i hate hate hate hate
are playing dress up games
and we want to print this picture
so i'm posting it to a blog
so we can.
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a blogthings quiz once said
i was all of the things
i wished i was;
all of the things i admire.
philosophical
sensitive
fiery
eccentric
and intuitive
i'd love to be just one of those things.
but the fact that i covet
keeps me farther from them then if i didn't.
there's something commemorative about smokey the bear.
there's like, a tangible substance of him;
a mixture of 8 year old sunscreen, rusted key chains, and boy scout days
when my bangs were crooked
and i was missing teeth between swollen cheeks
as red as the blood that stained my flower patterned capris
every single time
i picked open a scab
or scratched a bug bite so much
the flesh broke open and sponged through the fibers of baby's breath on my knee.
he's lime green and i can see him
but otherwise
I'm colorblind
grasping at tacky buttons amidst beige hues
and cutting paths with plastic swords that used to morph
between little compartments of my overactive simplistic mind
in to something pure;
something sound;
something legitimate
something so wholesome
i could run forever in fields of Velcro
or Acaena Burrs
without ever stopping to even begin
to catch my breath
or my smile
or the feeling
that i was complete.
i remember a beautiful boy i see ever day
and it's such a wonder
to observe the compartment in me open up
and spew human nature
that i fight with pitchforks
and angry tears
only to be left
caring
but is it really me that wishes
to carve marble in to figures like you?
is it really me,
that craves the vessels in your skin
to burst in to bruises under bits of your flesh
that I've clung to for their beauty?
or is it simply Pandora again
opening her box
and spilling in my hair
oils of oceans from the beginning of time
that seep in to my skull
and leave me longing just to capture your presence?
its become a habit of mine
to pick up a leaf every day
when I'm walking up the hill each afternoon after I get off of the bus.
i know it's winter now
but there are still some really incredible looking leaves out there.
leaves you'd never imagine.
normally when you think of pretty leaves, you think
reds, and yellows, and greens
the typical kinds
but i keep finding these really amazing ones
that are black and red,
and monochromatic tints of tye-dyed green
like somebody spilled water color on to a paper towl and let it sit for a few days
seeping whichever way it happens to seep
until i walk by and see it.
it's rediculous, i know
but I can't walk by one of these leafs without picking them up.
every time i try
i get really sad
and feel awful about myself
for just walking away from something so lovely.
there's always a part of me
that wants to pick it up
and take it home to show someone
even though
most of the time,
no one really cares
and the color fades within a few days of being inside.
the truth of the matter is though,
i usually pick it up anyone
just incase i run in to somebody
who'll see it as amazing as i do
i think charlie brown isn't the charlie brownest
i think
there are lots of folks
just as charlie brownie as he
if not
even more charlie brownie.
i remember when i'd get letters in the mail from Santa Claus.
I know I keep comming back to it
but i believed in Santa Clause.
I believed in him without ever even considering, or even noticing that some people didn't.
I believed in him like some people believe in Jesus.
Because my parents told me he was real.
And he seemed
like something good
that needed to be real.
it wasn't a matter of leaning more towards his existence than his non-existence.
it was a complete and total utter lack of doubt
that he did
Our Christmas tree isn't up yet
because i'm the only one
who really cares about it.
we look like Jehova's witness's in here.
and i think that's a shame.
i know a girl
who's parents really are Jehova's witness's and I think it's so sad
because the poor little thing
has never even had a birthday cake.
i think people need to celebrate things.
and they need cutesy little get togethor's to help them focus
on ignoring the vastness of existence
because most people can't handle that
even though
to me it's even more sad that they can't.
i think for her birthday
i'll bring her a birthday cake to school
and sing to her
and make her wear a party heart.
that way
she'll get a little extra something out of one day of her life
You are a deep ocean and just as violent. You are emotional and thoughtful, artistic and musical. Even if you don't draw or play and instrument, art and music play a big part in your life. You are talented and creative. You are philosophical and poetic. Soemtimes that means you create a piece of art or poetry, and sometimes it means you have a new idea or a new way of approaching something. You are always an original. You underestimate yourself and are sensitive. You put others before yourself. You feel their pain. When someone has a problem, they come to you. Not to solve it, but to cry with them. You are analytical and conscientious. Even with all this analysis you are idealistic. You appreciate beauty. You see things others miss, and can feel a problem coming like a chill before the rain. You are orderly and organized and strive for perfection in everything you do. You value things, people, resources. You are very focused on the details. You make friends cautiously and the friends you have are few and very close to you. You are very faithful and devoted. You value loyalty and can become resentful if betrayed. You seek out special people who see your depth and beauty and they travel with you for long friendships. You have a deep concern for other people and will listen to their complaints. People rely on you. Introvert: The Resident Genius.
but it's not
because i want it to be.
on the third day i rose
skin melted off of my hand
mixed with acidic day old apple juice
and carrots
stringing like syrup
as i struggle to bring myself back to life.
jolted with electrolyte imbalances
after compressions on my stomach
leave me twitching on the tiles
as i melt within their cracks
trapping ticks ten times their size
filled with kitten blood
puppy plasma
immobilized
beneath fungi toes.
i won't go to coffee shops
i'll sit
in wooden barrels,
filled with premature holiday piss
and my tongue will have been burnt so bad
it's melted off and lodged itself in my esophagus.
my stomach is distended, and every now and again
i flicker in and out of your sight
one moment
covered in desert dust, and cacti cuts on my finger tips
from all the times i wrapped my arms around one
to see if maybe i could harvest it's life when it's needles pushed through my play-dough textured limbs.
i am no writer.
i am no coffee shop dwelling cliche
--but i am a cliche in that i am alive.
and i'll continue to write
even though it pains me to read it all over again
only to realize every petty attempt at glazing over these meaningless words, after i molded them in to some barely recognizable shape.
big baby brother
if i could do it for you, i swear, i'd grab you by the neck,
and throw you down through the asphault on the street
so you can tumble through the cold hard blackened tar
and end up
inside of a woppers box,
surrounded in nothing that drains your body of bone marrow
as you struggle to struggle with your struggles.
i want a web of my own to stick to
and die in
playing solitare with just one suit,
as pin straight, hair heads,
mozy on in with their type screens
and make contact with the latest mack
who won't back down up off their case.
I don't try to imagine a personal god; it suffices to stand in awe at the structure of the world, insofar as it allows our inadequate senses to appreciate it.
