Death and its many faces

When he was hospitalized , I didn't expect to feel anything. I didn't expect to cry, to care, to understand so much in the little time i had had with him before the episode. As cruel as it seems, a small part of me wanted him to die. He ripped away at me, every fiber of my being was being destroyed as he spoke, every word like acid burning away at the world i had created for myself. I wanted him to die. But he had become apart of me, he was apart of my world now, as much as anything and everything else was. I needed him. I needed him alive.
"Jack?"
He had been hospitalized for trying to kill himself. This was eighth time I had stood in this room, next to this window, watching those patients on the lawn walk aimlessly follwed by some guardian in white. This was the eighth time i had felt nothing, but had driven myself down here to see him, strapped to the bed, three long canvas strips, restraining him from the one thing he wanted most.
"Yes, Oliver?"
"Why can't I? I mean why do I keep failing to accomplish something so simple?"
Oliver Marcus Henry was one of my closest friends, he told me everything, every secret. He never failed to remind me that he loved me, that he didn't care if I couldn't love him back. He was just happy knowing that I knew. To him, killing himself was supposed to be simple. But each time he tried he failed. The rope not tight enough, not strong enough, the pills not potent enough, the rocks not enough to keep him down in the river that ran by our school. Maybe he already knew those things when he had tried to commit the sinful act. Maybe was hesitating. He wouldn't tell the doctors, much less me.
"I don't know, Oliver. I don't know."
And then he was silent. Just quietly lying in bed, watching the ceiling. Something he did, when no one had the answers, something he clung to, the wandering thoughts taking over, consuming him.
"They won't let me out, Jack. Because they know, they know I'll try again."
"yes, Oliver. I know."
"Don't talk to me, like I'm one of your sick friends, Jack. You know the only reason I'm here is I messed up."
I did know that. I knew he was smart and healthy and sane. He just couldn't understand life, and he believed it held nothing for him as he held nothing for it.
"I love you."
"I know."
I visit Oliver every now and then. The conversations don't vary much. He talks, I listen. He's losing it, the Oliver I knew is disappearing and quite possibly, I'm disappearing with him.
"We all die, Jack."
"I know."
"There's nothing wrong with running in the opposite direction."
"Of course not."
"I love you."
Someday I will respond.
Someday I'll tell him I care.
Someday we'll both be happy.
Someday he'll succeed.

You got it bad, I can tell

So yes. I took a long vacation from blogging, basically from the internet for the most part.

Shit has happened. Or should I even refer to it as such.

Bad things. Peopel got in fights, physically, mentally, lost of stress. A bill that's kind of important didn't get paid. A bill that didn't get passed is I suppose giving the canidates an oppurtunity to impress us. All in all, I'm disappointed. In my family, in my government, in myself. No idea how anything is going to be resolved. But I do know that it will take small steps.

Step one: Finish my assignments.

Step two: to be decided.

Inhale, exhale. Repeat.

Reunited and it's feels so good

I am sooo happy to be back. Oregon was nice, it had wonderful gorgeous people and people who were like "I'm to pause right in front of the camera." Like fuck you people.... But anyways, we stayed at this house (friend's mother's) and it smelled of weed. Like you could get high of just eating in that house. But everyone's like nooo, it's not weed. Pfft. Please, I know the difference between weed and cigarette smoke. One I like (cigarette) the other I despise. I went to the Dollar Tree for the first time and it was huge. The one in medford, Oregon, literally has everything. It's scary.
"Do you have-"
"Yes"
"But I didn't even-"
"We have that too."

The Ross was jean wonderland. I was so happy. I think everything is better in Medford, Orgeon. Though it's very quiet and very....quaint. I was kind of disturbed by the definite lack of other races. And if Medford has better stuff, then Ashland is going to be my new home soon. Sexy people everywhere you look, lovely vintage clothes, heckity yes. Made my day. But I'm not paying $36 for leather bras and underwear held together by fishnets...what am I paying for, the lack fo fabric? Psh no. But that was my only complaint.

I was homesick, and have a therapy appointment. I might stop seeing my therapist. I'm fine. I think. Little weird at times, but it's not like I want to kill people. Just torture, gawd. Such a problem with this country. Ick. I found a new Pet, (and by pet, I mean someone like a toy, a playmate, that I won't fall in love with) but he called today and I almost died. He has the cutest voice in the whole world. Spending seven hours in a car is not that bad,especially when you are not driving. I want to sleep in MY bed, but because we live in an old house with spiders, that won't be happening for awhile. (Till the paranoia goes away). Old house + spiders+ hot days= they go further down into the house to find some place nice to chill, which happens to be my room, because it's the coldest room in the house. Really? Why? I don't know. I still have loads of work to do, 3500 pictures to take. I have literally taken 7000 photos. If you really want proof, I can get it to you. (i'll be annoyed though).

But I can't rest for too long, because next week is hell week for practice and then next saturday I'm going to San Diego to meet my family for some big shopping extravaganza.

Now if you don't mind...I'll be on the couch if you need me.

