Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in Alison's LiveJournal:

Sunday, March 3rd, 2002
10:27 am	What I Do At One AM �Let�s go, Matthew.� I sigh. �I thought we covered this. My grandma calls me Matthew. My high school principal called me Matthew. Unless you want to be associated with either of them -- lay off the Matthew.� His eyes twinkle mischievously. �I�d rather lay *on* the Matthew if I could...� He wraps an arm around my waist, but I swat it away. �The only thing you�ll be laying on is your mattress if you call me that name one more time.� I think I'm past the point of no return. Sigh. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 2nd, 2002
10:44 am	Breaking Point (by Matt Caplan) Standing there before you I’m speechless to the core Shocked like a little child Who doesn’t know what he wants to do When he gets older, when he grows up So maybe I’ll ignore you Or steal a sideward stare Stop for a little while And never know what I’m gonna do When it gets colder, when it slows up And I was not into being silent I was only imagining I was not into sleeping in these arms Did I wake you up Did I bring you down Did I wake you up Cuz I’m only an hour past my breaking point And I built a prison for you Here inside my brain A bed for a smile First I breathe from the Wound of your head on my shoulder That’s all life And I was not into being silent I was only imagining I was not into sleeping in these arms Did I wake you up Did I bring you down Did I wake you up Cuz I’m only an hour past my breaking point And I was not into keeping secrets I was only imagining I was not into sinking down this far Did I wake you up Did I bring you down Did I wake you up Cuz I’m only an hour past my breaking point An hour past my breaking point (Just read those lyrics and *try* to tell me it's not about Joshua... just try... God. The fic ideas.) (2 Comments |Comment on this)
10:20 am	Scarred (by Joshua Kobak) Through the woods, beyond the lake Slither streams, ravines where trees bend and ache Withered by carvings, scarring their nape Scarring and starving What was writ was right to be Pardon this, I’ve altered three The third the tree, and the second my lover, the first is me Scarred worse than the tree Winter was so cold this year After I had carved her love disappeared Frozen and starving, scarring appeared After my carving What was writ was right to be Pardon this, I’ve altered three The third the tree, and the second my lover, the first is me Scarred worse than the tree I have said, she’s leaving my dear, what caused this absence She replied demeaning and lashing out sarcastically, “If I were to tell you, you’d scrawl it on a tree” As I write into the verse I can see I’ve fallen victim to curse From nature’s mother I must reverse I must recover What was writ was right to be Pardon this, I’ve altered three The third the tree, and the second my lover, the first is me Scarred worse than the tree (i'm sure i got some of the lyrics wrong... this is just what I heard from the MP3 I have...) (Comment on this)
Monday, February 25th, 2002
6:16 pm	i'll remember i’ll remember the three am grocery store runs           when you decided you just           couldn’t wait six more hours      for a bowl of cereal and i wandered sleepily down           the dimly lit aisles      in my pajamas      you grinned and said “score!”           when you found the last box                of count chocula a tug on my blanket           the lights flickered on      i squinted up at your excited face      as you scrambled for your           guitar to show me the song                you’d just written      (in your sleep) and i tried to look sympathetic           when, crestfallen      you found that you           couldn’t remember the dream sharing a microphone           (even when we could have used two)      the secret smile in your eyes           meant only for me      the audience snapped our picture      but we hardly noticed           except for a vague idea                that the flashes were           like fireworks and i thought that was fitting the bars in each town we came to           you always had too many drinks           but i wore on my neck                an amethyst           you gave to me and i walked you back to the hotel      the door still hung open as your           lips pressed hungrily           against mine      your tongue liquor-soaked           and so sweet nights drunken with passion           pulling clumsily at clothes      every movement so frantic           as though you were afraid                i might disappear and i kissed the sweat from your temples           our sighs in harmony           against the rhythm of bedsprings      and an hour later                finally drifting to sleep together. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 5th, 2002
9:30 pm	From a 'Rentboard Drinking Game ': -- Take a shot whenever M/R ((Mark/Roger, for my non-Rent friends who may be reading this)) is brought up in any context.    ...Take another TWO if it's brought up originally by Alison. Take a shot if Alison veers an innocent conversation into the world of slash or M/R. Am I really that predictable? Yes... (1 Comment |Comment on this)