-AE
send me to an asteroid
in a neon pink bucket
after i've dispersed in to nothing but plasma, so i can sit
and cry
or explode
in pure and convoluted awe
watching over the span of a billion light years
just one supernova occur
as i realize
the miracle that everything "is"
i remember remembering
but now i remember remembering remembering
and i'm looking at myself through bent aluminum generic soda cans
and there isn't a single electric wave crossing over
between gaping canyons in my brain
that carry's anything with meaning.
i've run out of my hot water
but i keep running over the same places again in my head
as if maybe i'll salvage a few little droplets.
but i can't
because my mind has come to realize
exactly what it is.
a lump of licorice, and "woe is me"
where at the center
a stupid little girl glares indifferently
as i try to drown out the feeling of her kicking
at the corners of my skull
she just won't let me be
what i strive for.
but she won't let me forget
that i'm striving,
because she tells me too.
but i suddenly want to die
more than i've ever wanted to die in my life.
i want to say i can't take it anymore and mean it.
i don't like this world today.
i want to cry.
why am i not crying?
why do i feel so overwhelmed?
why do i feel like i can't breathe? like i'm having a panic attack?
like all that sounds appealing is splitting my head open with a baseball bad?
oh god. oh god. oh god.
oh god.
i can't breathe.
it bothers me when i think people have taken my ideas.
but i swear i didn't take yours.
i think we have really really similar minds.
and reading your thoughts
being the same as mine
gave me the opportunity to look outside of myself for a second
and it made me question more.
thank you very much miss.
thank you.
Could I get better? Could I get better if I really wanted too? I read what you had to say and it sounded like you pulled your words out of my very own head, and it was scary. Because it made me realize; what if I don’t want to learn how to be happy, because then, all of the questions, and ideas will stop? Is that why I’m afraid of being happy? Because ignorance is bliss? Wait a minute though; I know being content is something I really long for on the other hand though. Because I can’t take wanting to kill myself. I can’t take feeling so dead. Is my subconscious stopping me? Is this all my fault? Even more so than I thought before? If there’s one unproductive feeling in the world, it’s the feeling of self loathing. But no matter what I do, I can’t help but be bitter towards myself, because I’m at the center of all that’s stupid, and wrong, and illegitimate, and wasteful. I’m not sad about it. Or maybe I am. Who knows. All I know, is that all I can really feel towards myself is sheer anger and hate.
It’s like
I can’t cope with things that displease me.
And I can’t get to what makes me happy enough.
So I feel empty
And I want something to fill that
Like a special skill or ability or intelligence
But I feel guilty
Because I shouldn’t want anything
I shouldn’t care what other’s think because no one means anything.
And I should be happy just existing.
But then I think
Well I need something to be driven by. But then I get angry. Because nothing does drive me. And I don’t want to have to be driven. Because…well I don’t know why. SO THEN I just start to think like, “why do I think I should be better than everyone else”
Everything has to be cosmic for me. And I get mad at myself if it’s not automatically.
But then forcing myself feels like I’m trying to impress myself, and it’s so damn disgusting, because we’re all so tiny, and precious, and lucky to be able to comprehend, and I shouldn’t need anything extra to impress myself because I’ll never be impressive enough to suit myself, just like no one else will be impressive enough to suit me.
Then I start thinking that maybe I’m just arrogant.
But I can’t stand thinking that because if I do, then I have to hate myself even more.
I should follow my morals.
I want to be the wise woman who can know all the good, and the bad,
Yet still remain happy. Or resigned.
Why do I want that? Why do I want that? Is it all because of my ego? I hate it. I hate myself. Don’t tell me I have depth.
I don’t because I want it.
Don’t tell me I’m an old soul. I don’t because I want one.
Don’t tell me I’m mature beyond my years or that I’m better than the kids my age.
I’m not because I want to be and I’m just like them, because it bothers me to think that I am. I don’t want to be a human. I can’t keep running around this track in my head. I’ll double over. I’ll pass out.
I feel like Santa Clause is a grandfather I used to know, who died in a tragic car accident. I feel like I knew him personally. Like I’d given him hugs. Like I’d had telepathic conversations with him. Like he’d been able to comfort me through magic, and a gentle gaze. Like he’d been the only kind man I even met in my life. Like he was god, and I think if I had to believe in a god, I would believe in the image and likeness of Santa Clause because he was so caring, and selfless, and intelligent, but happy, and wise all at the same time. He could give you understanding with just one look. Like he possessed celestial knowledge of everything that is, was, never was, always will be and more. Like he could comprehend the incomprehensible. Like he had eyes in to the dimensions floating around like slabs of black stretchers, colliding in to each other every once in a while, to explode in to what we little molecules have come know as the big bang. We are so small. So small. So small. It’s dizzying. We are in time and time always was because existence just is and it’s beautiful that I can’t understand where I am. I feel like I should be doing more with this gift. More with this gift of comprehension and thoughts and ideas. I feel like I am wasting it with every moment that I think about myself. But that’s the thing I just can’t help but be succumbed too; human nature. We were made to think about ourselves. But we were also given options as to how much we do so, and I want to surpass the boundaries of human nature. I want to be thrown in to the passages of other dimensions, and I want to never see another human being ever again; I just want to float out there and do all that I possibly can to learn so I can appreciate even more with the things I’ve been given to admire existence with. It’s the only way I feel like I could be fulfilled.
-----------------------------------------
On another note:
The reason I don’t like talking to you, is because I don’t enjoy being psychoanalyzed. Because it make me feel uncomfortable, like I’m being talked down too, like I’m being taught a life lesson, because you think you’re much further ahead of me, and like you’ve already experienced all the thoughts I’ve experienced. It’s toxic to me. It’s like fucking poison, because you play on my insecurities, maybe because you have the same insecurities as me. But I don’t like it. I don’t mean this metaphorically; sometimes I physically want to squeeze myself through the molecules or the atoms in the air, because I think it would feel like an almost prickling smooth sensation, like running your hand through two rollers. The kind they used back in the old days to squeeze water out of clothing. It really bothered [what you said to me] me that you told me that I needed to stop trying so hard. But you don’t understand that that’s what I’ve been struggling with this whole time. Hating, and fighting against my inexplicable and born-in-to sense that I am never good enough. Because logically, I know how stupid the idea is. Logically, I know that I’m fine. But there’s a little part of my brain, the subconscious part, that keeps me lodged there in that black or white thinking, and all you’re doing when you talk down to me is making me feel worse that I’m not smart enough, or good enough to break free of that part of my brain so I can just live. But more than anything, if I allow myself to be completely and totally honest for a second, you make me feel angry, because you hurt the pride that I hate possessing. You make me feel arrogant, and stuck up, and I don’t like feeling like that because it’s part of what I hate about myself. You make me want to scoff at you, and turn up my nose, and to dismissively wave my hand, whilst muttering “poo poo” like Madeline. I don’t like feeling like that because I know it’s unfounded, and that I’m not smarter than anybody. Hell, maybe you are smarter than me. But my human nature kicks in, and doesn’t want to believe that. It isn’t you that I dislike. I dislike how I get what I’m around you.
