Hesitation

maybe things will be better now that I really have a plan. Going to school in San Francisco, getting an awesome apartment, with a wonderful room mate and waking up to watch the sun rise over my paradise. That's all I want. No boyfriends, no best friends, no one who'll pull me away from my dream. A job would be nice though, so I can stock my little closet with tons of clothes until the neighbors complain there are random jeans slipping into their wardrobe.

But what about now? I'm so caught up in the future, I don't even feel like i exist in the present. It's already my past....hmm, oh well.

Guess I'll just curl up and read (get warped into alternate realities, my poor friends) and study. I lied, it seems there are no parties for little Z.

Thick Glass, Distorted Reflections

I'm pretty sure I won't be remembered when I die, which is the only thing I want out of life. To be remembered, to be loved. But I'm a freak. As the oldest child, I don't live up to the hype. As the grandchild to a legacy, I'm a disappointment. And although my body is wonderful, I don't have the face or personality to match. I love nothing more than being proved wrong, getting gifts, and meeting new people. I don't like ice cream, pie (except pumpkin) and eat frosting out of the tin. I eat till I'm about ready to throw up, and it's because I like tasting food, chewing, swallowing. Sometimes I don't eat for days. I can't make myself show emotions I don't actually feel, and I can't ( or won't) hide any of mine. I'm a jealous person. I'm violently impulsive. I smoke because it feels like coming home, but lately I want to smoke less. I don't ever take my phone with me when I smoke, unless I don't have a choice. I hate driving. I hate opening up to people who will just try and judge me, instead of accept me. I'm pretty sure people just think I'm full of shit, so therefore I think I'm full of shit. I hate people who tell other people that they aren't special, that they aren't unique. Because everyone has something that makes them, them. And just because traits are similar, how they got those traits aren't. The combination of traits will never repeat itself. Sometimes people just need to be told they are original, and all the pretenious fucks- it doesn't even matter. I bite my nails. I fidget and break things all the time. I read fast, I never forget a book. Imitation without a slight variation sickens me. I don't eat a lot of fruit or vegetables, except olives, mushrooms, and grapes. I can finish two liters of soda within an hour. If I'm upset, I take a pill of imiphram. If I can't get a pill, I smoke a lot till my throat hurts. If I can't smoke, I cry, and yell at the people I'm not mad at. My biggest fears are rejection and the dark. I'm paranoid.

Sometimes this doesn't feel like me at all.

Like I cut off my arms

I can't find the steps
Leaning against walls for support
It's everything
It's not nothing
How could it be?
When you are-were?-
my future
my past
has a tendency to catch up with me
and now you're free
I feel like this is nothing to you
but you're not responding
are you happy?
Are you mad?
Are you drinking?
Do you feel like you've lost a limb too?
All I know is I can't feel my aorta,
because it's still with you.
Pinky promise.

Love how we hold back nothing

Love how we hold back nothing
Part of it is to provoke you. You disappoint me, you hurt me, you ignore me. But I never lash out when I hurt. I usually get sad, dwell, grow numb to it, and then let you know I'm ticked. Because for some reason I can't be legitimately enraged and crying my eyes at the same time. I just don't do it.

Part of it is because you have promised me something and you didn't keep it. You probably never said the words "I promise you...whatever." But there are certain things you expect of me, and everyone in particular moments. Right? When someone says they'll do something for you, you expect them do it, right? *sigh* who knows. It seems like every trace of the simple things a person does because it is polite and proper has been drained out of this place. I expect so much, and give so many chances. Why do I bother?

Part of it is because I'm mad at someone else. And you're getting a message meant for them, but I can't find the backbone to send it to them. Words, feelings, thoughts have to have a place to escape. If you keep them bottle up inside, it's dangerous. If I kept it locked up inside, I'd probably yell at my teacher. Or my friends.

It's all part of the learning process I guess. There are some parts of ourselves we simply cannot escape, outrun, grow out of. More importantly, you learn the most and the feel the most when the thing that you treasured turns around to stab you in the chest.

So no one keeps their word.
Everyone is temporary.
And you will always be disappointed.

I wish that weren't the way it looked.

Just another day being Z

So I'm working on my essays into the colleges that make me moist thinking about going there. I completely underestimated this whole write about yourself business. So I will be calling on people to assist me in filling out my brag sheet. Lol.

My so-called best friend looks more like an idiot with every passing day. I only feel in a position to judge because compared to her, I'm less of a bitch. Okay, I'm less of an obnoxious bitch. (Because we all know I could make you cry if I wanted to). I can make anyone feel like a star and ensure people have the time of their lives. I'm always up to try something new, and will hardly ever say "that's weird" or "we'll look silly". I do things because I want to do them, not because it's look cool or because my friends want to. My experiences are my choices, and I won't fake a good time, (just restrain myself from ruining it for everyone). I don't know. Ever since I tried to kill myself, there's been a gap growing between us. She doesn't know me, and she'll never understand me because she has to be right all the time. I'm willing to see that I might be hypocritical on some points, but not from her. I'll tolerate anyone else telling me about me, except her. *sigh* Feels good to get that out.

Should I stay or should I go? Part of me wants to stay in dinky little town with cookie cutter people and continue with my iffy existence, while the other half wants to leave and take the risk of not having anything in the oh so near future. I'm afraid if I leave, my family will disown me. I'm afraid if I'll stay that I'll be unhappy even though there isn't really any reason to stay here... Decisions, decisions. Though I could go Miami and attend some school there. My family has a house there, so it's not like I'm really leaving. Why does this have to be SO HARD?

Tomorrow is going to be an exciting day. I have tons of work to do and I know how to get it all done...but I don't have the energy. In the end I'll suck it up, pull it all off with time to spare while looking...peculiar, but right now?

Right now I'm going to whine.

Dreamers never prosper

Hmm, seems like there's trouble brewing my sweet paradise, and I, being a Diva of course, can't let that happen. What to do, what to do, when all my trouble seems to come in twos?

Aight, 'nuff of this bullshitting around. Tonight there will be a meteor shower and honestly, I could think of any other way I'd rather spend it, then curled up under a blanket that blends in with the sky, a huge cup of rich dark chocolate cocoa and Andrew Bird telling me to fucking dance. Yep. Did I mention I plan to spend it...alone?

Yeah, for some reason many people think I'm a social butterfly. The only Diva thing about me is that I, Z.e. Daniels, don't care if you think my wild mane is blocking your view, or if my formal wear in the middle of San Francisco will I smoke a delicious Camel no. 9 cigarette is horrendously obnoxious. Darling, I'm going to die young and I'm going to be soooo happy. I am solitary creature, who only goes outside if 1) food is involved and/or 2) you can make me smile the second I get in the car. Did I mention by anger management skills are...non-existent? Pretty much if you like your genitals to remain user friendly, You. Will. Not. Piss. Me. Off.

Other than that, I'm head over heels in love with a guy I don't deserve, trying to tame my lustful beast (which is easier to type than achieve) and I'm dealing with stress like no other. Wake me up in a couple hours, we'll do work then.

Teehee, :)

We're going to be GREAT friends, I can tell.

Down the Rabbit Hole

He stood in front of the platform in the dark chamber, calm and expectant. Above him was a hole big enough to climb through, light dripping down before him. Before him sat a six armed creature, motionless now. Pipes in each of their six slender hands, all lit with thick smoke filled the space. Behind the beast was a darkness unlike any he could have imagined. It seemed to swallow up the light and threaten to come after him as well. He took an inquisitive step forward.
"Why are -you- here?" The creature roared, its voice genderless. A great massive body seated upon a throne of orange and red, blue and purple pillows, trembled as it came to life. The sound echoed all around him. "It is not your turn."
"Where is this place?" The boy asked in response. "Who are you?"
"It is not your turn." An arm swung to raise its pipe to the monster's lips. "I would not expect a child to be ready to make such choices."
"I'm not a child." He whispered, more to himself than the creature who laughed at this. He gaped up in surprise at the sound. So rich, so full of life.
"You're fearless, I'll give you that." There was more movement of the arms as it leaned forward to look at him. "And you've got a hunger to understand the world around you that is uncommon these days."
The boy remained stoic, his mind turning with questions. Was this place purgatory?
"You could call it that...purgatory."
"Is what's above us then, heaven?"
"No. That is the place of light, where things are in the open and you can decide whether to take it or leave it. No right or wrong answers, just knowledge." There was a hint of something not being said. "The place of darkness, behind me," an arm gestured, "is where you look for it yourself, no choice in what you take, and it all affects you, sometimes for the worst."
Emotion, is that it? The boy wondered. That's the difference.
"Most don't make that choice until they are older. Where life is about something much different than originally expected..."
"Is that why I'm here?" The boy thought hopefully. "Because I'm ready?"
"No." The guardian moved away. "You're here, because you have no where else to be. You made a choice a long time ago, to cut yourself off from certain things, like friends and letting yourself relax and now you're a little lost at what you are supposed to be, what you are supposed to want. You cannot tread in amongst those of the light because you carry too much emotion, and you cannot stay with those in the darkness, because you don't know enough to play along."
These words were starting to hit home for him, but he hid it. "Then where should I be? I can't continue this indecision anymore."
"That," the creature grinned through the smoke. "Is your decision. If you pick the light you can continue to learn at the pace you are at. It is all handed to you and you can decide whether or not what you learn hurts or helps you. Pick the darkness, and you must carve the path yourself, pushing past what you believed to be your limits."
"Is there a third option?"
"You can stay here with me in the in between, and fill my pipes. Choice is yours really."
I'm not old enough to make that choice, but I can't stay here...not here.

