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They call me |Kranf|

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(no subject) [Aug. 11th, 2011|03:04 pm]
They call me |Kranf|
 Something bat shit crazy happened to me and I am still reeling with the weirdness of it all.  I  listened to a live show  on my computer last weekend and I recorded it with Audacity. I split the the recording into three parts and titled them "1" , "2" and "3"
 I didn't edit the artist info or anything of that sort. I left it empty , since it was for me and all and I didn't have to do it.
Today I opened the folder and looked at the files, and my eyes were about to pop out of my head. The 3rd file had the following info.

Artist : The Ciccone Youth
Album : The Whitey Album
Track :  2 Silence

I was like wtf? Not only have I not heard of that band but I have not added that information.  I don't have any artist credits set as default in audacity neither have I manually inputted that.
This felt like crazy shit, but I was still curious to know what the original song was all about ...

see for yourself

This made literally made me clutch my chest. I clicked file properties on the mp3 file and saw that the publisher was listed as " Goofin'  "

This is my personal computer and no one has access to it at all so it cannot be one of my siblings. Who the heck is goofin with me?

I looked up "goofin" and apparently they published that album, but that still doesn't explain how the file's info was changed.

The live show I listened to was just some dude talking and there was no music of any sort.

I meddle with audacity all the time and half of the mp3 files I have in my computer are of me singing crap or just creating fake podcasts and none have any file info of any sort.

except this darned fucked up file.

I removed the info, and now I plan to go on like nothing happened.

I have been feeling like someone is spying at me. tracking my every move. a part of me tells me if that were true then he'd be meddling with my wow account, but nothing like that has happened yet so that might just be delusion.

I had been so paranoid that I started opening notepads and leaving notes like "Who are you?" " Leave me alone" "introduce yourself " etc but no one has replied yet.

The fucked up thing is that this kind of reminds me of the creepy virus or trojan in my family computer about 10 years ago. The weird bug would suddenly start typing random shit and words that make no sense at all to any application that accepted text. I used to see my computer acting weird each time  I was typing and email or doing a school report. It would suddenly start typing and all I could do then was stare at the insanity as it typed away..

Sorry, I might seem a little out of my mind. I can't help it for I am out of my body at the moment,

fuck , I think I am going crazy.

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(no subject) [Aug. 4th, 2011|03:50 am]
They call me |Kranf|

I am feeling awfully depressed and bottled up for reasons I should have gotten over. I feel like I am  weaker than I have ever  been my entire life. Confusion has risen to a whole new level for me now. All I want to do is slink to the corner of my room and cry. I fucking hate my life. I fucking hate the fact that  I have this damn shackles binding me and I fucking hate the fact that I just can't shut up, get up and get on with my life.

I thought that by spending time with myself,  an entire month of not going out or hanging out with people, would actually teach me to love myself a little bit more or distract myself from my worldly grievances. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect. By spending time with myself I realised how much of a failure I was and how weakly I have acted in the past. I fucking remember stuff from 2003 or 2004 and I freak the shit out. I keep dissing myself in my head, pulling my hair and what not. FUCK ME. I cure myself AAAH

What is worse is that there is a worse storm outside. I don't fucking want to deal with life or myself anymore.

I wish there was a way out of all of this.
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Writer's Block: It’s a small world [Aug. 2nd, 2011|03:41 am]
They call me |Kranf|

Where is your happiest place on earth?

The darkest corner of my room. I would've said, "My Head" but she's quite judgmental now and won't stop criticising me.
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Writer's Block: More than words [Jul. 7th, 2010|07:58 pm]
They call me |Kranf|
[Tags|, , , , , , ]

Which song lyrics send shivers down your spine and really hit you emotionally?

I Don't Wanna Lose you  Tonight -  by Jan Terri

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(no subject) [Feb. 2nd, 2010|03:17 am]
They call me |Kranf|


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Writer's Block: Mobile etiquette [Jan. 26th, 2010|08:27 pm]
They call me |Kranf|

Do you get offended if someone repeatedly checks their mobile phone when you're out for lunch or dinner? If so, do you usually say something?

No. coz I am the one playing with the phone.
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Writer's Block: Menu fixe fix [Jan. 8th, 2010|09:11 pm]
They call me |Kranf|

If you could choose only two foods to eat for the rest of your life, what would they be and why? How soon would you grow tired of them?

cheese& olive sandwich +cucumber.

Cause I don't like to masticate or consume plus they are easy to make and are always delicious.
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Writer's Block: Simply wonderful [Dec. 19th, 2009|07:44 am]
They call me |Kranf|

It's often said that the simple things in life are the most precious. What small pleasures make you the happiest?

I am craving that like crazy right now. The few minutes I spend alone (the loo, and my trips to the woods and beach) are the ones I love and cherish the most.
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(no subject) [Dec. 13th, 2009|08:29 pm]
They call me |Kranf|
Sometimes I wish i didn't have a vagina.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't such a dickhead.
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Writer's Block: Sense and sensibility [Dec. 3rd, 2009|09:27 pm]
They call me |Kranf|

If you could keep only one of your five senses--taste, touch, smell, sight, or hearing--which would you choose and why?

I would definitely keep my sight. I don't really consider or taste or smell to be that important.Heck the only time they are of use is when I want to taste something sweet or smell someone fart.I can live without listening to people's jabber or the radio for that matter.I don't care if I can't feel pain. Nothing really matters as long as I can see.
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