my skin feels like an egg shell
liable to crack if i so much as move wrong
sensitive, rough, covered in tiny bumps, and i'm pail
because ive lost all my blood
my organs are all yolk
milky, and pulpy, and detached from the walls of my body
my diseased organs turned to mush
and yellowed by my jaundiced fingers
scraping against the walls of my throat
caught in a Well of saliva and mucus.
this is not me.
this is not me.
i'm not the one
who can dictate my actions.
i am the recessive gene.
and i am not the same as me.
i'm split
like my grandmother's feet
split like string cheese and gymnasts.
and i am trapped within one egg shell.
i'm the white
but if you look
you'll find
the yolk's what you'll see.
Paul Winfield and
Stacy Keach have been smirking their stories in my ears since i got home
or at least
since i collapsed on to this Flintstones couch
made of stone that's been pressing against my spinal cord.
i don't like the prosthetic sense of security you give me.
because it fades and i feel like i've literally turned in to this disgusting dirty porch turned room
where my brother once bled, and healed.
i feel like the devil is in this room. It's hollow. It's dark. It's stale. It's cold.
And sound doesn't echo in anything but my head;
Everything is so loud.
And I'm melting in to myself
but my skin is too sticky,
and i'm too week to pull my superglued ass up off of this stupid chair.
it's so sad
but i'm just waiting for the weekend so i can give up on trying.
i realized today that i've been in the SAME goddamn since this whole thing began.
i feel so shallow when i'm not talking about the universe.
i feel so shallow when i'm not thinking about existence.
i feel so shallow when i'm thinking about myself
or a room that i sit in
i feel so shallow and scared when people tell me i'm an old soul
because that's just too good to be true
so i'm just waiting for the day
that everybody wakes up
and realizes that they're wrong.
that i'm shallow.
and that's so scary.
imagine a little girl
longing to be a superstar.
she has pink neon green sunglasses, and golden hair, and she's in a black leotard
prancing around with a scarf tied around her waste as a skirt.
she's constantly trying not to want to be a thing
constantly trying to escape human nature.
costantly trying to take care of every body else in the world, just because it makes her so sad to see somebody down.
constantly seeking happiness for others
without beliefs
or disbeliefs
trying to figure out her morals
longing for intelligence
and wisdom
but hating the fact that she longs for anything like that at all.
Tell her you see her that way.
But if she doesn't believe it
it'll terrify her
because she never knows if it'll last.
Listen to how naive i sound. Listen to how much of a baby I am. A child I am. A pathetic little human I am, placing judgement on human's like I know
if I have any right to do so or not.
It's safest to assume I don't.
This is why I end up angry with myself
I don't want to judge.
Myself or anybody.
I don't want to want to be a thing.
I don't want any morals pertaining to those things
or morals that involve those things.
but I can't sort my head out enough.
it's just not possible.
at least not as of yet.
I do step outside of myself for more than ten minutes.
I do pass the boundaries, and my mind it too broad to be healthy.
If you knew anything at all
maybe you'd realize that none of this is because I give a shit about my body.
None of this is because I'm shallow, or even vain, or unintellectual.
It's all because everything is so goddamn beautiful.
And I'm trapped within the walls of repetition
and within the walls of forced society made garbage
when all i really want to do
is run away
so i can lay in the hugest fucking sunny field you've ever seen.
On Saturday
I layed beneath a willow tree and cried
because it was so beautiful, it practically melted my heart.
I self destruct because I go crazy
trying to get to those places
where I can just escape without having somebody down my throat or up my ass. I feel empty without it all. I have been given a gift with sight, and scent, and audio, and taste, and when none of it is being stimulated, because the places I am forced to be are so ignorant to the genuine naturalistic beauties of life, I have to stimulte myself. I'm a walking fucking metaphor. Maybe I'm psychotic, and maybe it's crazy. But it's the only thing that'll fill that goddamn empty spot in me, you stupid bitch. And I don't get rid of everything because I want control. I get rid of it, because it's the one thing I can do. I can get rid of all of the thoughts of entrapment in my head, because when IT all comes out, all of my thoughts come out too, and I feel better. You talk about things like they're facts, and the thing is, nothing is fact.If you lived my life, maybe you'd understand how much guilt I go through every mother fucking day. Guilt that I can't just stop worrying. Guilt that I'm not constantly greatful that I can do nothing other than SEE. Guilt that I'm not happy just knowing that I can comprehend. Because believe you me, every single day, it astounds me, and I smile, because I don't know how I got to be so lucky. Guilty that I even dislike myself because it's selfish. But it goes back to what you said. You can't care about anybody else as much as you care about yourself.
Even though I think I should be above it (which I also feel guilty about), I'm not. And since I can't see all the beauty of the world; since I'm trapped inside my house and sheilded from the outdoors
I need to find a purpose elsewhere. But I don't have anything to be proud of.
I want to be the beauty in the world that I can't see
because I'm not allowed to just escape, and lay in my yard underneath the sun.
Don't you dare talk about this like you understand any of it.
You don't understand me.
I don't understand you.
Human beings can never understand each other.
You place judgement.
And you have no right too.
I don't think about things on a worldly scale stupid.
I think of them
on a fucking existential scale.
And that's part of what fuels the hate I have for myself.
BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHY I CAN'T BE JUST HAPPY TO EXIST.
Maybe my mother's right. Maybe I need fucking lithium.
I never want to talk to you again.
I hate how you write like you're wise, or epic.
The difference between you and me
is that I can't know if I can ever know a thing.
I know that significance, and "shoulds" could be relative, and impossible
and that all of this logic, and your logic, and everyone's logic, maybe or may not mean nothing.
