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Geoffrey Williams -
[adj.]
Pronounc. 'jaw-free'

Smells like teen spirit.

Geoffrey
by Andrea Snow

Running from life,
a life of which I could lead.
Walking through the halls,
with peoples burdens running trough his mind.
Helping in every way he can,
hoping to make someones day a little better.
Writing whats on his mind,
wishing it will get published.
Being kind, caring, sweet
and always acting weird as usual.
Wondering what will happen,
after his last year of school.
An older brother to three siblings,
scaring two and watching over another.
Advice giver, fantastic writer and
most of all a great friend.

[I will tell you to pray while the Devil is on your shoulders...]

I am the whispers in your dark...

     About me you ask? For one, 'me' can be many beings or nothing at all. It truly depends on which is awake and which is dominant at the time, I am told that these are called 'emotions.' I've been reborn many times and have been told that the 'real' me doesn't exists anymore - but how can one know what the real 'you' truly is? The true meaning in life is not to find yourself, but to make yourself.

[Sometimes I think I'm crazy and other times I know I'm not.]

     Emotions are things I wish I didn't have sometimes, they can be such an annoyance at times, like the Laws of Physics in Sci-Fi movies - completly unnecessary...

The Little Boy and The Old Man
Shel Silverstein

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

     I sit in an olive green colored room with matching dark green curtains with a "No Parking" sign between a sole window and the computer monitor from which this is being typed on. I enjoy being alone, more than most and less than most - I am more than most and less than most all together. Thinking about the future makes me feel like I'll live forever, but no one ever mentions that forever feels like sitting all alone inside of your head on a cold night.

Take a step outside of yourself and turn around. Take a look at who you are, it's pretty scary. - Kurt Cobain

     Books, old and new, line and stack the opposite side as well as maps, trinkets and random artifacts of minor and major value in both physical and spiritual senses. Various bones and skulls are scattered on the desk and walls as well as strange artworks and writings are etched into the desk that the keyboard lies on along with was mentioned before as shadows create their own marks upon any surface they touch, spawning from the single light that illuminates what it can, but a light nontheless. All being guarded by Eraserstein, Backspace, and Socio [who is always looking for his path], creations of my mind. The wealth they guard is not easily seen or understood - they are forever set to live a life of servitude.

"The world is like a ride in an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question,

'Is this real, or is this just a ride?'

"And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say,

 'Hey - don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride...'

"And we... kill those people.

'We have a lot invested in this ride. Shut him up. Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real.'

'Just a ride.'

"But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok. But it doesn't matter because: It's just a ride. And we can change it anytime we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us as one.

"Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money that we spend on weapons and defences each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace. Thank you very much, you've been great."
- Bill Hicks

     A majority of the clothes worn hangs in a closet and very little sits inside the clothes drawer, waiting to someday be worn and shared with the world...someday...The clothes change along with the body which wears them and the body changes based upon the mind that occupies the latter of the two...

      "This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vangquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.

       "The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-a-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V." - V

Do you serve a purpose or purposely serve..?

     Not much can be said about myself in a physical sense, you can talk about what you can see on the outside, but like the space I occupy, it is always different - a perfect depiction of the old addage that one cannot judge a book by it's cover for my cover is never the same. And it's not like my life is a story worth reading since we will all have the same boring ending...running in our adovistic galore in these summers spent and unearned winters at the end.

What a skeletal wreck of a man this is...

     I question many things in life and death as well as the worth of one living or the cause of one's death. Death has become an obsession of mine. I've read much about it and have met Death many times. In a sense - I'm not afraid to die. See, I don't think we accomplish everthing until we die. When you die, that is when you have accomplished all that has been set out for you and needed to be done, not what others have said you have done or failed to do...

[How much time has passed until you realized you were slowly running out of time..?]

     Many see life and death as seperate states, what many don't see is that they are two sides on the same state of being. Hence my headline, but that's from a song by a brilliant man, unlike myself. I don't see myself as such a great person, I try not to be something of myself, but everyone seems to see me as an amzing person, a role model, a very wise man years ahead of his time, someone who deserves to live, but that's a different story that can be deciphered from my blogs every now and again as this dream known as 'LIFE' comes true with each passing day...

[...When black crows will beget white doves in your house, then you will be called wise...]

     Telling stories to hypnotize the crowds in the same way a gentle flame tempts the curious, yet foolish moth...that's how I live and how I'll last forever in whoever choses to continue my existance in thought. Ask yourself this: Do you serve a purpose or do you purposely serve?

[...Object reference not set to an instance of an object...]

     I hate people in general, they sicken me most of the time, but I still find it interesting that humans still live and thrive on this dying planet...seems like such a waste that it takes ages to move a few steps and a few hours to set us back twenty steps...

[...Fuck the doomed...]

Where the Sidewalk Ends
Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

     Calling the Father and killing the Son; the Ghost will survive until the deed is done...I don't know what that was about, but whatever - I am random like that. The story ends now - if you have any questions about me or whatever - you can ask either through the following:

MySpace [Of course]
Necromancer_913@hotmail.com 
thenecroman_913@yahoo.com 
 Desenova913@aim.com

My Photo.net Portfolio: www.photo.net/photos/GeoffreyW

My DeviantArt Profile: http://desenova.deviantart.com/

This is where I get my artistic inspiration from:
http://www.alexgrey.com/
http://www.dissectional.com/
http://www.sonsofthestorm.com/
http://jeffsoto.com/
http://www.shelsilverstein.com/

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	desenova913@livejournal.com
	Desenova913@aim.com
	thenecroman_913
	Necromancer_913@hotmail.com	LJ Messenger Status: offline

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