<?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-2749299900440338789</id><updated>2011-07-30T17:14:28.722-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Drops of Jupiter</title><subtitle type='html'>Dreamscapes.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>37</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-6679865355535056448</id><published>2009-11-10T16:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T16:13:37.314-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Make out Club.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"&gt;No matter what I do, I seem to make the same mistakes that I try not to. In a way I enjoy it and that's my decision. I'm only human am I not? I have a sharp tongue and a quick wit. When you play the games that I do, you can't help but want to be a little wicked or facetious if you will. If you're good at it, you can take bullshit and sell it to blind folks. Seven layers and a firm brush stroke teaches you to make yourself and your messages subliminal. You get stuck between two worlds and you're torn because you're not fully aware of what you want. Don't front it, take what you can, give back what you want and call it a day. It's a gift or a curse depends on what you make of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-6679865355535056448?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/6679865355535056448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=6679865355535056448' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6679865355535056448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6679865355535056448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/11/make-out-club.html' title='Make out Club.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-7835394766019095852</id><published>2009-11-10T15:26:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:36:50.266-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Live a Little.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;Everything is easier when you're open. There's no such thing as one too many. Baby girl's a queen but the queen's just a pawn with a bunch of fancy moves. How do you do if what you do is wrong? That's makes me giggle personally. I have acquired one of the most cynical senses of humour available to the public. I'll never have the balls to tell myself that I'm wrong. I can admit my faults but I can never say that I'm wrong. Why should I? Someone else can do that job. Indulgence has always been my particular sin. I'm perfectly fine with that. It's not something terrible when you really think about that. And I'm not the only one it affects so whose to say I'm selfish? Ha. I love these sort of situations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-7835394766019095852?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/7835394766019095852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=7835394766019095852' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7835394766019095852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7835394766019095852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/11/live-little.html' title='Live a Little.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-6781919486361732310</id><published>2009-11-10T14:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:17:51.187-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Change the World.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;If I could change the world, I would be the sunlight in your universe. For once and hopefully finally, I think I've made the right decision. I don't want to dwell on it too much because it could well you know.. I've found someone who suites me quite graciously and to put it in other words, he amazes me. I'm so proud of how he's beginning to change himself and I'm so happy that I can bring him the peace that I can. It's so silly honestly but for the moment I don't care. It's what I really needed and I hope he knows it. I've never felt so light hearted and happy. It's been a short time which makes me feel a little funny but if it's to continue on this way, that's fine with me. I look forward to what my future holds. The last few weeks have been pretty harsh on me and I've been doubtful of almost anything. I couldn't explain what was wrong with me and I couldn't seem to get anything sorted out. My head felt like a ridiculous puddle of nonsensical repression. My art has suffered and to me, that is quite devastating. What is an artist that cannot produce how they feel? Nothing was ever good enough. Piles of paper, broken pencils and failure. Blocked, angst, heartbroken and pain. Indeed some artists function better when in such a state but I cannot. That is not who I am nor will I ever be. I need something guiding my fingers and freeing the images trapped inside my mind. I like to think the possibilities are endless but when one is stuck in such a rut, everything seems against you and there's too much pressure. I don't want to get swallowed every again, it's a terrible feeling but you know as they say "Everything's Eventual". I'm taking things a step at a time and their finally getting better. Change comes to those who make it their own. I know it does. Look at me, I'm finally sleeping easier.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-6781919486361732310?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/6781919486361732310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=6781919486361732310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6781919486361732310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6781919486361732310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/11/change-world.html' title='Change the World.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-6936321393403754350</id><published>2009-08-19T13:32:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:12:39.493-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Like an Animal.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"&gt;I don't know how I feel right now. There's too much to be said in such a short amount of time. I'm working on it even if I'm putting it off. Hamster in a wheel of monotony. But at the moment I just can't find the right words. Perhaps I've left them somewhere never to be found. I'm choking but at the same time I'm empty. I'm screaming through dead lungs. I know I don't have alot on my plate but at the same time I feel as if I've got too much to deal with. Am I wasting my time? It can seem like that on some mornings. Nothing is absolute anymore. Maybe that's who I am, the one with a never ending struggle to find that piece of solitude. I'll get it one day but who knows what the possible cost could be. Hopefully it'll be worth it. I tell myself when it's quiet that everything will be eventual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-6936321393403754350?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/6936321393403754350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=6936321393403754350' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6936321393403754350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6936321393403754350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/08/like-animal.html' title='Like an Animal.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-5649547310692927922</id><published>2009-07-31T01:33:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:09:50.499-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Kid Nothing.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;Lately I've found myself thinking about things that used to be. I'm happy with the changes I've made and how I've bettered myself. I do not regret but one thing in the last few years however I'm not willing to bring that to light just yet. I need a little bit more time for that and perhaps someone to share it with. I've been listening to more Gym Class Heroes and it just seems to make me realize things I never have before. It puts me at ease and that's something rather unusual. I strive to make others comfortable and while doing so I put myself to the side lines. I'm okay with that but it means I repress my feeling and my personal issues. I wish I could tattoo Thug Life on God's Stomach. I wanna take my art somewhere and just disappear from the world and all that is. The air's thick and heavy, nobody takes advantage of the gifts they've been given. Things are just falling apart and being wasted. This time it can't be fixed. What are you to do when the maze has no ending? That's what I would like to know. Do you need me like I would hope you do? Time will only tell. I'm willing to put my back against the wall once more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-5649547310692927922?