Understanding the known size of the unizerse alone, which is only a mere fraction of the size of existence
helps me to realize
that in scale to me, I am tiny.
But that doesn't make me feel sad. It makes me feel fucking lucky.
If I've said it once
i've said it a million fucking times.
I have it in my head
that EVER thinking about myself is wrong.
Even though I understand it's human nature
I just don't want to be naive
or to somehow gain the idea
that I am more important than anybody else.
Because I'm not.
Even you.
Even though, I think I might hate you more than any other girl that ever lived to see the light of day.
Because you belittle me, and talk down to me like you're enlightened on a plain that I am not.
No one is more enlightened than anybody else though.
Or maybe they are.
But assumptions make an ass out of you and me.
the lies didn't fall between the drying, bloody cracks in your lips.
You told me,
and it hit me like a bulls eye, so for a moment,
all I did was stare in to some bright concoction of burning gas, not quite a galaxy away.
They said you shouldn't be there
to hear my uncensored lyrical profanities
but I did it for you
so you were no longer misguided
yet in the end you cast a shadow of sorrow on my body
immersing me in guilt
already thick enough to immobilize me.
i pulled the soot from ever corner of my body
scraping with a nail at my bones, and underneath my skin
to clean the lies away
and I placed them in a Dixie Cup, for you to analyze,
thinking maybe
you could possibly handle it.
thinking maybe
you didn't have a choice.
but i broke you a little bit more.
because as time goes on
you can't hold your charge
and now
i'm covered in black wool
and there's puke in your mouth
so you can scrape off a part of your cheek and examine it under a microscope
to see if somehow you passed
that little bit of blackened wool to me
that seems to be destroying me.
manic?
lithium?
i never knew those words were even in your vocabulary.
and i saw you die a little bit,
slouch down a little bit,
lose your color a little bit,
close your eyes a little bit
as they evaporated from your head, and rained down in my atmosphere.
i'm sorry you're so sorrowful.
and i'm sorry that it's all my fault.
Tonight, my muscles melted within my body.
I know its crazy.
But it happened.
I was laying there, all glassy eyed
void of thought and emotion
and before i knew it
my hair had turned to saran or kanekalon
and my fingers stuck together like when i played around with super glue.
it ripped my skin back then
but now,
I'm lying in the back of a plastic corvette.
Before a flutter of my eyelashes, I'd be breathing with the lungs I had.
Oh, I remember! I had organs!
and i heaved up vomit on to my toes!
trying to get to sleep
even though it lingered on me like hot sausage in Saint Petersburg
where they danced in the snow
with red hair and glitter that made me realize that all i needed to be alive
was things that hit my eyes
in a way that spread my corneas enough to transfer motion
from my retinas
back to my brain,
and down to my throat, until it finally touched my heart enough to make me jolt and crack a grin.
its been three days now Matron
three days in a row that i splintered by hands with acid as they scraped against
the dentures made of wood propelling us along.
three days
and you're giving up on me
fighting me
pinning me down with your pitchfork
until you think i'm good and dead;
oh there's just one thing you weren't expecting though
see i play pretend quite frequently
and i always return
as you oscillate between indifference, hatred
and worry
yeah, i can read your cells like mona lisa's
and your emotions in percentages.
well, those worry lines don't lie, cause in between them
there's a sea of sweat
and in it
i am drowing.
oh, you can't hide your anticipation
as to what will happen next.
YOU ARE NOT IMPORTANT.
how can we get so upset over things in our lives when all of it
is so
fucking
trivial?
Dear Mrs. Feline,
Don't tell me you're depressed.
Don't tell me things are getting bad.
You're pathetic, and you're lying to yourself
and you should be ashamed
because there are people out there
with real fucking problems
who can't HELP feeling depressed
yet there you are
practically FORCING yourself.
ALL YOU WANT IS ATTENTION.
THAT'S ALL ANYBODY WANTS AND I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY.
I mean christ
if you need to feel important
which i don't understand either
at least go to yourself for it
and don't rely on others
who will only treat you unimportant
because they feel the exact same way as you.
That's right
what you're feeling? IT'S NOT UNIQUE.
ANY OF IT.
It's just what 34540 other people are feeling in the state you live in alone.
TAKE A STEP OUTSIDE YOUR FUCKING SELF
THEN MAYBE
YOU'LL HAVE A LEGIT REASON TO HATE YOURSELF
AS OPPOSED
TO JUST HATING YOURSELF FOR STUPID SILLY PETTY LITTLE NAIVE TEENAGE REASONS.
If you're a human being
you're a simpleton by nature for Christs sake.
because your main focus
is one little fucking cell
in the entirety of existence;
YOURSELF.
that means you're overly concerned with something that means nothing in the grand scheme of things
except to you.
eat a fucking red mushroom.
grow a few feet.
you're still tiny.
HELLO
I AM A HYPOCRITE...?
At least I can recognize it.
I decided today
that if I had my way
I would move to a planet
on which one side was always dark
so I could drive around in the bed of a pickup truck
laying down
staring at the sky moving above me
and watching the orange street lamps
cast shadows on the ladder racks.
really. i mean it, just don't.
it's all bullshit.
and incoherent.
and lacks any sort of cohesive order
and i don't even know if what I'm saying
really quite matches what is going on inside of my head.
i really like hitch hikers guide to the galaxy.
if you wiki it
and read all of the quotes
maybe you'll know why and be able to understand.
because i could try to tell you why
but it would be pointless.
right now, i'm feeling very mindful.
like my senses are are giving me the ability to notice every single little thing that my senses can pick up.
and i like it.
because there's no questioning the things outside of me.
no questioning if i'm perceiving that the purple pencil sitting on this desk is really purple.
no questioning if i'm perceiving the table i sit at as cool
or if
the i'm perceiving sky outside as having clouds.
i need a world of no questions today.
in regards to my last post
i like you
and you
because you two get me more than anyone else.
and im not afraid of you.
and im not used to that.
i've realized that i care too much
and i don't want too
and that's why everyone's on earth
and i am the next nearest planet.
i wasn't traumatized like everyone likes to pretend they were.
i don't have trust issues.
i just don't want anyone too close.
because then i have to care.
and that makes me feel panicky.
because i feel the need to make things right for people even though i can't.
and i hate it when i can't
but i hate it when people act like i did
because i didn't and they make me feel embarrassed.