Title- (I don't know, do you?)(And yes, I know I could use google, but i'm lazy Xp)

ps. if you want to text me or something, just hit me up with a comment, we'll chat. Oh we will chat...

and all i hear is

The echoes of their voices and their stupid promises, their sweet nothings (lol) and my pathetic replies. I'm pretty sure the world isn't like that, at least not the whole world. I should have known better. That if I had played with a want to win, to take control, to abuse and misuse, I would have been better off. And yet, I can't hate them. Never. I'll always love them. But they were just boys and girls, and there a hell lot more of them out there.

So fuck it. It's really pointless. Really really pointless. I think I need a drink.

I'm sorry. I'm going to Oregon with friends. I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do in Oregon (really? Oregon?) But I'm packed and ready to go. I'll take pictures, if you notice I'm gone.

Title: Ashlee Simpson- Outta my Head

Up the steep and very narrow stairway

Though the song that line is from has nothing to do with life and it's underlying meanings, I found myself pondering if that's what life is like. A steep and narrow stairway, with loose floorboards and missing steps and at time plunging into darkness and we find ourselves lost. Are there rooms in the walls lining this stairway, if there are walls at all? The rooms would probably represent lull periods, rest stops, for the journey up these stairs is difficult and/or monotous. Do we race through it and find ourselves flying off the landing, if there is a landing? Or are we taking our time, easing our way through each step, testing it, reassuring ourselves that it can hold the weight of our being? And what then if we fall through? Do we sink into darkness, trapped, frozen in the fetal position, impaled upon our fears or is there someone or something waiting to catch us and help us reach the top? Do we walk it alone, or do people walk in and out of our lives to climb this steep and narrow stairway? Are there twists and turns or is it straight, does it divide into mulitiple paths or is it one that is our destiny? Have the steps always been there, or does it appear as we move forward? Can we head back down, can we go back? Can we stop and look around, or must we trudge on? Who made this stairway, us, Him, Her, THEM? Who decided we must climb it? Who was the first to see it be done? Up the steep and very narow stairway, most indeed.

"I don't want to redesign the world, I just want to take it down with me." Exquisite Corpse

Title- A Chorus Line- At the Ballet

The show must go on

I have a massive headache, and I can't sleep. I think I'm doomed to forever sleeping between the hours of 4am and noon. *sigh*

I finally went to San Francisco and it was the most tragic visit to the city I love ever. My best guy friend came along for the ride...eep....so we talked alot on the way up there and then we cuddle, blah blah blah. But we got lost...and it created so much stress. And then we didn't even go to Haight St. We went to an art museum. The only thing I liked about the art museum was there this cute girl with the sweetest brown eyes...I fell in love and completely ignored Andrew(best friend) for about an hour lamenting on my lost love. Seriously. But I got awesome shots of art that we'll be editing to make into the video. But I think after it's finished I will never listen to the song again. We went out to lunch at Boudin....and there was this street preformer and we asked him if he coould dance for the video. Alas we had no money and once he heard that, he completely ignored us. :( I was sad, like depressed. Ick. I hate myself for taking rejection so seriously. That's why I'm in therapy. If it'll help.

What else? So yeah that's pretty much it. I have no chance of perfecting the french language in time for the entrance exams I need to take soon. I will probably fail epically this year. *sigh* I'm going to go eat candy and weep for my little lost art friend. She was cute.



Title: Moulin Rouge 2- The Show Must Go on

What if I say I'm not like the others

La di da da da

So this guy the band Apocolytica looks like my ex-boyfriend. Which mad me sort of sad, horny, and gave me an incredible urge to dance. So I gave in to the dancing. When I'm awake I feel like I'm constantly preforming for him, trying to impress him. My friends opinions don't matter much, because hey, if they stuck it this far out with me then whatever follows should not be a problem. But it's the strangers I hunger for. (De ja vu?) I want their approval, their recognition that I am someone. From what I've heard it's the opposite for most people.

As for my hand, it's a bit swollen and I didn't want to leave the bed this morning, so I hunted for something made of metal that would be cold. Scissors worked pretty well, till it got warm, and then I laid my eyes on it. The monstrous beauty that could only be...a mountain of perfectly chilled(like metal room temperture) batteries. These worked extremely well and I'll have you know i'm typing with two hands now. Whicah!

My cell phone is being extremely retarded. Grrr. No idea what's wrong with it. Pfft. Might get a new one. Anyone care to like I don't know, talk to me...? :(

People...I love you. Isn't that more than enough reason to you know. Go to my about me, log on to yahoo and type in onlythelonely379 ....it's right there...waiting...hungry for your-

....

what?

where are we?

Cellphoooonnneee....where aaaarrrrreeeeee yooooooouuuuuuuu? (Cellphone, where are you?)

o_O

O_o

pfft. -.-

Go check out Jacob Karnas's blog for more interesting fun. Like he needs my help to get "discovered"...boy has got an ego.

Btw. I have pictures for you. SO keep posted for the next few days.

They...

..are....

com.ing...

Title- Foo Fighters- The Pretender

i get off being free

So...

