RIP

you dress like tom
and i want to cry.
i want to cry because you dress like tom.
i want to cry whenever you smile
and whenever you laugh, and whenever you breathe
and talk
and move
and stare with your little boy eyes.
i want to smile and act ridiculous and giddy and annoying and enamored beyond belief because I am
giddy and annoying and enamored beyond belief.

really, i don't think you're endearing enough.
i'm not dead yet.

why am i so great
at convincing myself that i'm crazy?
why am i so good
at convincing myself that i am
that insane girl that drives people away with her intensity;
that insane girl that scares people away;
that boring girl that people are momentarily enchanted with;

that girl that you have a crush on one day
and wake up the next morning going
"wow she's actually starting to annoy the fuck out of me"/"wow she's kind of obnoxious"/"wow she's really repetitive"/"wow she's really uninteresting"/"wow she talks a lot for someone with nothing to say"/"wow she has really low self esteem and that isn't very appealing"

i can feel myself sabotaging everything in my life.

and it's really getting tiring.

hey

i like you.

feeee

feel shitty.
but that's pretty unimportant.
i like to complain and talk about how i don't feel ok
and say i'm not feeling bad for myself.

there really is no reason for my mood.
ever.
i'm just never satisfied, and it's probably all my fault, but i really don't know how to be satisfied.
i honestly don't go in to things expecting them to be boring or stupid or unstimulating.
It's just that everything ends up making me feel that way even though I feel like I'm not in a closed minded state of low expectations.

i mean, it really doesn't feel like it,
but i feel like how i feel is all my fault.
i should change it, but when i try to smile and let things go
i end up getting this feeling in my stomach like i'm going to throw my intestines up.

still
it's all my fucking fault for being such a hard to please complanitory little bitch.

woke up this morning

and the first thing i started to think about
was how
when i was little, it really confused me
when people used the word "itch"
to both describe a sensation
as well as the action to counter said sensation.

why isn't there a word besides "scratch"
to substitute the word "itch" here meaning to take action to counter the sensation of an "itch"
scratch sounds like someone's taking a metal hair pick
and scratching open their skin repeatedly until it's all bloody and gross.

i don't know why the fuck i was thinking about that
because it's really stupid and something that i thought about as a child, but i did
and i wanted to write about it.

in other news
my cat won't leave me alone anymore.
i love him more than just about anything.
i don't know what his problem is; maybe he's dying
but i don't think so
and i don't even want to entertain that thought
so i'm just gonna assume
he's just really grown to be attached to me over the past 8 years.
he goes upstairs with me, lays with me all night,
follows me downstairs in the morning,
sits on my lap whenever i sit down, follows me when i leave the room
and lays with me when i lounge lazily on the couch.
right now,
it's kind of hard to type, because he's on my lap but also on my arm and i don't want to move him because he's purring and soft and really comfortable.

this is what i want

i want to sit around
and listen to the Mountain Goats and Benjy Ferree
i wanna discuss my philosophy on life, and existence.
i want to watch documentaries and physics lectures and and laugh a lot.
i want you to know i feel the way you do.
i want you to know that i know you don't' want me too
and don't believe i do
because really
i guess i don't.

i want to starve
and kiss
and sleep
and lay
and puke
and starve
and kiss
and sleep
and lay
and puke

and watch movies, and read books; the good kinds, not Twilight, or Judy Blume.
i want to research things and talk for a little while and feel passionate.

what the fuck am i talking about?
i don't even know you.
you aren't even real.

i still think you're pretty though.
in my mind at least, you're very wonderful.
even though i've never met you,
and i don't even know if you exist.

i want to feel ok with you.

In the Country Side, You have to Abide

i keep feeling like every little thing everyone says anywhere is directed at me, and it makes me so angry for a couple of reason.

#1.
It's assumptive. I'm acting like everyone is concerned enough with my existence to make snide remarks to me or about me, even though in reality, i know they don't. I'm not saying that like "hohumnoonelovesme". I'm saying it like, i'm really not a huge part of most people's lives, just like i don't want to be.

#2.
I know why it is i keep thinking that everything negative that anyone says is about me. Because I'm paranoid. I'm so afraid of being all of those things.

#3.
I don't know why I'm terrified of being thought of in any way, because I really don't feel like I care what other people think. I'm just afraid of letting myself down, and since i have this goal of being nice,
this goal of treating humans with respect and dignity- the way i know it feels good to be treated- it means i'm failing if i'm not what i think i should be.

in effect, other people's opinion of me, makes me introspective, and i start feeling like i'm not doing what i set out to do, because that's just how i feel when i'm introspective.

