Some of the things I write:

These date back to December (the last one), the most recent one is the first, from this morning.

She hears the rain but cannot see it. He sees the rain but cannot hear it. Together, they can paint the perfect picture. He’ll never go anywhere without her, or she without him. Friends since childhood, they know every quirk each other has, and they’ve grown to accept them all. She knows that when he gets really upset, he exhales fast and short. He knows that when she is feeling sad, she has that one certain line in her forehead. She heard one time that he is beautiful, prettier than any picture could ever be. He sees her every morning, making sure to stare for a few extra seconds just so he can take in all that she is. They wish they could do the opposite. Just for one day, he wants to hear her sing and she wants to see him smile. God, they would give anything just to do that for a few hours, minutes, seconds. They communicate in ways that others cannot. Somehow, their messages are given and replies taken. Sure, they are complacent with just that, but they would like it to be more. Until then? They’ll be just fine sitting by the window, her listening to the sounds and him watching the drops.

All is silent except for the far-away screams of children playing. Listen closely and you can hear the words as they flow out of their mouths so effortlessly. You know them; you used to say them, live them.

Ring around the rosey
A pocket full of posies
"Ashes, ashes"
We all fall down!

The man on top of you doesn’t care. He keeps going, hurting. You think that he must not have had a good childhood; these words would bring back memories for everyone. Maybe that’s what gets him off. Hearing little kids spread enjoyment, does he go for that? It disgusts you, even to the point of you wanting to vomit. You resist, knowing that might cause more then he’s planning.
"Just be over, please... make it stop." You beg, plead to yourself. Talking to him isn’t an option, your voice would be choked and small. Thoughts race through your head like an ambulance to the scene of a crime. You tell yourself to focus on anything other than what is happening to you. You settle on an image: the boy you love and the look on his face when you wake up every morning. He would never hurt you and he makes you feel safe. Knowing this, you calm a little. He notices, startled.
"Finally getting used to it?" He snarls, exposing the cocky manner we all knew was there. "Finally getting used to the fact that you are nothing but a useless little sl - " You stop him, managing to bring a fist to his mouth before he screamed out that word. The one you’ve heard so many times in your life, the one you’ve grown to answer to.
You seize the oppurtunity, kicking up dust as you run. Your childhood paid off; you can go far and hard without losing your breath. The sound of him on the ground, moaning, fades and the sound of the children playing, laughing, grows closer. You don’t want to scare them, you only have a top on, so you choose a different course, listening as the kids fade out once again.
It’s another ten minutes of back roads and wooded trails until you reach what you call home. You could go for another hour if you needed to. He’s not home, you realize, and this thought makes you breakdown. You want him, need him to hold you close and tell you everything is going to be okay. You sit on the ground for a good minute crying, then you get up, brush off, and walk calmly inside. You don’t need him yet, you’re a big girl. 19 years old, starting college in the fall, more than old enough to take care of yourself.
The water burns when you get in the shower, but it feels good. You want it all off of you, all of him and the things he did to you. You spend an hour in there, and when you get out he still isn’t home. You’re not worried, he often spends Friday nights out with friends and not you. To pass the time you curl up with a book and coffee in front of a fire. It’s not cold, not by any means, but it comforts you. Concentration doesn’t come easy, but you try. Eventually, you fall asleep, all wrapped up.
He gets home and wakes you, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He smells good, like he always does and you can’t help but sniff a few times too many. He senses that something is wrong, but doesn’t bother asking. No, instead he does what he thinks will help. He repeats your favorite little childhood rhyme over and over. Each time he does, you break inside, not having the heart to tell him the nightmare you experienced. You fall asleep again, coming to the conclusion that you’ll tell him in the morning.

Ring around the rosey
A pocket full of posies
"Ashes, ashes"
We all fall down!

"What should they eulogize? Write a perfect speech for your funeral."