He took a step.
He closed his eyes.
And hoped to Sartre,
he didn't die.

I think I'm asking too much

I want to be social. I want to be happy. But I have no idea how to go about achieving it. I still feel that welling of jealousy when I look on things like Facebook, Myspace, yeah, it's sad. That's nice that you can recognize that, but that doesn't make the feeling any less...painful. I don't know. Maybe it was supposed to be like that. It's reassuring that the world will never be trapped inside it's little void of technology establishing and ensuring that that is what a social life, composed entirely comments, blogs, likes and dislikes. It's just what it is.

I find myself yet, again on the outside of the fishbowl, watching, learning, but alone on the outside.

To find it's all a dream

Smoking is unhealthy. Oh yes, it's very very VERY bad for you. But for me, deep down inside, there's a little flame waiting to for its full potential to be realized, and the end of the cigarette meets its tip where the first drag is always like coming home.

Funny how the things that seem like they would be so wrong, seem so right. Smoking has always felt like coming home, even cheap cigarettes, though the taste may be foul, I find myself smoking another, and another and another. Till I'm dizzy with the lack of oxygen and the air is cloudy with tobacco. Yeah, smoking. I do it and I'll do it again too.

I used to be so unsure of the line between dreaming and reality and it seems that was never the case. Conscious and unconscious, darling that's where the line lies, and I'm hardly conscious for anyone or anything anymore. I find myself going through the motions, shutting down, shutting off. Just getting shuffled around like papers with no real place to be sort into. Everyone is so on the surface, so content with what they're handed. I've spent forever looking for the people who dive into the mystery, and I will no surrender them so readily.

Just one sweet slice, please, deep and refreshing, so I can just lie here and let it all flow out, just one unforgettable moment of freedom, of pleasure. Thick and strong, the pull of the empty viens, let my body go into shock. You don't get it do you? You don't understand anything.

I have to use you, I have to hold you close, so you remain in my life. So I have somewhere to run...please don't leave...but don't stay either.

Long time no post?

Ugh. So much to do so little time.

First off, I've been to work on a super secret little project, and for once it has to do with school! I hope it works out the way I imagine or else I'll be really sad.

Secondly, I'm a little fed up of tolerating people I don't really like, because it's expected of me. I should be allowed to be a separate identity, able to make my own impressions on people without other people's nonsense corrupting how people see me. Second semester is going to be utter hell.

Goodness, what to do what to do. More later in the life of Z Diva.

Puzzles

People are puzzles.
As far as I know, most people only show particular sides in the presence of particular people. There's no way to see all the sides, all the parts, all the fragments.
At first this bothered me. There's so much about my friends I would never know. I could study them forever, and never see something so fascinating about them that other people get to experience. And it's not as if though there is something wrong with me, or wrong with them. It's what we draw out of each other.
I feel a little more comfortable knowing that I'll never get to see the whole picture, but I know the part I get the best I possibly I can realizing there's something I'm not seeing.
Only people. I never think about anything else this much.
I wonder...

"Yes, I can see her almost perfectly in this cracked darkness."
-Paper Towns by John Green

Audacity of Insanity

I am not looking forward to tomorrow.
There's an award ceremony.
For the students who hit a certain grade point average.
I know. I know. I shouldn't care so much, because really. I could've been one of those students.
And yet I will not be there. With them. I'll be in the class with the teachers who make the biggest deal of these things...and that's what makes me sick.
Have I mentioned I really don't like school.
...
Don't get me wrong. I love reading textbooks, taking notes, listening to lectures. That's all I want. The drama that even the high school teachers bring to the classroom, that's what I dislike. I sit in the back and take notes. I can't stand to participate unless my grade is at stake.

I have stats homework to try and comprehend.
J'ai passe simple etudier.
Lining for a corset to cut out and pin, looking forward to almost completing the corset! :D
English notes to take. Somehow in one day, we went from Chapter 2 to Chapter 7...
Econ notes to- no, I'm just going to read the chapter. I'm so tired. Doing my assignments and then sleeping.

That's it.

We could open up

Suicide- The various aspects might be heading these blogs for awhile. But I'm going to figure out. Is it ironic that I want to help those who feel as empty and dead as I do, when I grow up? If I grow up?

Many people view suicide as cowardice and if you look at it as running from problems, sure. It's cowardly. It's weak. But then there's the planning of suicide and if you have a vivid imagination, thinking of 1001 ways to kill yourself can get pretty...gory. Even further down the line there's the act of suicide. I cried for a good hour before I took my...medicine. It's numbing once you get so far as to "do it". And the only thing that can stop it is someone else, because your life seems to no longer be your own, out of your control. The people I sent that message to? Those were the only people I knew wouldn't shun me if I lived, the only people I trusted to not make a scene, the only people had any affect on my life who would have an effect now.

Reaching out for help? I don't think that's cowardly at all. Why bring it up all, right? No one wants to hear that. No one cares. Excuses. We all know it isn't right for people to want to kill themselves. We all know it's a sign something inside isn't right. And the mass majority of people, as noble as they claim to be, would rather suicidal, depressed, bipolar people just keep their insanity to themselves. Not a chance. Let's start with something basic.

Mutilation is an outlet, in most cases. People who have been interviewed for the creation of A BRIGHT RED SCREAM by Marilee Strong say cutting helps the pain lessen, because in their wounds, the frustration is flowing out and their not keeping it inside. I think that applies to suicide and depression as well. If there is an outlet present, then there isn't a backlog of negative thoughts. If it can all "flow" then anyone trying to see inside can help.

What some people might think, "You tried to kill yourself once, like you know how it feels. You're probably some hyper little teenager just trying to get attention and this is the lamest way to get it. It's sick. High school is just a phase, it'll end and you'll go on to have a life. So you read a bunch of books on suicide and psychological disorders and know you think you know them? Stop playing around and grow up."

I'm not doing it for attention. I only thought that because I was afraid of other people thinking that. But I know I'm not. And that's all that matters. Again the thoughts going through my mind, were not of high school and my peers, so guess again. And for my choice of reading, if any they help me.
What about you? What's inside your depths?

Reasons Why

Right now? I don't think I can give any valid reason why I tried to kill myself. It's a rush then and there, and it must be satisfied or extinguished. I don't get to choose when it comes or how it goes. I just know, I don't like it and I wish it would go away. I'm afraid of it coming back. Anxiety starts it, but it's never the only thing. All my little problems, I can deal with it one at a time, but then somewhere, somehow, things start slipping and I crash. Or precisely I suffocate.

I know I won't stop trying. The allure of it being the one thing that will make everything better will never go away. I can't tell anyone that. I can't talk to anyone about it. Because it's too depressing. And you know what? The more I talk about it, the less I need it. But that's how everything is for me. Once I can get it out of my system, I hardly look back. But that's asking way too much of people to just deal with it. I'm always asking too much of people.

People. It's partly them. I wish I could not blame them for it. But it's partially their fault. As much as it is my own for letting people, who could really care less for me, get to me so personally. They're off living their lives and for some reason I thought I could be...a part of it. Wanted, I guess. But that's been the theme of my life so far. Lol, in elementary school they used to call me the Unwanted One. I'll never forget that. I'll never forget a lot of things.

I did it-
because I was tired of talking about. I wanted to prove to myself I could do it. Just how badly did I want it? Enough to try it. Enough to hurt myself because I thought(and still think) I deserved it.
Why did I reach out?
Because I had to say something, so it wouldn't be a surprise. It might as well have been my way of saying good-bye. But I know I wanted help. That I didn't want to just be snuffed out by a handful of pills.

The finality of all, of making the decision, that was...off.

Attempt 1

I took 17 pills. I do not feel well at all. Emotionally, physically. Anything. it's all off.
I don't know. Half of me wants to wake up tomorrow. Half of me just wants to go in my sleep.
I'm going to keep trying. Now that I know, I can readily take them hoping to die. We'll see I guess. I can't think straight.

I am sorry.

All the gods lost to one

Insomnia. By correct defintion, I don't think I'm an insomniac at all. By creative definition, yes, I am. But I think I've traced the cause of my inability to fall asleep to my dependence on caffeine, which explains a lot.

I have at least half a liter of something with caffeine in it every day, whether it be coffee or Coke (because any other soda is truly pointless) and energy drinks. These all have roughly the same effect on me, and I use them all for the same purpose: 1. to help me stay awake and 2. to make my pills kick in faster. If there's nothing I can drink that would be supply me with what has now become a necessity, I take Excerdrin. It's slightly less potent for me, so I take two.

I sleep during the day, particularly right after school (2pm) and won't move until say...6ish. Drink something caffeinated, take two pills, fall asleep before 1am, wake up for 5am, go to school at 7am, repeat. Maybe. If I'm lucky. Sometimes, at least twice a week, I'm up for 24+ hours, then sleep for 12+ the next day and maybe make it to all five days a week for school.

