other than that,
good fucking luck.
so go fuck each other.
tell me we need to talk, then leave.
tell me you care, then judge.
im going to go fulfill the madness. my calling.
the one thing that i can depend on.
stuck in traffic today i was in a very alert state. could have been the claustraphobia, could have been the smog choked air, could have been the stand still heat. who know. we passed the cars, moved into the slowest lane, wrestled the 18-wheelers. it was quite the action packed ride i suppose. on the way down 35 i saw a truck full of horses. they were packed in head to tail. every now and again the truck would brake and they would all shudder and stamp with discomfort. my heart was a little sore from this sight. as we passed them i opened my window and looked up at them, their eyes were wild and they probably had no idea of what was going on, or where they were going. then they were gone. we drove. after getting to my grandmothers house we stayed for about 30 minutes before i had to leave, ive been a little too anxious lately and i just couldnt be around my family today. i told my dad happy birthday and we left. it probably didnt help his drunk state but i had to get out of there. after we left we took a short drive through the streets of the east side, the place i had come to know as home when i was younger. all the things that had been a little shadowed before were there now. the sad state of things, the chickens running loose and the stray people with their dead eyes and brown bags. everything was different. trade offs. a churchs chicken for a chinese restaurant, a tattoo parlor for a mexican bakery. the "cat lady" of hackberry had boards over her windows. i wonder if shes dead. the elementary school i went to was some beast of a new building with blue tinted windows and stylish pipes. from somewhere the memories were coming. we passed the old greek store and i thought of the man who used to stand out there everyday, his beard was as white as his skin was black and he always wore the navy blue jumpsuit. he stood there until finally disappearing years ago, ages ago. across from the cemetary with the headless angels. and adjacent to the school with the broken fence, patched with a broken schoolbus. i saw everything. the porch with the full length mirror on it and the crow that was pacing back and forth in front of it. the people on their porches smoking and talking. the lot with the group of old men, drinking and playing cards on the broken table they had set up. a staple. its their second home. its a drive thru neighborhood.
[i need to snap out of it]
here it is fuckers.
Opens. a convenience store. its dark out, it cant be more than 6 in the morning. we walk up to the store and up to a woman sitting in her car directly in front of it. we tap the glass and she gets out, obedient. her hair is blazing red even in the murky lighting of a shitty morning. she runs to the door with key jangling and opens it for us. We walk in. our friend behind the counter greets us with opens arms and a shaky head, he's nervous. we cant figure out why. i take a few packages of bobby pins off the shelf and put them in my purse. theres no one here and the security cameras don't work. we walk over to the counters and pull out knives from somewhere. he's getting scared now. Breathing heavy we cut away the skin from his left hand. he doesn't scream or move after. he just stands still and looks out the windows. we walk to the back room. now im alone, and in another area of REM i suppose. its familiar and i wonder if its the west side of san anotnio. its different of course, dream-a-fied if you will. im with my dad and brother now, but the dream characters are in no way representational of the actual people they are meant to be. i just know its them. we're at my great uncle bills house now [please note, he lives in
Break for a water run.
Re-opens. Im in a room covered in silk and people are all over. It gets fuzzy here. im losing the dream. Fuck.
All I know is that we're trying to save a princess. How quaint.
Int the end im on a beach in a bikini and i fall in love.
Worst dream ending ever.
i need to get ready for work soon. as much as i want to blog and tell stories of the days past i cant right now. hrm.