Twitter made me sad. I'm emotional, and fragile. I have no problem admitting it. Most of the time I know why people hate me, delete me, get mad at me. But when I don't know, it's like, "Holy Hotdogs, what did I do?" Grrmugh. So deal with things on twitter is that, followings and followers got deleted. So when someone sad, "I'm depressed." I don't know, I leap, I panic. Mainly because I don't know the person very well and don't know what the hell they're going to do. So I tried to ask what was going on...and twitter is like, "This person isn't following you, so you can't send your little message thing to them..." And that's where I got sad.... My therapist will hear about this... *squinty glare*

so right now I'm in a good mood. Hence the unorganized thought process above.^^^ But I smacked my wrist bone against the counter, so I'm typing this with one hand. My eyes hurt, so I'm making a lot of typing mistakes. And I'm leading these two guys on, because frankly, I'm bored. I know. I know. It's wrong, you shouldn't do that sort of thing, people get hurt, how would you like it if it happened to you...blah blah blah. See<<< I think about those things. I'm not going about blindsided and selfish. (well maybe selfish) But I understand you're concerns. (No one has any really...*sigh*) How does this all tie in to my good mood. I'm in pain but I'm relatively happy.

I do dangerous things. I like risks. It's a lot better than playing innocent, being sweet and gentle, having the forest animals cuddle with me. I have nothing against those people. I get along with those people. But it's the flashing lights, loud music, close dancing crowd/most pit group I like. I adore them. Why? Because those people have dangerous secrets and want to live a little (some do...), yum-e.

But apparently, I'm too smart for the stupid people who will do most of the things I tell them too, reigning over the mindless would not make me happy. I'm too dumb or ridiculous for the fairly intelligent, and the moderately well off want nothing to do with me. It's virtually impossible to find people who like to play rough, but can understand when their mind is being messed with. Or at least it's hard in this town. God I want some interesting people. So moving is now looking favorable. It's been up for consideration for awhile and I might move....maybe

They always said, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade" no thanks you, I'll have a slice of cake instead.

How we gonna have a battle of twits, you unarmed.

Twitter, what are you doing?

twitter.com/hellsquookie

Title: PCD- I don't need a man

little terry got a gun

I went to therapy today. It was probably the closest I've ever felt to being normal. I mean. Besides feeling out of place constantly, I'm not happy with who I am, or at least other people aren't. Which is okay, I overcoming the need for other people's approval. I'm finding the peace of mind I've hungered for since forever in words of someone else's choice. The therapist surprised me, and I feel like I surprised her. My mother wants us to be "healthy", so she can tell her friends and point at me and say "we took this one to therapy" because she would do that. She probably has been talking to someone about this all the time. Did she tell them that I take drugs to help me sleep? Did she tell them about the weird dreams I have? Did she tell them I always think about dying? Did she tell them I'm suicidal? Does she even care? Or am I piece of gossip for her to use to keep her life interesting enough that she doesn't wish things would happen to this family? it could be worse. I could've been a lot worse of then this. I could be schizo or worse a psychopath.

I'm tried of hunting for happiness in people who will never understand these bloody words and lifeless smiles. I'm so tried of having to apologize for saying what I want, instead of what they want. I'm tried of lying to the doctor's and saying, "I'm happy. There's nothing wrong with me. My body feels fine." Constant pains, heart complications, headaches every two days, and the best part, wanting to be raped. When I was younger I used to think that when you were raped it also implied that they had killed you. In my mind I always saw a park, broad daylight and the man raping this school girl on a park bench, a knife in his hand next to her face as he forced himself into her immature body. And when he was finished, but not satisified, he stabbed her in the side and left her to bleed to death. And even now that image hasn't left my memory. Strangely enough, I still want it. Afraid? Hardly. If life is about experience, then I want those experiences. I want to feel things I can't imagine. See things I can't create in my mind. But what thrill does this life hold when you can see anyone you want to naked,(hence the no sexually deisre) when you can figure people out?

Where are the people that will make me live again?

Or am I really as alone as I think I am?
Title: Lupe Fiasco- Little Weapon

i can ride my bike with no handlebars

When I start thinking about you I throw my phone across the room as hard as I can.

Somehow I always stop myself from burning everything that reminds me of you.

I told my best friend I wanted to fight with him, but I didn't tell him it was because I wanted to taste what rape feels like.

I wish I liked more of my friends or had better ones, so I could have someone to text whenever I start to hate myself.

I like postsecrets.com because I helps me focus on other people rather than myself.

I eat frosting out of the tin because I hate ice cream and myself, but when I opened the tin you gave me for my birthday, I cried. I should have saved it for the day you'll be leaving.

I'm seeing a therapist next tuesday. I'm afraid that I might not like her, or she might talk to me and make me want to kill myself. I'm afraid that I'll start crying or she'll tell me things I don't want to hear. I'm afraid that this therapist will hate me and tell me to shut up.

I'm afraid of meeting new people when that's all I really want.

That is all.

Title- Handlebars by the Flobots

there's nothing left here anymore"

is there? Quite a bit actually.