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/5649547310692927922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=5649547310692927922' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5649547310692927922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5649547310692927922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/07/kid-nothing.html' title='Kid Nothing.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-7306839756053500259</id><published>2009-07-17T22:09:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:25:40.565-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Walrus and the Carpenter.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;The time has come my little friends, to talk of many things; of ships, and sails, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;Stuck in time, dream a bit and never forget who loved you best. Who scorned you worst and held you through your downfall. Speaking your mind in the right company can be very pleasing but in the wrong sorts the consequences can be crippling. You have to wonder if you should say anything or should you just keep quiet? The chance you take can either make you or it can shatter you. Watch from afar and pray that you aren't noticed. Things are kept at their simplest when nobody notices you. Everything is easier when nobody sees you. Anonymity is the opposite of immortality.  Maybe I'm the only one who understands that but it's so easy to see. If you don't want to live forever, make it look like you never lived at all. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be unavailable. If you feel that it's necessary. I'm alright with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-7306839756053500259?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/7306839756053500259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=7306839756053500259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7306839756053500259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7306839756053500259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/07/walrus-and-carpenter.html' title='Walrus and the Carpenter.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-1969828287128525071</id><published>2009-07-16T12:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T14:58:33.237-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Chemicals.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"&gt;You know how uncomfortable I can get. Strange faces, strange places and no solace to be found anywhere. Those things that give me comfort and always took away the aching in my heart have turned against me. I suppose I figured everything was back to normal but a few weeks ago I begun to get weaker. My lungs feel as if they are filled with lead and I can't help but force something up every time I manage to cough. My body hurts in way that are foreign to me and I just feel so run down. Laying in bed takes effort because I feel so dull. It's as if every organ, tissue and muscle can be felt now and they are screaming at me. I don't know how to ease this pain or what to do anymore. Painkillers? Ha, they'll be the death of me. My stomach feels rotten as if it can no longer hold much at all. I don't eat much, it's too much effort to hold it down. My brain is fuzzy and tries to convince me that I've gone insane. They live in my brain. Those nameless things that feed on my darkness. Maybe I have gone crazy but who's to care? I'll have to live with it, if they don't kill me first. I can't live without them but I'm doing my best, they are the ones that keep nightmares from becoming reality. They make it easy for me to sleep long hours of my life but lately that's been hard. Sleep is hot, fitful and terrifying. I stay awake for hours almost until sunrise because of the pain. It feels as if my spine has been pushed over and i just don't know anymore. They no longer love me.. have I betrayed them some how? Killing you while you're killing me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-1969828287128525071?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/1969828287128525071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=1969828287128525071' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1969828287128525071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1969828287128525071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/07/faces-in-hall.html' title='Chemicals.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-5867533047627432049</id><published>2009-06-23T00:52:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:22:39.639-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bright Lights.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;Baby baby baby when all your love is gone is who will save me from all I'm up against in this world. You'll never forget the first time that you said you loved someone and actually meant it. Even if their response wasn't exactly what you had in mind.  I can't go a single day without telling someone that I love them and yes I really mean it. This heart is very large and proud, to not put it to such good use is a waste. I'm not willing to do that to myself. My words are never empty for I cannot allow myself to be so false. There's nothing greater than knowing that someone cares about you and keeps you locked inside their heart. The feeling is indescribable.  I suppose the best way to put it is, it's like being  a bird but if you're just this content then why does it matter. The cage can be adoring if it fits your wings well. Do what you please as long as your heart and mind are free. Often times it's a confusing situation to be put in, I find my heart hurting but my mind is totally empty. I can't complain because that means I don't have a headache. Numb. With love comes pain, you know it even if you don't want to admit it to yourself. The coin always has two sides and to flip it means you can get either. Ignorance is bliss when you're blind. Take the fold off and who knows what the world can hold for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-5867533047627432049?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/5867533047627432049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=5867533047627432049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5867533047627432049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5867533047627432049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/06/bright-lights.html' title='Bright Lights.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-2069296957837055586</id><published>2009-05-11T10:39:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T11:02:20.603-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Adagio Catasthrope.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;Everything isn't blue skies as far as one may think. The rain clouds never seem to disappear and there isn't a fucking thing that you can do about it. Oh that umbrella you just bought has a huge hole in it. One just has to love the days when everything seems to go fucking wrong and you just kinda have to sit there in a stupor asking yourself "Why the fuck did this happen?" But I'm gonna have to sit there and shake my head on the side of the road because my tire just blew out. Damn, my life could be a country song.. Well that's one way to pay the bills. Pretend like I have talent and hopefully sleep my way to the top. I guess it's better than waiting tables or standing on the corner.. I won't be happy but I'll be safe. Things will get better it has to be so, because isn't that what hardships are about? Testing one's ability to resolve and just deal with things? I wouldn't know because I seem to fail at that. I have a hard time dealing because I'm such an antagonist. Things fall through my fingers faster than grains of sand could ever dream. It's my direct nature to go about things the "hard" way. I often find myself in repeat situations that are just plain stupid and if asked if i could do them again my reply is "yep."  