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  <title>lozer_g33k</title>
  <subtitle>lozer_g33k</subtitle>
  <author>
    <name>lozer_g33k</name>
  </author>
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  <updated>2007-10-12T18:20:10Z</updated>
  <lj:journal userid="13910335" username="lozer_g33k" type="personal"/>
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:lozer_g33k:773</id>
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    <title>What Do You Have To Say? - Entertainment: My Own Movie</title>
    <published>2007-10-12T18:20:10Z</published>
    <updated>2007-10-12T18:20:10Z</updated>
    <category term="what do you have to say?"/>
    <category term="entertainment"/>
    <category term="writer&amp;apos;s block"/>
    <category term="hpentertainment"/>
    <content type="html">If I could create my own mauvie...it'd be about something I know...Like mental illness such as schizophrenia or something along those lines. Also, it'd be about death and drug-addictions. It'd be a docudrama, and it'd end mysteriously...sad, yet hopeful...I can't really explaining it. Actually...I've been branistorming about a book of the sort for a while!! ^_^&lt;div class='appwidget appwidget-qotd' id='LJWidget_6'&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;div style='border: 1px solid #000; padding: 6px;'&gt;&lt;p&gt;If you could create your own movie, what would it be about?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style='font-size: 0.8em;'&gt;Brought to you by HP&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;input type="button" value="Answer" onclick="document.location.href='http://www.livejournal.com/update.bml?qotd=53'" /&gt; &lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.livejournal.com/misc/latestqotd.bml?qid=53"&gt;View 402 Answers&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!-- end .appwidget-qotd --&gt;
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:lozer_g33k:563</id>
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    <title>Anger Kills</title>
    <published>2007-09-27T22:29:51Z</published>
    <updated>2007-09-27T22:29:51Z</updated>
    <lj:music>The Process-My American Heart</lj:music>
    <content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;font face="Times New Roman" size="3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;font color="#33cccc" size="4"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;strike&gt;Anger Kills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;font color="#800000"&gt;Days were the longest when you were gone. Tears flowed and songs played, and I'd gasp for air as if being choked. I couldn't take your anger anymore, but I couldn't take not being there with you, either. I was stuck in the middle, and there was only one way I could handle the situation.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;font face="Times New Roman" size="3"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;font color="#800000" size="4"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So now, with all of these memories playing like a movie in my mind, the only scenes with colour are starring you. Your face flashes across the screen, your words deafen my thoughts. I was always stuck in the middle. Always searching for a way out, a way to make the longest days shorter and the shortest days disappear, and to take the pain out of the agony.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;font face="Times New Roman" size="3"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;font color="#800000" size="4"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The stereo played loudly, but I wasn't listening. I treated it like everyone treated me: I'm was there, making noise, praying to be noticed, but remaining unheard. Instead of listening to the music, I listened to the trigger, that beautiful silver piece of metal, shining in the night-time sun. I touched it, smoothing my fingers over its intricate detail and deadly design. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;font face="Times New Roman" size="3"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;font color="#800000" size="4"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I had to work up enough nerve to do this, but I needed to. It was my desire, my love, my one true obsession. Death comes to no one easily, and I figure this was just one of those obstacles I'd have to win to get what I truly want. I held the gun, now, in correct position, still looking it over. I placed it in my mouth, feeling the cool steel tickle my tongue and throat. "I love you," I recited, "but you just don't love me." Though no one would ever know nor hear my confession, my plea, I felt it necessary.&amp;nbsp; When you walked in the door, I ended all of my confusion and all of my pain. The hurt had finally ended...all of my suffering was finally over.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;font face="Times New Roman" size="3"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;font color="#800000" size="4"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; You're angry at me for killing myself. I'm angry at you for letting me do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;______________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;font color="#00ff00"&gt;If you have any suggestions/comments..feel free to tell me! I &amp;lt;3 critz!! &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content>
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