I could always stop drinking the caffeinated drinks and try to be live a healthier lifestyle, but of course that's of no real interest to me. Due to a little experiment back in December 2008, I can presently last up two days without a drink. When I smoked it was at best a week, but then I smoked more. I would rather stay awake for days than deal with the headache caffeine withdrawal brings. No, thank you.

It's not a complaint. I'm just happy I figured it out. I hope.

I hear there are great....

It's nights like this when I can't sleep, I write. I write pointless, random nonsense that's floating around in my head, so I don't have to carry it with me. But I can't let go of it all, not at all once.

I think I am interest person. If you hang out with me, you're guaranteed to have a good time. Through text, through just that alone, you'd figure I'm some depressed, music-addicted, slightly disturbed Diva of the West Side. But I'm not that person. I just...don't filter anything out. It's all there, I didn't know that's how life worked. I knew that's how games worked. Lie upon lie, doesn't matter. It turns out you have to lie all the time. Maybe someday I'll tell the truth.

I love narcissists. Not because of the abuse they inflict on those who love them, not anymore, but because they love themselves. They're sickeningly obsessed with themselves. I think I envy that. But they are flawed. They can't (or have trouble) disconnecting from themselves. I've never been connected. I just give all the time. It's hard to hold the mask up for so long, but I'm getting better. I'm still perfecting this persona.

I don't look like I'm supposed to be here. I'm too awkward, too frail, too emotional. I hate lying though. It makes me sick. But if I'm myself, I make people sick. A Perfect Lie, right?

...restaurants, out west, some of the best.

Maybe we should jump

Heads or tails?
-Tails. Do you not own a coin?
It's always more than asking heads or tails.
(I deleted the response to this....oops.)

Metaphors-
I will never be able to look at a coin and just see a coin. Ever. A cup of cocoa is not a steamy warms the soul, hint of caramel, milky chocolate delectable.

*Wait. If a cup of cocoa of ridiculously good cocoa is NOT cocoa, then what the muffin is it?

It is anything I want it to be. I go through life and when I see things, scenes, moments shared, I ask why is this important. Why does it make me happy? Sad? Whatever. A cup of cocoa could be an entirely sexual experience or it could be a really good thing of cocoa. (I have been told I enjoy the entire concept of food and eating it way too much.) But whatever happens with that cup of cocoa is going to lead to something else, and that something might make me think of cocoa. Might not. And thus, I can never see it as just a cup of cocoa. Because it just might mean something.

Thinking-
*You do realize you're wasting your time over thinking all of this nonsense right?
Nope. It happens naturally. When you talk about food, I'm in the kitchen, across the counter from you, looking at the creation you deem worthy to tell me about. (restaurant what the muffin.) You say "I loved fucking Tanya." Well, I'm sorry, I'm going to think about you fucking Tanya. And it'll probably traumatize me. I have to be there, I have to see it, I have to know. Tell a story well once, I'll respect you for basically a long period of time. Fail to hold my attention and I will cut you off, if you dare try again. (There are ways to redeem oneself....)
*So you think about pointless shit and totally detract from the moment. Nice.
Not at all. If anything it heightens it. For me. I don't share my thoughts. People on that normal wave length wouldn't get why I detest Spongebob Squarepants with such an avid passion. He's square, he's simple, and I can't imagine him having sex with anything and this usually no difficult task. (Yeah, I think about sex a lot, but not as much as you think. I think about food and what I could be eating right now, waaaay more.)
Over thinking, it happens, I like it. It reminds me that I am alive. I can feel and experience and if my imagination gets ahead of me, well...someone will stop me.

Drama
"Like OMG, you're just a drama queen."
I am known for being the DIVA. Brightest make up that still remains unrivaled (cirque du soliel, anyone?), the burning passion for whatever I put my mind too and the willingness to be there everyone and do pretty much everything. We, the drama kids, we're talking about the theatre, and apparently, little attempt at Diva calls it HER theatre and HER stage. I only say "that's not right." A girl I hardly know says, "If anyone deserves to call it their theatre it's you." That made me happy. I will not leave and be forgotten. Mmmmm. Personally, honestly, I don't care. I want make something bright, loud, dramatic, comedic. ALL OF IT. For the theatre at my school. It's my senior year. I would consider it a fatal sin to not leave something as bright and obnoxious as myself behind for years to follow to shake their head at.

Like, drama drama, I can't feel it. I have no idea when it's there, when it's not. I don't categorize situations as "high school" and so on. I don't. I can't. So I won't. I'm not a confrontational person. I'm aggressive like hell, sure, but I rarely push, unless I want something more than I respect a person. I will hardly ever go out of my way to mess with people, create drama, and the like. I don't like being a part of it, though I love hearing about it. For some reason it makes me violently happy people are viciously interacting.

Truth-
I have been impressed and that is something I never share.

You're trying to trick me

I didn't know I was annoying people. I'm just way too

obsessive?
clingy?
needy?

one of those things. Maybe that's why I'm so uninteresting. I give too quickly and it's no like anything will change within the day, the week, the month, the year. So why stay? I don't know. I thought I was doing something right and I guess, like always, I was wrong....

mmm, where will I put all my morbid thoughts now? They won't disappear. That's a part of me that can't change. I've tried. But that's the part that people don't like. I don't get it. If I hide it, there's no substance to what I'm saying, the persona I'm displaying. If I share it, too often anyway or even at al right?, then people back away. I'm not trying to please people directly, but by pleasing myself, I sort of please people (because we're sharing in each other's happiness or something like that) and then by pleasing people I please myself more. I'm sort of dependent on people. All people, pretty interesting people especially.

Benefits to being myself:
Honesty with myself and those around me
Happy that I can be so confident to wear such outrageous make up
Some level of confidence in facing the world.
Insomnia (have to take pills to sleep)
No panic attacks

Disadvantages:
Winning less and losing more people
Panic attacks at least every two weeks
Paranoia
Hypersomnia (I slept more when I was stressed out)
Low self-esteem
Lying to make people happy


They seem equal in my eyes. So the question is, Do I want my health to be at risk for the instant gratification that comes with people being happy with me?

I think I do.
I have to hide me.
Like old times.
So this should be no problem.

I don't mind changing my disguse

I hate being ignored. Not nearly as much as most things in life, but it's up there with ways to piss me off quickly.

It shouldn't matter. It really shouldn't. I can't lash out at this person, because it isn't technically their fault. I demand a lot of attention at first sure, but the more readily you respond the less I'll come to you for attention. My interest in you won't necessarily fade, it'll just be less of necessity to force my personality down your throat. Maybe it's horrible, but I kind of don't care. I'm tried of having to neglect my wants, my needs, my homework in some cases, so someone else can have their Diva moment. I'm all for sharing the spotlight, but not if it costs me or if I do, in those rare instances, decline.

Maybe it is too much of a strain. I'm asking way too much of people. "Love me." "Feed me." Maybe I should shut up and crawl back into that morbid place of my mind. I certainly can't just unleash on the world so quickly...so easily...so by myself.

Give or take? Love or hate? Destroy or savour? I can't have both. Not like you can. No, I'm a person of extremes and it's either completely dominant or sickeningly submissive. You can't get moderation in the beginning with me. That takes effort my dear, and you haven't proven your worth. Everyone else, they're lucky if they get my attention once a week, much less a month. If you're new and I like you, you'd best pretend to love me, or I'll hurt you the only way I know how.

With a knife in your femoral artery of course.

happuness is more than a more gun

I don't think I can be mad at the people who create myspace profiles for their favorite characters and things of that nature. I've never done it. I always created a new character for whatever story I was reading. My narcissistic side refuses to let me take disregard the opportunity to graffiti my personality all over someone else's work. But this isn't about me. This is about them.

I can't get annoyed with it. I can't say it's stupid. It's sort of, in it's weird way, character building. These people are taking what is already a halfway developed person and then forcing themselves to fit into that particular persona. Most of the time, (I'm slightly sure) they go out acting like this character, and I don't mean cosplay, I mean these people actually want whatever people say about them to be, "Oh, I know, you know Bella, I mean, Tanya....". But this is why it will always fail, the persona cannot hold its shape:

The experiences that this "character" goes through in life does not and will not mirror the actual character's. Those experiences will shape the persona into something different and eventually, at some point, they will realize that they are not that character and they will go on with some shattered remains of personality, mold into something original (as cliche as it might seem to whoever, whatever) and be better for it.

I can't feel anything more than some sort of respect, (mild respect) for them. It's one thing to change your name and behave as if your life is a particular story. It's another entirely to take a character many (more or less) people know and have interpreted differently and boast proudly, "No. I'm right. You missed this point here." THAT takes balls my dear friends. And that is why I can't dislike the little 14 year-old Alice Cullen in Morgan Hill, that Myspace seems to think I would like to add.

Lovecraft in Brooklyn

I know it's nothing. Every single time I let go and trust someone, it feels good, sure, but then I end up getting hurt. It's like my heart imploded and my blood has run cold. I don't like many and I respect fewer. I don't usually give my real name out for a ridiculous variety of reasons. I don't like the person I'm supposed to be, and yesterday I was met with the horrible realization as much as I try I will never be what anyone wants. I can't live up to their expectations. Eventually I'll be a disappointment. Who am I supposed to be? Who am I supposed to want to be?

Be yourself.