No wonder I'm so pissy but doing things easily is such a fucking bore. It's not fun at all and I deserve a good challenge thrown my way every now and again. I often find myself more alone than anything because I have the tendency to push people away. and I have the temperment of a tormented rhino. If you annoy me you're lucky to stay anywhere near me. Stupid is not cute. I can't deal with the useless bullshit that comes from your mouth. I can only take so much and then I snap. Then all hell breaks loose and I find myself trying not to rip your throat out with my bare teeth. Hmm.. that would be a great feeling. To finally get that peace and quiet I deserve. Fucking metaphors are so tempting as is world play but I am not in that sort of mood this morning. I'm raging and straightforward with my anger. Oh baby, I am an animal and it isn't a pretty sight. Not the cutelittle kitten you adore so much because I have the habit of curling up in your lap and dozing lightly when you pet me. The jungle cat is out and you've just fucked with her. Not smart. Teeth and nails that just want to feel and destroy. And there ain't a damn thing you can do about it. you should have thought about that before you opened your mouth. That's the dangerous part about my species. There's simply no remose to be felt. I can't do it, and I can't honestly be guilty if I don't feel "guilt". I guess that's what the problem is. I don't "feel" thing properly. that takes away from my pretty face but i guess I can easily live with that. What choice do I have?  It's when that fear sneaks up and grabs me by the back of the neck and I'm paralyzed. There's no words that I can use to slyly get out of this situation. There's no money to be used as a bribe. There's no sex to be promised. I hate being stuck in a world with so many catch 22's but isn't that what makes us enjoy life? Ha!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-2069296957837055586?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/2069296957837055586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=2069296957837055586' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2069296957837055586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2069296957837055586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/05/adagio-catasthrope.html' title='Adagio Catasthrope.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-158868422380692133</id><published>2009-04-27T22:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T22:07:51.881-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Way.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"&gt;So everyone has trust issues. And if you tell me you don't well I'm gonna flat out call you a fucking liar. It's not enough to go through various stages of depression without really knowing who to turn to, you don't want to seem unbalanced or like a drama queen. There's no way to actually deal with it. There's always gonna be some kind of catch and consequence. The fact that you left without even bothering to try fix things and you intentionally drove me away is what really fucking hurts. I needed you and you were so goddamn selfish and lazy that you thought I was the reason for your bad moods. I mean seriously?! Have I not always gone out of my way to help you and when I hit that bottom again you left me because I was bringing you down!? I just don't fucking get it. And that's the worst of it all. How stupid I am. I keep coming back don't I? And you know I will so I suppose you'll never change. I hope a little and then I die inside because I know it's not gonna happen. This time I'm not coming back. I'm gone for good and you'll be lucky to hear my name come from your lips. I'm sorry I wasn't worth your time because when I needed you, I couldn't keep you happy. Life is funny like that. You never know where you can turn. And just when you think your safe too..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-158868422380692133?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/158868422380692133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=158868422380692133' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/158868422380692133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/158868422380692133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/04/way.html' title='The Way.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-5609057105025279126</id><published>2009-04-24T09:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T09:52:12.937-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Negative Space.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;I suppose for the longest time that I have been meaning to find an explanation for my beliefs. I've made choices and I do not regret a single one of them. I am perfectly content with myself and I'm glad that I have found it. I am an atheist because to me it seems perfectly logical and right. If I'm wrong well damn.. I'll bring marshmallows. I know that I am cynical and a sarcastic smartass but that doesn't mean I don't have a heart. I can say this and know it's true: I have probably done for for humanity than most Christian's have even comtemplated. I'm not bad-mouthing anyone but if you have been spoon fed your beliefs and been taught to follow then you are not actually living. The hardest part for me is to shrug off the annoyance. I feel uncomfortable walking into a church or another religious establishment because I know I will be judged and because I have no interest in their words. For they are hollow and meaningless for the most part. If you follow the crowd where exactly are you headed? You don't even know. I know my words can come off as biting and harsh but it's the truth. If you can't handle the answer, don't ask the question. Things are as simple as that. I mean as far as stereotypes go, if you never asked you'd never know that I was an atheist. It's not that I am embarrased or ashamed it's just that my business is mine and your's is your own. You can lbock out my words from your heart and I will make sure to do the same. If I am speaking at least be respectful enough to hear me out since I listen to you. To me god does not exist. He is a figment of our imagination if not an invisible "friend".  I do not believe the world was created in seven days and so on and so forth. That is my personal opinion. I do not believe that we evolved from monkeys so don't try to pull that shit. Yes I do believe in evolution but as a whole. Man was bound to happen sometime. Cells and tissues and all that wonderful shit. I think that the term "everlasting life" is a metaphor referring to Thought. Since it is not a phyiscal being it cannot be created or destroyed. It is immortal yet non-existing. When we die we will recede into our subconcious and proceed into whatever lies ahead. Technically we will be immortal and always be here. This is a comforting idea for me I suppose. But hey, if I'm wrong, I'll bring marshmallows. I do not apoligize about the idea of a god being rediciulous. It is my personal expression but if you wish to believe in him then go for it. I won't mock you or cut you down. So don't feel the need to preach to me. I won't listen. I'll acknowledge your statements but i won't consider them. That's absurd. Don't try to change me. I made this decision for a reason. Realization slapped me in the face. Hard.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-5609057105025279126?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/5609057105025279126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=5609057105025279126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5609057105025279126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5609057105025279126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/04/negative-space.html' title='Negative Space.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-6252981722314796073</id><published>2009-04-24T08:29:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T09:40:40.287-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Follow Your Bliss</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;So here I am doing one of the things that I just happen to do best. Thinking. Something is always on my mind and I don't always know how to explain it. It's a pleasant feeling since it makes me realize that I am never truely alone; I have the companionship of my thoughts. However difficult they may be. What did you expect? Madness is fascinating. I guess I'm standing in front of an open window without a clue in my mind what to do about it. Should I jump or should I fall? Better yet should I close this window and walk away entirely? too many possible routes. But I love it. Love is something that I find quite puzzling. There are two types and that is far as I am willing to take it. I guess I'm left without answers but this is nothing new. I think that in my own insecurities I am slightly frightened. Not of the new or the old but of the unknown. And doesn't that make me a little more human because have a down side? Humanity is something that we need to grasp and realize it should be fixed. We as a people should make ourselves better. Selfaware and for god sake be self relient! Oh Emerson.. if only your words could touch more. I see no problem with needing help as long as one doesn't become a parasite. That's not what we're to live like. I've been reflecting on this subject alot lately becxause I need to get in touch with mine. I guess I'll grab a mirror when I look home to see something I am quite familiar with.  