My father just got on a plane today. It's a one way ticket, meaning he might not come back. I know that's what it means. I also know that he lied when I asked him if he was going to fight my mother on whether or not she and the twins, (my younger sisters) could move to Boston. I know he enjoys not having kids around, I know what he does, I've sort of always known. I spent a majority of my childhood protecting my sisters from that, because even though their already fucked up, they really don't deserve to know how more fucked up their parents are. I half worry that the plane will crash, I never really liked planes, but I like airports. I half worry that he'll meet someone, mom will be depressed and the twins will never really trust any guy because they might leave and meet someone else. I technically don't matter, because I left a while ago.



Title Tokio Hotel- Monsoon

now i'm glad you've got a broken heart

I just did something very dangerous today and I'm still high off it. I took apart my laptop, which was highly entertaining for no reason at all. If engineering runs in the blood, I hope my kids get it, because be turned on at how amazing technology is awesome.

How would I want to die? Drowning is my first choice, but not in the ocean, I don't want little fishies nipping at my body parts. Hanging is just gross, suffocation, disinterests me, and slice up my body is something I can't do. I tried cutting. I honestly do not believe that all of the people who cut themselves are suicidal, I think some do it for the fad, the exclusive club of being a cutter. That's probably where this whole wanting to understand people's pain but not experience it thing came from. (Laptop computers can be dangerous toys). So technically it goes much farther than doing it because everyone else is doing it. The thing is I can't cut myself. I have moments where I do pick up the nearest sharp object and hold it, but then reflex kicks in and says "stop" so I spend three hours in the morning crying because
1) I am depressed, that much is obvious
2) I so weak, I can't even get shots, they have to hold me down....
Do I want it to be public? Do I want someone to witness it? Do I want someone to die with me? No, I haven't done anything to deserve such...options...

Is it better to die at fourteen, than nineteen? Is it better die old than young? Sad or happy? I find myself expecting to die at every turn. A car accident when I'm in a car, an earthquake when I least expect that throws me off some stairs at the mall and I plummet to my death, someone to rape me, which I think I deserve. For some weird and unexplainable reason I'm such a bad person, I deserve to be raped.

The horrors that lie inside small packages are equal as terrifying as the things we see when we open our mind. The name of this horror...? Muffins, bitch, muffins.

title: Be Your Own Pet- You're A Waste

so I wear the red dress

This morning while I was eating breakfast (lays chips and canada dry) I was thinking about the grass. That if it could choose what color it would be, what color would each individual strand of grass pick? Would some be red because their angry at people abusing them all the time? Would they be blue because they're sad they're sationary plants? Would they be purple because grass is awesome? Or they have their own interpertations of colors and try and reach out to passerby to explain why they're such a color? I would stop and listen. I don't think it's fair that the grass is abused and abused and abused. You know what I hate...tress. Fucking trees.

I'm surprised. I really am. That death is so interesting. I think I want it more now than when I started this summer thing. But it's like. Swallowing a pill not knowing what the side effects will be but only understanding this is something that was going to happen, you had to take your medience (of death) and you only got the oppurtunity to pick the time, place, method, and choice of three songs to die to. My three songs to die to:

1. Tomorrow Comes Today by Gorillaz
2. Every Planet We Reach is Dead by Gorillaz
3. Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz

have you noticed I really like Gorillaz? I do. I have yet to find a band where the music actually makes me believe I can live off it for the next four hundred years, and always feel electrified in my blood. That's an amazing feeling. But no other band has done it for me.

New Project(I haven't given up on the old one :p ) Five Cds that I have to fill with songs I have never heard before. They can be anything, about anything, however the songs have to be under six minutes long, each song must describe something different, and artists can't be repeated....

wtf. I hate Karen. I hate Karen a lot right now.

Karen is a long time friend who sends me silly project ideas like the one above. I think she's just trying to distract me from cutting myself or other people. You know what the weird (and maybe kind of sad) part is I do them. I must not be drinking enough... :( more wine please :)

how can anyone drink beer? It's disgusting. tea, sure, whiskey, okay, and guiness smells awesome( I won't drink it, mainly because my friends won't let me) but not beer. Never in my presence. I've tried beer. My first taste of beer was when I was twelve, my mother gave it to me....so much love in the family. Now I hate the stuff. Gross. Wine on the other hand is good, but it messes with my heart. Yay! Genetics at work! Will I stop drinking? Nope. Let the happiness flow into you, center you, remind you that there is still a life left to live.

Title: Raw Sugar- Metric

fate is an elegance

I've been reading a lot of books having to do with death lately. Sort of by choice but not really. Like Poppy Z. Brite's Exquisite Corpse, which is about sensations and passions and finding love and losing it tragically. But it is overflowing with murder and gruesome twists. Then there's Kate Refield Jaminson's Night Falls Fast that is part autobiography part analysis of suicide and Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live that describes his 6,775 mile journey to dive into his fascination with death. This is some of what I have been reading instead of my reading list. I don't know what it means, but those books are like taking a sip of an elixir, I'm alive in those books, more so than in any other novel,or work of art that is literature.

So far I am genderless and in love with books about death...weirded out yet?

I might get to take a trip that could possibly change my life. I might get to go to Trinidad, a place I've been homesick for years, though I technically haven't lived there. If I go, I want to stay at my father's house because for one it is bigger than my mother's family's house, with far less people in it. The main reason I have to go back to my father's father's house is because of the backyard. I have no real memories of it. I have what might be dreams and glimpses of it in my head, but really, I don't/can't remember it. At ** years old, going to that yard is the same as wanting a car...it's a necessity. I want to capture those memories on film so I can have them always.

