but I thought I post it. &lt;div&gt;This thing on his head is supposed to be a halo, I dunno if it looks like it since my mum asked me about it today, so... well. It's not done yet and... &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;But I'm better at drawing noses than ever before! I think I can be proud of -at least- that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, the idea for this picture came to my mind while listening to "Rusty halo" by The Script. I love that song so much!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's something else I got on my mind, besides some story ideas, so it's gonna be a long, long night! :D &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And... I'm sorry for annoying anybody with my silly posts and my stupid, eye-cancer-causing drawings. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8756944138630315697?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8756944138630315697/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-not-broke-im-just-broken-hearted-man.html#comment-form' title='2 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8756944138630315697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8756944138630315697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-not-broke-im-just-broken-hearted-man.html' title='I&apos;m not broke, I&apos;m just a broken hearted man'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/SmdQTkJXmXI/AAAAAAAAANg/aGYoJRjznmw/s72-c/scan0006.1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-844365801568677687</id><published>2009-07-21T16:50:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T16:56:41.989+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Before the worst...</title><content type='html'>I'm such a loser &gt;.&lt; &lt;div&gt;Well, Chesta and I are having a lot of fun, even without the eyes. But I will draw him some later, until then... he is blind! XD &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And his head is sooooooo big! Just like Dib's! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mum was speechless when I showed him to her, didn't expect her to but... well, it made me speechless. Oh, no, wait, it made me saying "But I can't draw." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everybody knows this phrase and before I can say it, it's their turn to do so. Which is kinda funny, having someone saying that you can't draw, when it's not their opinion but yours. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, another silly post but well... XD Just wanted to say that I suck and that I'm a loser. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Chesta and me, signing out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-844365801568677687?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/844365801568677687/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/before-worst.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/844365801568677687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/844365801568677687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/before-worst.html' title='Before the worst...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8783685812085255904</id><published>2009-07-20T23:15:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T23:25:00.723+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes I don't make sense</title><content type='html'>To everybody who went to art school and everybody who goes to art school and is about to: FUCK YOU. I'm not really jealous, it's just... it only reminds me of the miserable situation I'm stuck in. If there's one thing that breaks down all the walls I built, then it's the fact that I'm too dumb to help myself. &lt;div&gt;I know what I can do to improve my skills. Well, people keep saying that my skills were good enough, but I want them to be as good as I want it, I make the measurement, not anybody else. So when I decide that my works suck, then they suck. And there's no point why I would ever stop thinking this way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, I'm pulling myself further down this hole but it's all that I can do. I've never done another thing but ruining my life. And this won't ever stop. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know how I can work on that, how I can make things better but I don't have the patience (or maybe strength) to keep on going until I'm done. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The fact that I will have to work for another career makes it even worse. And there's no reason to start another attempt because I already failed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8783685812085255904?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8783685812085255904/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/sometimes-i-dont-make-sense.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8783685812085255904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8783685812085255904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/sometimes-i-dont-make-sense.html' title='Sometimes I don&apos;t make sense'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1258095823109505319</id><published>2009-07-18T07:27:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-18T07:35:31.131+02:00</updated><title type='text'>"Why are you running out of fuel that quickly?"</title><content type='html'>...feeling sick, it's 7.31am and i only slept for like.... 20 minutes? I won't be able to sleep this afternoon, but that's ok. Going to bed early then instead.&lt;div&gt;But there are many other things why I'm feeling sick... well, 's alright, they'll solve themselves on their own eventually. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Heading off in an hour or so, hopefully someone's awake until then, or before that, would appreciate that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jack Skellington is singing in my head, is kinda funny. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="  white-space: pre; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;"Why are you running out of fuel that quickly?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;"I emptied it out."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;"You emptied it? Why?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;"To make room for the tuna." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I love that part! Or: "WHY is his head sooooo big? WHY is his HEAD sooooooo BIIIGG?" XD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1258095823109505319?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1258095823109505319/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/why-are-you-running-out-of-fuel-that.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1258095823109505319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1258095823109505319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/why-are-you-running-out-of-fuel-that.html' title='&quot;Why are you running out of fuel that quickly?&quot;'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7641658813695509955</id><published>2009-07-17T15:06:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T15:22:04.006+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Everything is heavy, am I still alive?</title><content type='html'>My arms are so heavy, and I was only cleaning the damn rug in the living room. But well, resting some before continuing to clean. Next stop is my room, only washing the dishes and vaccum-cleaning the floor, upstairs and downstairs.