A pretty face can always hide the secrets of the heart. Those eyes hold many things but that's another story for another time. But not everything is hidden, don't take me wrong. I'm not trying to come off as negative or vindictive. This just is a personal dwelling for a moment. I mean isn't that what I've been taught to do? Appreciate myself however ewrfrgdsg I may be. Heh I thought of that just a minute ago and the sly smile touched my lips. I want to apologize and kiss a coin, throw my sins of the docks and peacefully walk away. I need that quiet time. A vacation from the madness and monotony. Just myself and some interspection.  Maybe that'll work this time. I feel so bothered by the fact that I'm confused. Things have been moving too fast for my tastes because I'm used to slow country afternoons where I could sit at the creek and watch it babble endlessly. Life moves on more quickly than what I have a taste for. I just want it all to slow down and at least give me a chance to catch up. That's what I really need. A chance. I don't believe in asking for help because for the most part I am self made and in that way I hope to never unwaver. Attachment is what draws the most resentment from me but hey, we're not meant to be robots. We have free will, desire and choices. I think the oppertunity is unending. Nothing is really over anymore is it? Everything is not only eventual but &lt;em&gt;immortal.&lt;/em&gt; Even if it dies out the memory is still left there for someone to analyze. I thank my heart for this. It may be weak but at the same time this little organ is amazing. Damn literal and figurative connotations.  I love being left to my own devices. It's much more peaceful when I'm calm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;I feel blissful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-6252981722314796073?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/6252981722314796073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=6252981722314796073' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6252981722314796073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6252981722314796073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/04/follow-your-bliss.html' title='Follow Your Bliss'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-7599073985977122877</id><published>2009-04-24T08:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T08:24:09.731-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pink Drinks.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#66ff99;"&gt;Nothing is ever as easy as it looks. There is always something with unitentinonal meanings that seems to mean to block one off from imperitive thoughts. That's a real bitch. Take emotions for example I mean yeah nobody wants to to be a robot but they aren't all that great actually. Sometimes we let our heart take over our logical side and when we do that more often than not we get fucked. It's not pretty to review the damage done by unrash behavior. Think before you jump. It makes things so much easier on me and it makes you look a little better. But maybe that's because my vision is blurred and my speech is slurred. And you think I'm the cynical one here. I don't think so. Take a double look in that mirror above your bed then get your shit straight before you keep running that mouth. I'm gonna say this once: You don't deserve a damn thing you've got. I never meant any of the words that came from my mouth I only said them to keep you quiet. You don't realize how upset you've made me. And it's about time you did. You're obnoxious, irresponsible, annoying and overly proud. Don't worship what you think you've made. You've never done a damn thing to deserve what you've got in your pretty little hands. Fuck you because I am so over it. Why am I still around? Because I know what would happen if I wasn't. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-7599073985977122877?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/7599073985977122877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=7599073985977122877' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7599073985977122877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7599073985977122877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2009/04/pink-drinks.html' title='Pink Drinks.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-886871319848789441</id><published>2008-08-31T15:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T15:26:52.739-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Calling All Cars.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;So began the year. Already I've made new friends and decidedly dropped the old ones that were choking me. My grades are incredibly decent and that's coming from me. Things are a little bit of a struggle and I find myself at a loss of words. But that's alright because sometimes we dont need to use words to explain how we feel. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;I'm at peace.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-886871319848789441?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/886871319848789441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=886871319848789441' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/886871319848789441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/886871319848789441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/08/calling-all-cars.html' title='Calling All Cars.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-2447087205152296581</id><published>2008-08-03T18:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T19:58:25.825-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Reinventing Your Exit.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;So I'm up against the wall. You both have hurt me and fucked me over so badly that I really feel no need to see anyone. I don't want to hear from either one so just forget about me. The lies, the betrayal and false accusations are so done. You took my love yet again and decided it was only good for making me your pet. Don't ever ask me to change myself for you again because it's not gonna fucking happen. I'm tired of being something I'm not jsut to see you smile. You were never even worth that much. You disgust me with your talk of "love, devotion and meanings." Truth is you probably have fucking idea what any of those words mean. But that's prefectly okay because even tho you told me you'd never leave me. You did.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;And I'm feeling a bit better about myself but I feel sympathy for the next person you try to own.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-2447087205152296581?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/2447087205152296581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=2447087205152296581' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2447087205152296581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2447087205152296581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/08/reinventing-your-exit.html' title='Reinventing Your Exit.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-1391083797372585610</id><published>2008-07-31T14:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T15:00:42.900-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Scarlet Path.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#66ff99;"&gt;Aesthetic. It's no longer a word but a creature. Amazingly simple but at the same time, something so complex that one an never truely understand it. To one it is glorious to another it is not. Not a soul may own this thing. This diety from which many draw strength. It is holiness within itself. A treasure, a pawn. I use this word to describe art. It instills itself deep in my heart, feeding off my thoughts and I hope to never let it go. I know my definition may seem cliche but I do as I wish and explain it one way. The human body is a machine, a thriving, lusting, powerful machine that is unlike any other invention in the world. Humans are also just simply stunning. Complex beings that fear what the understand and care not to tangle with the unknown. This is why I choose to draw them in different circumstances with different emotions. I can play a mirror that will show you terrifying monsters, beautiful women and things that only dreams are made of. Butterflies that reside in the bellies of beasts that await a chance to be undevoured. Who knows what I'll bring you next. Romance deeps with mystery. Or horror stuns the sight. What I bring to you is a chance for me to express myself on how I view the world. Let you peer into my mind so that you may understand me a little more. Sadly though, my subconcious scares even me. I must tell you this, I am unlike anything you have ever studied. I do not create my own worlds with selfish conviction I only draw from others their ideas of me. I leave you to make your nest with a tiny prayer that you grow a little more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-1391083797372585610?