me in a huge wharehouse with a shit load of rooms. most are furnished with living room type furniture and colorful rugs, while some are kitchens and some are more rugged with cement floors and dim lighting. there are people flowing in and out of each room, some are people i know and some are people that i feel are my friends. i settle in the main living area and sit in front of a recliner on the floor. a party must be going on or something, the older women are bustling and their makeup is perfect. i stand and move to the door when one of them steps in front of me. she says we know what your doing and we're here to let you know that its time to stop. i look into her face and i realize that its duanes mom, and as i look around i see my father and mother and a few other main adults in my life. i start to cry and get horrible introverted. i dont say a word. i just wander the room. the whole time their telling me how they feel and what i should do. as i walk by a blonde woman i dont recognize i hear her say now that the saddest face ive ever seen. im torn and i turn and run out the door, and into one of the dim rooms near the back. there are kids my age back here, their all talking and laughing and playing with broken toys. they throw their hair and watch movies. they take these weird yellow pills that are carved into little men. a girl walks up to me and and hands me one, slightly broken and dusty and i take it, without water. it scratches my throat and i can taste the bittersweet dust and candy coating. as i gag she laughs and touches my arm, telling me look now, your all better. i look down at my arms and see smooth skin and nothing else. i nearly die of happiness. until i get that fucking annoying feling of you know this is only a dream stephanie nothing more. this takes the joy from me and the colors are expanding into the corners of my vision now so i move on, past the strange retro chairs and kids and into the next room. the floor is so cold here and the cement is smooth as glass. the walls are painted black and there are no windows. one of the walls seems to be a prop, leaning a little and painted like wood. i se cages all around me on the ground some empty, some with occupants. my chinchilla is one of them, the cage is way to small for her and there is no door. i sit and talk to her. shes on her side and panting a little, i cant imagine why, its freezing in here. she starts to shake and i watch her die, in the tiny cage, perfectly in its center so that my fingers cant reach her to give her a last wordly comfort. im crying again. my tears are beading on her fur and shes gone. i stand up and the other cages fall apart, flat onto the floor, all the things inside are loose now, fucking, fighting, and making squirrely noises. i can only stand and look down at chu. as i walk to the next door i feel something jump on my arm and slash it open. the blood is dripping in the warm rivers and i close my eyes and embrace it. i leave a trail and i hear the animals fall on it. licking and scratching at the ground. the door shuts behind me and all i have is the next room. and theres nothing in it. absolutely nothing.
the friends are taking me to a clinic today.
i called in and may be written up for it, but right now that doesnt seem to be one of my main concerns.
i am a walking form of confusion.
i lead you in and take you home, fuck you, feed you and tell you that you mean something when the whole itme im not even in the drivers seat.
[i am stephanies false sense of love and affection]
i am falling apart gentle readers.
i am taking pills and wishing for sleep.
i am cutting too deep for the warm rush down from my wrist to my fingertips.
im noticing a pattern here.
im tearing at kids on the street.
im a ball of deep loss.
im terribly mistaken for a good soul.
i can be horrible.
i can be fake.
i can hurt you.
i am fat.
[again with the self hatred. fuck]
actually im quite happy with my body.
or at least i think so.
[again with the self doubt]
i fall into list mode without realizing it.
im lost. i cant wrap my head around the fact that i have to shake joey out into the wind. i cant handle being home alone when i know where all the sharp things are. people tell me i hold them together. this sates me to an extent. then i hear her. the voice. you remember her dont you. shes always fucking there. and usually when theres no one else to take my face and rub it in the shit to get me to just fucking stop listening. her little servant. her steady pupil. thats me. fucking naive little me. playing the strong girl outside of the bedroom walls that hold in the rage and red screens behind my eyes. the weary bag laden eyes. my poor eyes. god. forever smiling and forever the mindless idiot.
this has to stop.
something has to be done.
i am in the throes of a spaz attack.
but now abe and duane are here. maybe after the quarter of a xanax i can relax, and stop the fucking insanity.
i have to let them help me.
or theres nothing left tonight.
i may have a problem.
or i may just have nothing better to do. whatever.
today was a thoroughly frustrating day. just the people in it. the random strangers and their eyes. errrr. the fact that its friday. my only day off and im at home, waiting for the next day of work to begin. i saw a movie, sure, but it was mediocre at best and all i got out of it was an occasional piece of popcorn and a few explosions. hmm. i wonder whats in store for tomorrow? another 8 hours and my head repeating the green and black screen again. this job is killing me. im burned out already. its never been this easy before, but you always say that when its only getting easier.
tom is drawing near me, i can hear the pastels sliding over the newsprint. it comes way to easy for him for me not to be jealous. his art is fascinating to watch in progress. he leans in and focuses. he almost falls out of his chair and idly waves my cigarette smoke from his face. he never does his backgrounds first, he never really blends with his fingers, and he has an unhealthy obsession with tentacles.
ive been going to the site again. i need to stop this. i need to stop caring if he is ok or not. i need to stop fucking giving a damn. but every mutual friend we had has him in their top friends and me in the shadows, nearby but never really readily accessible if you know what i mean. this does suck, but its something ive come to gather as a charm syndrome. hes charming. im not. easy enough to deal with but never nice to think about.