At this point in life, I don't feel like most people , much less normal people feel. I feel like I've lived it all before and yet none of it at all, I feel like this is a relearning process, that these are the oppurtunties to change something or someone, to find that happiness everyone says I won't understand. I don't feel like I'm here. That if I die right now, it's totally understandable, I won't be mad at God or anyone. I can only wonder if I am making the right choices, taking the risks that I won't regret, feeling the things I want to feel, and not just living the life people want me to live. (Though having me genderless and ageless, etc... seems like a pretty weird want of someone's life... o_O)

Getting ready to let go of everything I've ever clung to?
Probably.
Getting ready to make things count?
Heck. Yes.
Living without regret?
Priceless.
Zed

Title Spill Canvas- Polygraph, right now!

Hey Judas here's a smile for you

I'm sure life is infinitely more fascinating then death, mainly for the sole reason one is alive, and can feel most things and can understand and experience things, but for people who think about death all the time, not necessarily wanting to kill themselves or anyone else, is it like dating a serial killer not knowing whether you're going to make it back to your apartment tonight or at all, who might just kill you because you're concentrating more on continuing to exist instead of whether or not the steak is good? Is it anything remotely like that?


There were probably be a lot of dates with death, a lot of exciting twists and turns, but most girls are not like me. I mean when things are seriously dangerous, like I could get hurt, I laugh. It's a nervous reaction to the thrill. I don't want to laugh. I don't want to show much emotions, but I do find the thrill, the flirt with danger fun. Which some would argue is stupid. "You would laugh while the car is about to crash?" Lol, no. I mean the person to person thrill of danger. Like him holding a gun, my mind instantly laughs at the possibility that the gun is unload or it jams and he ends up beating me to death, all because he left the safety lock on. Yeah I'm sick. I can't laugh at a car crash because there are a lot more factors that don't include choice. Slick road, distraction (like a baby), I can't laugh at someone's attention that was diverted to take care of his or her child. I admire that. It shows something. It makes me happy to see things like that. Maybe the world isn't and/or won't be as fucked up as people think it will and I love feeling like there's a slimmer of hope.


And to set the record straight. I like torture....not murder. I don't like killing people. Takes away all my fun. Severely injure. Sure. But kill...no....that's a no-no. I might kill a person if I get carried away, or they twitch too much... *shrugs* told them not to move.


If destiny is found in fortune quookies, well then, that's a shame.

Title Bleed the Dream- A smile for Judas

spaz if you want to

I guess the only person who understood my feelings and shared them was a boy in my French class. We fought constantly, said we hated each other, but there was something else there. Talking about things like suicide and killings were nothing we had to hide from. And the value of art in such acts, the understanding in what and why people did things. He was(is) the closest thing I have to someone even being remotely like me. Everyone else it's an act. It's an unconscious act of dumbing myself down, and hiding myself from people who maintain a healthy position in society. The glimpses I give are morbid and bordering suicidal, and at times insanity. I can honestly say I don't have any real friends.

Or am I just lying to myself because it makes me stressed and stress is what fuels me?Probably. It's like having multiple people inside your body, your mind, ONe wants to do this, feel this, another wants to do the right thing regardless of being hurt, a third wants to kill itself, and it goes on. At one point I gave them names. Lol. no life.

"are you with me or not at all?"

Title: Nerd- spaz

You see her but you can't touch her

I'm surprised. No matter what anyone does, I can't get mad at them. I mean I can be annoyed for five minutes. But really, I don't get mad. I don't think I care.

A bought a book on suicide...maybe the reason I did that was because I thought about suicide, I entertained the idea. But really, I want to help those people, who want to die. I want to figure out how they think. What their history was, their likes and dislikes, I want to dissect them and taste them, savor their memories. But will I see them as people? Value them as beings? Will I try and hurt them to see how they react? Will I be the one that kills them?

I asked my mother once if she wondered if she gave birth to a serial killer. She yelled at me for asking stupid questions. I think she's afraid of me. Because I ask weird questions like that. I think weird things like that. For example I can tell you honestly I don't love anyone in my family besides my sister Helen. It's not because I don't like them, I like them all very much, but we were never a family. We could probably never be a family. We're just people whose relationship just happens to fall under the general term, "family". But I can't love people like that. I don't think they've ever said they were proud of themselves, that they liked themselves, that they were conscious of who they were. I don't think I can love people honestly who can't love themselves. I don't want to be the one they turn to looking for that love.

I want to love myself. But I don't love my body. I don't care about it much. I just drank coffee, which is bad for my heart. But to feel that warm liquid racing down my throat and making my heart race, my head spin, my mind drift into blankness, it was worth it. I care more about mentality, emotions, the soul, than about physical necessities.

A girl asked me, "You're so good looking why do you date ugly people?" I was stunned. I never found my exes to be ugly, or even mildly unpleasant looking. But I also never noticed their overall character. I don't bother until I've talked to them for several months and think their worth the time to get to know. it doesn't matter much to me what they look like, as long as their comfortable with themselves, wanting to live, to be someone, anyone. I'm not a firm believer in beauty comes from within, but in this country you can be whatever you want to be, I just want their minds...

