when obviously, I really *am* sure. But this certainty is an ugliness I don't like feeling. It's not quite as morose or tepid as feeling like you want to cry all the time; but it is rather like this unnameable ache in your viscera. There's a sweet sickness to the empty feeling that keeps deepening with each attempt to comprehend it ( Read more... )

I just loved this tiny paragraph; because it lets us know that, well, there's no really *good* news in the news:

"He's alive!" rescuers shouted with joy as people gave the boy food & water and kissed him on the head. The air smelled of decomposing corpses.

In all of life has ever hurt like this. I can't even begin to depict it; so I'll shut up.

Wishing I was dead is droll and empty. The real truth is that I have NEVER felt so empty and deceived in all of life.

I get what I get for being a chump.

Touche -- here's hoping I don't have HIV.

Sweet dreams, son.

Yes, that describes me just fine right now ( Read more... )

all I can say is that, in this moment, I feel helpless. I know I'm not and I know that eventually something forces you to turn around -- but I'm not quite there ( Read more... )

No one's really reading this and no one's really writing it; in a way ( Read more... )

Don't ask me why - really, just don't. But whilst trolling through Myspace, as I am wont to do [as opposed to actually create or produce something meaningful] - I saw a photograph of a total stranger that made my heart ache ( Read more... )

Squirrel: 'You're doin' a great job ( Read more... )

why even launch into another tired tirade here? Aren't these pages well-sullied with the sickness ( Read more... )

...the question arises ( Read more... )