maybe i should sleep. hrm. old music has had me lately. old techno and old grunge/metallic rock. the glam rock and the pop one hit wonders. it just seems like back then when all these songs were blaring mindlessly in a club, where everyone wore a blazer in july and girls had zig zag hair, times were easier. or i could be delusional. i try not to ponder on that though. it makes too much sense sometimes.
i dreamt last night and cant really remember it. just alot of green and alot of buses and mostly the clumsy awakening of the morning and the voices in the kitchen. this bothers the hell out of me. i wish i could have written it down but alas. not today.
i havent been in his room in a few days. i dont know if i miss it yet or if it makes any difference but to me its just more bullshit to think on and another topic with me left asking too many questions. hes fine without me. and im better off with the other one. i just want to be happy and make someone else happy and right now this one is doing all the right things, while the other one always left me in tears or wondering what was wrong with me. once again. too many things to think about and too many ways for that thought to go. i cant give myself too many options to run with or bad things could happen.
ive been pondering the idea of seeing a counselor or a shrink again. the cutting has gotten back to the near daily area of the addiction and its getting to be a bother to those around me. sadly i have no perceptions of my habit being wrong and this could prove harmful in the end. i think i may have to point out the ignorance of that last statement to myself. what the hell am i thinking hurting myself? and why do i have no qualms about it? why do i defend it so viciously and tell everyone it keeps me from dying? its still crazy. and its never going to be a good thing/positive influence. but damned if im going to down a thousand tiny pink pills over the span of my remaining life and damned if im big enough to take advice about it. im stubborn, abd this may be a bit hard to do. this has been discussed alot. we;ve been over this countless times. why hasnt there been any progress? dont i want to get better? do i feel that this is a situation where i need to? probably not. thats the wall to climb. right there.
enough of this. i need music and rest.
sometimes these things are people.
if my parents had a myspace they would comment on this. heres what they would say.
ay. take some money.
you better not be sleeping with any boys. or drinking. i know you are. i swear stephanie. and why dont you try to go back to school. and are you coming to california?
i wake up. to 3 separate alarms.
god im tired.
its been 5 years strong. thats much too long for me. [if you dont have a stephanie de-coder just stop thinking on it]
vonnegut died. i just really found out today. warren ellis' blog and the daily show clips. im a little down about this. our amazing minds are slowly drifting succumbing to the to new ones still alive and copying the ones lost. this mixed with the blaring cnn reports about the 33 dead kids in VA have me worried about the impending doom of our world. im sorry you guys, that your dead. im sorry that fucking asshole chained the doors closed. but have no fear, thousands of kids will always remember you as the reason for one of the my chemical romance songs at the concert tonight, apparently they sang it for you. sigh. [sometimes i should just shut the fuck up.] but in all seriousness i hope that asian fucktard is pleased in whatever hell he had waiting for him when he blew himself away. sigh. this day was full of death. watching the people in that city with the cold nothing in their eyes and the "i cant believe it... not here... not in this town" cuts makes me a little sick. and he probably thought he was doing everyone a favor. [the bitter laughter comes to me here]
oh and i give damn good fucking advice.
just wanted to make that known.
there is so much more i have to say. but id rather make duane take me to get cigarettes.
i need the yellow fingertips and the light head to get to sleep.
i tell you.
it makes you hurt sometimes.
well now im just being silly.
way to go fuckers. way to go. give me a line a nice little change of pace, then take it back and say nu uh sweetheart these things are to be wasted, these times are a fucking ruse. never before have i been so god damned frustrated. never fucking before was there a moment of holy shit, what the fuck? and very one keeps laughing and drinking all around me. while i throw my phone in anger and madly type angry blogs on myspace.