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/1391083797372585610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=1391083797372585610' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1391083797372585610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1391083797372585610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/07/scarlet-path.html' title='The Scarlet Path.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-9180288987572627449</id><published>2008-07-31T11:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T12:35:58.344-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Get Well Soon.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;Is it getting better? Is it getting worse? Was it ever worth is? Was it just a curse? You've probably understood me more than anyone else because we come from similar backgrounds yet still different and maybe we may never truely grasp one anothers meaning. Our tempers are pretty fucking dangerous but oh well. And you may start to think I talk way too You put up with me and I put up with you. You're my bfff and I'm your kiddo. Things after I started talking to you drastically changed my sight. I know people are assholes, boy do I know and I want to say that I'll never stop being there for you. I'd stop what I was doing and run to you if I could. Right now it's pretty hard but I'm doing my best. hopefully next year you'll give me the chance to be welcomed into your life and I can show you the ways that you were meant to be treated. I have found a friend, a best friend, an older brother, an artist and a fucking cuddle buddy. Also someone I love dearly. No idea why but oh well. Hope I don't freak you out cause I'm actually honest. Feh, you wouldn't be the first person to leave me because of how I feel but I can totally understand. So I say now we go get some fucking ice cream. We deserve it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-9180288987572627449?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/9180288987572627449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=9180288987572627449' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/9180288987572627449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/9180288987572627449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/07/get-well-soon.html' title='Get Well Soon.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-1067475627306746137</id><published>2008-07-29T14:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T14:04:02.242-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Heart Surgery Isn't That Bad.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;Yeah I've been dwelling over the past a bit too long. I'm just afraid to dive into the future. I'm scared and lonely. Things can either work or they won't. The rejection is what has me so apprehensive. What am I ever to do? I'd be better off with my heart in a jar. I'll always be your kiddo even as we drift further apart. The pain pills or lack there of have fucked your mind so bad that even I am I little sensitive to your rages. But I still love you. The nights are fading and we won't stop breathing. Even if my hearts way past beating. One comments on me saying that I am to never be understood nor can I be captured. I can only hope for the sake of tings that this is totally true. Wish me luck in the world darling.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-1067475627306746137?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/1067475627306746137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=1067475627306746137' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1067475627306746137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1067475627306746137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/07/heart-surgery-isnt-that-bad.html' title='Heart Surgery Isn&apos;t That Bad.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-7577593942726593201</id><published>2008-07-25T20:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T09:19:43.714-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Seize the Day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#66ff99;"&gt;With you there is nothing to take for granted. You have stuck by me when I have come damn near crashing. No matter how shitty things have gotten for me I can always rely on you. I just wanna say thank you and you really don't understand how much you mean to me. I do love you even if it seems like a fucking cliche. I don't deserve such a great friend. "I'm too young to worry", you would not believe how many times I hear that and just start crying whenI think about all the shit I've been through. Yet you have stuck with me through it all and you have never let your love for me falter. Though we may come from seperate grounds and some parts are the same you still see me for who I truely am. How can I ever pay you back for your kindness, your acceptance and your love? That's practically impossibe but I'll do my fucking best. Special? Yeah you are. You understand me, and even when you don't you won't let me drown in the ocean of sorrow. You are always there to throw me back and keep my sanity from slipping through my fingers. It's all I can to keep from breakig down right now and even if I do, I know you have my side. Thank you once again for your support.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-7577593942726593201?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/7577593942726593201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=7577593942726593201' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7577593942726593201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/7577593942726593201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/07/seize-day.html' title='Seize the Day.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-8163294980555702507</id><published>2008-07-25T20:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T09:24:04.613-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;How the fuck can you do thia to me? I've never turned a hand in your direction and yet you feel like you can do anything you want to me. At first everything was fine and then you just changed. Like some sort of monster. You molded yourself into not only a parasite but into something I realized I had to get away from. Like prey, you treated me. You hunted me down and tried to destroy my happiness. You knew my health was fragile and yet you decided to crush the breathe out of my frail lungs. How fucked up are you that you could do such damage and then call me the whore?! My body aches from the slaps and bites. These scars won't heal because that was your plan all along. To gather me into your web and just leave me for dead. You knew I thought I couldn't do any better than you and so you took this chance to rape me and my heart. You are a monster and you fucking know it. You feed off my soul and try to dissect my every little move. Every detail becomes a part of you until I can no longer breathe. The worst fucking thing is that you get away with it too! No one will listen to my cries and they always turn away as the blood begins to pool. If I ever got the chance I would take a pole and ram it through your chest. You don't know how good it would feel to have your blood running down my hands. Oh god. Am I becoming you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-8163294980555702507?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/8163294980555702507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=8163294980555702507' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8163294980555702507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8163294980555702507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/07/lost.html' title='Lost.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-8458633717840046771</id><published>2008-06-24T00:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T00:37:15.750-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Camisado.