no.
i don't have trust issues.
not trusting anybody isn't an issue.
and nobody did anything to me to make me the way i am.
i don't trust anybody
to not require my care for them.
i can't be relied on.
because im a runner.
and i need to be able to run away without hurting anyone
and
because i'll let you down.
or i'll have to lie and say something nice
when all i really want to do is yell at you
and say something hypocritical that i could apply to myself
even though
if you're like me
you can't
so i shouldn't be yelling at you to do so
and i shouldn't want to yell at you
because you're probably just like me.
i don't want to have to feel like i tried and failed to explain myself.
because it'll always be a failure.
because the opposite isn't possible.
i don't want to ever talk to anybody again.
i want to be a mute.
i want to exist in my bed.
and i want to watch UFO shows on television.
and engage in eddy behaviors.
i can't articulate
and you're not understanding me right
because i can't grasp everything in my head
and none of this is what im thinking its just little bits of whats going on in my head
morphed in to something that isn't quite what i feel.
its the closest i can get and i hate it.
somebody turn me in to plastic please
so the seams on the sides of my body can be bitten off
by the teeth of little kids
who just began to grow their bones.
so my face can be pushed in
my hollow head
and body
ripped apart by your dog
who chews on your favorite possessions
as if to spite you
despite his own toys.
i'm so sad. i'm so sad. will somebody tell me why my nerves are so shot?
who shot them?
hey! why'd you shoot them! hey!
they did nothing to you!
but you shot them! how come?
and will somebody please tell me just what they did
to make me so afraid tonight?
to make me feel so panicked tonight?
and every single night of my fucking life?
why are my eyes shaking?
why can't i ever feel happy?
why am i so anxious?
why does it feel like im going to die and why do i really want that to happen?
is it really that hard?
am i that hard to please?
or is it just that im like a goddamn gold fish
my attention span gone in the space of 5 seconds
that must me it
that must be why
i'm only fulfilled by things that don't last very long
because whenever i was born
i didn't have the capacity to enjoy things for more than five seconds. so in turn everything i enjoy will only last that long.
what the fuck was i thinking?
what the fuck am i thinking?
what the fuck am i doing?
does saying fuck make me trashy?
im not trashy. im not trashy. i swear im not. i hope im not. oh god don't give me something else to want to change about myself.
am i really unahppy with who i am?
i am. i am. i can't be satisfied. but why?
do i just need something to drive for
since nothing else is important enough?
hey look there it is again!
if that's all true
then it means im selfish
and i can hate that too !
everything i think comes back to me
and there's shit all over my face from yesterday
because i couldn't ignore that unsettled feeling in my head
if i could just ignore myself
i daresay i wouldn't have to erupt like Mt. Saint Helens
or even worse
like yellowstone park
spewing bits of lava on to the walls for you to have to clean up later
face distored in utter disgust.
stop being sad girl. stop being sad girl. stop thinking girl. stop thinking girl. stop thinking girl.
just go insane. why can't you just please go insane.
your doing this to yourself.
you're doing all of this to yourself. and none of this makes sense.
and none of it means anything. because you don't mean anything. because anything is relative. so nobody really means anything. which means your words don't mean anything. and your feelings don't mean anything. and you should fucking throw yourself from a cliff.
NOTHING IS WRONG.
NOTHING IS WRONG.
NOTHING IS WRONG.
WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE SOMETHING IS WRONG?
SELF PITYING GIRL
who the hell do you think you are?
this is nothing
and no one cares but you and thats the way it should be
because this isn't anything special or new
and you're the only one that feeling
plus its just the way you want it.
and its just the way it should be.
why does repeating feel so nice?
juts try it.
just try it.
just try it. just try it. just try it.
and try it and try it and try it and try it andtry it and try it and try it.
I WOULDN'T EVER HURT MYSELF
BECAUSE I LOVE MY FAMILY WAY TOO MUCH.
is it terrible i wish they'd be mean to me
so i wouldn't have anybody to hurt?
the pressure in my head builds its all my fault so i shove the pressure somewhere else somewhere i can feel it.
somewhere that it's easier to get rid of.
it's psychological
but it helps
and its times like these that i actually recognize
how great it feels
to go from feeling so intensely hateful
so grotesque
so fearful for my life
to feeling so tired
and light headed
and empty
and relieved.
my heart goes from pounding to being barely noticeable at all.
i want to cherish this forever. i love it so much. but i'm a girl with a sickness-- a sickness whose longevity is due to the symptoms it produces, including attachment to a self deprecating and destructing friend.
this is what lets me forget.
and if all that is forgettable
then the seriousness of the danger
fades away in to the background
only occasionally becoming visible
in moments of clarity
that never last long enough to let me change.
of marshmallow bones, and jello skin.
my torso is as heavy as an elephants, who's body is coated in ashy gray wrinkles
and I discovered this morning that I can no longer walk.
the trumpeters say that my minerals can be excavated
that they're vibrant and present
that in theory, I'll survive.
but when electric buzzers tap at my temples
with the incessant relentlessness of the white noise from a television
whos cables have been bled on by a victim hanging outside of your house
i can't help but wonder when the power'll go out.
my clock reads zero and a half AM and my mom said in her wretched silence
that to care would be harder
than to throw me away in the trash disposal
so little blades can cut my body and my marshmallow bones
will turn soggy like the lucky charms
you were too lazy to throw away.
this is all a waste of time, and feeble attempts to comprehend the incomprehensible
dark matter, and electrons-- made of what?
the ice cream cones, or play pit balls
tied up on strings in cannonballs?
no wait, please, i'm trying to be proud of something.
give me a metal for wanting it the most.
give me a metal for being just like you.
give me a metal for writing like Holden Caulfield for a little on purpose
after i read the catcher in the rye.
but give one to everyone else too.
just make us feel fucking special somehow.
we're all babies. toddlers.
and every one of us has had a little new born brother born
to deteriorate the smell of cheerios and play dough
that was given
now it's taken.
if they think you exhale oxygen
you never have to stop and try to believe
that you're a savior on your own.
we are trained in to the need for validation.
just like dogs are trained to sit
and cats are trained to lay around.
i was thinking about it this morning. and i'd trade my opposable thumbs and toilet bowl
for a life of laying around.
i have no motivation.
i don't want to do anything.
i want to sleep and sit on my ass forever
and become fat and smelly
so i can live in the world i've created in my head.
i wish i was insane.
was melted and there were tendons pulling from the left side of her face.
you could see the outline of her cheekbone
and her jaw
but on the right
was the face of a goddess.
i asked her why she was here?
why had she been committed to the hospital?
all she did was tap her fingers and I felt my eyes lingering on a number that was visible
like a polished tattoo
on the inside of her wrist.
she whispered every time she spoke.