[see the drowning in a sea of asshole statement in my other blog]
ive gotta go finish my drawing and try to make sense of the lunacy.
allow me to touch on them, yea?
first. a friend ive known for a very long time. almost a decade now isnt it mister? nice, good for us. us and our seperate perceptions, us and our constant bickering and stubborn walls. hmm. he calls me up and tells me about the straight beligerent spectacle i made of myself last night. tells me he saw the cuts and the watery eyes. the stormy attitude and the way i cater. let me know just what he thought in a very blunt sword jabbing kind of way. well. you know i like to hear the concern in my friends voices, lets me know that their paying some kind of attention to the stephanie, but there comes a point where i have to stay. stop talking. stop making me shake and stop making me question what i do in the hours of the night. sure ill let you tell me i may be destroying myself. go on, and let me know that i drink a little too much. but dont persist and persist and fucking persist on topics that im fully aware of and am trying to violently ignore. when i say yes i know, dont tell me no you dont. when i say let me deal with it dont tell me i cant. and dont fucking attack the people that put the tired smile on my fucking face. dont tell me to change my enviroment when its never worked in the past and dont for the love of fuck tell me that youve watched me turn "downward spirally" on you. im a strong girl. im stronger than anyone here gives me credit for. im not saying that to sound tough im saying that because ive come this fucking far wading elbow deep in shit and im still fucking alive [and blogging mind you]. im still laughing in all the right places and getting to work somehow. im functioning. and i am eyes wide open about the situation that is my life. im ususally around to see the plot thicken and im usually there to stir it when it sticks. trust me. i know you mean well folks, i know that it must be sad to see some of the things i show up with on my arm, i know, i fucking know that the tears and the curses hurt, but it hurts even more when my friends try to tell me to buck up and get it straight when im too crooked to care anymore and really just fine with that fact. thats really all.
secondly. this fucking call... oy. it made my chest pain a little harder and my head hurt at the fucking ridiculous comedy that it was. maybe not so much a comedy but a fucking lovely play on bullshit. this boy. how you didnt heed the waiver and how you had the audacity to be so bold in your standing. nice. i gotta say it was the most eloquent fuck you ive ever gotten, im almost fucking pleased with it to be honest with you. after thoroughly wiping yourself from the face of the myspace planet and then making your outstanding point [end sarcasm] i gotta say bravo. its what i always said to you after all eh? bra-fucking-VO. after the intitial confusion left me and i picked my phone up from the corner i tossed it into i almost laughed to my chinchilla, who was casually stating with her eyes "what the fuck was THAT about?" i went on to tell her that she better be fucking glad she isnt a human and that she breeds for sake of her race rather than the bullshit of connection. i told her connections no matter how simple and lovely they can be always turn to black smears on the windsheild of a racing cloud of idiocy. i told her the situation and i swear to fucking god, we laughed there together in a moment of splendid understanding. i told her "and HE was upset, could you fucking believe it? HIS feelings were hurt, HIS ego bruised, and he says he needs space. fucking space. yea i know chu, i know" fuck that and fuck this. well let me just say a few things gentle readers. i dont give a shit if my friends treat you like hell because you fell into the role of asshole. im sorry if they were just looking out for me and you waltzed in expecting a fucking blow job. im sorry you couldnt wrap your head around the fact that i wasnt being a shithead. im sorry that you dont need this "drama bullshit" in your life right now. well take another fucking valium and sit it out then mister. its ok sweetheart to be soft every now and again. like i said. i wont say another word on the topic. but i sure as fuck am gonna write about it. i guess i went back on my no bashing blog after all. hmm. its a good excuse.
oy. a long one.
oy. the mind fucking joy that is this.
remember in the last blog how me and my mind roughed up my common sense?
well that was a bad idea apparently. i was the definition of "too drunk [or crunk if you prefer]" last night. fuck. it ended with me hugging the toilet and telling it about everything i ate that day. in vivid detail. after getting lost in the airport somehow duane finally found me there, and took care of me, but it was not pretty. just not pretty. at least the first part of the night was ok. the boys were in the same room, and actually talking. it was more than i could have expected. i was thinking cold shoulders and sudden disappearance. but everyone behaved and interpol was blasting and it was a thoroughly good time. poor abes apt, its been spilled on and beaten lately. oy, im still kind of drunk. and at work. fucking hell.
a short one.
i have to go back now.
im fucking exhausted after these past few days.
