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Dear Shakespeare,
I want to talk to you about seeing Tavi, but for some reason I can't bring myself to write about it yet. Hmmm maybe soon. In fact I really don't have the energy to write much at the moment. I will complain to you for a bit though, seeing as complaining seems to be my only talent.... (watch as I dot point, aint I clever)

• My scanner makes everything I do look ugly. Well I guess that assumes my art looks semi decent in the first place, but honestly, it sucks the color out of my pictures and it only fits a4 sheets of paper. Most of my stuff is on A3 sheets of paper or random scraps of stuff I find in my room 
• People from my school found this (collection of letters). I mean it's weird. One of the reasons why I love the internet (asides from the fact I can find almost anything) is that its such a great place for me to say what I like or post whatever sad attempt at poetry/art/diary writing I am working on. And I don't have to worry about it. Urghhh I give up. Whatever. Nobody has probably actually seen this thing/blog and I am simply overreacting 
• I am tired all the time. When I wake up it's the worst. I feel more tired that when I first fell asleep. People aggravate me, socializing leaves my head thudding and hurting. Why are people so fake and superficial? 

Anways because I am lazy I will just send you some pictures of things I have done-ish, please try not to laugh at their urghhhh-ness

    At Tavi's talk It's hard to see my collar or crown but they were really glitzy

So I tried to take a picture of some flowers and this happened 

                  

I tried to collage my ticket to Tavi's world

           

Photo thingy with a friend

             

Truly Mary, 

P.s. I'm working on a drawing/painting of you with new clothes. I figure that you must want to wear something asides from the heavy looking garbs you're always seen in on pictures online.

P.P.S. listen to this fabbity song. Outkast is too gr9

I'm seeing Tavi on Friday!!

Dear Shakespeare,

 How does it feel to be dead? Does the novelty wear off after the first hundred years or so? Was that an insensitive question? I am soo terribly sorry if it was. I seem to always blather about my inconsequential feelings to you that either make up angsty posts or, quite more often, ripped sheets of paper filled with my blue marker scrawl. Today I will refrain from warbling on about how I feel, it makes me think that I am far too self-absorbed, and I'm not even all that interesting, quite generic. At any rate, Shakespeare, I am EXCITED (oops, that's a feeling). Anyways  IM SEEING TAVI GEVINSON TOMORROW!! I won a ticket to attend her keynote after entering a competition on the lovely website birdeemag. I haven't the slightest idea what I shall wear, but I've made myself a junk tiara constructed mainly out of metallic pipe cleaners, Oh, I also made a detachable collar with random splotches of yellow and lots of plastic glitzy stuff I could find. Perhaps I'll send you some pictures of them soon.

My head is aching, truly thumping and moaning, so before I finish this letter in favor of seeking refuge in a corner of the room I wanted to show you some photos. Please don't judge me too harshly, this was the first ever photo-shoot I've done. I'm only a rookie, willing to learn. Alas, here are an assorted few:

Truly Mary, 

Poem?

Dear Shakespeare, 

I wrote a poem the other day. Well perhaps not a poem as much as a short jumble of prose.  It was inspired by a group of youths chasing around in the lush green of a creek behind my house. Alas, this is my attempt at a poem:

To be a tween

To frolic in neon brights

Heart set a flutter 

At the sight of a wink or a smile

Set against the dull glow of a pixelated screen

To be a tween

Heart so full with the bittersweet strength of youth

And the sacred promise of  a perfect adolescence

I am fifteen now

I feel akin to a downtrodden house mat

What ever happened to my promise of a perfect adolescence?

Did I leave it in the washing machine  for an hour too long?  

What do you think? Too angsty? Tooo melodramatic? Oh well it's how I felt

Truly Mary, 

First post

Dear Shakespeare,

I think it's high time we got us a piece of some internet.

I'm sick and tired of writing letters to you on the backs of my tattered chemistry or math homework, it must be such a challenge for your ghostly brain to decipher my incoherent scrawl which masquerades as handwriting. So ol' Shakespeare we're starting a blog. Well actually I'm starting my blog of letters to you, so all my generic teenage angst  and crappy attempts at poetry and style will be well documented. I tried a blog once, I tried really hard, but it soon became far staler than the lonely piece of  toast currently stewing in the bottom of my backpack (yeah I know it's gross, I call it Narnia gone wrong). I guess my first blog failed because I felt the overwhelming desire to emulate a certain style, a certain aesthetic, but like a lot of things unnatural I simply couldn't keep it up. It was a petty and pretentious attempt at a blog where I cared far too much if people read it and what  thoughts went through their heads as they saw my writing. I was just a desperate little fourteen year old wanting a horde of cool internet friends who wore blue lipstick, made zines and lazed around eating cupcakes for breakfast whilst engaging in intense Freaks and Geeks marathons.

 Actually I still like blue lipstick, and zines, and cupcakes, and freaks and geeks,  but this time I'm just writing to you, and instead of this blog being a place where I feel the need to conform to a certain vibe I want it to be a place  like an online diary or journal. Where everything I post is something that directly relates to the constant transformation that is me (man, I sound like a fricking butterfly). I have no idea why I feel that you are interested in the life of an average teenage wallflower like me, but after that time I broke down in English class whilst reciting Macbeth I felt like asking you questions, and writing to you in the hopes that you would help me understand your work. GOSH SHAKESPEARE when are ya gonna answer all mah questions???

PS. Can ghosts float inside the internet Shakespeare? Is the internet actually a magical world where flying cats are the kings and queens and my horrid school uniform is exchanged for some lovely Meadham Kirchoff attire? I hope so

Truly Mary,