I've started my period, so I highly doubt that I'm pregnant, although that could still be a possibility. Luckily I've been dousing my organs in coffee and other poisons. Coffee makes you infertile and almost guarantees a miscarriage. Yay! (I haven't been feeling as insane as usual up until the start of my period, which doesn't quite make sense. I ( Read more... )

 I want to hide from everything and everyone, but there is nowhere to go, nowhere to run where they won't be.

I've got to get away from myself first.

There is insanity and there is pain.

There is mediocrity and there is happiness.

There is nothing that I can't have, but I can't tell what I deserve, or at least, what the world would give me that I can ( Read more... )

I can't help but be resentful. Will it ever end? It's whiny and weak, and while I realize my weakness, it isn't helping. Becoming a new person would make things all better, but I don't how to do that, and based on what I know about the human condition, it's really not all that possible.

I have to admit I've acquired some close, loyal friends, but I ( Read more... )

I'm on automatic most of the time, distant from the only thing I have and am, not to mention distant from everyone around me--a trend of adulthood, I think. I'm detached from my emotions, my thoughts, like I said, everything I am. (Repetition helps me get a handle on things.)

Being alive, superior to the universe in that I am conscious of it, and it ( Read more... )

No one reads this journal and that doesn't bother me one bit.

Not sure how to feel about anything.

Hatred in me alternately grows and settles. I end up resenting everyone one way or another--feeling betrayed or taken advantage of. At this point I don't really feel close to anyone except my brother (it seems he is the only one I can truly trust). ( Read more... )

So, I've decided to revive this piece of crap again. Out of boredom and solitary enjoyment (since I could care less who looks).  All my old entries have been hidden from public viewing, and have not been deleted (but I may make some of the old ones public again that are less personal in content).

So what's going on?

Well, I'm back in school again ( Read more... )

And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse Not shaking the grass. Ezra Pound

I need a language to hear myself with to see myself in a language like pigment released on the board blood-black, sexual green, reds veined with contradictions bursting under pressure from the tube staining the old grain of the wood like sperm or tears but this is not what I mean these images are not what I mean (I am afraid.)

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun `tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
( Read more... )

( Read more... )