i gotta say, god, im not amused, not at all mister. youve been fucking with me eh? i think its time you let this little lady rest a bit before the next few rounds of nonsensical torture and curvy happenings. just sayin. fuck. and no i dont want to talk about the mentioned happenings. [i know, me, not wanting to just GUSH with the cryptic details, what has the world come to?] most of it is silly anyway and the the one thing that was tearing at me has been resolved. so yessir, ill just be fine with my fading bitter residue and memories. aaaaah. these days of semi-youth and utter confusion. how we love you so. today was payday, so i guess thats good. two people may be in the same room tonight that i have wanted to be for a while now. this is terrifying/exciting. i just dont want to leave tonight in angry stephs going to kill everything mode. thats all. hope for the best my cult following hope for the fucking best. and read the aforementioned plea for a lessening in stress. [that means you god] ugh im probably pissing a few christians off so ill lay off the blasphemy. i guess. no, fuck that. if your offended please leave the blog premises. im not in the mood to play mum. not after sleepless nights and nothing but bullshit from your beloved society as of late. moving on, smoothly and without twitches. i dont know folks. im just fucking tired. so tonight its me and jack. i have to drink away the sight of all those FUCKING lol's, the word cunt, and the embarassment of retarded affection. none of this its not healthy bullshit. my body tells me shes up for it and we've locked our common sense in the closet for the remainder of the evening. it was a group effort. rather beautiful really. sweet in many ways. ay.
heres to the prospect of a good night.
and heres to me getting through the sea of assholes im drowning in.
i can hardly tell what im doing anymore. treading and breathing heavy, day after day. too many times ive spoken out of place, and too many times ive played misleading. whatev.
blogspot, give me shelter.
ive been out of commission in the art world. its just me standing just beyond the crowd and looking in hungrily at all the young talent and sexual steps. its just me clutching a useless piece of chalk and rubbing it on my fingers... it used to help but now it only makes for dirty jeans. tried the loud music, tried the getting high part, tried the hours of studying [impressionism has been a good read though]. nothing wants to well over. nothing wants to take the place of all the white or off tan i see in the papers and newsprints. i makes the lines, i make the shades, but once started its never been so hard to finish. i used to draw all fucking day. and now im just full of headaches and laziness. i want a camera. this is how bad its getting. there are no other artists so lazy as photographers. and im finding my self falling into that area. photos are nothing but pre-set-up art. and easy lay, a hand out. and i have never wanted to dabble more. fuck that. im not going in that direction. im little better than sepia soaked images on glossy paper, im more of a glue on my fingers for weeks, cant wash this out kind of girl. or at least i try to be. some times pretend to be. sigh. maybe im holding on too hard. but what if it doesnt come back? this motivation ive lost? what if im left with my fucking thumb up my ass and alot of mediocre scribbles? great. now im just fucking sad.
my father has had me worried lately. he keeps going on about june, about scattering the box full of little brother. part of me knows hes not ready to go back to california, [that place is nothing but death death death to us Barron people] and ive told him but hes a persistent and stubborn man. like most men in my life. ugh i almost admitted the pseudo-Oedipus complex. . . creepy. but anyway. my father. hes killing me. everytime i see him its like watching a static screen. his eyes are empty and his words are ringing echos. sometimes hell laugh and ill swear he could be crying and i wouldnt know the difference. im at a loss at what to do, the strong one in the family right now, thats me, but im getting sick and a little scared at my failing attempts at keeping up with the title. and its all mine, nothing i can say that people wont let slide off. its just another sob story here. just another thing to forget once its your turn to talk.
enough of this.
im evading work again. a little fed up with the strange rulers and ridiculous notes. [please do not slame the bups at the ptl's, you will get written up. sign here please]
its fine. im going to go whore for a cigarette.
Walking misunderstandings, god its just to easy. Easy to talk and say the things in the sentence structure of choice, in the tones and shades and "intention". As far as actual meanings go their always a little battered and jet lagged when they come out on the other end of the thunderous fights and conversations. By then their too tired to maintain an erection and too fucked up mentally to be of any help at all. So many I don't knows. So many dramatic pauses, its fucking choking human communication. Stifling the flow of the great late night discussion.
In the end it only takes the one whatever or the ever popular fuck off to get the final point across. By then their halfway out the door and you are left thinking what the fuck? All your fucking actuallys and no no your not listenings are pale and forgotten. By then its time for bed or another drink and by then its far to late for the magical but quite elusive sorry.