Allison was different. She never wanted any of that "We are gathered here today to mourn... " stuff. All she wanted was for people to realize who she was, inside and out, with no strings. Looking at her now, one would assume that she led the perfect life. Judging from her appearence as she lay in that coffin, she seems peaceful. Nothing else could ever bother her. Well, if she can hear us, she would say that there was nothing more untruthful then that. She never had the perfect life she wanted. She tried... she honestly did, but after a while it just seemed out of her reach. She did what she did and she did it her best. Whether that meant she failed or excelled, all that mattered was the effort. She's known as the smart one, the girl with all the answers. What no one knows is that she knew a lot more then she told you. Allison always knew the little random facts that no one cared about, such as how many lefthanded people died a year from using righthanded equipment. Not only that, but no one knew how much her knowledge hurt her. Nothing stung more than the reaction from people when she got a question wrong. All those times she just wanted to scream. "I'm human, too! No one knows all the answers!" But did she? No. She kept it all inside, and that, that's what took her in the end. She never knew how to express herself in the right ways. But somehow... certain people just knew. They just knew when she was having a bad day, or a good day, or a medium day when she just wanted to be alone. Those people were her lifesavers, and I'm sure if she could say anything to them right now... it would be "Thank you." The books and the music were her life. She wanted to show that today.

(And then we would get all corny and have a little memorial-type thing.)
Play a song from each year of life.
I don't know a lot, but...
2007 = (*Fin) by Anberlin
2008 = Just Say You're Not Into It/Take This to Heart by Mayday Parade

Read an excerpt from her favorite novels.
Faulkner, Steinbeck, Palahniuk.
Read a poem by Bukowski.

Anything to show what she knew the best.
Anything to remember her as who she was and not what she put on.

"Can you really love a thing? Write about a topic you are (or once were) in love with. Not a person...a thing."

Well, this is easy. My thing is music, as all of you that probably read this know. I suppose you could say that I was in love with the people that make the music I listen to, and you would probably be right; however, music as a general concept is something I adore. Listening to it can do so many different things for me. I can't get the feeling that it gives me anywhere else. Well, I suppose I could, seeing as there are certain 'tracks' you can find that make you feel high or like you are having an orgasm. Anyways, some music makes me feel happy and makes me want to jump up and dance (see: Powerspace or the Midas Well). Some other things make me feel mellow and chill (see: Aaron Rothe or Anchor & Braille). Yet some others make me angry and fierce, wanting to punch my way through anything (see: Parkway Drive or Drop Dead, Gorgeous). Whichever way it makes me feel, I can count on it to make me better. And, nothing gives me the same thrill as seeing some of my favorite songs performed live. The rush you get at a show can last for hours after you leave, and I savour that feeling.

"What goes in your message for a bottle? Write a letter to the world (or to whoever finds it) that you might place in a bottle and throw into the ocean. Ask yourself what you might have to say to a total stranger..."

World,
I know you're out there. Don't tuck yourself away into a little sanctuary of your own making. Be something great. Who knows what might happen when you actually apply yourself. Strive to create something new, whether it be materalistic or a new idea to plant in everyone's minds. Don't limit yourself to what we know is there. Pluck all the labels off of everyone you know. Taking away all the catergories of people can bring us together more than you know. If you're afraid... don't show it. Let your spirit out and let it soar high throughout the nations in which we reside. People need to know the real you, not some picture of you they have painted into their minds. I guess you could say that I want you to reach for the stars, and don't stop reaching until you can feel the heat from the glow of them on your palm. You can be the change we need in this society.
Sincerely,
Allison.

"What's so good about it? Write an interesting poem or piece of writing where the last two words of the writing are 'good-bye'."

