2004-09-18
Salicylic Acid Tears...Too Much Cliche Whilst The Brain Is Wonked Out
hearing: We Used To Be Friends - The Dandy Warhols
reading: The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells
feeling: wonky
There's so much to say, but so little time in which to say it.
I might rip myself off
Oh man.
There are moments in life, where we feel slightly ripped out of experience. Pulled out of the body to review our lives from another perspective for a split second to ask a question of ourselves.
Why?
I just asked, why do I keep a diary? Why? Writing every day. Sorting out feelings. Sorting out thoughts. Constructing subliminal messages. Trying to deny that they are there. Forcing myself not to think of the few who read. Forcing myself not to write engimas directed towards them. Fashioning death tools of a few familiar characters. Fabricating drama, grasping for attention, wearily pounding out strangely constructed daylogs.
Lists, songs, proofs, loss of shame. Creeping and crawling and slithering, singing and shouting and crying, parleying with eloquence and stabbing clarity.
What do I write?
Why do I write?
For whom do I write?
Want to plunge this into existentialism?
No. Neither do I.
Let's pick up where we left off, I might rip myself off, as much as I hate to do it, but I'm in a chaos again. I'm understanding the cause of the chaos better now? I think...well no maybe I don't. When I stay on epidermal, shallow levels, I am neat and organized. But just under the calm surface, is still the chaos, no matter how well hidden. I have pain and sadness, the struggle to hide these negative feelings and to deny them to myself in fun and happiness and frustration from shallow fronts (websites down). Just as a rough outline. And the only way to portray my thoughts...lists...I try not to make a habit of this...never have unsightly habits...
- Shivering and naked, curled up in a ball on the cold bath tub floor, hot water raining down and searing my skin, mixing with the tears...sobbing...sobbing uncontrollably yet silently, where no one will hear, where no one can hear...tears and tap water are one as they attempt to cleanse my fevered skin...
- Only this morning that was...but I thought we were done with that. I thought that was all over. I don't think it ever hardly started though, did it?
- Forced smiles and laughter. Even to myself. So no one will notice. Please don't see it.
- I don't mean to whine. I never try to. It's never my purpose. I just have a penchant for poignant detail. I don't talk incessantly and elaboratly to make you feel sorry for my conditions. I am stating them, and I state things with great detail
- No one is doing this to me. I'm just simply wonking out. Wonk. Wonk...it's a funny word. Funny, funny word...
- Franz Ferdinand, The Killers, The Dandy Warhols, Girls on Film cover and an old fancy which sparks nostalgia (she's so high...high above me......a little girl used to love to sing along with the radio...). Cover me in forgetfulness for a short while, I'll ignore through poor quality music videos and sampled clips, purely for the sake of something new. Something different. Something bright and fun. Something to bob an aching head to. Sway and swing and everything's too good for the pain to be more than a dream.
- (I'm afraid to sleep sometimes because of the dreams...)
- Shouting in my sister's ear lyrics to the songs. Laughing and poking and knocking about
- Indoor swimming pools but dry as a desert
- More comfortable than I should be in my own skin, and feigned modesty with excuses of bruises the size of Texas to pass off more innocence than is there
- The bruise was real though. Yellow and green, straddling the line between hip and thigh, stark and obvious on my white as ivory skin
- It was a long dark night that night I got the bruise. Slightly dizzy from exhaustion, impaired, staggering drunkenly, smashed into the wall by sheer accident with far too much force. Streaks of pain, keeling over on the stairs but shaking it off...
- Shake everything off...
- Unfinished American Government papers. Time winds down and the night grows dark.
- surrealistic notions
- Static.
- negligence
- Cheap novels to sustain an empty mass
- So grotesquely addictive
- He's far too small for being three months old
- Oatmeal raisin cookies
- Major abstraction
- Poetic Embellishments
- Chaos is not usually my specialty
- Hurricanes and earthquakes rip through
- I miss the ocean. How many times do I say that? Take me to it...take me... I will make someone. For my birthday...the ocean...the ocean is my goal...Sea salt spray and the tug of the tide. I wade in the waves and feel them call to pull me out to sea. I want to let them carry me. Please carry me. Where dark sky and deep blue mingle and meet. Tell me a lie about the beauty of the assisted suicide you offer to me. I will cast my body out and you will devour it. Someone hold me back. Else the mermaids who sing through the water will lure me away.
- Life is dumb
- Cannot I just have... peace? And structure?