Talking is so much fucking trouble….bah. At least here you cant pick up on the underhanded speech patterns and sarcastic breathy style. At least when your typing you can say whatever the fuck you want without the interjections of a noble yet highly stupid know it all mind. Hmm. My favorite mind. They have to wait for the end. For the period. Or they can click that tiny fucking X up in the corner there and be done with the whole deal. Then its just finished mista' finished [clapping hands together]
Im feeling hurt is all, not because ive been handed my pride or anything but because I have a horrible way of communicating. Its starting to bug me, and im sure it also bugs the people in the hairs. Im feeling this weird thing like guilt but more of a ah shit, im a fucking ignorant/selfish person thing. Im way too assholish and I come across splendidly with it and at the most brilliant times. Lucky me. See you didn't here that did you? You couldn't feel the sigh. I fucking swear I don't mean to be so goddamn hard to deal with sometimes. But im a little to colored and passionate for my own overall good. Or at least my logics good. I can almost feel the slight kicks in the head that I give myself, the foot in mouth charades my mind tries to send me frantically as I make a straight idiot spectacle of myself, and my ego. When I know im being unreasonable but im to fired up to do anything but point fingers and mind the splinters on my soapbox. My focus is never at on the topic. Its always more of a how can I make this seem so much worse than it is? How can I make this screeeeam im important. Fucking shit. Wow. Im a fucking prick.
I saw grindhouse today. The first part, the little "previews" were pretty fucking funny. Makes me want to go hug an angry hispanic and tell him to rebel, rebel like he means it, don't take shit from blue eyes and never cut another lawn again. "you just fucked with the wrong Mexican" hmm. Priceless. Rodriguez, oy, his part was magical. Brilliance if I should be able to say so. You would think that movies about zombies and mass hysteria are played, but this little bitch held her own. There was no intermission for us addicts to smoke to, but we went out anyway for the second round o' "previews" Despite missing the knife insert on the naked broad on the trampoline it was fun stuff… we ended up catching the girl on the table trussed like a turkey and then getting her dead head fucked. Yea, I know. Get that look off your face. Sure it was lewd but entertaining. until the Tarantino part. now look here, I know Quentin is a fuckin genius, im not here to bash the man, he can write an elephant to sleepy happy land, but this was a bit much. Too much dialogue and blatant sexuality can be fun mind you, but not at this level and not when its fucking the plot in the ass more than aiding it. Kurt Russell, man, good fucking job at being creepy, it works for ya, and you got a lost reel lap dance out of it, but hell. What else was there? A few great shots of high speed antics and some nailbiting moments of stoned/drunk girl goodness and the movie was over. That's me skipping the fucking hour and a half of chitter in the restaurants and wondering why the one girl was in a cheerleading outfit. [which was explained, and then thoroughly abandoned]. Fuck! The last two hours of the movie was me like run them off the road already, or shut the fuck up already, or she aint pretty no more but wheres the satisfaction? And yes I am a movie critique but more for recreation that serious film notes. Don't mind me.
never before in the history of this rather young world has there ever been a boredom fest like today. i swear. mundane goings on. a lack of EVERYTHING. and me stuck in it like a poor little bug of some kind caught in the web/salival leavings of another bug of some kind. fun fucking stuff.
i guess its mostly due to the fact that i was unable to prepare properly for it. i always do usually ...what the hell happened. i know what my job entails, i know what the day usually brings....oy but today. ah. not today. *shakes head*
ive been putting off alot of projects in the name of daytime sleep and night time outings. been placing alot on hold for the sake of putting people on hold at work. where is the goddamn motivation? i thought we has this talk stephanie, thought we breached this here gap. but apparently your nothing more than procrastinating thoughts and an poor planning. good for you. you have all these things you need to do, well fuck that, want to do thus should do. the needs and wants of you rarely coincide but your wants for once [in the strange logic of things] have precidence. your wants are what are going to get you up there. your needs will keep you in line sure, but they wont make you happy. and they wont make you interesting and they wont get you into cocktail parties with the beautiful glitters of the world. isnt that what you really need in the end? that feeling of freedom. the end and the means and all that fucking nonsense. ay. well now look youve just confused yourself. poor girl.
writing has been a solice lately.
as well as drunken pictures and too many hours alone.
but reading has been making a comeback.
i need a few books..... soon.
california for me in early june. to watch him fly free finally. and meet the place my mother calls home. in her current state, there wont be much conversation. but many things to think about.