I've been bending over backwards trying to be something for everyone for sixteen years. This past year was spent, in vain, trying to find something, anything that wasn't passed upon another person wanting me. I have no idea who I am. I don't want to make the wrong choice, (though by some awesome magic, I do.) I don't want to be rejected. So many holes and nothing to fill them.


Keep your distance, it's all temporary. I lie because I don't think people care enough to hear the truth. What's funny is I can't remember the last time I lied.

I can't trust blindly. Anything that involves letting someone else getting close to me in any way, simply won't happen. Learn everything, share nothing. If I could accept that so plainly I would be okay, but I can't. I'm not. Okay. I can't sleep for long these days, five hours max. I drink coffee by the pot, not a cup in the morning, a cup at night. Around five cups I can sleep. All these little problems are connected. I just wish. I just wish someone was as interested in me as I am in them.

Sure:

I don't feel loved.

I don't feel wanted.

I forget what reason I gave myself to try to be someone.

Maybe:

I'll just keeping being everyone's toy.

At least, that is familiar.

One day I'll make brownies.

Someone left something on the counter last night. There is a huge mess. Of ants. Ants and stale food. Good morning to you too.

I don't have half the confidence to live my life the way I would like to. I don't have the confidence to say no or to just watch. It's almost out of habit that I participate. I have to. Regardless of telling myself, "Not this time." If anyone tried to help me with this, I would be offended. I would think they're trying to tell me, "Look you're a nice person, we like you, but we're going to distant ourselves from you. You're trouble and we can't handle trouble." Apparently that was theme of last week. I'm pretty sure that most people would get defensive and keep doing the thing that got them this reputation of trouble more, but if I'm not like that. I note who likes what, who likes who, what someone's favorite drink is. Whatever. I change and I have to wait for someone new to see.

Life is turning out to be one big guilt trip after another.

I don't think I'm a bad person. Not entirely at least. I just have moments where I get sick of going out of my way for someone and the same people telling me I don't do anything. It feels a lot like I'm handing you a cake and you're slapping me in the face.

I don't like fighting. Physically. Verbally, eh, different story, but physically I can't handle.

"Afraid you'll get hurt....? W.I.M.P."

That's not it at all. It's the fear of there being a point where I'll be on top/winning/presented with the opportunity to either keep slamming a person's face against the pavement or stop. I'm afraid I'll like it too much and keep going to the damage is irreversible. I've gotten in fights before, when I was younger, recently, like three years ago and I didn't stop hurting them till someone made me. That's why I don't fight. Ever. You could keep beating me up and the most I would do is move away from you.

I'm like a panther. A caged panther. Nice to look at, hard to befriend.

Before it was people not liking me and now, I'm sure they're avoiding me. Which doesn't hurt me, much. It just means I'll be keeping my distance from everyone. I'm a little tired of fixing bridges. Maybe I'm just a little tired of burning them.

This didn't have to be written

It's understandable. All of it. Why people cut themselves. Why people want to die. Why people find the previous ridiculous beyond all reason. If you can explain it then I'm willing to see things in a different light and talk to you. On the other hand, if you approach me and say, "You're going to hell for such and such reasons because my beliefs are superior to yours." I can only nod and let you go on your way. I find a lot of people my age just accept things as they are handed to them. "Well, my parents said..." People who don't question anything are the scum of the earth, more so than the serial killers and the racists, and whoever else society has deemed unfit. To accept blindly is to be content in ignorant bliss, and it upsets me. My sisters are like this. Simple choices made by "Mom said..." or "Dad said...". Look at the situation, gather all your experience, and even though A and B fit, C is missing, D just popped out of nowhere, we're going to act like this is some textbook equation that be solved if we ram our ideals down its little throat. Then again, who am I to judge? I think things should be questioned, beliefs examined, problems faced at head on with the intent to fix them or at least see them for what they are. But I am not the mass majority of people. I decide nothing. I merely watch. I have to. There's little I can do. For now.

I have my emo moments, the kind people turn their nose up at. But those are so far and fleeting compared to those who pour out cliche after cliche. Yes I'm melodramatic and perhaps nothing more than a show, but it had to have come from somewhere. It had to have been festering somewhere inside of me (festering.) and this is just when and how I choose to express it. There is truth in fiction. There has to be, for without some familiar basis of thought it would not be understood.

At the mention of age (or gender at times) I feel like if the attention is called to it there must be some thing wrong with it. I don't necessarily try, but I forget my age. I act as I see fit, usually. Unlike everything else, this is the one thing I must face. I must live with this fact and no amount of make-up or kind words is going to make it disappear. Maybe that's why I don't see myself living past thirty, I don't want to get old. I don't want to face my parents' responsibilties even if they are completely independent of each other. I don't want it, I can't find a use for it, so I'm willing to throw it away. Just like love, just like everything. Kind of like a condom, use it for what minimal pleasure you can and discard it. I'm torn between so many things, it's like there's some mirror inside, the relfection is me and I am the reflection, yet we are opposite of each other. Break the mirror, break yourself, that's not the problem. The problem is trying to find a reason to just be, something solid that can't be torn down by a flick of wrist, the rejection in another's eyes. This is where the problem lies. I have no idea how to fix this.

I don't want a lover. I want a friend, I guess, a mentor. The complications stretch on.

Like your soul, I am missing

Beards: I hate them. Gross. Ick. No. Shave, bastard, shave.

Small childern: I have no problem with infants, it's when childern are capable of speech and combat do I start to get a little miffed that they exist. That and childern who are adverse to learning.

Baby photos: For the record, I was an ugly baby. I'm not going to post a picture and break my monitor, but I was a demon monkey child, hands down, not cute in the slightest. BUT unlike many cute babies, I turned out fucking adorable and will develop into one gorgeous human being, while all the cute now semi-questionable childern are going to ask for plastic surgery.

Cell phones: I love them. I particularly love mine, and sort of almost want a BlackBerry. Yeah. I do. But my sisters are far worse with cell phone mannerisms than I am. They have no idea how to actually use a cell phone in a productive manner. I, on the otherhand, do. That's why I was a semidecent house manager. I use the phone for business AND pleasure.


That's all, muffins.

Fell in love with cliches and tortured lines, when I should've known better, he was like all the rest. Who's next?

Like a lover

Click. Click.

With a flick of a hand the tiny white cyclinder is brought to life, given purpose in the cool sunset lit evening.

Inhale.

One gentle tug at the tendrils of smoke trying to dance away in the breeze. The amber light, not yet coupled with grey ashes, burning slightly brighter. The captured wisps doing a slow elegant roll in dying branches of once healthy lungs.

Exhale.

And the curls of smoke rejoined by their brothers, wrapping around slender fingers that dismiss the used and gladly abused remains of their origin. As if swimming through the gentle air, they grow wild and lost just before their perfect shape bleeds into nothingness.

Inhale.

With a kiss, the owner hungry for more, the ribbons disappear for a moment, their dance now in high demand elsewhere only to reappear with a slight twist to their steps, more of glide to the heavens.

Exhale.

Even in this tranquil light where the darkness of a placid night threatens to dominate, the embers come to realize they have a passionate side to them, illuminating the long fingers that cradle the delightful treat. The street lamps can only look on, jealous of the growing adoration between poison and happy inamorata.

Inhale.

One last impassioned kiss. One last release of the ruins of a relationship no longer as entrancing as it was at the start. Discarded with a glance that softly sings of having been there, done that. The still vibrant embers, aroused by the passing breeze, extinguished without so much as a second thought. The last breath nothing more than an dispassionate, lackluster

Exhale.

Click.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Can I have your soul?

It's three twenty in the morning. I can't sleep. Or to be more precise, I'm fighting sleep. This lack of font editing is making me sad, this particular font is so unappealing. Grr...

I'm obsessive. In a not so normal way. "most obsessions aren't normal." Well, there are your healthy obsessions that must take place in order to experience something crucial to life later on, such as adulthood and there are the unhealthy obsessions that just give you something to do in your spare time. I'm obsessed with people. Well, particular people. People who want something more out of life than to waste it away in front of a screen. (that's not what I'm doing, as you can clearly see as I go out, witness something that disgusts me, small children for example, and then report back to you my adoring fans.) People who long for the past, the set of rules of elegance and manipulation, not this petty tragedy of boyfriend/girlfriend crap. Ugh. It makes me sick. I don't even understand how people can be together for seven months doing the same thing, over and over and over. Till it becomes routine and then you have no idea whether or not you actually like the person.

But it's disorders that I love. Depression, narcissism (my latest obsession), the list goes on. And it's not because they "weird" or "different", it's because they see the world differently, parts of them that cannot necessarily be changed. (God, I hope I don't sound like I'm mocking people who actually have problems, but that is not my intention at all.) I just find them interesting. I want to know more about the person, their mind.

It bothers me that I am a completely healthy person. No problems at all. At least nothing on the disorder scale. And I love making PowerPoints. Just for fun.

If I had known I was going to have kill brain cells to feel good about myself I would have been a little more reckless...

The Ever Changing Muffin

I feel glorious. I feel alive. I feel as if the world should learn I refuse to bend to its silly rules. For the first time in a long time:

The world can just suck it.

And who I am to say oh this is the year we make last a lifetime, so on and blah blah. I just want senior year to be something we won't regret. But in my mind I can see the trailer for the twists, the drama, an all new hell we couldn't have imagined. Lol. Guest Star Haaser? Jk. I clearly get retarded when I'm happy.