"and that would be very very bad for so many reasons." Exquisite Corpse
Title: Franz Ferdinand- Auf Achse

in the middle of summer

I play situations in my head like they were real. Like an impending break up, or a friend moving away. I do this because that way the actual event will hurt less. And it works. Surprises make me suicidal. Because I can't plan it out, I can't figure out the best reaction to it and then I get stressed out and I cry and I fumble and it's all quite silly really.

Lately I've been thinking of my ex. It was a friendship born out of a romantic relationship, killed with my weirdness, healed with time, reborn as an exciting love, sex, hate, fight all the time acid trip, and murder because I was a selfish bitch and he was an asshole with low self-esteem. That's fine. I know we'll probably never talk again. That's fine too. But I'm surprised that I would be crushed by him changing his number....weird. Unexpected. As an added bonus this scenario is a lot harder to decrease with replay. It hasn't happened yet. But I can feel it. I thought I was over him. I thought I was over love all together. Maybe all I wanted was someone to hurt me, like I thought I should be hurt.

But in it all, I'm learning to let go. So in a sense, I can't hate him, for all the experiences, for all the memories, for the time I don't believe was wasted. Maybe all I want out of life is to make memories and to master this ridiculous art of walking in and out of people's lives.

"After a childhood spent memorizing taboos, Catholic teenagers were often the wildest of all."

Funny...I was a Catholic...


Title, Panic At The Disco- When the Day Met the Night

MUSIC VIDEO!!! well maybe,...

omg. i forgot....
to type

Going to San Francisco in a couple days to make a music video. What kind of music video you might ask? A poorly crafted one! WHeee.... I'm so high right now. (off of life...relax inhale exhale)

So. We're scouting for sites and hopefully the batteries do not die on me.

The song we're using, is not an original song of a personal friend's own design, but it's a tie between....

Tomorrow Comes Today by Gorillaz

Every Planet WE Reach is Dead by Gorillaz

I kissed a girl by Katy Perry....

most likely not the last one...because even if it is San Francisco, I don't want to film what would be people's intimate moments.... just policy....(>///<)


well that's it

the taste of her cherry chapstick

So basically.

I'm beyond content right now. It might be the caffine though, which is chill, good thing we have a lot of soda.

But it's like. Forget people. Their constant change, their "no no, it's me not you," thing. Ick. Forget people. I'll dive into books with their limited words, choicy phrases and delicious characteristics. maybe I'll browse around for actual company once in a while, but right now I'm so fed up of people, it's not even phunny.

I might go eat ramen

I just finished customizing a jacket. My right index finger is sooo sore from threading and forcing a needle through denim. oh my god. .. I had my younger sister pose in them and I think I embarrassed her. She's pretty but it's like she doesn't believe it. I think it runs through the family. Along with diabetes and depression. Wheee....

I'm reading another Poppy Z.Brite book. Which is not as delicious as the others but I am capitvated nonetheless. I'm also afraid that by reading the bible, I will actually enjoy it. Though I doubt it.

"And I am not Christ, not even by half." Exquisite Corpse

Title; Katy Perry I kissed a girl

Going to see HellBoy with friends tomorrow. Friends that are leaving soon. And that is part of the reason frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

and I know there should be more like me

lol, it's too hot at my house, so I'm chillin at my sister's. We turned all the fans on high, made drinks, and lounged in front of television playing video games. I love my sister.

So it's like I'm posting a couple blogs every day but once school starts up again there won't really be much time for this. Am I making the most of it or am I just bored out of my mind?

I think it's the second one.

"The crazy pattern of the streets was a puzzle that wanted deciphering." Lost Souls

I want a city like that. Or at least I want to get out of the monotony of this town and see things. Hopefully there will be interesting pictures coming up.

If it's all incrpyted can I be the one to glance upon it, see its wonder, and then take it and run? Leave the codes for the mind that is encoded in itself.


Title- Thousand Foot Krutch- Everyone like me
Zed

I am selfish

He knew that by holding her picture it was better to burn it, then cherish it. All those memories he could hold in his hand, but he wouldn't be allowed to make new ones. He could pretend and smile so falsely for a moment, but he felt that would insult her, or at least her memory.

They were making a bonfire, in her name tonight. Wishing her spirit on, Liam and told him. "She's got to get somewhere, Zakk, we should, could at least makes sure she has our love, our well wishings."

Part of him agreed with what Liam said, but then after all that he had read, everything that he had experienced with her, in general. Maybe if she stayed and haunted him, crept into his room and scared the hell out of him, he would feel a little easier about letting her go, accepting her death.

"I'm not going tonight." He told Liam the morning of the bonfire.
"Not going?" He asked numbly. "How can you not go? She was our, yours mostly, but our best friend. You have to go."
"You don't understand. If she doesn't move on to where ever she has to be..." but the words in his heart somehow didn't match the ones coming out of his mouth. How selfish of him. To lock up in a world she had departed, by choice in fact. She wanted to go. "Second thought. I'll go. She would've wanted it, that way anyway."

you're hot then you're cold, it's yes then it's no

why am I doing this? If I already know no one will read it, what's my purpose?