"because i think my mother's with me" she replied.
i walked around to the other side of her bed feeling frightened by the grotesque state of her face.
it was the kind of horror that made you want to cry.
not only because you felt bad
but because it was so hideous.
and that's when she started gasping.
weezing even, violently as if starved for breathable air.
her concave chest rose and fell haphazardly and her thin fingers gripped wildly at the sides of the bed sheet as she flailed
screaming, eyes rolling up towards the back of her skull
as if almost in pain
moaning "i'm here! i'm here!"
before abrubptly quieting down again, as the whispering voice of the goddess returned. "we woke her" she whispered.
"we woke her".
an empty silence followed, as the girl closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
but it wasn't a silence in which you could sit and be calm.
it was a silence filled with the continuous echos of fear
and shrieks.
it was a terrible cry.
a cry of a desperate woman, longing to be believed.
but nobody wanted to believe her.
I didn't want to believe her.Because if I did, I would have to admit that something so distrurbing could exist outside of a movie theater.
she should leave her poor daughter alone.
she should leave her alone, get out of her body, and stop scaring all whose eyes happen upon her.
but she wouldn't. and as a result, the poor girl was the portal for the dead who didn't want death.
she was the portal for the dead
who couldn't accept it.
trembling a little, and trying to recover from what i'd just witnessed, i stepped backwards a few steps, and plasma colored clouds began to rise among her body.
soon my grandfather's figure was huddled over on the floor in front of the bed
and my own mother's voice came shouting from the other room asking "are we a male ghost this time?"
sarcastically, as if she already knew.
the voice that replied was impatient, as always
"help me to the goddamn bathroom jackie"
it demanded
and my mother's voice came back
sounding a little disgruntled in reply, yelling
"i'll help you to the bathroom in a minute dad"
and it came to me in a dream.
like paint on the hands of a four year old in preschool.
you might not like the way my bones are growing larger
than the skin trying to contain them
but i don't listen to matriarchs;
my eyes are only open to the meaningless logic
of those that logically logicize that logic is legitimate.
it's my nescience to your tumultuous cries of mourning and concern
that lets me continue with my self inflicted wear and tear.
my eyes were scratched with the grains of life
and a bleeding heart that never clots in cold weather
is covered in its blood, reproachful of the world.
i've seen nothing more than you have.
but i'm less brave
in that i can not ignore and accept.
and being aware means only that i am conscious
that i could be all which i'm afraid of being.
did i put a spot on the porcelain? you make it easier for me to talk, dear. just like a blade of grass as sharp maybe as the one that cut that little girls face. she made herself pet and i felt for a second, like i was beautiful. i remember those gowns in that garden and longing so tremendously to feel as horribly stunning as all the other little milkmaids looked. but the paper wasn't printed quick enough to crinkle in my hands. I'd already wasted it on vibrant string they wrapped around the wires sprouting from my head. you should have been there back then. my face was a faerie's glittering and periwinkle but i was crying because i was frightened
and everything terrified me. i never could decipher what was dangerous and what was not. now, though, if i could go back the hulk would take me for a ride on his back and maybe even fling me off so for a moment i could swallow in something significant enough to strike a chord in my impassioned body that way, maybe it could resonate to all of you and play in your ears like this old man with a harp and a harmonica the ear hair of your canals beneath his feet like grass and the greasy skin of your cartilage being held on to for balance. my mind is all over the place today. i wish my words didn't seem as forced as they always tend to look.
I PULL OUT MY STOMACH AND SCRAPE IT OUT
im too stupid to understand quantum mechanics and it makes me physically angry
so i beat a tree with a baseball bat last night.
my family says i always look miserable at parties; it's because i am.
I dreamnt about two girls smoking at some camp last night
they were my best friends and they got sent home
and I was left there with a girl i just met
who intimidated me because she was so pretty.
marease said the other day that he had to sit towards the back because he was black.
that wasn't the reason. but i told him he was absolutely right.
i thought my ears were going to bleed in the MRI this morning!
my blood has too much metal in it!
and it's pooling in my left jaw!
it burns- why does it burn?!!
oh my god its going to explode.
no no no. you're wrong about that.
if you drink poison and survive
you shouldn't drink more when you're recovering!
can you tell that the muscles in my stomach feel like they're going to rip!?
BECAUSE I CAN!
wanna know what else went on in my head last night!?
i tried to kill myself with an irukandji
and it was hilarious
because i didn't die
or writhe in pain.
it just stung a little for a second
before i slipped in to the water with the transparent shell of jell
and let it drag me with it's tiny body
to a cave in the bottom of the ocean floor.
my ears really did bleed then.
have i truly turned in to a Babirusa?
because whenever I see my reflection
that's the only thing i can see.
i want shoved back in that machine.
whenever i walk, i really can't breathe.
my heart pounds like a bass drum with a diameter of 70 feet.
nobody will believe me when i tell them it feels like i'm going to die.
have i broadened your mind?
i don't care.
so long as it's been broadened.
opinions can't stay all yours
if you ever say them aloud.
but that's ok.
because wanting them to be yours alone is selfish.
and if there's one thing i advocate
it's selflessness.
my biggest fear is to be the opposite.
and my biggest fear is arrogance.
some nights
you're very existence makes me want to cry.
my sweet sweet mama.
you didn't deserve this.
falling over on the couch
sleeping upright because you're just so goddamn tired.
you poor precious woman.
i just wish i could give you all the love and thanks you deserve.
i wish you were my child
so i could cradle you in my arms
and rock you
and make everything go away.
i hate how you let me hurt you.
i wish you wouldn't look at me with those saddened tree trunk eyes.
i want to trace every worry line on your face
and to kiss them away.
you're so fragile, and you're so helpless and I'm so sorry I've done all those terrible things.
you've seen your babies hurt too much.
at the hands of others
and at the hands of themselves.
and i feel guilty when i talk to you
and you lend your ear to me
so i can spew the venom in my head.
you poor thing-
it's not what you need.
if anything
you need to spew some of that venom in yours.
your whole life,
you've been what i'm becomming to so many;
an ear.
and you're one of the only ears i have-
but to whom do you talk?
sometimes
you look so entirely lonely
but you're so incredibly amazing and kind
and you're the most amazing woman i know.
i want to make it stop more for you than for anyone else. if i wasn't so scared... i could finish this sentence.
what if i'm never brave enough?
what if it kills me?
if there's one thing i want to live for
it's to ensure that you never have to see
another baby girl of yours die.
i'm sorry.
i'm so sorry.
to all of you. for everything.
and i won't take you seriously
because no one's serious
and its seriously saddening
to feel so sorrowfully selfish
in my own little solitude
of attempted self solidification and complaints
i feel like writing about how i feel like killing myself right now.
but i'm tired of it! and i don't know why i feel so terrible!