#4.
I realize that I'm very complanitory and it's so very upsetting to me, because I never mean to be. I really just get frusterated with a lot of things; things i feel are wrong, and i don't know how to change it.


today, i walked to noble manor, bought a 2 liter bottle of mountain dew at shop and save,
and three pack of trident gum at rite aid,
a six inch sub,
and this really incredible medallion necklace thing.
i threw up last night at 3 in the morning, and hadn't eaten all day
so when i took a swig of that mountain dew,
i felt like it was burning a whole in my esophagus.
it was the kind of painful where you lose the ability to think rationally, and you start going
"oh my god, what if i'm dying? what if i did some internal damage that i'm unaware of?"

my mom and dad's 20th anniversary is today, and it makes me sad.
i don't know why, it just does. i feel like what they have is impossible for anyone to have
and like they just got really lucky.
i mean, sure, people stay married for 50 years and longer
but i wonder if they really still like each other after the first couple of years.
or if they're just kind of really great friends with the person, and occasionally engage in recreational intercourse.
maybe the all of married life, after the honeymoon period, is being deprived of that blissful feeling of enchantment you get when you're with someone in the beginning.
i think it's so shitty that that has to go away. i don't want it too, and i wish it wouldn't, and i hope i can find somebody who i feel enchanted with for all of my life.

today, i was looking for shirts in the thrift store, and i was getting really frustrated.
i like a lot of the clothing i found, but the thing is, things always manage to look very terrible on me,
despite how attractive they are off of me.
it's because i have boobs that are too big, and barely any hips.
when i go clothes shopping, i always end up leaving wishing that i was tiny.
wishing that i had tiny little bones, and a tiny little body, and tiny little feet, and hands, and ankles, and legs.

today i had a conversation, and during this conversation
i could relax a little because everything the other person was saying was everything i've been thinking.

i'm trying to feel alive.
i'm trying to feel excited about life.
i'm trying to feel the euphoria of simply being alive, and i can't because the world i'm living in is getting in my way.
i feel so helpless;
and i keep tyring to think of ways i can get away from it.
thinking of ways to fix whatever is making me so uncomfortable.
but i can't even put my finger on what exactly it is that i'm missing.
the closest i can come, is imagining a field like this:




i know it's very cliche, but if i was in a dress,
a very flowy one, that was white, and my hair was down, and i had no makeup on
and there was a lake near by, and i was laughing with someone about something very silly
and i felt like i was just being beautiful and miraculous with the rest of the world in it's incredible existence...
i feel like i could be ok. If i could just focus on how grateful i am, and how astonished i am, that i have consciousness
even if i don't understand it.

"I am getting so far out one day I won't come back at all."

once, i said

"i'm always underestimating my body's ability to use emotions
to make petty things seem ever so important.
it does it practically all the time. and i'm a hypocrite because i hate petty things and conversations"

i still feel that way
but in a sense that doesn't make sense
because everything may or may not be petty.
my problem is, i don't even want to run the risk of being petty
which in itself could be petty

so in effect, i don't want to be human, or alive
which is stupid, and ridiculous,
and i an expectation I've given myself for reasons i don't understand.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

When i walked outside, it wasn't raining. The air was dry, the wind blew gently through the desperate reaching limbs of trees, and the ground was covered in berries that'd fallen from the same exact arms that now waved gracefully at the clouds above.

It wasn't raining when i walked outside;

But as i stepped down off of the curb, and began to move across the cracking, pothole ladden street, i noticed that silently, falling around my shoes and on to the street below me, there were appearing tiny droplets of a liquid that glimmered mysteriously in the overcast light provided by the sun.

Out of habit, I turned my head up towards the sky, and waited to feel the beads of water droplets fall in to my open eyes. But when the liquid continued to drop around me, and no rain splashed against the membrane of my corneas, i looked hurriedly to my hands in confusion.

Where was it coming from? Was something leaking in my bag?
Usually the source of such anomalies can be found within moments, and the confusion I was experiencing at the hands of this mysterious liquid was mounting.

I couldn't think of an explanation for it's presence until I finally stopped to take a good look at my fingers.

At first, I figured I must have been hallucinating. After all, everything I was witnessing went against the laws of nature themselves. Liquefied flesh? Droplets of skin, milky with the color of my body, falling away from me, and hitting the ground below? It couldn't be. There had to be some sort of logical explanation.
Maybe I'd managed to contaminate my hands with some acidic chemical.
Maybe I was dreaming, and would wake up to find my fingers whole, and solid, just as they had been when I had lain down to fall asleep.

But I wasn't waking up. And as the moments continued to pass, more and more of me began splattering away on to the asphalt below as I gazed down at the puddles in horror and disbelief. I couldn't tell if it was my imagination, as the droplets began becoming more steady, turning in to a stream of liquid pouring out much faster than it initially had, nor did I know whether or not to believe it when the droplets began falling from further and further up my arms,
and from my face,
and from my legs.

My heart was beating so heavily i couldn't even hear myself muttering in denial.
Panic was taking hold, and my mind began racing, as I began running.
Back across the street, I sprinted on wobbly legs that splattered the ground with the fluid as I went.
I was beginning to loose feeling in my body, and it was taking everything i had in me, just to continue running.
My hands bare, and my bones peeking out, dripping the same exact liquid that had been falling from my flesh
and i was slipping around in my shoes, on top of my slimy, disintegrating feet.
I was tingling all over, and my body continued to drip away like wax from a candle. I don't know if I was crying, or if my eye balls were simply melting out of my head because my whole entire body was sopping now, as i crumbled to the floor of my house, with the painful awareness that i was coming more and more apart; getting further and further away from myself; becoming more and more impossible to put back together.