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;Just hear me out. I'm a prisoner of my own humanity. Yet you stay the nonconformist purple haired freak I was always with. My hands are the tools in which I create and how I breathe. Don't wallow in your misery because you think that I'm okay. False pretenses are nothing but and you know it. Where will that leave us hun? Stranded without a clue? I shouldn't have to explain myself unless I choose to, other than that you can keep your comments to yourself. How I love you for your apathy. But I do miss you. The late night discussing politics on the back porch while we watched the stars fall down. I know you're somewhere out there. You'll find me and things will be like they once were. My best friend, I miss you terribly. I'm lonely and out of place since you've been gone. I still don't understand why my mum was that way towards you, you never did a fucking thing to her. But I tell her that you'll be back someday. I know you will. As always, I'll shy away from the specifics and allow to you fill in those gapped out years.  Cross the line and just fucking do it. I never wanna take back the memories or the parties or anything. I'm ready to try again but first we gotta hang out. You know I couldn't keep to myself long enough. Now get the cd player, I'll puke on your dad and we'll go under the blankets and kill Elizabeth :P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-8458633717840046771?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/8458633717840046771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=8458633717840046771' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8458633717840046771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8458633717840046771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/camisado.html' title='Camisado.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-2817305360115059466</id><published>2008-06-23T21:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T21:32:56.105-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Danger Zone.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#99ff99;"&gt;My eyes looked at her with deep regret and love. My hands moved down her face and my lips met hers to kiss away the pain. The shock and astonishment as my words finally registered in his head. I was gone and he wouldn't get me back. Life is so much easier now that he's gone and you're back. Thought I'd lost you for the longest but I can totally see that you're never leaving me. Next year will soon be here and then it'll all be great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-2817305360115059466?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/2817305360115059466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=2817305360115059466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2817305360115059466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2817305360115059466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/danger-zone.html' title='Danger Zone.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-6936243131453964442</id><published>2008-06-19T11:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T11:53:35.242-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Secrets.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;Why I take my relationships and friendships so hard, so seriously. I work so hard to make everything right, make it fucking perfect. Make everyone happy. So in the end Ill be happy. Does it ever work? More often not. I can deal with it. Just hide the things in my closet and bury the dead. Somedays I like to keep things simple in order to not leave the reminders in the open. Of my failures and other's regressions. Was this ever real?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-6936243131453964442?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/6936243131453964442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=6936243131453964442' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6936243131453964442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6936243131453964442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/secrets.html' title='Secrets.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-6815982635012484358</id><published>2008-06-19T11:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T11:47:12.147-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Breaking the Habit.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;I need to come out. Breath unto the world again. Observe the birds and hang in the trees like I used to. Sit outside and just watch everyone &lt;em&gt;live. &lt;/em&gt;I think that this is the one thing that could bring me solace in my heart. To know to feel that the earth is real and that everything in it is not just a figment of my imagination or subconcious. Do I ask for too much? Tell me if it's so. Tell me tha my dreams are empty and unfuflling. Just your conversation would be enough to sustain me. Tomorrow will be a step to living again for today is nearly done and that wouldn't be as heartening. The sky is fadng and night is coming once again, I'll grab my book and head back to my corner. Oh what a life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-6815982635012484358?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/6815982635012484358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=6815982635012484358' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6815982635012484358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/6815982635012484358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/breaking-habit.html' title='Breaking the Habit.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-1918210674875318744</id><published>2008-06-13T12:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T14:41:58.898-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost Easy.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;Sometimes it's easier to stay with walls up and head held high than to let it all down and forgive. To show weakness is a sign of humanity. That we are no longer animals but a race of creatures that are supposedly socially unaware and inept to feelings such as empathy, sympathy or anything caring. How long before a child could change the eyes of the world? The future held in her hands could be absolute utopia or it could be a crumbling hell. Sometimes it just seems so bleak and pointless to carry on this dreary planet. Everyday we get closer to our dreams and farther from our past. Revolutions are just another way of saying that the way things once were are dying and becoming extinct. Will everything change? Will we no longer recognize ourselves within what we have become?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-1918210674875318744?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/1918210674875318744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=1918210674875318744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1918210674875318744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/1918210674875318744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/almost-easy.html' title='Almost Easy.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-8311397314145624685</id><published>2008-06-07T00:54:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T00:59:36.318-04:00</updated><title type='text'>X&amp;O's.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;When the time comes and I need you the most, you're never to be found. The lies are profound but yet I stay near. Hoping to hear your words comfort and warm me instead of breaking my heart. I doubt things'll ever be the same as they once were. I'm wiser but still stupid and you haven't changed a bit even with all this time that's passed. Guess that makes me a fool. I'm blind and deaf to your ways and I hate it. I can't stand how I let you rip apart my being. I know you can never do better than me but why do I always end up running back to you? I just wanna find solice in your beating heart, warm chest and dark eyes. Can I do that again or am I forever damned to contemplate on the things that will never be. Curse my bleeding heart. It's fucking useless, making excuses for you and trying to cover up your sins. Yet all the while I know I shouldn't turn such a blind eye to these things and I should carry on. Wish things could be that simple.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-8311397314145624685?