I think I'm trying to perserve it, my mind or at least my thoughts now, to draw back on later. Because I'm not interesting, I'm not artistic or creative. I'm interested. In other people, in books, in movies, in psychology, in anantomy. I like everything and anything, except myself.

I don't care. If the world reads it and hates it. Says "get off my internet!" with a more vibrant tongue. It's a lot like wearing black when everyone else is in white. Though I'm sure there are more people like me. No one is ever really alone in the way they think. I'm just unable to find them, or they don't want me.

So what now? Do I still write? Do I continue this? Or is it in knowing that someone if just one person looks at this and thinks something of it. Anything of it, that thought alone is driving me along?

"He took a deep breath and blew on the demon joe, the drug that bore his father's name. He said a prayer to his various gods, steadied his hand.
Then he raised the mug to his lips and drank the bitter brew straight down."

yeah, it's a lot like that.



Title- kate Perry- Hot n' Cold

by every silent scream we make

That's annoying. I just spent all this time writing and the computer decides to eat it. Ugh. my Back hurts....

It's like something in the morning, and I'm very very blank. A minute ago, I was laughing my head off with one of closest friends, and now I'm staring into the Void that once contained my soul. Where the hell did it go?

"The sink was bleeding and ejaculating: great." Drawing Blood.

The weirdness of my mind has not died. Oh no love, far from it. It's merely taking a nap, which I so appreciate. I was thinking about dancers get lost in the music. How easy it is to let something fill your body and suddenly you're not you anymore, you're the music and it's pulling you close, twisting you, making you forget you had spine. And in that music, are the answers we've been looking for, the satisfaction of just being. Music is powerful stuff. If done correctly.
I messed a program called Gimp and had fun editing a photo. It's at the top. I might have gone to far with the shading though. Hmm...comments would be much appreciated.

Am I happy with life? Maybe. I'm not dissatisfied with it. But I'm not concentrating on it either. Technically you have to be moving place to place to be wandering and I'm not. I'm living through a computer screen. Okay no. I'm living through the characters in novels. In empty places where the only thing to do is to live once, and you've done it all.

I don't know if I want to post my old blogs here. It feels like I'm cheating time and the experience of presenting myself to people who don't know me well enough to accept me as who I am. Is it a risk I'm willing to take?





Hell. yes.





"fuck"
He had only taking the pills with the thought of that morning keeping him afloat. He had wanted to sleep, willing to do anything to make that happening. He remembered looking at the white bottle, thinking, "What the hell? I could use a good knock out." Took two little pink pills, with a couple sips of water, lay on his bed and sighed. Nothing instantaneous like he wanted. Rolling over, he picked up his last find from the bookstore and read. An hour later, sleep had crept into the space between his mind and the rising dawn and pulled him down so fast he barely had time to close the book. He had only taken the pills that second night because it felt good to be unconscious, so dreamless, so at ease. No fucking headache, so dead to the world that answering the phone was learning process for him. He didn't fight the darkness that pulled him to that void of his mind. It felt good.
Now he had gone and fucked it up. Drinking coffee, so stupid. He hadn't had coffee in months, for the whole reason it screwed with his body, mainly his heart…or so the doctor said. But the cool liquid, sweet with chemicals he couldn't even pronounce was like coming home, and he was eager for that feeling. So he drank, and drank, and drank, till the first kicks of sickness were born. Then he threw up because it was a lot better than feeling like someone had taken a mixer to his organs.
Great. He had wasted five hours of his life…on feeling sick, with only a few minutes spent finding interesting things in a book that saddened him to realize that he had only a few pages left. Closing the book, he picked up something he had found amusing at the library.Hello, Cruel World (101 Atlernatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks, and other Outlaws) by kate Bornstein, what was in such a strange book anyway he wondered. Grabbing a couple CDs, his cell phone, a handful of Jolly Ranchers and his prized usb drive, he headed downstairs to the den.
He skipped the intro, like skipping instructions, something he really shouldn't have done/ continue to do. He read books to learn about people and he just went ahead and skipped the most crucial part. Fuck it, he whispered in his mind, tell me what to do to stay alive.
"Call a suicide hotline," He stopped. He wasn't suicidal, at least he didn't think so. He had his moments where he sure as hell wanted to climb one of the trees in the backyard and fly for one first and last time in his life, but who didn't? He assumed it was normal to feel such a strong urge in someone's life. He moved on.
"Talk to your pal," No. Hell no. He had already lost three of the six people he had ever trusted in his entire life. And by telling him his most private things, he had only gotten hurt in the end. No. He wanted to keep the three people he still had. Telling them he wanted to hurt himself in ways he that were so warm and comforting, like clawing at his skin with his nails, or giving into the river of his mind that created wonderfully horrible images of people he loved hurting him more than they had already, automatic thinking. So yeah, check that off the list.
"See a doctor, therapist or alternative healer," Tried and failed. According to multiple doctors he was depressed, sleep deprived, and suffering from anxiety, after being recommended to multiple specialists, nothing had happened and nothing would. He didn't really think that would work anyway. He was fucked up. That much was obvious.
He skipped the rest. He held the book in his left hand, and sighed. There was probably nothing in that book to keep him mildly amused. And then skimming the 101 things to do. He found it. "Keywords: IF YOU MUST"
Hell yes, he would. Do what, he smiled, he had no idea. But he was going to make as much noise in the a lackluster world that could spawn such children of self loathing and hellish lives that such a book would need to be created. 101 things, huh?