--but it pisses me off even more
how much of a fucking atypical asshole it makes me!
because being a teenager is wrong.
and being a human is wrong.
and thinking that being a human is wrong.
and liking that im a human is wrong.
because, well, everything like that is fucking wrong in my head.
the only thing i don't get mad at
is other people.
for whatever reason
i'm ok that they're human.
i think they're sweet, and precious
and simple, and misunderstood.
but what;
do i think im fucking better?
now that is fucking wrong.
im not better.
nor should i be.
is this just fucking striving for something? is that the problem?
is that why
you'll comment me
and try to explain to me
and enlighten me
because i threaten you?
because you think you know what's going on inside of my, or anybody else's head?
because you think that you're more intelligent and experienced?
because you're striving for something too?
nobody is as helpful to yourself as you are
and no one can enlighten you as much
because you're the only one who's ever lived your life
and taken things in the order they've come
there are so many circumstances
that make a different mind
and i can't talk down to you
or think down about you
or assume anything about you
even though i want too
exactly the same is impossible.
but fundamentally the same unavoidable.
striving for something is necessary
i know.
you can't get anywhere in life if the pathway dissipates in to oblivion.
and if you can't get anywhere, and you can't go back,
then you're not doing anything
and you get restless
and you starve your brain of intellect and enlightenment, and fulfillment, and happiness.
there are so many fundamental flaws in human nature.
but the things that usually break us are always the things that make us.
empathy isn't a common trait, because it would make life so much more difficult if everybody felt it as intensely
there would be more internal struggles.
more moral conundrums and blockages, and clashes.
but on the other hand
maybe- not all of the time but some of the time-
people would choose to be nicer to each other more.
and all the fragile people of the world wouldn't have to let themselves be shattered
by someone who makes them feel inadequate.
even then, though
the problem is the striving part of us.
because we can't help it;
comparing ourselves to other people.
because we need to want to continue to get better
and they help us see that we can be more
but can't we have goals
and strive for something
without putting ourselves down?
im sorry im sorry im sorry
im sorry im sorry im sorry
im sorry.
that's the only thing i can think
to say.
my gums are throbbing
i love my cat so much right now
i think i could cry.
and i flush it all away.
i need a job
and fast.
i can't take away your money anymore.
you need it to survive
and I'm throwing so much of it away.
my head hurts so bad.
Some days
I really just don't have the stomach to be alive.
I want to take everyone-
EVERYONE
in the whole entire world
and hug them.
Including the people
who are the most mean to others.
Especially them, actually.
Because today, all I want to do is cry.
My head doesn't feel right. It feels like my brain is upside down
and I can't make myself want to do anything
besides going out
and finding everybody who's ever had someone make fun of them
and draping myself over them in fucking tears.
Most of the time, people are good.
But there I days I wish we weren't people
so we could be always good
but then i guess
we wouldn't be as complex or interesting or unique.
This blog is stupid.
I'm stupid.
I hate hockey.
I hate you.
And I wish you'd do something terrible to me so I'd have a legitimate reason.
It's too bad Im' just like her.
Relax.
Last night when I was laying in my bed
all I kept feeling was like bugs were crawling all over me
and even though
ever time i felt a tickle
i'd checked
whenever I got another
I couldn't help but feel a little panicky.
And when I finally got to sleep
it was the most disturbing thing ever, because some woman was drilling some holes in to my head
and then shoving needles in to my neck
only to turn around and pound them in with a hammer.
all to get my hair cut
which she trimmed entirely too short
leaving me scared because i thought I'd have to walk around with holes in my head
but when my father finally showed to pick me up, he told me it looked nice
and the next thing i knew
i was in some fucking crazy futuristic looking metro station or something, passing lights, and going through weird tunnels, and arriving at the platform that was indicative of something I'd imagine one would see in Japan.
Sometimes, before i go to sleep
I start to hear voices too.
In my head, that just come out of no where whenever I don't feel like I'm even thinking.
and most of the time, I really like them because there are times when they say things in such a soft dean martin like voice that i could really just listen to forever.
and im sure it's just me slipping in and out of a sleep state or something
or my brain processing what's been going on throughout the day
even though I feel entirely conscious
at least i know i'm not crazy.
But i really wish I could just stay there in that state forever some days.
So I could hear the voice of someone
who isn't challenging me with their own opinions
and so I don't feel compelled to make anyone else understand or take on mine.
I don't feel good today.
Not physically, but mentally.
I'm tired of waking up with no goddam patience.
and never knowing why.
I'm tired of being under constant scrutiny
and of everything being counterproductive.
i'm tired of indecision
and I want to run the hell away
even though eventually my brain would catch up with me
at least maybe I could have a little escape.
I don't want people to make my life difficult for me
because life is so fucking simple
and really
that's why I don't usually want to be around anyone
because I care too much about them
and it's just too fucking draining
to have to try to figure out
how to make others happy
and yourself happy
both individually
AND simultaneously.
Not to mention the fact that
nine times out of ten
my conscience gets in the way
and i end up being the miserable one just because I feel bad about making someone else feel miserable.