&lt;div&gt;After that, preparing the waffles and collecting all my dvds together. And maybe watching some InvaderZim. Again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Should've done the layout last night but couldn't find the right pictures so I have to wait until tomorrow to continue. Hopefully, I'm done with it by sunday. That would be great. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But cleaning and listening to Room Eleven very louldly is more like relaxing than working! Jazz is just so awesome, the best music to enjoy :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, I think I make a new layout for my blog right now, so I can delete this header... not that I don't like it, it's great but it's not so good to have like the same header as on the other blog, well, fansite. Maybe that's just me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7641658813695509955?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7641658813695509955/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/everything-is-heavy-am-i-still-alive.html#comment-form' title='1 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7641658813695509955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7641658813695509955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/everything-is-heavy-am-i-still-alive.html' title='Everything is heavy, am I still alive?'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5894128901407737968</id><published>2009-07-17T00:56:00.005+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T01:10:56.034+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Working on a layout...</title><content type='html'>It is soooo depressing! First of all, it's too hot to focus on anything! As if it wasn't hot enough with the laptop on my lap, no, Kitty has to come and cuddle itself against my leg. Thanks, Kitty. &lt;div&gt;And no, it's not my cat and her name is not Kitty. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Additionally, I am working on a new layout right now. And you know what? I am waiting for HOURS for this idea to pop up in my head and it finally did so just about a few minutes ago. I shouldn't be so mad right now, but I am, and why? There is one freaking picture I need to get the layout done. WITHOUT this stupid tag on his beautiful face. It's so depressing! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't log into any Coppermine galleries anymore, which sucks so bad. At least that fact helps me with the decision wether creating an own gallery or taking a Coppermine one. Haha, thanks. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not fair. Not fair at all. I will have to ask a friend but I'm afraid that she'll bite my head off, even though I know that she won't. Because she's such a lovely person! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hate to ask people for things, it's not only making you dependent from them, no, it just sucks. You can't ask for things over and over again and not giving back any of it. EVEN if the certain person offers you their help. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everything sucks. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, I should empty the glass and then try it again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is going to be a great night... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5894128901407737968?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5894128901407737968/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/working-layout.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5894128901407737968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5894128901407737968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/working-layout.html' title='Working on a layout...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-8638378970204154449</id><published>2009-07-12T23:33:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T23:55:58.501+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I fell through the ice...</title><content type='html'>Photoshop, I hate you.&lt;div&gt;Asshole, I hate you, too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is why I hate the first thing:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Recently, I decided that art is nothing for me. So I quitted drawing and stuff (no, little doodles don't count!), taking photos as well. Was really good at doing so. Oh no, wait. It was hard to talk about art. About art school in particular since I stopped working for it. There's no way that I will ever be accepted at an art school, so why wasting my time with trying? Art's not my thing, I'm not hooked or anything. Sure, I put too much pressure on myself but who does not? I just don't want to end up hurt. I don't want to put too much effort into a drawing that no one likes. I know I'm not supposed to make others happy but what is life if you're the only one interested into it? So that's art for me. Drawing means that I want to express myself. Feelings and thoughts that I usually keep locked up inside of me only find their way to the surface through a pencil. And I want someone to see it. To look at it and at least think "I know how you're feeling now, I understand". But no reaction means that no one was able to understand me. And that hurts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Denying that I love art and that I love to draw isn't less painful either but... maybe it helps. I'll learn how to hide it. Even though it won't never stop hurting to know that I'll never live my dream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But back to Photoshop. It got me. I figured that the more I try to push art off of my life, the less I succeed. I only wanted to work on the screenshots of my Sims I took the other day, and you know what happened? I ended up being proud of it. Because I didn't use anything, I made it all on my own!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm going to upload them later, after I added the phrases of my best friend to them :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the other thing I mentioned in the beginning of this post... nahh, it's my secret. He cut his hair again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-8638378970204154449?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/8638378970204154449/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/photoshop-i-hate-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8638378970204154449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/8638378970204154449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/photoshop-i-hate-you.html' title='I fell through the ice...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-3896871591960320569</id><published>2009-07-03T11:40:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T11:53:59.193+02:00</updated><title type='text'>I've got pain in my body</title><content type='html'>Energy drinks usually have less caffeine than a normal cup of coffee. To a certain extent - that's not fair. I would want them too have more caffeine when not more than a cup of coffee. &lt;div&gt;But let's look at it from another perspective: If you love caffeine, no matter in which substance (either it's a coke, a cup of coffee, an energy drink or whatever else contains caffeine), but you usually feel more like drinking beer all day long, why not replacing the beer with an energy drink? Keep drinking energy whenever your head tells you, you need a beer. So, in this case, it's rather good that energy drinks don't have that much caffeine. Imagine you would drink coffee for each beer you would drink (assumed you have 10 bottles a day), your body wouldn't be able to handle all the caffeine. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, energy drinks have less caffeine than coffee but what makes energy drinks better is this fact of less caffeine because you can drink more of it than you could drink coffee. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another point for energy drinks: When they're cooled, they're even tastier which is good in summer ;) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-3896871591960320569?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/3896871591960320569/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ive-got-pain-in-my-body.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3896871591960320569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/3896871591960320569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/ive-got-pain-in-my-body.html' title='I&apos;ve got pain in my body'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-715810550831550600</id><published>2009-07-03T03:02:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T03:14:06.080+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Eyes are burning.</title><content type='html'>I actually wanted to present a... I dunno, beginning of a book? I dunno... well, it's just something I wrote a few years ago and I used to keep it on my computer but... it's GONE. It's so frustrating. It can't be just... gone. Like blown with the wind, like pulled down into the bucket of hell. &lt;div&gt;I was so proud of it and now it's gone. I'm still looking for someone who might like it but how am I supposed to find that certain person when there's no story to like for them?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So far, that's all... despite, I'm fecking tired, my eyes are on fire, it's hard to figure out the letters in this writing box, you know... I should get into my buddy Beddie. And freeze while it's so humid outside. I'm weird. But who's not? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm 18 years old, female, currently live in Germany, love rock, alternative and indie music, love the particular styles to these genres, love cars that are able to transform into something bigger x3 (hey, i wouldn't mind a car like Bumblebee... then again, who would?) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And now, I'm gonna go 'n watch "21 guns" for the hundredth time and then go to bed. Thanks. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, and there's something amazing I have to add: &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', fantasy; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre; "&gt;http://www.wired.com/rawfile/2009/06/model-trains/ &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-715810550831550600?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/715810550831550600/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/eyes-are-burning.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/715810550831550600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/715810550831550600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/07/eyes-are-burning.html' title='Eyes are burning.'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1378395406935196705</id><published>2009-06-15T20:35:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T20:43:20.765+02:00</updated><title type='text'>In my summer, our last summer...</title><content type='html'>Dunno how I'm feelin'. I can tell that I'm not feelin'... pretty well. That's all... I could sigh all the time. Fortunately -and that's good for my ears, my soul and my mind-, I have to listen to music again, can't stand the silence. I hate when I'm in a state where I feel comfortable listening to the silence. If this happens - I'm in a horrifyingly bad state. &lt;div&gt;Right now... emotional death seems so close. Or at least breakdown. It's hard for me to breathe at times, yesterday I thought I was about to faint because I couldn't breathe. There was like a knot in my chest which hindered me to fill my lungs with air. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel sick. Just glad that I've got another appointment on wednesday. So, I can tell her everything... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1378395406935196705?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1378395406935196705/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-my-summer-our-last-summer.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1378395406935196705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1378395406935196705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-my-summer-our-last-summer.html' title='In my summer, our last summer...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7490169455284399680</id><published>2009-06-12T15:57:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T16:14:37.838+02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm feeling so heavy, that heavyness as if you can hardly move. As if the next moment would be the last with air. Like you know that the moment will come when you stop breathing. Soonish.&lt;br /&gt;I'm calm inside, no pain, no hurt, no regrets, no fear. Nothing. Just taking in all I can get in case it's the last time I can the experience the world in its current state now. It's almost like you suddenly notice how beautiful everything is and that it's just too great to leave it all behind. To leave it forever.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to live forever and my life's too short to be wasted, but sometimes you reach a point where you can't move. You start to feel useless, like the best you've ever made, the best you were able to give is just not enough. It's not enough.&lt;br /&gt;But you can't give up. Because you're too proud to just give up, only because someone thinks you're not worth it. You want to keep on going, keep on trying with what you have reached so far, with what you have gained and experienced. You feel so much stronger, so much more reasonable.&lt;br /&gt;Even if you lost this game, you feel like a winner though. Let's head to the next one, maybe this time the prize is yours.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7490169455284399680?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7490169455284399680/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/im-feeling-so-heavy-that-heavyness-as.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7490169455284399680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7490169455284399680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/im-feeling-so-heavy-that-heavyness-as.html' title=''/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-5141412623823870006</id><published>2009-06-04T19:26:00.003+02:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T19:41:23.720+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Beware! Criminal!</title><content type='html'>Either, I'm holding on that feeling or I... I'm losing track? Or my mind is reducing something important. Maybe its connection to my heart, shortening it to a length that can't be even called length. I don't know. Who am I supposed to be if I knew it? Well, I can tell how it feels. It feels weird. Ever been something between "not-so-sober-anymore" and almost drunken? And what it feels like the day after? It feels so numb. Like living in a dream, like living in a surreal world, miles and miles away from reality. It doesn't even feel like living, more like floating. Or only existing.