my home state.
a ride with my father, long and awkward.
me finally seeing the end of the hardest few months of my life.
this will be worth it. and i will make sure it happens.
feeling a little alone and stuffy in this house.
feeling too much for this silly frame. surfing the interweb has proven fruitless once again. i feel like im dooming myself to fat thighs and a computer screen tan. my phone lies still, i just want to call everyone in my contacts and tell them some deep dark secret, let them know why my name is coots, how the red in the clay of pottery burns away in the baking process, how the single best moment of my life was defined by a single chromosome and its normality. i want to reach out, here in this back room, but im running sore fingers along sandpaper now. why cant i sleep. people tell me its bad for me. that ill "suffer" the next day.....well creatures of the night like us eh we never have much to say during the said day but we move through it. ill do it tomorrow, like i always do.
[without ferver, but with supreme efficiency]
ugh im coughing up a rattle you would believe. wonderful. can you feel the phlegmy joy? can you feel the shake of my lungs as they tell me enough with the fucking cigarettes already? hmm. im lecturing to an empty stadium, and i think that if there were people in it they would be hooked up to their ipods or on their laptops. with me droning mindlessly into quitely spinning casette recorders, to be skimmed through later and taped over the next class.
[heres to me and my poetic renditions]
ooooooy. my head is spinning. and so are my clothes funny enough. fuck dryer, hurry. i need bed time. dream time. steph time. i need writing fuel and body repair.
i need hands on mine and smiles to remember. i need images to struggle on.
i need the banter. i need the blogging. i need dry clothes, come on come on. i need to stop writing so often here. people may get tired and leave, cancel subscriptions and lead me to hang myself at the thought of losing a viewing audience......
youll have to excuse me........im writing the drunken ballad of another type of intoxication. the im coughing like fucking crazy and drank of the red death that is generic nyQuil.
i need sleep.
i need something.
what could this something be?
understanding wont be enough here.
i may need to feel it next to me, fidgeting and sighing in shifts.
or i may need to get off the fucking computer already.
who the fuck knows.
ill take the road thats readily available.
and me with more to say.
i was just outside. i was just out there. the drunk girl among men. the nothing among meaning.
i was just there.
and now here i am.
thankful for the moments full of understanding. thankful for the seconds where there lies realization. thankful.
typing horribly. messing the words. mucking up the points. beligerent.
and yet here i stand fighting to defend these "breaks" in the everyday. the tiny pauses in the mundane.
the talks about rage, the talks about the unknown. our thirst to just understand, the unimaginable.
and heres us now. heres us sweetheart. its us against the world. us against the steroetypes.
i can only say that this is what keeps this girl among the living. this is what keeps my ears perked. this is the time where my thoughts can truly flow. this is where it rests. this is where it grows, and transforms into the tangible.
i would kill for these moments.
i would die for these partial moments.
i would give everything.
to keep this.
think im a drunk.
feel that im in need of saving.
say that im a lost soul.
but never assume.
that i am in need of something more.
i have it all here.
my brain tells me.
and tells me softly and without remorse.
"these moments are all thats left"
so lets get on with the blog.
-innuendos. theres nothing worse than not knowing what you have. when your constantly on watch only because nothing is concrete or tangible, only implied.
-friends. its better to have these types of humans around in this girls opinion. the conversation becomes less inane, the insecurities fall away. finding a friend and naming them lover is too easy, not enough work to mean much and usually ends with burning posessions and coppery tastes. so when you meet the person with a wit like fire and the ability to captivate you with terra passes and stephen colbert you usually dont want to chance it. you want to keep them around. leave the doomed fate of love to someone with skinny pants and too many one liners. yea?
-liqour. too many nights have been killed with the addition of it, but last night i was in a state of realization and tho i didnt sleep a fucking wink till 10 am, i got alot of thinking done. thank you captian morgan. thank you. hah. the hangover was nothing compared.
-dreams. of dark reaching hair in tendrils around his back. of him trying to hide her. me walking over, in slow motion. her on the bed jumping like a child. laughing the deeply empty laugh of possesion and lust, her body in shadow, her lips in red.
-food. sometimes the atm machine will say to you, "you know, i dont think you should have tacos tonight."
-me. interested in things to come. if only for the sake that things are now more interesting.