And I don't care what anybody says
when I have certain standard that I hold myself too
nobody can convince me to abandon it.
which is neither a good or bad thing. it just is. and it's unarguable.
i can't be a bad girl.
because i don't want to be.
but that doesn't mean i can't have fun.
and see
the thing that sucks about this whole entire post
is that there's a good chance
someone will take it personally.
someone will warp it to be all about themselves when its not about anybody in particular at all.
so even when im sitting here
just sifting through the crap in my head
and trying to get it out in some form of organization
I still have to think
"WHAT IF SOMEONE TAKES THIS PERSONALLY!?"
if i could remember how to private this i would.
but i know a lot of people don't read this anyway
and its a place where no one can pick it up off of the floor in my room.
so it's going here with the knowledge that it's meant for me.
and if people read it
then so be it.
it's not like anyone can actually understand what ANYONE is thinking at ANY given moment any way.
next to us at the Gas Station
made me want to cry today.
i wanted to give her a hug
and tell her i know how hard is.
i don't smoke.
i don't like it personally.
but i know why she does.
and i know why she bought everything she bought.
and i hate myself for it
but i'm jealous of her
even though i know
she probably doesn't even think she's worthy of anyone's jealousy.
i'm not fucking crazy.
but it sucks that everybody thinks i am.
what sucks even more
is that this is why i hate my human nature.
if i could just exist using knowledge
instead of instinct
this would't be a problem for me.
it wouldn't be a problem for anybody
ah well.
who cares.
at least today was ok all in all.
i missed a beautiful boy though.
and i wish i'd gone to the arts festival like he did.
IF ALIEN'S EXIST AND DRIVE AIRCRAFTS TO OUR PLANET
I HOPE THEY CHOOSE TO ABDUCT ME SOMEDAY
For the most part.
I rode my bike down to the thrift store today to take care of the cat's there.
Me and Ryan discussed hoping that when we became old women
we hoped our lives didn't revolve around cats
and that we wouldn't buy ugly pink shirts with obnoxious flowers on them, just because it's only a quarter.
Really it doesn't make sense for Ryan though.
Because he isn't a female, so that shouldn't be a problem.
Speaking of flowers
whenever i was little
i used to denounce the very idea and concept of flowers.
So today my mother was telling me about some bathing suits she saw in a window at macy's
and how she thought they'd look really cute on me
but then she saw they had flowers
so she knew i wouldn't wear them.
Now, there are two really adorable things about this.
One being that I really do like flowers now, because I think they look quaint, and elegant, and old, and indicative of a yellowing pattern found on an apron from the year 1940. Not to mention the fact that it always manages to blow my mind to think of such a thing forming out of something growing from the ground.
Additionally, it's really cute, that she thinks I could wear a bathing suit in general.
I'm not going to lie though, I thought it was sweet she's remembered all these years.
Anyways...
Today's a day where I can be comfortable in my own skin to an extent.
That is to say,
when I'm out in the sunshine,
and when i can buy diet soda and gum,
I can look around, and be fulfilled using my eyes.
So I'm suddenly not so concerned with trying to turn myself in a better person.
Because there's no guilt involved in admiring things that automatically make your heart flutter.
I'm sure if I wasn't so focues on turning myself in to a better person
it would happen automatically or some stupid shit like that.
I know all the tricks of the trade
and all the truth filled garbage sayings that everybody pukes in to their children's bodies.
I understand all the damn contradictions,
and the reasons,
and when I pose questions
usually I have a pretty good idea of an answer in my head.
It's just that I don't believe any of it.
There are too many possibilities to settle on one wise epiphany
so I prefer to keep Epiphany plentiful,
so one day,
I can carry them around on rosary beads
that I've changed from representing god
to representing possibility.
I don't like the idea of a god.
Really, I don't.
I mean I do to an extent.
Like, I like the god I think of when I look at the sky
and I imagine he's giving us a gift by making the sun shine through the clouds.
And I like the god I think of
that sees us all as precious.
But sometimes, religion in all
seems too unnecessarily certain to me
not to mention the fact
that the god in so many religions, seems sort of deviant and deceptive
and out to make us show how really terrible we are compared to him.
I want to be a good person because in my eyes
when we look at where we are the in the grand scheme of things
the idea of the human population is just so damned precious, and adorable, and naive.
(REDUNDANCY)
And we're all just operating the way we were programmed.
So really
the only way to make sure more people have less of that pain of being unhappy
is treat everybody really spectacularly.
Not so I can get in to heaven.
Not because people are made in God's image and likeness.
But just because .
I'm not saying I think religion is a terrible thing.
I mean, some people need the idea of a God.
Which isn't good, or bad, or smart, or stupid or anything.
It's just something they need to help them get through life in peace.
Hell
In all honestly, a part of me hopes he's real.
But there are other people out there
that can be ok with the idea of incomprehensible things.
Like everything
always just being
without ever being created.
The only reason it seems so far fetched
is because on earth
it isn't possible.
But in the grand scheme of existence,
earth is just one tiny little minuscule portion of existence.
So who's to say what could and couldn't be anywhere else?
Perhaps someone. Perhaps no one.
This whole thing is making me remember a quote I once read.
"I don't try to imagine a personal god; it suffices to stand in awe at the structure of the world, insofar as it allows our inadequate senses to appreciate it." -Albert Einstein
Albert Einstein used to be one of the people I hated most.
Or rather
I hated the idea of what I thought he was.
Just some man comming up with man made information using man made words to describe the way the world could be.
I hated how he called Atoms, Atoms,
and how he called Protons, Protons
like it was indisputable.
I don't dispute that what they call Atoms exist.
But what are they really?
Just something we decided to name Atoms.
Do we know what they're made of? Well we can see what they're made of theoretically.
But what are protons and neutrons, and electrons?
Hell
what are rocks, and sediment, and sand, and coal, and leaves, and dark matter, and gravity??
All we really know
is that they are I suppose.
Or maybe we do know more.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe I'm right.
Maybe both statements are wrong.
Maybe both are right.
But the thing is,
that's why
I used to hate the idea of Albert Einstein.
Before I discovered that he actually had something of a philisophical mind.
I came across that quote
when I was looking for something to help me describe my beliefs.
And now I think it's safe to say
that Albert Einstein
though one's typical idea of a logical scientist
was very open minded indeed.
I'm boring myself now.
Or rather, I'm just getting tired of trying to put my thoughts in to words.
Arevoi.
I've figured out why I hate human nature by the way;
Human nature is what's keeping my curse tied around my tummy.
Human nature is what's keeping my destruction
Human nature is what's making me want to perfect the imperfections I recognize that everybody has.
That's why I hate human nature.
Because it overrides any knowledge I might have
and forces me
in to a state irrevocable dissatisfaction
which ultimately
ties me down to an hour glass
who's space for dropping sand
is a little bigger
than it should have been.