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/8311397314145624685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=8311397314145624685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8311397314145624685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8311397314145624685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/x.html' title='X&amp;O&apos;s.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-670540197571042048</id><published>2008-06-05T12:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T12:28:45.837-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pill Matic.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;Oxycotto. Xanax bars, Percocet, Loritab, Valuim, Morphine. Adderall. Zanaflex. Klonipin. 3 c's. Seroquil. Honey brows. Trazedone. Call me a walking pharmacy. Could be considered my best friends at one point.  These we're some of the best and worst days of my life. Made me fucking famous, partied like rockstars, did crazy shit. Helped me get through the worst situations imaginble (real and imaginary) but with horrible results. Deaths, loss of friends, grades, family bullshit among other things. Why'd I turn to these things? I don't even remember it's been so long. Now I've got a terrible back, can't even take a damn tylenol without worrying about causing another ulcer, spent 4 months with strept, terrible leg muscle degeneration among other things..Haha not just the lost brain cells. Would I do it all differently if I could? Probably not. I'm that fucking dumb. And the shit's harder than you think. ;]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-670540197571042048?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/670540197571042048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=670540197571042048' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/670540197571042048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/670540197571042048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/pill-matic.html' title='Pill Matic.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-3233304034582963476</id><published>2008-06-02T21:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T21:19:46.279-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Star-Crossed.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;If the stars said that you couldn't love me are you telling me that you would listen? That's alright. I never expected anything less of you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-3233304034582963476?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/3233304034582963476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=3233304034582963476' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/3233304034582963476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/3233304034582963476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/star-crossed.html' title='Star-Crossed.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-2030369168729877094</id><published>2008-06-02T21:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T21:20:32.596-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Everyday Forecast.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;Today's been raining and unpleasant. My heart feels like it could be blown aways by the slighest of winds, a whisper of rightly placed words could distance it from my chest and then it wouldn't even be mine anymore. But I remain humble with these thoughts and keep things so deep that even the rain can't touch them anymore. Stuck between two worlds, mine and the world that is shared with all of the other people that exist. I find comfort in knowing that even when I'm lonely, I'm still not competely by myself. I've got my found strength thru the things that I enjoy and am capable of loving. I do grow fond of these things and hope that they will grow in abundance and sparkle for all eternity. Not fading without my consent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-2030369168729877094?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/2030369168729877094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=2030369168729877094' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2030369168729877094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2030369168729877094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/everyday-forecast.html' title='Everyday Forecast.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-8102910304304456059</id><published>2008-06-01T23:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T23:25:17.600-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Days never End.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;Turn off your headphones or turn them up. Grab a book and sit outside. Plant a tree then paint a picture. You'll be suprised at how amazing your hands good be and how better your heart would feel. It's a chance to destress and become one with yourself. Who knows what'll happen. Discover your voice as you climb a tree. Records don't last forever darling so take them out the closet and dance across the ocean floor like we did so long ago. It's a chance yo need to take to clear up the past and live again. Childhood ends? Says who?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-8102910304304456059?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/8102910304304456059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=8102910304304456059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8102910304304456059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/8102910304304456059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/days-never-end.html' title='The Days never End.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-3979205063086239152</id><published>2008-06-01T22:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T22:45:17.628-04:00</updated><title type='text'>After(Life) of the Party.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc33;"&gt;Well it's like this. Keep your hand over your mouth if you've gotten proved wrong. Don't fuel the fire especailly when you have no idea what you're talking about and all you're gonna do is piss people off. If you have a problem don't be rude about it and try to make everyone else around you look like a fucking fool cause you feel like you have the right to be a total cunt. Like the old saying goes: "Don't like the show, get up and change the damn channel."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-3979205063086239152?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/3979205063086239152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=3979205063086239152' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/3979205063086239152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/3979205063086239152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/06/afterlife-of-party.html' title='After(Life) of the Party.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-5052886852964663223</id><published>2008-05-31T23:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T23:46:17.274-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Bird.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Where does this day find me? Wondering what became of you and I. I feel that I'm ready to cross that bridge that we discussed so many months ago. I've dealt with the bullshit and rumors but still kept an open heart. Now it's time to gather our thoughts and discover if we're ready to try this again. You know how I feel about it..or do you? Are all these attempts just wasted? I don't know anymore. I don't really think it's fair of me to see other people while I still think of you. The further we drift...the more I realize that you don't feel the same.So with an open mind and a cleared conscious I reckon it's time to let you go. I'll never be through with you hun but I guess it's better that we quit tryin to force it since it obviously wasn't meant to be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-5052886852964663223?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/5052886852964663223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=5052886852964663223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5052886852964663223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5052886852964663223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/05/free-bird.html' title='Free Bird.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-332732743811531230</id><published>2008-05-31T07:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T07:54:05.372-04:00</updated><title type='text'>On one's Dreams anyways.