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Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Just call my name cause I'll hear you scream.
Mood: Brooding
Music: Led Zeppelin-Heartbreaker
The lipid morose of the flower's belay. Sort of just popped into my mind today..
It's from this poem I did a really long time ago. Yet it's stuck I guess.
In Journalism I wrote it on the board, along with other words that strung from it.
Ah. My Column's been cut from the paper due to the fact that pages are due today--and as Mullen (head honcho editor) and Lisa Horner (other head honcho editor) read it, they realized that they were nervous as to what could happen. They say that last year someone wrote about Perkin's, and things, and that person got Perkin's angry.
So thus they pulled out my column--they were going to post it in its 2,000 word entirety I think.
It feels like it hurts somewhat. But that doesn't matter, I always try to put this feeling that it hurts in the backdrop, and lately I've just decided, "Ah well. That's the way things are. Live with it."
So Winter, our adviser, pulled me out of the room and apologized about this. Said they should have told me this weeks ago so I could've made the changes. "I just don't want you to be upset," he concluded. And I am not, at least don't want to be.
I still think it's stupid. Doesn't that constitution state, in its first amendment, that freedom of speech is to governed in this land? Indeed, it does. So why should it be a big deal? It is not my lie to tell the truth, it is my truth to tell the truth, yet still I am abated and resigned to not show this and falisfy it within every facet of this world.
I've said this millions of times, I'll say it again. The truth is what hurts people most; especially when it first hits them. It is what will shock people the most, wow them the highest, and clutch them the tightest; it is, in all forms, the thing that will perdition and destroy.
And what is the purpose of a column? It is to entrance the reader into it, then force them to cling to it, and force them to hear your voice, as the writer, clear and strong. Yet I am reprimanded not to do my best, I am forced rather to quell a calm, and squall with teathers of what should be.
Getting a little poetic, but what the hell. It makes me feel like I can actually make a point.
I am not upset about this--but am discouraged. And when I get discouraged, that is definitely a bad thing. By this I crumble and fall to a state of depression.
I will not let it happen--I don't want to. This really isn't that big of a deal. It feels like it, but it isn't.
I will make these necessary evils and change my column, and hopefully it will be in the next issue.
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