She walked slowly, yet swiftly, to the car. Her slender, pale fingers reached delicately for the handle, praying for its sanitation. Leaving was never this hard before. Blinking back tears, the young boy picked up the seemingly heavy bags with ease and lifted them into the trunk. He certainly didn't want her to leave but refused to protest, recalling what had happened the last time. Heavy fog was slowly lifting, placing an eerie glow over the town. The small, shelled creature they have all known to love slowly inched closer to the vehicle. He was known as Louise and he was not one for departures, as he was always afraid the people he loved would slip on that slimey trail. She picked him up and cradled the thing in her hands, whispering sweet nothings in the little ear. The boy cleared his throat, as if to say "Let's go, don't wait any longer." The desire in his eyes burned brighter than ever, and God, what he would give for one last night with her. She was miserable on the inside but refused to let it show. No one would ever know that this girl of such high confidence, such morals, would ever have a hard time saying goodbye.

the people i look up to may not appear as a commercial 'hero' figure to some; however, to me these people are life-savers. my heroes, oftentimes musicians and other artists, keep me sane in times of chaos, and lift me up when i find myself down, among countless other things. what exactly makes these amazing human beings a hero? what makes them stand out in a crowd?

one of my biggest heroes is probably craigery michael owens. i never exactly know why he appeals so much to me, but he does. his life, to some, would be considered destructive in many ways. in a general sense, he's a pill-popper and somewhat of an alcoholic. this is evident in the recent blender article, which unfortunatly, focused mainly on him. anyways, despite all those bad things, he manages to pull through and create amazingly gorgeous music for those that need it the most. sure, there are the rumours about him (that are almost always unpleasent), and yes, there are a million haters. beacuse of my open mind (one of my best features, i believe), i can looks past those things and focus on the actual person he is. everyone has little hiccups here and there, but as long as you can work past them... that's what matters most. thanks, craig, for everything.

sometimes, to me, people can be considered heroes beacuse of one certain little thing. this is evident in the case of shawn harris. while he does write incredible music, and always manages to make me laugh, there are two things he typed that changed my outlook on certain principles. these things are as follows:
"I'm not a vegan, I just don't eat animal products and my shoes are faux leather. It's just my thing. If you like it, you'll have to call it your own thing."
"It's all about you and me. You and me are human. We isn't human, it's an average. You and me are better than average."
these can be found on his blog, heavy breeding. the veganism one just goes to show that labels are absolutely pointless. obviously, shawn doesn't like them and won't use them. i totally look up to him for that; however, for me i find that it's really hard to escape them. no matter how hard i try, i can't. the second quote just makes me happy. the last line, 'you and me are better than average', sparks something inside of me and i just can't explain it. i know he isn't speaking directly to me, or anyone in particular, just the general population, but knowing that he cares is something great.

then there are the heroes that aren't with us anymore, but i still look up to greatly. the ones that i appreciate most are john 'beatz' holohan, casey calvert, kurt vonnegut, and charles bukowski. the first two died while doing something they love - performing and creating music for the masses. they both died too young and didn't deserve to go. kurt and charles were fantastic writers and, being an avid reader, there works are something i can always turn to. rest well, you guys.

but of course, there are some people that i look up to greatly who are just commonfolk like you and i.
kate - you listen to me at times when i need it most. you let me vent, and sometimes i do that a lot. you've helped me find new music, and for that i am obviously forever greatful. we have our ups and downs, as everyone does, but i know i can always look to you. thanks, dear. i'll see you soon. =]
erin - you won't read this, but just know that you are an amazing person inside and out. we've gotten so close this year and it's always great to have you by my side. you're HILARIOUS, and not to mention an amazing artist. keep doing what you do, girl.

other heroes of mine include:
stephen christian
jaime tworkowski
spencer chamberlain
the hawthorne heights crew
the bayside boys
nate young
ryan hunter

'what pisses you off most?'

when people fucking critique your musical tastes and opinions. don't leave me a comment on a year-end journal because you don't understand why both tegan and sara AND chiodos can be in my top 10 albums of the year. obviously, it's because i'm open minded and accept all different types of music. obviously, it's because i'm not trapped in some little box that only lets me hear and experience certain things.