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I love this feeling of floating or only existing. Nothing wrong with that but to get this beloved feeling, I got to get almost drunk. And because I love that feeling, I don't mind drinking. But I should.&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, anyways, I'm feeling kind of like that. Kind of numb, kind of limb. Something between becoming unconscious and being conscious. Cut it short: something scary and weird.&lt;br /&gt;It scares me so much, I'm on my way to become an alcoholic and I don't really care to change it. It sucks.&lt;br /&gt;Well, anyways, I should get something to eat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-5141412623823870006?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/5141412623823870006/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/beware-criminal.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5141412623823870006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/5141412623823870006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/beware-criminal.html' title='Beware! Criminal!'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7971450466905664258</id><published>2009-06-04T19:05:00.002+02:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T19:23:57.015+02:00</updated><title type='text'>Run, baby, run, don't ever look back...</title><content type='html'>I need to curse about something. Something related to the subject that has the honor to be named "society". Or civilization as some call it.&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, wouldn't it be awesome to be that certain someone who changes the world? To whom people look up 100 years after darkness forever surrounded you? How would it be then, to have teachers preaching their students that what you once said hundreds of hundreds of years ago is the right way to go? That the words you wrote down to collect them and sell them as a book, is one of the values of the world's civilization? Would that be anything to aim for?&lt;br /&gt;I don't think so. Everybody is supposed to know that everything is relative in life, so are the theories about life by so many important and famous people who were geeks and liars to the people they were sharing a time period with, but are only a dead body for the people in our time.&lt;br /&gt;What I'm trying to say is, who ever decided that what people like Immanuel Kant said is right? I don't want to say that he is wrong, personally I agree with him. But why can't people decide on their own, what they choose to be values for them or what's right and what's wrong? In school, they're telling you that what people like Kant or Nietzsche once said is right. That it's what you should believe in, that it's nothing you can choose to accept or not. But what if, they're wrong? What if their words don't make any sense to you? Do you still have to believe in them?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7971450466905664258?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7971450466905664258/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/run-baby-run-dont-ever-look-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7971450466905664258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7971450466905664258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2009/06/run-baby-run-dont-ever-look-back.html' title='Run, baby, run, don&apos;t ever look back...'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-7915702141074519340</id><published>2008-12-25T20:04:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T20:09:31.490+01:00</updated><title type='text'>R2R screenshots</title><content type='html'>Uploaded some of my screenshots I made some weeks ago. Hope someone enjoys them x3&lt;div&gt;If you take them, to use them or upload them on your site, please credit :3&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Merry Christmas!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-7915702141074519340?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/7915702141074519340/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2008/12/r2r-screenshots.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7915702141074519340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/7915702141074519340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2008/12/r2r-screenshots.html' title='R2R screenshots'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-1925348997610280775</id><published>2008-12-14T13:32:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T13:41:46.961+01:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mornin', or whatever... I'm listening to KROQ right now, it's *eww* Rage Against the Machine. &lt;div&gt;I missed on watching STP live last night! Dammit! But I think it was better this way -going to bed early and stuff- 'cause I felt a lil dizzy when waking up a few ago...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Missing Cleveland on KROQ! *dances around* &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, I wanted to post this video, "If I were a boy" by Beyoncé. This is only a lyrics video, not the official one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre; "&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hdlhZ6mmb70&amp;amp;hl=de&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hdlhZ6mmb70&amp;amp;hl=de&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-1925348997610280775?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/1925348997610280775/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2008/12/mornin-or-whatever.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1925348997610280775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/1925348997610280775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2008/12/mornin-or-whatever.html' title=''/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7575058697923531738.post-4038711890359261973</id><published>2008-12-13T20:51:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T20:54:07.274+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Intro (for me)</title><content type='html'>Well, i think i'm gunna use this as a kind of personal blog. maybe i'm going to post some of the art i like and some of the videos i like and find on youtube. maybe even posting some of my own stuff.&lt;div&gt;so, if you (or i) see this site with the Braddles in the head, that's my personal blog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Welcome and thanks for sharing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7575058697923531738-4038711890359261973?l=apparently-alive.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/feeds/4038711890359261973/comments/default' title='Kommentare zum Post'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2008/12/intro-for-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Kommentare'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4038711890359261973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7575058697923531738/posts/default/4038711890359261973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://apparently-alive.blogspot.com/2008/12/intro-for-me.html' title='Intro (for me)'/><author><name>apparently.alive</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13024485057525389917</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7QLrm6JiyVE/S5qWrtVb88I/AAAAAAAAAe0/jw_2GD2FVjc/S220/Sim_Ava.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
