[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 13 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Monday, January 11th, 2010|
|Tuesday, August 30th, 2005|
|What I'm Really Thinking.
"Your move." says Aron, and I look at him.
He should not be sitting the way he is
in his chair like that, across the table from me.
I know what's happening a second too late
and he has fallen
striking the dresser and then the floor;
I know he is dead before the blood even registers.
Dammit, Aron. Why did you have to die tonight? I pick him up and haul him over to the window. There is no life in him. There is no struggle as I hoist the body up and toss it like a piece of furniture caught between me and my bad temper. Only it will hit the street with a different noise.
He's not dead.
Oh shit. He's getting up after he's past the seventh storey. He's on his feet before three even comes into the picture.
I'm a murderer.
Oh well, he was cheating anyway. My best friend, cheating to get money from me that he doesn't even need. Hollow piece of shit. Deserves it. Deserves all of it.
I can see his eyes when he hits, with that different noise.
And as I walk down the stairs I can hear a car driving past, slowing down. My thoughts are moving too quickly and the girl is dead before I even know she's alive, slumped over in her second hand car. I can't even remember how I killed her. I'm superman with schizophrenia. I'm god with amnesia.
Her car goes over the edge of that cliff like it was built to do nothing but that; driving the thing on roads was a misuse. She was stupid to have tried it. But there is still the question of that body lying under the window of my apartment. Too many people have seen it by now.
I get back and nothing. It's gone. The police right? I wait for them in my room, sitting in my chair and looking at the chair in which he had sat. Sawing the leg support worked like a charm. He always sat like that and all the weight was shifted to that one point. It was only a matter of time before it snapped and down he went, with the dresser placed so neatly right there. What a coincidence that I had rearranged the furniture that very afternoon, so that such a sharply pointed section would be waiting for his head. The left side of his head, just below the temple. I pick up the pieces of the chair and put it back together. I'll just have to remember not to sit there.
Where the fuck are the police? They're supposed to be here by now. I can't hear sirens. I can't hear the heavy whoosh of the helicopter blades. I can't hear anything. Except a tapping. A rapping sharp upon my door. He lives on the second floor. He has no name.
And he wants money.
I don't have money to be paying for a body right now. He's a gambler. We sit and we bet on the board. We sit because he didn't notice the mark on the side of Aron's head. And he wouldn't connect things even if he had.
He is sitting the way he was
in that chair across from me.
"Your move." he says.
"I know, Aron." I say and I sit there looking at him for a moment.
|Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005|
|Monday, August 15th, 2005|
|And while we're on the subject...
My Dark Existence
Dank, cobwebbed and dark
Eternal is my heart's
broken... abused... Black...
Fire is the only cleanser for my sins.
Why must I be tortured by these, my only feelings:
Lonely, injured, heartbroken.
These are all I know
These are all I will ever know
For I am on my own now.
The night's eternal gaze
I can feel it on my bones
There is nothing that escapes it
I wallow beneath it
Suffering in darkness.
Down... Down... Down...
There is nothing here
Lightning flashes across the somber sky
Illuminating your cold features.
How was I supposed to know you're a man?
Belong to me alone
I mourn for my happiness
For it died long ago
And lay sunken
In my chest.
Are you the one I seek this night?
We are hollow
Shrunken... Rotted... Despicable...
Let the fire rise on the funeral pyre
This is the funeral for my Soul.
I am broken
My two pieces separated by an impenetrable barrier.
There is nothing that can bring me back
There is only darkness
Black and mysterious.
You do not know me.
I do not know myself.
The doll lies next to me on the bed,
It smiles at me like a demon
Latching into my envy
For it is whole
And I am Broken.
Can you say cheese? Current Mood: Dank Solemnity
|Thursday, August 11th, 2005|
|A Break From Practicality.
He walks quickly
looking sharp in his new suit
his tie falling carefully into place with each footfall.
There is no way to suppress it any longer and
he is afraid
but the door is already open for him to come in;
He shows himself out.
In the gutter
he sees only stars.
And he sold his house
And he sold his car
And he went to live far away from the city
so he could be closer
to the night sky.
as She does everything now,
She sits on the edge of a bed
That is very near the window's sill
and looks out.
The reason is on the bed beside Her.
This has happened so many times She does not have a name;
She does not need one now.
Moving away from each still house,
Her eyes meet with the darkened sky
And She cries softly for
she knows what she has lost.
Shining almost blue in the night.
They stand still,
watching with heathen eyes the shining on the water.
They have no words for what it is they see; nor will they.
A sound crack in the bushes
to shake their heads and resume their lives.
