wednesday, i failed to mention that attached to my gift bag that was comprised of an mp3 & purple, stuffed monkey -- todd handcrafted me a heart-shaped valentine that read "you're the coolest friend, who's a girl!"

i guess that shows he has never read my livejournal.

what should or should not be confusing, for some,  is knowing one's self & having others get a feel for who this person is inside of you. however, when someone close to you makes claims that they don't really know who you are,  & hey, they don't feel right with not knowing,  it leadens me to question myself. it's not as if i have ever been troubled ( Read more... )

i wake up & i don't know when. when is a fucking waste of my time, but hey, atleast i am happy. i wake up with the sweat of summer seeping through the sheets, my mouth dry like the extinction of dinosaurs, my wavesof hair had united into on, &  last night's, somewhat twisted phone conversation with hannah was still lingering through my haywired, ( Read more... )

we'd like to go to bed pinnochio, gosh golly we would, but sometimes we can get, gee, what is the phrase? a little psycho. golly, chum, you would think that this falling apart would be just another day in the park. & it would be! if those FUCKING TREES would stop looking at us. or if all of us orphans would stop drinking beer out on the deck ( Read more... )

like a vine. crossed at the ankles & promise my heart.

"your body pours out of me from time to time. my blood, my holy wine. it tastes so bitter & so sweet. & i'd drink a case of you, & i would still be on my feet.

...& go to her, be with her, but be prepared to bleed."

i felt better today, for what it's worth. woke up at four something to scramble some acceptable state & appearance. the air was light & my head started to spin from not eating, being awake & in the sun since before it even rose. the lack of oxygen, or the purity of air, gave me this subtle teasing fear that i could pass out with my fag in my hand ( Read more... )

fuck meaningless pretty poetry, fuck indulgence in invented aesthetics, fuck creativity for the sake of creativy, fuck premediated writing, fuck premeditated ANYTHING; my writing is not a service, it's a function; i don't depend on readers to do what i do.
i don't define myself in relation to something else. fuck anyone who writes for the sake of ( Read more... )

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for the last couple of days i've been falling victim to the ugliest of moods, moods that are distinctably recognized for being deadly; the mood of mania i am so familiar with from my past has returned. now, i am writing this vague entry about how disillusioned & unfulfilled i am with virtually all aspects of my life, about how everything feels out ( Read more... )