This isn't helping. The realization of something wonderful is about to happen is slowly taking over. I can't wait to get started.

You'll see.

Fight Club Commentary

Ari: I was thinking of a white tiger actually.

It seems like people spend forever on the least important things. Like relationships that are never going to last, how to live a "happy" life, whether we're sick or dying, whether we're going to die a virgin. But I don't really think that. I like spending time on everything, with everyone.

With a voice like that, how can anyone go to their cave, or find their power animal.

It always seems the things I've wanted the most in life, I have never gotten. More importantly the things i have gotten I don't want anymore. "You're

They're fighting over which support groups to attend. Lovely. Ari: It's so sick and yet, sooo right.

just an attention whore. When you don't get the attention

the music is fitting, it contrasts the whole concept of the movie or at least this scene. and yet it's fitting.

you want, you throw a fit." It's not the attention, it's the possibility of having another soul to add to the collection. That's all relationships are. You keep going till there's nothing more to be found. When you have to stop and wonder what's left, it's time to go. Or it's time to start asking the questions that no longer apply to "normal" people.

That man is Ari's husband. Something has happened. I hardly understand. He called her. But what's the point of a phone call with nothing to say? There's actually a lot. (This is not what you were expecting.) A phone call is probably the next best thing to being in person with someone.

Ari: I can't stand someone eating that loud.
Me: It's Brad Pitt, he can't help it.
Ari: *nods*
Me: It's not even on purpose.

Why do I lie? Or why did I? I don't lie to Ari, or the three other people I let in. It seems like, I lie to myself because I don't think I'm interesting enough. Am I afraid of the moment I find myself interesting, something bad happening? But that's the thing that makes other people interesting. Hmm...

It's like his own support group.

So is this mine? Like my own invisible audience, the kind of things kids do when preparing to speak in front of a class. They arrange their stuffed animals in rows and perform. The next day it all works out, and those kids grow up to be popular and cool. I am not one of those people. I look awkward, but confident. I think. I could be wrong. I shouldn't care if this gets too long that no one reads it.

"You could swallow a pint of blood before you get sick."
Ari: interesting fact.

This person is me. The person who has attempted to separate herself into two different people, because it makes things harder than easier. But why?

She's hot. She's so hot. Marla, the girl in the blue dress, she's fierce. But she's messed up. I wish I handle dating a girl so messed up. She's me, or so Ari says. Huh...

Because in the most stressed moments or entire situations, you can see what you're really made off. If the world is painted pretty and made out of glass

That can't be healthy.

you learn never to break it. You learn that it's better to tread lightly. But eventually you wonder what if I break it? Do I live? Or do I crumble like the glass? (or at least this is why I broke my palace of hope and dreams, what are you like? Why don't you break. the. glass.) I haven't crumbled. I haven't lived. I have merely walked out of the house. And now I'm watching the people inside the house (These people were previously fish) and I want to mingle with them. but we get a little too close, we will smile, we brush and then we disappear. Or they from me. Because of all the people i've met, I remember what, 97% of them. I never forget faces. Or details. Just names. That's pretty much the only thing I forget.

Ari: Why wouldn't you get them removed?

i want to cut my hair. But it would never look right. It would never me, with a curtain of hair to hide behind. "but that's what you need...the curtain to be cut." Or maybe I need a longer curtain, so you'll actually pay attention.

I hate people who say "Fuck" as if it's supposed to explain something. But I've only ever used it as an adjective.

Yes he is. Does he die?

The man is terrified.

Excellence is found in the strangest places. So which do we admire the most? The man who wrote the story or the person who gave him the idea?

What's the point of a life that we're not convinced is worth living? The option isn't suicide. It's to throw everything else, everything you've ever known and run on pure intuition. Do it. Try it and you know what's sad? You'll probably like it a lot more than sitting every day as if you're bored out of your mind. There's really no excuse for being bored. The longer the intervals between you saying you're bored the more interesting of a person you are. i think. or there's that other thing that I said.

The City: Welcome Home

This place was always dark, the City where we live. None of us were born into the City with its stony tress, wrought iron flowers and cement born flora. Eventually all pass into the City, but I've simply found the people who want to stay. Every day usy, productive, stressful, but fun, every even constant music pours from every speaker. Occasionally a few will partake in different activities, and some will break their routines for a taste of change. But the City has rules, rules that must be followed.

The people that reside in the City, that care for the City like flesh and blood, have not met yet. You see something terrible is about to happen to the world they built to be a sanctuary.

At the corner of 9Th and Main there is a theater. The Hourglass stands four stories tall, not necessarily looming, but proud and elegant, commanding the attention of all that pass. The blend of architecture call to most the idea of Greece's, Paris's, and London's love child, no quite sure whose it is. On the bottom floor is a set of offices lining the lobby, hidden behind trick doors and thick red walls. As director and owner of the Hourglass, Gabriel Dammel sits checking over the cast list. His office is nothing like that of conventional business men as it appears to be the back of a theater most of the room shadowed in darkness. Posters adorn the walls, made by past students, dancers immortalized in the City because of his skill, his vision. There's no one else in the theater at one in the morning as he reaches for his bottle of brandy, but withdraws when something out of place catches his eye.

James Alexander Michaels is running in a pair of white gogo boots and torn fishnets, his black mini skirt slightly riding up his long slender thighs with each stride. Some contruction works call out to him, "Hey baby!" Good thinks James Alexander and thanks his effeminate genes for the sixth time this week. It's one in the morning, but in the Razor Bubble its forever 11pm, hours more to party, the night still so young. But the tall, dark, and lovely tranny is broke, flying solo and tonight the bouncer is Samuel "Wasp" Jackson, who rarely works but enforces his fifties ideas on the guest list. For a minute he's disappointed, they were supposed to have a new DJ, but then he notices Carla Mendez, the most attractive tramp in all the City, chatting up the bouncer. With a short sprint, James Alexander slips in unseen, ready and willing to give his soul over to the music.

Margo Brown appears plain to most people, particularly boys. Instead of hanging out with other girls her age, young and hip 17, she spends her nights writing. Her second novel titled, "The Crushing of the Cage" is coming along in short bursts of inspiration that don't seem to last more than a page, is due on Friday. On this glorious Wednesday morning she looks out her apartment window, the City clearly visible. She can see the other girls having the time of their lives, losing their hearts to one night stands. Whatever Margo rolls her eyes and continues writing, I have a deadline to meet.

Across the street from the Razor Bubble, sits the faded blue apartment building. Mostly abandoned only the boldest tenants or the fresh and innocent newcomers of the City live there. In a tangle of limbs, smoke, and a half forgotten sheet, Lucinda Violet Williams wakes in a cold sweat. Another nightmare, another death she had to play witness to. A boy to her right wakes up for a moment, fighting sleep to cradle the now terrified girl. A second boy lights a cigarette, Camel no. 9, and goes to the window. Lucinda Violet sighs and tries to find her way back to the hallways of broken children; abandoned lovers and lost souls. The boy at the window takes a deep breath, "Luci, I have something to tell you."

Twitter

There are those who use Twitter obsessively, people who use Twitter generally (like me), there are those who hardly go on at all (normal people) and there are those who have no idea what Twitter is or what it is for.

Twitter is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o
Basically.


Which is great if you want to know what your friends are up to, what they think is interesting enough to link to, so on and so forth. But Twitter is like any other site, i.e. Myspace, Facebook, etc. It is what you make of it. So I don't understand why these comments have to be posted on this video:

< http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALbH63Ali9U

• You suck bitch !!!!!! Give up comedy and choose another carreer, preferably porn or prostitution !!!!! Do you spit or swallow ??? YOU FILTHY CUNT !!!!
• twitter is the most fucking idiotic thing cause in all reality.............WHO GIVES A FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• so stupid, and annoying.wow.

I don't care about other people thinking (quietly) Twitter is stupid. That's fine, go ahead hate it. It's the "you're stupid for liking it" bit that they seem to HAVE to say. It's sickening, and what's worse they don't care they come off to other people as sickening and disturbed. It escapes me entirely. I know people like this, who put down whatever you like just because they don't like it, or they can't understand it. I find that to be so trashy. I hate those people, but I'll continue to pretend to be their friend.

It's war is what it is.

Life to the outcast, death to the offspring

Originality, the approach towards it, varies generation to generation. My generation seems more to prone to swallow it whole, occasionally savoring the flavors that pass down the tongue of experience. Previous generation, let's say, my parents generation, wants to whip it with the thick leather belt of tradition. "No daughter of mine-!" While listening to a member of the older generation lament on his past, I realized how different we ALL are from one another and that is superb.

But this member of the past didn't think so. He saw himself as different from most people and that it should be "corrected" with his death. The girl sitting next to me watches me open my mouth to ask why and mouthed, "Don't say anything."

Fine, I thought, I'll leave the man to his misery and considering how I feel towards this man I'm not going to put too much thought into his suffocation of self.


It would appear the generation previous is still hunting for the approval of a society long since past. Still clinging to morals and values that seem to no longer apply. So that generation is attempting to shape this generation into what it was supposed to be. Our generation doesn't seem to care for that idea at all and is proceeding to make as many changes as humanly possible to the "good old days". Is this curse we have to face as the years fly past? Are we doomed to repeat that history?

