HARTLEY, tyran baer

[tyranbaerhartley]

TYRAN BAER HARTLEY.
you and i should meet.

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GAZE INTO HER KILLING JAR
i'd sometimes stare for hours[/color]
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name: tyran hartley
age: 20
birthday: january the eighth.
band name: regrets and romance
position: drums.
play by: alessandro de marco

LOOK IN MY EYES.

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you're killing me, killing me.[/size][/center]

likes: music; running; alcohol; girls; peanut butter; hawk drumsets; sunflower seeds; sharpies; chocolate axe; baseball.
dislikes: loud people; books; bad drummers; country music; life water; tomatos; vicious dogs; onions; bad actors; terrible liars.
habits: cracking sunflower seeds; drumming; writing lyrics with sharpies.
secrets: manic-depressive. But takes pills so it’s not so bad.
overall personality: Apparently I’m a man whore. But oh fucking well. When people talk to me, I tend to daze completely out of the conversation, and into a completely different world. Who doesn’t do that? I must do it a lot, then.

I have anger issues, so I get angry at something a little more than others. To the point I want to scream, but no one needs to know that much. I take it all out on my drumset, anyway. There’s no need for meds or any of that shit. Oh, I cuss a lot. I don’t really mean to, it just comes out sometimes. And I stutter when I’m anxious or nervous or shy. It’s annoying. I find a lot of things annoying. I don’t know why but I don’t really trust anyone. So don’t excpect me to believe a word you say to me. Thanks. I drink. Not like “oh lord my liver’s gonna explode” drinking, but more or less “My liver’s doing okay. I’ll make it to at least forty.”

I'M AN ADDICT FOR DRAMATICS
i confuse the two for love

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mom:Jillian Ward
dad:Craig Hartley
siblings: none.
other important figures:none.
overall history: I was born in a bathroom of a bar in Detroit, Michigan. My parents were drunk one night, got busy, and conceived me in the same bathroom as they had me in. They didn’t even try to get married – my dad left as soon as he could. Mom was abusing her drugs so I got pushed in Dad’s face. That’s how I ended up with him. I never saw her again. But my dad wasn’t the best father anyone could have. Definitely. The women wasn’t the only thing that made me angry – it was how he talked to me. He made fun of me, and if I didn’t listen, I’d get beat. Literally. Not just kick and hit, either – he’d dunk my head in freezing water for minutes to the point where I’d pass out. I had clothes, but he took my favorites away just because I bruised or something stupid like that. It got annoying and irritating. Which is why at 17, I completely dropped highschool, got on a bus, and made my way to New York City.

I had girlfriends before highschool and during. They thought they could get in the way between my father and I, but they only made it worse, so they just learned to shut up and stop. I was never the heartbroken, but the heartbreaker. Maybe that’s why they call me a man whore, the band does, but whatever the hell. I don’t care. I don’t care about much but drums. The sunflower seeds are from my smoking for two years – trust me, I got cigerettes at the ages of sixteen. I didn’t offically smoke until I was 17, though. I stopped at 19, and have been cracking sunflower shells ever since. If you’ve ever noticed, I have a sunflower seed in my mouth at every concert. Pay attention and you might notice. But, anyway. I do drink, and apparently that’s not good for your liver or something like that, but yet again – I don’t care. I’m addicted to the burning in the back of my throat. So just shut up and leave me alone. Another thing – don’t judge me. I hate being judged from the outside. If you get to know me, maybe you’ll like me. If you still hate and judge, then fuck you. I don’t need you. Thanks.
rp quote:

I made sure I took my pills as I slipped on a pair of jeans and a black turtle neck. I reapplied some mascara, made sure I wouldn't cry, made sure to be prepared to be teased by Aldo.

"Ah, there's the dysfunctional family," Wyatt said. I laughed, following him over to the table. Lester stood up, looking all pathetically cautious.

"Fuck it, I'm fine," I murmured, and he sat back down. I squeezed in beside Lester and Wyatt as everyone started babbling, babbling, babbling.

I was still trying to decipher two things - what the fuck the Italians were fucking saying and what the hell was on my plate. The only Italian thing I really knew was spagetti and pizza. I wasn't even sure if alfredo was Italian. It looked like mozerella cheese and weird, odd shaped noodles with strips of carrots and celery on the side. But the weirdest thing was - there was cut up pieces of broccoli and whatnot in my noodles, so I had no fuck was I was force-feeding myself. Yes, force-feeding. I love Italians, but their tastebuds are terrible.

They were talking about something, and suddenly Lester was standing up, glaring at Margot. "You didn't tell me?!"

"I'm sorry, Lester! It's a lot when your own goddamn mother dies!" I felt the bitter chill freeze my veins. Wyatt bit his lip, glancing at me.

"And you don't think I fucking understand that?! At least you still have your father you can count on!”

I turned to Wyatt, getting pissed off. "What the fuck are they talking about?" I snapped.

Wyatt took a deep breath, shuffling in his seat. "Mama died, Cyan."

Shock shot through my veins instead. My jaw hit the floor, my blood pressure speeding up. "Wyatt I'm..."

"You live in my house! You have for the past four fucking years, and you just...didn't tell me?!"

I DONT WANNA KNOW ABOUT EVIL

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i only wanna know about love[/color][/center]

name/alias: dana.danasaur.xP
experience: ahh. Two years? Two and a half.
password: admin edit

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this was made by heather. lyrics came from tons of bands, so yeah. dont steal or she will send boo the ghost to eat your face and your mothers face.