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;I believe that it's attempt at immortality a strike at the eternal life. Living your dreams through someone else, becoming famous and recognized. Your word gets pressed and passed on to others so your name is always on someones lips. Dead or alive it never matters as long as you're never &lt;em&gt;forgotten. &lt;/em&gt;Yes, that's the key to it all. To never be forgotten is to be erased. And to be erased to is to be deleted. It's probably one of the worst feas of all humans. To be unloved and lonely. But if we're dead why should it matter. Aye it doesn't seem quite right but it is. Now others would think that it's for the "greater good" to have their legacy passed on, their life goals, missions, dreams and failures will actually help in the future. Help rewrite the future. Fight to the end at making things right one could always assume. Dignity, charity, love and peac are all things that the worlds needs more but sadly these things need to be genuine. People need to become more &lt;em&gt;real.&lt;/em&gt; Humanity has reached some all times lows and they need to realize that even when they are gone, they still live on. And the evidence is over whelming. Just take the time and realize how you live your life and what you do, does in fact affect others. Think of the changes that your life will cause. Just think about it. ;]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-332732743811531230?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/332732743811531230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=332732743811531230' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/332732743811531230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/332732743811531230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/05/on-ones-dreams-anyways.html' title='On one&apos;s Dreams anyways.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-5109669155369533490</id><published>2008-05-31T00:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T01:01:21.444-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Looking back.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc33;"&gt;I just wanna take this time to apologize. I never meant those things I said. The pain I caused, I wish I could just take it away and let it lie in my heart. But I know that things could never ever be that simple. I only want to know why you did those things to me? Played me as your pawn so you could find happiness. Sometimes I think about all the things we went through and I wonder what I could have done differently and how that would alter how things are now. I just wish that I could have been smarter and not trusted you like I did. My only regret was not being there in the end and the only thing I hate was that I loved you so fucking much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-5109669155369533490?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/5109669155369533490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=5109669155369533490' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5109669155369533490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/5109669155369533490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/05/looking-back.html' title='Looking back.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-3130582968168914636</id><published>2008-05-31T00:32:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T15:58:39.528-05:00</updated><title type='text'>There goes the Sun.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);"&gt;Meh I'm feeling kinda shitty right now. It's 12.34am and I hardly get any sleep anymore. Four hours at the most but I'm not bitching. There's no use in it. Always up late at night playing games and voicing my views to people who honestly could not give a fuck about me and don't want to know about my actual life. Why do I do it? Boredom could be an excuse but thats all it narrows down to in the end. If my real friends are all out without me doing things that they love, I should be able to find some small comforts on the web. Should'nt I, it seems to be the right thing? I hope the answer is yes but sadly I grow more distanced from my computer. Things that once brought me joy are now just becoming a pain in my side. I know I should get out into the town but I hate this shit hole I live in. Nobody to actually sit down and talk with. Face to face like it once was. I really should get my ass outside. These are sad times darling. But we can't sleep here, this is bat country.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-3130582968168914636?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/3130582968168914636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=3130582968168914636' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/3130582968168914636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/3130582968168914636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/05/there-goes-sun.html' title='There goes the Sun.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-9077709758985028127</id><published>2008-05-28T13:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T13:45:36.121-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to planet earth.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffcc00;"&gt;To heartbreak and pain can sometimes make you stronger. For being so young I've seen all kinds of torturous pain. I cant help but think about it and feel a sense of helplessness. The world is a terrible and cold place. I've done my best to find solace in the hearts of those around me. It's so hard to look at someone new and be able to trust them without knowing deep down if they truely knew the things you've seen and experienced that they would hurridly gather their things and run away. But you get used to it after having it happen so many times, the worst part is when someone looks you in the eyes, says it's okay and that they'll never leave you but after a short period of time they begin to feel youre depressing them. How can you fucking do that? Claim to be a friend and then when things become bad for you, just break it off? Well human nature at its finest one can assume. We're all creatures of habit and our natures are decietful and disturbing. We're all the same on the inside, being made of flesh blood tissue and organs, our brains and hearts hide the most terrible things and our eyes are filled with glowing hatred. It would kill us to be anything other and if we had survived that adaptation we would become "alien" and "unreal". We just cant fucking stand eachother can we?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-9077709758985028127?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/9077709758985028127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=9077709758985028127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/9077709758985028127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/9077709758985028127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/05/welcome-to-planet-earth.html' title='Welcome to planet earth.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2749299900440338789.post-2063829721598517057</id><published>2008-05-27T21:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T21:58:04.110-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Actually. You deserve this.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;color:#00cccc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sometimes life is just shitty and I've grown used to people treating me like hell and getting walked all over.  So if you have the balls to tell me"I deserve better" Fuck you, cause you're probably one of the assholes who's done it to me. I'ma great chick and I've great friends and I don't need you if al you're gonna do is drag me down. I'm tired of going out of my way just to help you and then get fucked over on the way. As some people would say, I'm too good for that.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2749299900440338789-2063829721598517057?l=dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/feeds/2063829721598517057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2749299900440338789&amp;postID=2063829721598517057' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2063829721598517057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2749299900440338789/posts/default/2063829721598517057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dissectionorautopsy.blogspot.com/2008/05/actually-you-deserve-this.html' title='Actually. You deserve this.'/><author><name>oh Jerika!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16131634168678363363</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m0Mm1kdk-Ak/SfSL7noWB4I/AAAAAAAAAAw/F3qVhaGsaFw/S220/0322091717.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