God I hope not.

The LaNoira Family (Part One)

Note: There are approx. 20 people mentioned in this story. The following is the history of the nine oldest children in the LaNoira family, particularly Edward Gabriel, Lucinda Violet, and Julian Michael who appear in The City.

"Are you going to think of me as a giddy old bat if I forget a few bits, children? I've told this story so many times to you before."

Demitri scowled, "And in so many different ways." He said it low enough for his siblings, the other eight who were legitimate LaNoira. They stood around the den, dressed in black coats, watching Grandmother Marie tell the story of their family to the adopted LaNoira children. Lucinda Violet had asked for them to place bets on how many fallacies they would find tonight.

"Xavier LaNoira married Lydia Pierre in 1907* on the hill overlooking the Oxford Graveyard. It rained constantly the day the ceremony was to take place and Lydia's mother begged her to accept the church as a substitute. Xavier's father hinted consistently the suit was priceless as it has been in the LaNoira family for centuries and if it got wet, "Well, it isn't going to get wet, right my boy?" Both bride and groom were getting impatient and irked. When the guests were distracted by Lydia's younger siblings putting on a small performance in another room, Xavier grabbed the priest and the three of them ducked out through the back into the rain. 'Lydia,' Xavier asked, holding her gently, rain cascading from his hair, the suit now ruined. 'Is this what you want?' Your mother laughed at that, a laugh that sounded like a harp being lightly strummed. 'Yes, Xavier. You are what I want.' They were married happily underneath the rotted willow, and even the priest claims that lighting flashed across the sky when they kissed. They died together in bed at 90 years of age**. That's seventy happy years of marriage" Grandmother Marie laughed warmly, exciting the children before her. Of the seventeen LaNoira children, only nine were of blood to the LaNoira line. They each bore a crude black cross, the birthmark of the family and carried the crest with them whether on a chain of white gold around their neck or attached to their keys. The oldest and forever their parents pride and joy, Demitri and Isabella, were brought up in the Victorian ways. Due to the absence of the actual mother and father, they acted as loving parents and on rare occasion cruel siblings, only ever in jest, and managed the family affairs. Isabella was a blur of white satin as she left the room once the death of their parents was mentioned. Edward Gabriel, the third son and fifth child, shook his head, red dreadlocks dancing.

But Grandmother Marie continued her tale to the seven LaNoira children seated on the ground before her, ignoring the obvious but subtle discomfort spreading between the older eight.

"They lived a happy life, beautiful people attract beautiful people, remember that children. You attract what you are." Here the youngest Lily Anne giggled. "And you are such lovely-"

"Grannie Marie, tell the story!" Derreck whined.


These are Grandmother Marie's lies:
* They were married in 1965. The year is the only fault in this part of the story.
**They died by suicide, within a day of each other. Xavier hung himself at the place where they met and were married, Lydia swallowed 18 sleeping pills, ("one for each of my sweet dreams", she wrote on a blue post-it) and jumped into the lake near the LaNoira home.

Bacon Burgers and Book Reviews

I have no phone. For now. I will probably not have one for a while considering who my parents are. But it's fine. I only spoke to one person really, eventually I was going to crash and be silent, for an extensive period of time.

I spoke to my school counselor today. It's wonderful. It's fantastic. It's so unfail I could die from sheer joy. But I won't. There is much work to be done. (I feel like my own fairy godmother, beating mice into submission.) I might not have to go to community, no I lie. I DO NOT have to attend community college. I really, really don't. I was being lazy and underestimating myself.

The truth is I am a delightful, luscious, almost ineffable human being. (and you apparently did not know it.) I can't wait for next year!

As I sit here enjoying this delicious Bacon (i know, shameful) Burger someone is taking an impossibly long time doing whatever the hell it is they are doing behind me (you know....) If they are trying to get my attention they are going to have to do better than that. This burger is delicious!

The school I presently attend has been ordering new books, and since I frequent the library I get to peruse. This is probably the first time I have ever looked at a selection of books so seriously.

FIRST: Finally they leave the vampire subject alone and are now working on fouling up zombies, high schools and teenage romance (more so than usual). It's ridiculous. The nonsense piles up, fillinfg the shelves and no one can find anything adequate to read.

SECOND: The level of writing is sickening. No wonder no one even attempts to speak properly these days. I know, I know, I too am at fault of grammatical errors, but the sentences in some of these "books" are tragic.

Then again I have no real say yet what should be printed and what shouldn't. YET. So I shall watch, be disgusted, and ensure that I stay clear of the scum of the mas-no, it's too mean. I won't write it, but we're all thinking it.

Restoring the Diva to her(his?) former glory,
Z.E. Daniels

NOTE: There is not a single depressing thing.

Think of it this way

I could get mad. I could be really annoyed with the fact it seemed like you never wanted to be happy with anyone else but you and even then I was a disappoint despite not having even said a word yet. I could be relieved that I no longer have to deal with your nonsense and jealousy but the first time it happened I should have said fuck off and/or good-bye. I wanted to.

But I didn't. Why?

Why did I fight for you even when I was barely conscious? Why did I text you just to see if you text back? Why did I block you for no apparent reason? The list goes on.

I hate blaming things on my age. But it's part of the reason I don't have the experiences you've had, or the common sense you do. I'd like to, I'd love to learn half the things you know. I was raised by people who decided trial and error was the best method for teaching children. Extreme punishment (or so I find) when a mistake was made despite there being no prior knowledge of the degree of wrong that just occurred. I learn fast, but I make a lot of mistakes. I'm so unaware of so many things that I don't even know where to start to attempt to fill the void of knowledge. I guess answering the questions would be a start.

"Fight for you" meaning try and convince you I'm not a total failure, just a note. If I were a total failure then why would you have stayed even though you already made up your mind to drop me? Did I or did I not prove my worth when I made an effort for you? I texted you to see if you would text back because I was curious to see if you would. Why? Because you act and think (to some extent) frighteningly similar to my old boyfriend. The other guy I actually loved. I wanted to see if you would just cut me off like he did. Curiosity. The other more recent issue, blocking you. I thought you were getting sick of me, so I would leave. Why? Because I was getting too attached to you, and it was unhealthy for me. Why? Because there would be a point I would need your constant attention, I couldn't do without it. Hmm...

But I'm younger than you, and that's why I couldn't have you anymore. That's wrong. I couldn't have anymore as what you were. So I took care of it. I destroyed it, even though it hurt me in turn. It had to be done. So forget these past two months. It's easier that way. Because then I can maintain the veil, and you won't feel a thing for me. I haven't changed. I still feel the same way I did when I first heard of you. You've already done it. I can tell. I know how you feel, and that's good enough for me.

AFTER: I'll just go on lying, painting different masks to catch the attention of different people. But I promise I won't feel a thing for them and I have a tendency to keep my promises.

Losing it, right?

"You're consistently not good enough. You'd like to change it, and that's cute. That's wonderful, that's probably even flattering, but it's impossible. This is your limit and your limit has been reached. So stick with what you're good at. Watching everyone else have their grand moments, be there to cheer them up when they're down. You're fullfilled your purpose long ago, and any time you spend past when you were supposed to expire is just going to be constant failure."

It's sad. I want to give in to that voice. I want to believe it so bad, because then something would make sense. I could close my eyes and sleep forever. It's not him necessarily. It's knowing he'll be happier, he'll forget me, and that's one less person who wants a memory of me. It's so slittable. It's so fantastic.

I've spent a lifetime perfecting this illusion. But it's an illusion to the wrong people. I can't control that. What am I supposed to focus on? What am I supposed to be? Because nobody seems to want enough me to give me a clue. It was a dream, it was a dream, and nothing more.

If that's the case, then I've decided.

Let's go back to the way we were before. We could do it you know. Please.

Update: Sipping Orange Juice like Fine Wine

Even in summer this house is freezing. I have the space heater on high and I'm still cold. If you love me, you'll notice there's actual color on the page, as opposed to the drab, dreary colors it used to be. That's something you probably don't know about me: I LOVE color. And clothes...but that's not why I'm here.

I'm in an extremely good mood. No need to fear, just whatever follows in posts to come will most likely not make sense. (But seriously, have they ever?)

Changes
Definitions
Observations
Questions
and, most importantly!!

Elongated Metaphors

You'll see, and you will love it.

You are dismissed.

ZeD

Tilt your head back and close your eyes

It's ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Though it is seemingly pointless, there is a reason for the madness and I forgot that. Well, I forgot two things.

1. (Probably the most important) I write for myself. It shouldn't matter to me so much what other people think of the words I arrange on a screen. There are few exceptions, and even fewer I actually allow to circulate in my mind and distract me from my daily life (or absence of). The second I stopped for myself, was the moment I lost sight of what I really wanted. What's that you may ask? The purpose of my writing is to have an outlet for everything. Everything being anger, sadness, the happiness that I suppose gets me so high that a cease to be an acceptable individual of society (or seemingly so). I've trying to please other people and I'm done with it. I should be trying to please myself, which is technically impossible.