don't say that you automatically don't like a certain band because of things you've heard about them, when you haven't even give their music a chance. it makes me so mad when someone says 'oh i hate this band' and then when i ask if they've even listened to them, they say no, that they've only heard other peoples opinions. they're are certain bands i would never have listened to, and liked, had it not been that i just took a chance and tried. for example, sigur ros. i heard things about them, and heard descriptions of them that led me to believe i wouldn't like them. but, had it not been for ryan and his recommendation, i would've never tried, and, as a result i never would've liked them.

if you're a normal listener of hardcore, and just always say you will NEVER listen to soft, chill stuff - or the other way around... don't expect to be cool in my book. i think some of the most annoying people are ones that aren't open minded. i don't care if you like some radio pop like nickelback, as long as you follow it up with something i find amazing. you don't critique me for what i listen to, and i wont critique you.

when you tell someone, sure i'll check this out, do it! don't fucking blow it off. thanks to recommendations from people - and me actually following through and listening - i have found amazing bands that i know love! i guarantee you that if you recommend me something, i will listen to at least one song - no questions asked. if i like it, i'll get more. if i don't, i'll listen a few more times to see if my mind changes.

also, don't listen to a band for one song, and then automatically think you know everything about them AND their music. you don't. research shit first. i know i'm not perfect, hell, i don't know everything about everyone i listen to. ask anybody! but god, don't go around telling people you are someones biggest fan and you don't even the member's names.

i think that's about it. it's aimed at no one in particular, and is meant no offense.
unless i really hate you, then yes, take offense.

Lucy Gray by William Wordsworth
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
--The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon--
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work;--and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
--When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!

--Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

----

From the reading, you can come to the conclusion that Lucy Gray was an obedient child. She obviously does what is asked of her, without putting up a fight. If you did not read through the last few stanzas, you would think that Lucy died, but the poet threw in a twist. It seems as if she is still out there, somewhere, singing a song alone. The line, 'The storm came before its time', suggests that in a metaphorical sense, this journey for Lucy was just too much for a little girl. The storm being the journey, before its time would almost certainly cause confusion and trouble. If you take out the possibility of death, disappearance, etc., and just focus on that interpretation, you could come to the conclusion that at the end of her journey, Lucy had grown into adulthood. After all the pressures put on her by this journey into a town, she had grown and developed into a young lady. However, this doesn't play into the rest of the reading, where her footprints just stopped, and the idea of seeing her 'upon the lonesome wild'. All in all, she was innocent, obedient, and young, and the trip was just too much for her to put on her shoulders.

Now, how this connects to the record, I don't know. Perhaps the band wanted the album to be ever-lasting, never to outstay its welcome. If that's the case, they don't have to worry, because it is an album of excellence. Or, maybe they want to portray that the album will do what is asked. To me, this means that if you need help in any way, or if something is bothering you and you just want to drown your sorrows in an album, Lucy Gray will be there for you. Maybe, you will listen to a song and derive a meaning from it that wasn't originally intended. With each listen, you might get something new, and it might help you in different ways. Perhaps you find a meaning that wasn't even considered as a possibility by the boys, but you find it - and it helps you so much that that is how you always look at the record. This is then how the album is obediant, and doing what you ask of it. Obviously, it's not in a literal sense - the album isn't jumping up and doing your laundry any time soon - but, it will play through your mind any way that you want it to. If you want to connect to Starving Your Friends, it can do that. Take the lyrics a whole different way then they are intended, connect it to a certain memory, do whatever you want with it, the record will comply. Or, if you play off the growth principle, it could mean that Envy has grown since the EP, and this is what they have done after that journey. Everyone is looking for the old Envy, and they just aren't there. It's this new group of people who have found a style that suits them so amazingly well, and the pressure from doing the EP and being successful is out of the way and they can just... be whatever they want. I don't know if any of my explanations was really why they named the album Lucy Gray, heck, I'm probably far off. However, from my research, my description of the (fictional?) Lucy Gray character is - I would like to think - accurate. So, in my mind, my explanations could be possible answers.