you are what once was

i'd love to tell you that i have no ties to you. i don't want to be your friend, i don't want to like you, i don't want that tugging feeling in my chest. i don't want to be cold to people, anymore.
what the fuck happened? i still don't know why i lo..
ick, not that word again. i heard you tell whatsherface that once, on the phone. i thought i was going to blow chunks all over your dashboard.

newsflash, emotional unavailability sucks. i loved being loving. and you can't even give it back.
so where do i end up out of all of this? what i got was a shitty reputation, what you got was a brief suspension of adoration. my name was kill yourself, now it's love yourself. but isn't that just the name you gave me?

when i love you, i don't love anything at all. i love it.
i pine for your disdain, i just need to be a little closer. because i remember us being happy. you were still an asshole, but just enough of an asshole.
now it just seems like you hate me-ish.

i'd try to cover up the stalkerish tone of all this, but you kill my mind, and fuck my soul, and i breathe waiting for you to do it again.
so fuck it.

show, show, show

show me your new beginning.

show me where you went right,
show me why i should trust you,
show me how you deserve respect.

i'll show you why you're alone.

deception doesn't scare me, but i smell the fear in your evasiveness.
something is wrong.

show me your canvas of hypocrisy,
show me your drunken photo album,
show me a senior week of a year you would have graduated.

i'll show you why your friends disappear when you get into trouble.

was the person i met customized for me,
or was that truth?

show me the beautiful plea for forgiveness
show me the regret, envy
show me the meaningless bullshit you write in books for post menopausal women

i'll show you what you're going to say before you say it.
why are you trying to look like someone else?
i never trusted.

i'll show you everything to hurt you,
my lack of surprise
my planning in advance
my new-and-improved everything.

looks like you missed the boat, darling.
is this what you wanted?

  • Current Music
    Aphex Twin

Hunger hurts, but starving works

I totally didn't realize that was a song, until today. It's "Paper Bag" by Fiona Apple. I always just thought it was a pro-ana tagline.

Anyway, my life has gotten so fucking boring,
it's exam week
i'm learning tagalog
i started boxing again, so my arms are sore
and i am fresh out of interesting thoughts.

I really, really, really don't know how I feel about late term abortions.

  • Current Music
    Cat Power

I used to record the storms

I used to record

the storms.

I used to record the storms, on my mothers old tape recorders. I was so excited about it, standing by the window, anticipating each gust and drop against my window. I watched the whitecaps form, and eventually blow over themselves until the water was flat and white. I could hear every tree branch stress, I could hear the glass in the pane stress.

I used to record the storms, but I stopped. One day, when I had made 3 tapes of storms, I placed the first so carefully in my red and white plastic tape player. And I heard nothing. I heard static, no crescendo of thunder, no symphonic breeze gradually escalating... just, static.

And I was thinking about it, and I wonder.
What the fuck does that mean to me? Because I can't chalk it up to old technology. But I don't know. It's something.

  • Current Music
    I Am Ghost

decision, consequence

He decidido que ya no voy a aceptar las consecuencias de un mundo que
ya no existen pulgadas he decidido aceptar mi ignorancia, y hacer una
pausa en la búsqueda de la verdad objetiva. No voy a sentir lo que no
es mía, para sentir, ni lo que significa para mí no se sienten en una
forma recíproca.

Transferencia de energía está más allá de mi
control, aceptado. Creo que hay una manera de separar la negatividad de
uno mismo. Es posible, yo simplemente no sabemos las consecuencias.

¿Es posible ser consciente de que sin el reconocimiento de algo?

  • Current Music


Found a lovely abandoned building today... an old tannery, in fact.
We tagged it up a bit, fairly tastefully I might add. Anyway, thought I'd share a bit.

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Image and video hosting by TinyPic


p.s. i dont know if i can unofficially copyright things, but please don't take the first photo without my consent. it's my work, my art, my picture. please respect that.
  • Current Music

Disorderly conduct.

The term "personality disorder" makes me sick. A personality disorder is loosely defined as a class of personality style which deviates from the contemporary expectations of a society.

Um, well. That's sounding like juuuuust about everyone that I'm friends with.

What the fuck does that mean anyway? It's not like society is this unanimously opinionated being with some sort of collective conciousness. If you're arrogant, boom, disorder. If you're attached to your family, disorder. You don't like sex? What the fuck is wrong with you? Disorder.
The list goes on. Do people consider you odd, or eccentric? Hmm, sounds schizotypal to mee.

Besides the fact that based on these definitions, every only child, hippy, and CEO would be in a mental hospital, half of these "disorderly" personalities are defined by a heightened awareness and inability to cope with rejection. That sounds like a perfect group of people to inform that they are intrinsically fucked-up. Greeeeeeaaat idea, guys.

And, you know, I wouldn't care. But now I have friends that have been sent to psychiatrists by family members. And now they're medicated, dependent zombies. Medicated, dependent zombies that are under the impression that they can't be "fixed," only "cope." I'm thinking their only problem is that they're living with a group of people that are under the impression that thier personality is broken, needs fixing.

What the fuck ever.

  • Current Music


I've come to realize, as I try to find and befriend as many crazy people as possible, that I'm everything I've ever really feared. I guess the over-40 homeless crowd still makes me a little uneasy now and then... but really, what is there? Death? We all know it's coming, so that's silly. Capturing and toturing someone is a complicated endeavor for a very,very intelligent and rehearsed person. I guess I fear that, but the odds are slim.

The only thing I've honestly come to fear is myself, my lack of emotion, my excesses of emotion... my ideas, the things I feel in my dreams.

I don't really know where I'm going with this, other than curiousity of my friend's (that would be you) fears.

  • Current Music


What can I say, it's my fucking forte.

It's almost comical, the consistancy, the way i find myself desperatly seeking to destroy irrationality in a physical way... I guess you can't do that. I don't know, I haven't tried it yet. God. I don't belive in any kind of "purge" or "judgment day..."
I just want a weekly day selected, where you get to break open closed minds, and beat the shit out of your daily oppresors. What the fuck happened to physical prowess, anyway? We are under control, and when it comes down to it, the consequenses are merely threats that lead to bigger threats... obviously, there is a point of no return in that department, but realistically one can, in fact, be freely delinquent.
We're drilled with the "power of words" from birth... so why don't we allow the consequences to be taught, as well? I'm not a bully (hah, ridiculous word) but realistically, the only bigger "social equilizer" than guns is money. Which brings me to my next point. This is a fucking disorganized argument, but I'm mad. So.

What I'm saying is something like this: control your weapons, do as you please. Let people get their shit wrecked, though.

I realize that it sounds a lot like I'm setting up a tyranny of big people, but I guarentee you it wouldn't play out that way. People are networking, cliquey creatures. Small people will find big people, if need be. Or people will simply avoid stepping on each others toes a bit more.

I don't know. I'm too idealistic... too universal. But I'm sick of limited options. I feel like I'm fucking living in Harrison Bergeron.


  • Current Music

Worthless, psycho

I hate writing when I'm depressed. I don't have interesting things to say, and I have a tendency to depend heavily on visual aids to get my point across. But. If I don't write, then I won't write, and that won't do any of us any good.
So here I am.

I had an idea recently, and it's a little bit horrifying and a lot manipulative.
I wonder what would happen if you started calling all the people you would consider talking to if you were going to commit suicide, and talk to them as if you were. What would they say? Would they pick up? Would they think you were serious?

I'd recommend it if you're not one of those wifehousedogfamily people.

But, yeah. That's all I've got today.

  • Current Music
    Henry Rollins Band