My name is Jenn.
I attend Wise, JJK-- I live in Norton, Virginia -- For those who don’t know, It is a small city, with few population, next to Wise, which is near no where.
I love music, and have played guitar for about 4 or 5 years now-- I love HIM, Every Time I Die, Cranberries, From First to Last, From Autumn to Ashes, Anti-Flag, Valient Thorr, Bright Eyes, Funeral For A Friend, Check out my info for the rest-- *smile*
I am a devoted Christian, and instead of religion, I have a strong relationship with Christ-- I go to 3rd Wave Youth Ministries and if your in the area you should come! Its every Thursday at Seven at Zion’s (The Church behind the theater) Anywho.
I Love Art, I mostly sketch, but I am also into musical arts, theater, drama, painting, drawing, etc... I attempt to skateboard, but I’m not all that good--
I am taken by the most wonderful guy in the would, Joshua Grigsby, whom I love with all my heart- People think they are in true love, but when people tell you that you make even them happy, there must be something there- When people can look at you and just see the joy we bring each other. I don’t know what I would do without you, I would be so lost-- You mean to world to me & I love you!
April Second Two Thousand & Five...
I am a vegetarian, since November 23, 2oo4 and an animals rights activist.
Now time for some Lyrics, Because I don’t know what else to type about me...
Ebolarama - Every Time I Die
Boys: shoot to thrill from the hip.
This time we put the "act" in action.
We've tricked the pigs into thinking that this auction is a pageant.
In no time there will be makeup on our new set of cutlery.
The livestock is star struck.
They're all salivating like ravenous cartoons.
God Loves animal.
You'd better watch where you spit.
Squeal like soft music.
If it helps, we'll dim the lights on the floor.
Neon bulbs are the cosmetics of swine.
Everybody looks quite dazzling,
trussed up in their formal attire.
You'd make a great secret if I could keep you, but we all spill our guts.
We're locked and loaded. Drip fed and bloated. Our trigger fingers snagged
in the mouse trap of the moment.
Turn the lights off on us, like a moth left in the cold. In the dark, begging for more.
When the urgency strikes you, you'd better not lose your nerve.
It's the rush that the cockroaches get at the end of the world. It's alright.
There's a pail by the bed if you need one (but you're doing just fine).
When in Rome we shall do as the Romans, when in Hell we do shots at the bar.
Last call, kill it.
We don't think in terms of the morning afters, and we don't utter a single word of the night befores.
In the meantime we're just thoughtless incessant buzzing apparatus.
Disillusioned and lonelier than the last man standing.
It doesn't get any better than this so run like Hell.
This is a rock and roll takeover.
Living each day one night at a time.
There were mercy
fucks, there was blood.
You should have been there by my side.
This is passion, this is red handed denial.
I have no lover and she hasn't the prettiest eyes.
Last call, kill it.
Waste of Paint -- Bright Eyes
I have a friend, he is made mostly of pain.
He wakes up, drives to work,
and then straight back home again.
He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper.
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover.
And I tried to tell him he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent.
And he said "Thank you, please but your flattery is truly not becoming me.
Your eyes are poor. You are blind.
You see, no beauty could have come from me.
I am a waste of breath, of space, of time."
I knew a woman, she was dignified and true.
Her love for her man was one of her many virtues.
Until one day, she found out that he had lied and decided the rest of her life,
from that point on would be a lie.
But she was grateful for everything that had happened.
And she was anxious for all that would come next.
But then she wept.
What did you expect?
In that big, old house with all those cars she kept.
"Oh!" and "such is life," she often said.
With one day leading her to the next,
you get a little closer to your death, which was fine with her.
She never got upset and with all the days she may have left,
she would never clean another mess or fold his shirts or look her best.
She was free to waste away alone.
Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove.
And this cop pulled him off to the side of the road.
And he said, "Officer! Officer! You have got the wrong man.
No, no, I'm a student of medicine, the son of a banker, you don't understand!"
The cop said, "No one got hurt, you should be thankful.
And you carelessness,
it is something awful.
And no, I can't just let you go. And though your father's name is known,
your decisions are yours alone.
You are nothing but a stepping stone
on a path to debt, to loss, to shame."
The last few months I have been living with this couple.
Yeah, you know, the kind that buy everything in doubles.
They fit together, like a puzzle.
I love their love and I am thankful that someone actually
receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales that drugged us.
And they still do me. I'm sick, lonely, no laurel tree, just green envy.
Will my number come up eventually?
Like Love is some kind of lottery,
where you can scratch and see what is underneath.
just one cherry, "Play Again." Get lucky.
So I have been hanging out down by the train's depot.
No, I don't ride.
I just sit and watch the people there. They remind me of wind up cars in motion.
The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions.
And I want to scream out that it is all nonsense.
And that their lives are one track, and can't they see how it is all pointless?
But then, my knees give under me.
My head feels weak and
suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has lost my self-identity.
As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry,
like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve.
And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me.
And everything I have is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.
Sometimes I park my car down my the cathedral, where floodlights point up at the steeples.
Choir practice is filling up with people. I hear the sound escaping as an echo.
Sloping off the ceiling at an angle. When voices blend they sound like angels.
I hope there is still some room left in the middle.
But when I lift my voice up now to reach them. The range is too high, way up in heaven.
So I hold my tongue, forget the song, tie my shoe and start walking off.
And try to just keep moving on, with my broken heart and my absent God
and I have no faith but it is all I want, to be loved and believe in my soul, in my soul...
My Layout was made by Me and features my Lovely boyfriend-- Josh <3