2. I forgot what two is. Maybe it'll come back to me before I finish writing. (It didn't return.)

The only kind of people I like are artists. Not particularly painters and writers and so on, but the people who care about the way a sentence is phrased and the words that are chosen. The kind of people who can look at something, understand it and know how to heighten the expression one is trying to convey. This is to me a factor in determining how intelligent a person is, for it is nice to know something, but it's another thing entirely to know how to use it. I don't think it's necessarily attention I want from the people I do, but the opportunity to learn something more about the people I've chosen to attach myself to. I shouldn't sit and beg for it, but rather take my time and enjoy the brief (or the elongated) moments I do get.

Anti Matter- N.E.R.D

The Dissection of a ZeD

There's a veil between what a person wants to show and what they really are. The moment the veil is removed, even for a second, a decision must be made. The viewer must either continue with the discovery of the now unmasked individual's personality or replace the veil and watch from the safe distance of uncertainty and amusement. Once the veil is removed and the person knows there is more to the stories then just mere thoughts, that there is some truth in the madness, something is lost, and something is gained. At a certain point the oppurtunity to return to the veil vanishes and the viewer must face the reality of another person being more or less than what they expected.

I don't want to disappoint anyone.

So don't take off the veil.

I gotta feel you in my bones

"Forgive me," Why am I always asking to be forgiven? Why am I constantly apologizing for things that aren't my fault? "Forgive me, I am my father's child." "Forgive me, I didn't know." Forgive, forgive, forgive...not anymore.

It doesn't make sense. In case you haven't noticed, most of the things I do, don't make sense. It's where I excell. That isn't to say there isn't a purpose in it. There usually is. Maybe in some small part of me I knew things were going to get bad, so I started it now. So I wouldn't absolutely lose all self-control when something big happened. My parents have been in the process of getting a divorce for two years. The divorce isn't the big thing. It's the acceptance that it wasn't my fault, even though I asked them to get a divorce. They each asked me what I thought I should do. After watching my parents fight for years, and then how the seriousness of each fight and the difficulty of keeping my sisters in ignorance (because they were ten with this began, twelve when it got ridiculous) I said, "It would be better if you got a divorce." There was no stable home life to worry about destroying with not having two parents in one house. I love having two houses. Instead of wondering what life would have been like had they stayed together (which is what they do, all the time, and they take out all the hate towards the other parent on me) all I see is this being our life now. Nothing is going to change what happened, there's no point in dwelling on it. I wish my parents would settle and divide. More importantly, I don't want to be with my sisters.

Don't get me wrong. I love my sisters. I know they care, and I try to help them in small ways, since I can't always help them in major life changing ways at the moment. But they would be happier without me. I've noticed that they get along with both parents when I'm not there. I get along with my mother, (if you know me, then you know this is a big deal). I've tried to be an active memeber, I've tried to please everyone. But I can't love people, I don't trust, and I don't trust them with anything. I don't know what a "family" is supposed to be like, but I've always felt that this wasn't it. It's just a bunch of strangers, trapped by a strand of DNA. "You have to love your parents." I think you have to love them, like you would love anyone else. You step back, see all their faults, all their strengths, and you decide to love them, you decide to respect them, you decide to put your life in their hands. Maybe love is something else that escapes me, but that's how I see this.

I've been far more dependent on friends than family. The people I consider friends have always told me my faults, and have always helped me change into a better person. They have never lied to make me feel better about myself. Though they don't run behind me and point out all my flaws, they tell me what I'm good at to. I don't feel like a puppet with them, I don't have to do anything to please them. I can be myself and I don't have to worry about them saying it isn't right. For that, the honesty, I do everything I can to make them happy. Whether it be buying them lunch or just telling them that they mean everything to me. I have this family and friends thing backwards. Or maybe there's no real difference. I just made a family of my own.

"A family is to provide food, shelter, and love for their members." You have no idea do you?

All Over You- The Spill Canvas

I'm a free man now, I don't need no strings

The way it flows into my mind is the equivalent of injecting a clear liquid flecked with brightly colored notes straight into the junkie veins. It shoots me up, gets me high, and makes everything return to a level of insanity I can function at and with. Without it even for a brief moment, what the world is really like without a soundtrack, slips out of the orbit of the norm and seems to be splitting apart at the seams. Music, in its sharps and flats, threads everything back together, every new song a dangerous concoction threatening and teasing to take you for a wild ride, no matter how peaceful the sound seems. It beckons, it bewitches, for a three minutes and forty two seconds the world can't touch you, for four minute and ten seconds, with Asher Roth and Cee Lo by your side the world can end right then and there, you can't be bothered. Melody with its poison mixed of heavy bass lines and special effects that only heighten not distract your experience, sends the relentless thoughts of an escape through an eternal sleep to trouble someone else. It's instant medicine, it's instant freedom, and at the right moment, it lasts hours not minutes. Trapped between the mesmerizing voices of lead and chorus, you're released from your anxiety for a moment. Music is like a lover, the kind that knows what kind of mood you're in, how to make everything better with just a few words. It dims the lights and takes us in to erase our troubles, not solve them, just save us from self destructing. That's what love is, isn't it? Knowing the rights and wrongs of someone else's personality, knowing what they need and how to take care of them. Knowing when to spoil and to deprive, it only aids us in the development of our being.

Music is my one true love. The one who will never leave.

Without it...

...nothing...

Be By Myself- Asher Roth feat. Cee Lo

and do what we do best

I've figured out it is entirely pointless for me to try and recapture any essence of my past selves. It's pointless because it's impossible. I've tried, I accept it. I won't fight it, I'll just learn from it.

I've also accepted my awareness of things that most people miss. Which means I miss most things most people get at a glance, always.

I could have been one of the social teenagers, I was on my way. Have yet to understand why I stopped. I know I don't want it as badly as I want to be myself as I am now. I'm almost jealous of Keeley's ability to flow the way I did in the beginning. Almost. I've forgotten how it's supposed to work, and I sort of don't care to learn. I look at them, looking at me. Do they think it's people didn't want to be my friend or that I simply didn't want to be theirs?

I feel bad. About something I did today. It's ridiculous. But I feel like I killed someone. Mmmm, so much money gone. And THEN! the delivery man makes a huge scene about my having one coupon, I didn't even know I needed a coupon, no one told me. I think he was mad I didn't tip him. I didn't because he was twenty minutes late and seriously the pizza sucked the cash out of my hand before I even had time to register it was there. On the upside I found money, so it doesn't really balance out.

I figured that at this age (when I was younger) I would have an assortment of talents, you know something one could turn into another better something. No such luck. It doesn't really make sense to me, because even the lowest people have something they're good at. What have I been doing so far? Not touching anything. And if I have been pressured into doing something, I do just enough to make it look like I did something substantial, please the people in charge and then leave as soon as possible. I don't like making mistakes, they eat away at me.

Then again:
No one is perfect. (I know, I'm just really really bad at a lot of the skills that would enable me to make it in this world.)
No one likes making mistakes. (Yeah, but no one replays it over and over till it becomes an obsession. While this would push people to try harder it completely discourages me from even waking up. I'll have to get over this eventually, but at the moment my mind is elsewhere.)
You'll be good at something. (And then I'll mess it up as flawlessly as possible.)

It could be worse. I could be insanely jealous of everyone else's achievements and hate them for being better than me. I could lock myself away entirely and just avoid talking to people with expectations, lives, and dreams so I don't ever have to worry about having my own be broken. I could, I could, and I have no idea what I will.

Probably do something drastic and scare the nonsense out of the few friends I do have.

Sexy- Black Eyed Peas

It's so attractive and sensual

I get it now.

I'm sorry I took you so seriously. I should have known better. I should have listened to my heart when it protested and said this is just a bad dream. I fall in love so seriously, so quickly. Maybe you're not like that and I still have a lot to learn about you. Do you want me to?

Now I'm hungry for your attention all the time. Which is unhealthy. I should have known better. I should have stopped at the start. Or I should have been careful.

Is there anything you can do to change this? I don't know. I don't think so. I'm heartbroken right now, once again. By the same type of person who did it the last time.

I give up on this silly love game. For good. I seriously can't take the stress in addition to everything else. I used to like it so much but now....I'm tired of lying to myself. I so tired of letting myself get swept away by people who can figure me out with a glance. I loved you. I think I still do. Or I'm just numb.

I meant it. Every word. Everything I said to you, I meant.
But you didn't seem to care.
You seemed cold, insensitive, distant, and neglectful.
Tell me what you really are. You keep avoiding this question and if I push it....you say things that only make me turn away.

I love you. I really do. Why?

You're intelligent, you're bold. You're beautiful. I wanted someone who would give me things to read, things to look up, things to learn. Even if it was about you, I wanted to know. I want to know everything about you. I could never get bored of you. But I think you're bored with me. I'm sorry. I'm trying to remember how to let the words flow from my mind, but I've been trained to not open up.

I'm not her.
I'm young, I just want to learn.
I want to learn how to please you.
I love you because I couldn't figure you out from the first conversation.
I love you because of your mind, what you've shown me so far. And if there was something bad about you, I would let you know how I felt about it.
I'm not a job. I'm not like everyone else. Stop trying to place and just try and see me for who I am. I'm a person. Weird as I may be, confusing at times, I'm original and I wish you would stop trying to force me under one of the names of your exes.

I'm half afraid you'll look at this and how you'll react. But you should know by now how I feel, and the other part of me feels that I need to let this out.

I love you.