yep. Title...I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace





not really, i love you guys

this is love and this is lust, which one should I trust

The picture on the left is me in the morning...:( I was very very tired and it' no fun waking up to chest pain and having trouble breathing...:/

The picture on the right is me dressing up for no reason. :D it ended up being a good day. more to come in the am.

Cute Is What We Aim for.... title to come....

Is it still me to make you sweat, who you think about in bed?

One of my personal favorite bloggers used song lyrics to head his blogs. And I thought that it was interesting how many songs match every possible emotion, every entertaining thought, every backward glance in a crowded club, etc. So I thought I would do what he did (he no longer blogs) and see if I could ever not find a song that would fit my blogs. It's very...silly, really.

The line is from "Lying is the Most Fun a Girl can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, by Panic At the Disco. It's one of my favorites and fits my past relationships perfectly.

Relationships for me are never I suppose straightforward and normal, at least not the ones that matter. There's a certain level of lack of judgement and people confided in me, and have my honest doubt that those people will ever read this. I don't judge people really, for example there are first impressions and yet those are adaptable. It turned out that a few days ago one of the people I respected the most was a crossdresser. I was, like, "OMG! That's chill." I haven't lost so much respect for him as I have been surprised by the fact he had asked me questions about it in the past. Surprises come in all sorts of places.

Random quote of the day, "He didn't have many bad habits, and most of the ones he did have happened to be legal." pg. 239 Drawing Blood.

Quite honestly, I write in my books, yet the only two I have comepletely destroyed with highlighters of every shade are Lost Souls and Drawing Blood. I suppose I love them so much because I feel like I want the lives presented in them, I want the experiences, the feelings, and to comprehend how anyone could even create that. But I suppose my fascination with love and people on a physical level has come and gone. I know what a boy looks like, how they feel, what they like, how they tast, I know what a girl feels, what she wants, how their minds work, and I guess once you've done one person of each gender, you've done them all. So I'm not attracted to people on a physical level. I love people with a questioning mind, with personality that threatens to engulf them, where they danger lives in who they are and who they want to be and where the two cross. I don't believe it's true that you must love yourself before you love someone else. I believe you find love in something or someone you want give yourself to, someone you want to learn everything about, something you want to overtake you and in all of that you come out on top with something more in you, (hopefully not a baby you didn't want! XD)

I was kind of against posting multiple blogs in the same day. But the mind cannot be silenced and restrained. Never shall the world cease to amuse me. And the interesting is overused. I only use it because I'm sort of speechless as to what emotion I feel for someone's work.

"i jus want to know how you're made," Trevor breathed in his ear. "I love you so much, Zach. I want to climb inside you. I want to taste your brain. I want tofeel your heart beating in my hands."

Isn't love beautiful?

I forgive no one really

Is the definition of self? I guess that's where we should start...right? I'm a person, and your a person and people I suppose want to know more about other people. If this is an introduction, allow me to introduce myself.

I go by Zed. It's short, easy to remember, and I mean in a sense it is my real name. Those are my initials. Teehee. I <3 my initials. The only other awesome initials I know are, ARM, and GRR. Which considering the people they belong to, make me laugh. Gender wise, I don't feel like I'm one or the other, not really, not personally, though quite obviously, I am one of the two. Of course in not relating to a gender, I am not attracted to either. Both are fine, each with their...benefits ;) and love is love, or so I believe. So you know my name, my gender, and who I'm interested in. Bring on the fun.

The inside of my mind is more easily explained when compared to a manor and in that manor are many rooms, are many places for putting things and there's a lot of stuff here. Things being equivalent to thoughts. I don't mind it so much as the things I think about are not entirely pleasant and yet I think about them nonetheless, keep in mind I would prefer not to think about two people I know personally kissing, (romance makes me a bit ill, because it gets exaggerated in my mind), or about people I love dying. But they are thoughts that occur without much warning and it makes writing very...easy, but not professional. *sigh*

I love people. Okay well not everyone. But I do enjoy people who like...say, talking? Or feel they are important (or quite the opposite) and have something to prove to the world. But at the same time, I am a drama provider, not necessarily by choice, half the time I'm not aware of it, the other half I don't care about people enough in general and I just want to see how far things can go. This my avid readers is why I'm a bad person.

Is there much to me? I am a walking contradiction, with no moral structure what so ever. Does that make me sad? No. Depressed at times, but I don't sit in my room and wallow in self pity. I go out and I do things, but I most certainly prefer the solitude of my room and my imagination with a Poppy Z. Brite book in hand.

To be honest what are some mildly interesting topics to blog about? Life has only so much to offer...how about we take a look on the darker side...?