Lykwoah

just_call_me_dookie

Legomannj

Dilt

Non_Cherie

BFS

akmaoptea

Jimmy;

Random facts that say nothing about me.
Hello, my name is Lina and I'm a Gigaholic.
There's nothing I love more than getting really dirty, sweaty and banged up at a show. I can scream, shout, laugh and cry, and nobody can care less, because they're doing exactly the same thing at the very same time. Isn't that amazing? Thousands of people going to the same place to do the same thing?

__


If the eyes are a window into a person's soul,
do people with vacant expressions not have souls?

I love the city. It's smelly, noisy and potentially dangerous, but it makes me feel home. I like places where you're not alone, but at the same time no one will look at you twice.

I'm a dreamer.

When I was ten I started writing my own stories, creating my own universes with my own mysteries. A world where things are the way I want them to be. A place where my thoughts are the only ones that matters, and my rules are the only ones that matters...
I've only posted my fanfiction on mibba, although most of them aren't really the classic fan fiction, since very few of them are really about the real life people that are in them.
I'm currently working on several novels, some of them which I plan to publish some day.

I Can Do Better

MCR, 9. April 2007, Malmö, Sweden.
Hove 09, Tromøya, Arendal, Norway.
Green Day, 12. October 2009, Oslo, Norway.
Mika, 17. March 2010, Oslo, Norway.

At fourteen music entered my life. Yes, I had never really listened to anything special until that very day I first heard Boulevard of Broken Dreams streaming through the speakers of my radio. A lot changed that day. Doors opened and others closed.

Dookie is the perfect way to describe my life. Really.

We held hands on the last night on earth. Our mouths filled with dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees, screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves. It was empty on the edge of town but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river. So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea and the shattered seasons lay, and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease. In our cancer of passion you said, "Death is a midnight runner." The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide. We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress. The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop. The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked if you would accompany me in a quick fall, but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two. I rode alone.
You said, "The cinders are falling like snow." There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence. Of blue and grey. Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city. The sun was stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines. Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message.
- AFI.



I want to go somewhere else...