She Wants Revenge- What I Want

The Doll named Kie

In a house on a hill away from the people, placed carefully in a window is a doll named Kie. Made of porcelain fine and white, her lips red like fresh blood, her cheeks extra pink to bring out her marble green eyes which were partially hidden behind black curls. Her hands clasped as best as they could be with dolly hands, her head had been turned to face outside the window at the world. From this window she could see little towns where people were getting ready for festivals, she could see the rising houses in he suburbs, and she could see the City, glistening despite all its grime and scandal. It was in front of this window she sat, watching and waiting, silently though as she was made to be that way.

This doll, Kie, hadn't just been placed in this window by unseen hands. When she had been first brought to the house on the hill, a woman in her twenties owned her. She would talk to the doll, dress it up in various coloured dresses, only the finest purple silks and green brocade satin jackets and when the woman had given birth to a little girl named Jenny, the doll was brought to witness the child's first glimpse of the world. 

The child, Jenny, had reached out with her little baby hands and tugged on the dress, causing a small tear in the fabric. 

"Oh, Jenny!" The woman gasped. And the doll was whisked away, back to her place at the window. Crooked, lopsided, and her dress now torn, the doll didn't care. She was happy to have seen the baby. The woman will come back and place me facing out the window, thought the doll. Then perhaps I can see more pretty children. 

But the woman did not come back for a long time. For six years the doll sat watching the little Jenny grow up, meeting Jenny's lovely hazel eyes with her own seemingly dispassionate green one. Other dolls were brought to the house on the hill, though none as fine as Kie, and every day she told herself, The woman will come back.

One day, while it was raining, the woman returned to the window and the doll. She sighed and picked the doll, cradling it in her arms. She rocked the doll as if it were alive, (which it was in some sense) and unconsciously began to smile. The doll smiled inwardly, I knew she would come back. And as this shared moment between the doll's inner human and the woman's inner child went on, something passed between them. A jolt, a scatter of thoughts and feelings, of pictures real and imagined. The woman gasped, and dropped the doll. 

Oh my, that was an odd sound, thought the doll as her small porcelain face tapped the edge of the leg of the table beneath the window. A crack spread along her faded cheeks as the woman bent down to pick her up. Still a bit shaken, the woman put the doll back in the window and ran to speak to her husband about moving into the City. The doll smiled,  Oh goodie, the City. I've always wanted to see the City.

Two months later the family of the house on the hill moved into the City that glistened despite all its grime and scandal. A week later they were shot down by a boy who was promptly shot by a girl who lived in the apartment upstairs. Lucinda Violet Williams looked in on the family, sighed, closed the door, locked it with a little silver key and drew an X in red chalk across the door. 

"Another one bites the dust." She whispered, as she climbed the stairs back to her apartment.

The doll is not in the apartment. The doll is not in the house on the hill. She fell out of a box while the family was moving in, little Jenny saw, but didn't say anything. She climbed up the stairs to the apartment with her parents and never looked back. The day they were shot, just before the boy arrived, Trina Walsh saw the doll in the gutter, a large crack across her face, a eye missing, and her red lips had lost their luster.  Trina picked up the doll, whose inner human was now on the brink of that soul extinguishing event of death, and wrapped it in her scarf. The boy came by, saw the girl and being in the kind mood he was, pushed her into the gutter, kicking her repeatedly until a little line of blood escaped her lips, staining them the color the doll's had once been.  

The doll is presently nowhere to be found.

If you thought the City was like any other city you may live in or may have heard of, you're very wrong. There's a certain way things are supposed to happen in the City, there are certain rules that must be followed. Consider the City a phase of life we all go through in some shape or form. There are people who pass on by, there are people who stop and visit, and there are those who make a living off the misery, the scandal, and the glitter of the lovely horror that be the City. 

Welcome Home.

Reintroductions, (it's all about moi)

I change personalities like I change clothes, my moods only last as long as a can of coke.

 I panic when situations involve other people, such as relationship status in general, occur without warning. 

I hate the sun, and enjoy cold, windy, blue grey, overcast days. I don't enjoy getting wet.

 I don't have a style that you can label as "Goth" or "Punk", I'm a perfect blend of vintage, mod, goth(lol, really.), punk, pop, everything. 

My friends are figuring out the perfect gift is a giftcard. I won't think they don't care, it would be impossible to figure out what I want for a birthday present.

 I drink coke by the liter, for some reason there is never a shortage of coke in my life, simply because I demand it.

 I seriously go out of my way to make the people I care about happy. 

I love going with people to shop, I love walking around with them, waiting for them to try on clothes. My way of shopping is (silly, don't judge me) look it up online, call and make sure they have it, put it on hold and then go pick it up. I spend a max of two minutes actually at the mall. Note: I rarely ever shop for myself, I can't wear half the things I would like to.)  :( oh well. 

My music is not one genre, or one band at a time. I find music in pairs at a time. Like I found Dresden Dolls and Eisley, Coheed & Cambria and Nine Inch Nails, something like that. I never listen to what people expect me to, except Keeley, Prava, and Jacob seem to just guess right which I love. The more music I have in common with someone the less I like them. Almost as if they have nothing to offer.

I like the idea of reincarnation.

I don't (I don't know) understand my tone when I'm talking to people. So what I think sounds calm, they think I'm yelling. 

I can hear you better when I'm not looking at you. 

If God wanted to punish me in one way it would be to take away my sight. I live through a camera lens. From one picture I can remember how I felt, how people felt, what we said, what interesting thing happened that inspired me to take the picture. 

I feel like the world is my canvas and if it isn't pretty to me, it's not right. I fight to perfect everything I do, to the last second and if I can't put heart into it I simply do not bother. 

I like world history far more than the history of the United States. Why? I like how it all overlaps, how we aren't focusd on one section of history. We all grew together to what we are presently, it seems pointless....nevermind.

I expect disappointment. I always have a back up plan. I never trust people to do what they say they will. I expect people to forget things, things I have asked them not to forget. I expect failure of myself. Which is sad, but I do. That's why I stress about the little details. 

I fail at seeing the big picture.

I have the patience of 12 year old, I can wait a while, but then I skip irritated and go straight to "I'm done waiting, bye."

I love like no other and if I really like you I'm obsessive and affectionate. Another sad trait, the second you push me away, I will never take you back seriously. 

According to Keeley I am a sheep. Baaaaa, call me Wilbur and shoot me.

Oh wait. He was a pig wasn't he? Damn. Call me Daphne, I'll be Daphne the sheep. The grey sheep Keeley, with speckles on mah nose!!! lol, maneuverable, Keeley, maneuverable.

(yes, Keeley, I am a dork, and I love every dorkie second of it)

I really don't think people like me and it isn't till they leave or start to hate me do I start to love them back and truly appreciate their presence.

I love my solitude. I seriously could just live through a screen and never talk to anyone in person again. Save me so much stress. 

My mind is always working, and if I can't actively participate in conversation it means I'm  thinking about you. Lol.

I will always keep your secrets, regardless of our status. You don't have to tell me not to tell anyone. I can hear it in your voice and I can see it in your eyes. 

I'm reading again. Does it show?

omg. negative zero. 

I wish I was a little bit taller

I haven't slept in twenty four hours, which isn't good because i usually sleep 12. How annoying. And not only could I not escape to my happy place of terror and torment, I had nothing to do. For five hours I have been playing a racing game where one level is smashing yourself into oncoming traffic in order to score points.

Really? Why did we buy this?

I found out that if I had such and such time left to live(like 3months, a year, you know significantly less than what's expected) and there was no chance for recovery, I would leave this place so fast. I think, I would even smile. I've already said fuck off to the people here. I simply won't join their reindeer games. But I am a sheep (or so Keeley says) a grey sheep.

Baaaaa, shoot me motherfucker.

I apologize (to no one, since no one reads this with the exception of two people, three, pfft). I usually do not swear. Hardly...it depends. On the people I'm with. You can tell I'm tired, my sentences lack that scent of fresh teenage blood being sacrificed to the gods of society and conformity. Neither of which I worship. I'm more of (or I like to see myself as) "oh, this looks like fun. Oh you like it to? Then we can like it together. yay!" as opposed to a "Oh MY GOD! Everyone else is doing this and if I don't do it, no one will be my friend! My life will be over!!!" I'm know people like that. It's annoying. Apparently, the word "obnoxious" is a grown up word and they simply won't crack open a fucking dictionary (much less fucking look it up online, where they fucking are, all the fucking time...). And

*they can't use a knife and fork properly
*They have never eaten out at decent restaurant with their friends (apparently it isn't cool to actually talk to your friends *cocks head to one side in confusion*)
*The biggest book they've read is size 14-16 font and 200 pages long. What's the book about you may ask? (Because size doesn't define character) It's about little teenage girls stuck in their little teenage bullshit. (i.e. "How could you shop at Forever 21, Tiffany, you're only 14!")
*oh and how could I forget, everything is "bomb" or "nice"....or "not bomb" or it "sucks" (Maybe I shouldn't say anything, my own vocabulary isn't that vast, compared to the people I adore, that's why I read everything and anything, you know, to learn?)

Have you ever seen me tired? It's like a normal person...on crack. I'm actually calm, just ranting letting it all out. So the stupidity doesn't suffocate me tomorrow. But this thought process above, this is how my mind functions, pointless spasms that occasionally give birth to something worth reading.

Wait till you see me mad.

I wish- The Secret Handshake