I could smell the flesh, and I gagged. Heaving, i sent warm acid up my esophagus, and stared out at the shapes of organs turned decayed and shapeless in the puddles in which my face was now dripping. I could feel myself growing closer to the floor. Feel as I was spread thinner and thinner amongst the cracks of tiling, intermingling with the vomited organs and acid. My legs were gone. My arms were gone. My head was gone. And My torso was gone. I tried to scream, but I couldn't do anything except feel the cold floor all over my being. My form was gone. I had no figure and I was I was no figure.
No shape.
No thing,
but just puddles.
A sick pool of degenerated waste, bubbling in erosion and seeping in to the corners with the drywall,
never letting go of the figure that was me.

i feel like typing is a lot quicker than writing manually, even though i prefer writing manually.
i hope nobody reads this thing, except the people i'm ok with reading it.

the idea of maturity really just bothers me.
how can anyone know what goes on inside anyone else's head.
i mean, you can use the things people say and do and how they talk to try to get a gauge,
but thoughts, and words, and actions are can be entirely disconnected.

and who's to say what is mature and what isn't.
i've harped on this before, so i'm not going to do it again, it's just been on my mind quite a lot lately.

not terribly important, but present. I really like Jack Kerouac.
i always have this feeling of restlessness, and discomfort.
like i'm without something that i really can't be without and i never know what it is.
i just keep shaking my leg impatiently. feeling edgy. like i'm waiting to leave a party that somebody dragged me too. i want to go home.
and i want somebody i can cling too.
somebody i can base my life around, because i'm just a baby
and i want my nanny around all the time.

i'm going to become perfectly angelic in everything i do.
what i mean is, i'm not going to do anything that is in the slightest way "wrong".
i already don't do what i consider "wrong"
but i'm going to stop doing things my parents think are wrong, even though i'm not sure what will and won't be thought of in a negative light.
i think it'll make life easier on me, actually. i won't like it, but i've made things so difficult for myself by doing what i believe in, so i'm just going to lie down, and let the freight train roll over me. Until i leave.
which will be very soon.

SHUT UP SO COMPLANITORY

i really want to say thank you for giving me that closure.

i really want to wrap my hands around your throat, and squeeze so hard, your wobbly, wrinkled, fleshy neck just seeps out through the cracks in my fingers. i think you're the only one i can be completely uninhibited with, you precious old bat. you and that fucking jim henson puppet that walks around. but you don't understand.

i can't picture my life without this. i cling to it. i want it. i want it to lead me down the left path. i want to die because i this. don't you think i know that's wrong? don't you think i wish i didn't want that so much? i do. i really do. but i do want it, and i don't want to fight it. when i was laying on that couch, and you were talking in to that tape recorder, i wanted to cry, because i couldn't even picture a life without it. i've never been fulfilled on my own. i've never felt ok on my own. this is all i have. when i was laying on that couch, and you were talking in to that tape recorder, i kept thinking about how i wanted to reach over and grab the huge pillow behind me, and reassure it, like it was the angel of decay you're trying to rid me of. it's the only one that cares about me. it's the only one that nourishes me whilst simultaneously destroying me. i know everyone hates me and thinks i'm crazy and that i want to be this way. i do. but that's just the angel talking, and she's gotten so loud, and she's stroked my hair, when i cried myself to sleep too many times. she knows that if i die, that's what i need. that's what i want. i know you're all angry, and i'm sorry. the last thing i would ever want to do is hurt anyone of you. but this is the way i know how to live. and if it kills me, i'm glad, because then, i'll have eternal relief, instead of intermittent moments of solice.

maybe i'm just having a bad time. i really desperately want to live. i want to be happy, and ignore my stupidity, and be in awe over my own beauty; the beauty that comes with being a part of the world, because it's so incredibly mind boggling to me. but i can't do that. so this is how i'm living instead, because no one will let me be the way i want to be. i'm a fish born out of water, and all i can do is harvest some oxygen out of urine, pissed out from Hobos.

dear everything,

i miss you.
i want you all back.
every little thing.

Hahahaha

it never ceases to amaze me
when someone i never even thought of as male
requests sex with me.

hilarious.
and sad making.

oh, hi.

you're sick.
your nails are falling out, and sticking to your feet
because the skin on them are disintegrating due to confusion.
it's hard to remember what gravity is supposed to feel like
when you defy it so very often.

but i'm used to it by now,
so my eyes glaze over,
and get covered in sugar or salt of something so i can't even see
and it's easier that way.

you know
a year after that fuckin crock bit my leg off
it was pretty much all i thought about
but i've gotten used to this prosthetic leg
and now it's just goddamn boring.

thank you for talking to me the other day.
i really miss the hell out of you darling.
i forget to let myself be happy sometimes, and you remind me of all those wonderful times we had.
jackie said
if i don't go to college right after school though,
i'll have to pay for it.
i don't know what to do though.
i'm really torn, because i never felt more at peace with the future
then i did when we talked about me leaving.
it was the first time that panicky feeling left my chest, and i felt like i could breathe.

i want something to love.
this is all very boring.