Eating, dancing, killing,
They will forget.
until the stars come out again.
|Friday, July 29th, 2005|
|Things about which I will not be writing. Ever.
Yes indeed, blokes, this is an incomplete list of things which I will never idly ponder, wool over, or contemplate, thinking: Damn! I should write a really long entry in my LiveJournal (sorry, LJ; for all you sophistiques out there) going over all of my opinions and thoughts on [said subject] in chronological order with little timeline-like marks on the side that show exactly when and even where, down the tenth of a second and acre of land. I will never do that for these subjects:
-What I had for breakfast today: "Well I got up today and brushed my teeth, and, rubbing my tired eyes with a feeling of melancholy at the tiredness I feel at starting another day in the life of such a sad, tortured artist as myself, to toil in the vainglorious system of society in which we live today to make my paltry breadly sustenance, ate some toast and took a shower."
-Anything in the obnoxious, pretentiously self-victimizing style as shown in the above bit.
-Any sort of documentation of my daily life that lists out all the shit that I've done over the course of my waking hours.
-Online quizzes, surveys, cute little forwards I got in my email, links to any of these.
-Anything else that you would write about in your live journal.
-Go find something to do.
Author's note: If you can think of anything else that you might potentially write about in one of your own LiveJo- sorry, LJ posts, please let me know, and I will add it to my list of things that you will not be seen under the column for the use known as gotbaka.
Has anyone seen my Lauren? She seems to be missing. If anyone has information as to her whereabouts I will be sure to send you enough money to cover the postage of the next letter you mail to Swaziland, Paupa New Guinea, or Scandanavia. But seriously, regardless of any reward, will someone please help me find my Lauren?
Please? Current Mood: Ditto
|Tuesday, June 28th, 2005|
|Blindness und Pitchforks
Everyone knows what a pregnancy scare is. Some of us have even had them (I'm not looking shift-eh right now i swear [and no that does not mean that one time I thought I was pregnant!] beah). Then there are things like lame-job scares. Or maybe cancer scares. Perhaps there are even nooo-the-convenience-store-is-gonna-close-before-I-can-buy-cheez-its-shit scares (those are the worst). But I had something happen to me that seemed a bit original:
I was chillin' out baby. And it was pretty chill for a summah sorta day so I made me a cup of tea. With lots of honey because Lauren likes honey! Also because I like honey. Anyway, I chugged that sucker down and pretty soon after that I got what I'd like to call a blindness scare. My eyes went all crazy and spots appeared and i couldn't see so good. It was like when you close your eyes and press your fingers against the lids and it makes those screwy patterns on yo retinas. Except kinda scary. It was all like whoahhh everything is purple and green. Now white. Now blueee.
It started kinda scaring me so i decided I would burn it out with a good ol' doseage of beautay. So I dug me out some pictures of Lauren and started it up. But I was already too far gone. I couldn't see them well enough for it to work. I was all like shit no no no! I may never see Lauren again! I need to do something drastic! Gotta think... Ok maybe I'm being rewarded for my ultimate chillness with a big ol' doseage of blindness. So I decided to do the unthinkable. But I was prepared to do anything to see my lady love uno mas (or something like that). I ran downstairs and shuffle through the boxes of tea and other dried sundries until I found what I searched for: Decaffinated Tea. Dread and doom! I made me a cup and drank that sucker down with honey and much incantation of yore. And soon, very soon my vision began to clear. And an image of dear sweet lettuce girl pierced the impenetrable veil of mine vision and I was saved. I could die at peace. Or just drink lots of caffinated drinks and do it all over again.
Why the hell doesn't this thing have awesome mood options? Hell I'd be all like hmmm. I'm feeling humid at zhe moment. Or maybe conundrum-filled. Posthumously enticing! Envigorated by steam. People don't seem to realize the usefulness of this kinda shit.
Do you feel like running around in circles until you pass out of exhaustion? I know I do! C'mon you do it first. Then I'll do it. Either that or you're a sucker.
I admire anybody who would make a video game that replaces the zombies with disgruntled and highly flammable Spanish-speaking people with pitchforks and dynamite. Current Mood: Yore-ful
|Sunday, June 26th, 2005|
Actually I think that I just really really really really reeeeaaaallllyyyy miss Lauren. Current Mood: Clean-shaven
|I'm not quite sure.
