Oh My!

I can now use this blog to write about stuff! I will be posting my layouts in the new layout section so this blog can be all about me. :P Many of you don't know me real well. I have been rather quiet about who I am and what I am about since starting this site. I didn't want to scare you all off. I opened up a little with the groups I started, but they only scratch the surface. Whenever I sit down to write about myself for other people I think of this:

Excerpt from "The Breakfast Cub"
Dear Mr. Vernon,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain...and an athlete...and a basket case...a princess...and a criminal...

Does that answer your question?...
Sincerely yours,
The Breakfast Club.

Every one will see me for what they want to see.
Maybe you see me through what some one else has said about me, but you never tried to know me yourself.
It's ok, it happens all the time.
Since I was young I refused to get into anyone's "box".
No one knew which "crowd" I was in because one day I dressed one way and the next day I dressed another.
I wore what I liked, still do.
I read what I like and I write what I like and I listen to what I like.
Even if those around me don't like it.
They don't have to like everything I like to be my friend and I don't have to like everything you like to be yours.
I won't try to be some one I am not so that anyone will like me.
I won't compromise my principles to make others happy.
I won't lie if some one asks me a question.
I might tell you it is none of your business if it is a personal question.
My heart is in the right place even if it doesn't seem that way at times.

Excerpt from Kahlil Gibron On Houses
And tell me, people of OrphaIese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you remembrances, the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?
Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me, have you these in your houses?
Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host and then a master?


Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.
But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.