I think I'm depressed right now. I'm not sure though. In fact, I'm in a bit of a whatsit... impass? Fuck it, I'm confused ok, mate. Here's the situation:
I feel like I'm depressed. It's one of those deals where you can tell. The sort of feeling in your stomach as if your super awesome hunk of lasagna that you're eating for dinner just got put to the floor by a highly ungraceful act such as you tripping over that little sister of yours or simply being a dumbass and falling all over your own feet. You seem intelligent and yet sometimes you still amaze me with such acts of stupidity; who trips over their little sister anyway? And you wasted all that lasagna. Talk about a clutz. But anyway, you know the feeling I'm talking about. I'm depressed. And I know it.
So with this point established, why am I writing a goofball livejournal post at 5 in the morning? I don't know. I would say it's because I'm not actually depressed. This is where the strange part comes in. I absolutely know that I'm depressed but at the same time it's that sort of depressed where you actually feel happy. It's the depressed where you relish the sadness. You throw on something with a bit of Pink and a whole lot of Floyd onto the CD player and you enjoy those feelings. You shape them into the most obscenely melodramatic thoughts of blue that you can muster.
But how is this possible? I have the unmistakeably leaden feeling within my gut. I have the happy feeling in my mind of being entertained by my sorrow. I have a British man singing to me about his mother. What could I have done? Lost the grip upon my sanity perhaps. Or maybe I'm just dumb.
Am I fuddled? That's a goofy word. Current Mood: What might this post be about?
|Wednesday, June 15th, 2005|
|Why don't you just read it, asshole.
Here is small piece of advice to use when drinking from an opened bottle in your fridge, one that you know has been involved in a science fair project:
Check the color of the liquid inside the bottle against the drink that's supposed to be inside as per the label. In other words, if the contents are a blue color and the drink is supposed to be a strawberry daquiri, something isn't right.
The reason I give you this sagely bit of sageity is because I myself did not follow it. I went to take a nice swig of a bottle labelled strawberry daquiri and wound up with a mouthful of blue food coloring and water and salttttt. I think that one swig burned off about half of my taste buds and left me with feelings of profound suspicion toward blue liquids of all kinds.
Play it safe. Don't play it salty. Current Mood: Poisoned by blue food coloring
|Friday, June 10th, 2005|
|So You Wanna Hear A Story...
I think that by signing up for this bloody account I have somehow sold my soul and peace of mind to the fat and cheeto-stenched someone who invented web logs. Just sitting here, chilling out. I was kinda bored, so what happens? Suddenly I feel like I should update my Live Journal. Is this a normal human response to boredom? We are defying evolution by having things such as this. But hey, I love entertaining Lauren, so what can I say?
'Twas a long a velvet-flowing night. Actually it was a cheesy night spent with my man Michael Swinehart. Anyway I'm sitting here and so I decide to go check out some Penny Arcade baby. When I go and type the URL I accidentally enter in www.penny-arcade.come... great. I even have to be perverted while typing URLs. But an agile mind might leap to the stunning conclusion that this might just have been caused by my having a quick "e" finger, which in this case would mean that I have a quick middle finger. Yeah yeah. Fuck you.
Lesbians should be king. I mean queen. I mean what?
Listen to Audioslave or be square... shit, that was supposed to rhyme wasn't it.
Be yourself. Give up toolship.
Is it 5 in the morning where you're from? Current Mood: Vietnamese Chicken in a Can
|Sunday, June 5th, 2005|
I just poured boiling water on my feet. Thing like that, really makes you think... Really makes you think, "Ow! Mother fucker!" Current Mood: Steamy
|I was shanghaied.
I woke up this morning bright and cheerful and ready to start the day and see the world. It was about then that I realized I have rolled over onto a box of cheez-its and had been sleeping on them for most of the night. While more comfortable than I had been for quite some time and with the realization that I had finally given back a little of the love I feel for the cheesiest of the cheesy crackers, it was then that it occured to me that now some of the cheez-its themselves had been crushed... FUCK!
Dammit! What had these poor, innocent, deliciously cheesy bastards ever done to deserve this? They had been there, chilling out, fighting the good war against the evil and disgusting cheez nip. They were soldiers and friends; beings to be held high at the same level as the dairy farmers and Winston Churchill. I have committed a dastardly crime this day.
Trying hard to continue on, and finding it painful to meet the eye of every cheez-it that I meet hitherforth, I got out of bed. It didn't help my sorrow to find out that it was 2:51 in the afternoon. But, all this I could handle. I could handle rising at late hours of the day. I could handle the grogginess that goes with that. I could even handle the guilt of having slain some of the cheesiest crackers I have ever had the fortune of knowing. But then came the final blow. I realized that I had signed up for a live journal. How would I ever cope with the shame. Meh I got over it. After all it's not like it was my choice. That's it! I was shanghaied by Lauren into doing it.
Yohoho Current Mood: What are you a stalker?