If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand crimes, my dear,
Be certain you leave not a mark as you fall through the air.
Somehow I knew from the start that you needed to fear, my dear -
Your teeth gleamed out bright as your feet kicked away the chair.
You must have looked lovely, that night in the snow,
Your tongue flashing quick as the shadows do grow,
Lovely and vicious and soft as the fog,
Upend the bottle and drink all the grog,
You stumble and fall into covetous eyes,
Enveloped in hands that seek your demise,
Blink back the tears and never be free,
But you'll leave all that to me,
All that to me.
If I've told you twice, I've told you too many rhymes, my dear -
Be certain to take all you can, possessions are rare.
I tried to say from the start that you would end here, my dear -
Smashed all to bits, broken beyond all repair.
And this isn't quite what you expected of me,
And this isn't quite what you wanted to be,
Lovely and weak as if wed at sixteen,
Full of false hope and incurable dreams,
Hips bulging outward, breasts weighed right down,
The dancer of springtime has torn off her gown,
And you'll take it or leave it, you won't understand,
This is according to plan,
According to plan.
If I've told you thrice, you've gone too far to hear, my dear -
Be certain to stifle your cries, the children will stare.
They didn't know the machine would break down right here, so queer -
But that life is done and the sightless eyes bulge and despair.
But your body was used up, alone and forlorn -
Lips painted red and body's all torn,
Bred for good breeding, a forgotten horse,
Couldn't live long once it can't stay the course,
Wouldn't fade quickly and die in due time,
Write a suicide note with a terrible rhyme,
Ascend the staircase and hang up the noose,
Smile once more, that there's nothing to lose,
Nothing to lose.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Frenzy
The street was dark, by darkened footsteps trod,
My step was light upon the grime, my purpose rather not.
For I was in the service of a wicked and grim god,
Who was mostly all-concerned with death and rot.
But the wicked are not bowed by guilt and pointless shame,
So I was light upon my feet, my hands were quick and strong.
I passed some shapes, their ends and means the same,
But without the understanding that we're wrong.
We're wrong and we do wrongs,
We're the monsters in the songs,
And we do not belong,
so come along.
And so we began to swarm, in the darkened street.
A swarm of men, I think you'll find, is quite a sight.
A school of small piranha fish around a slab of meat,
And when the meat has names, it tries to fight.
The frenzy may seem as though it won't arrive,
But it washes over the mob with great haste,
And though the meat endeavours to survive -
Well. Such a pity. Such a waste.
We're wastes, and we make waste.
And what a change of taste,
But they can be replaced,
Without a trace.
The sun won't rise - not for them, and not for us.
In punishment for the horror on our hands.
To think that we are monsters? Ludicrous!
I do not think you seek to understand.
For you condemn our place in all your hearts -
A bacchic wish, a cutting blade, a scream.
The frenzy that descends is expression of art,
A bloodlust, given form from formless dreams.
We're dreams and we can dream,
We're violently redeemed,
And we aren't as extreme,
As we seem.
My step was light upon the grime, my purpose rather not.
For I was in the service of a wicked and grim god,
Who was mostly all-concerned with death and rot.
But the wicked are not bowed by guilt and pointless shame,
So I was light upon my feet, my hands were quick and strong.
I passed some shapes, their ends and means the same,
But without the understanding that we're wrong.
We're wrong and we do wrongs,
We're the monsters in the songs,
And we do not belong,
so come along.
And so we began to swarm, in the darkened street.
A swarm of men, I think you'll find, is quite a sight.
A school of small piranha fish around a slab of meat,
And when the meat has names, it tries to fight.
The frenzy may seem as though it won't arrive,
But it washes over the mob with great haste,
And though the meat endeavours to survive -
Well. Such a pity. Such a waste.
We're wastes, and we make waste.
And what a change of taste,
But they can be replaced,
Without a trace.
The sun won't rise - not for them, and not for us.
In punishment for the horror on our hands.
To think that we are monsters? Ludicrous!
I do not think you seek to understand.
For you condemn our place in all your hearts -
A bacchic wish, a cutting blade, a scream.
The frenzy that descends is expression of art,
A bloodlust, given form from formless dreams.
We're dreams and we can dream,
We're violently redeemed,
And we aren't as extreme,
As we seem.
Religi -
Created sick, commanded to be sound.
Born lost and promised you'll be found -
Raised by chains and told that you are free,
I do not believe that your god is for me.
What vanity to mold us in a vein,
And expect that from impulse, refrain.
One would call that pointless work insane!
The product of a clearly broken brain.
And you seek to convince me with a book?
Your holy writ, your pack of lies, your hook?
Words are a -
You know what, fuck it, I can't finish this one.
Born lost and promised you'll be found -
Raised by chains and told that you are free,
I do not believe that your god is for me.
What vanity to mold us in a vein,
And expect that from impulse, refrain.
One would call that pointless work insane!
The product of a clearly broken brain.
And you seek to convince me with a book?
Your holy writ, your pack of lies, your hook?
Words are a -
You know what, fuck it, I can't finish this one.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Loyalties
A box full of memories thrown in the sea.
A gun, with blood on the trigger. How did this happen?
A hood and a smile and proud words to a murderer.
A black heart, red lips and a shadow to hide in.
The mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
Your solution, morally dubious.
Take the plunge and don't sleep nights.
Poisoned blood, blooded poison, keeping us safe.
A daughter who kills with a sway of her hips.
A son who seeks to kill as you do, and must be stopped.
A virus that can change the way you see the world,
A father slain by machines he sought to control.
Utopia, surrounded by the weakened and dying.
You are king, hale by design.
But whose design? Your creator's whim?
Wombless, adrift, purposeless purpose.
Vengeance. All that remains, vengeance.
Take the shot, a clean death. Blood for blood.
Dead cells, empty cells, a bomb in a ruin.
Unnatural perfection bound up in rage.
A pair of legs that don't work.
A doctor who drinks brandy and severs ties, limbs.
A chipper young woman dragged away screaming.
A voice with no soul who makes you laugh.
A box of memories, thrown in the sky.
A gun, with blood on the trigger. How did this happen?
A hood and a smile and proud words to a murderer.
A black heart, red lips and a shadow to hide in.
The mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
Your solution, morally dubious.
Take the plunge and don't sleep nights.
Poisoned blood, blooded poison, keeping us safe.
A daughter who kills with a sway of her hips.
A son who seeks to kill as you do, and must be stopped.
A virus that can change the way you see the world,
A father slain by machines he sought to control.
Utopia, surrounded by the weakened and dying.
You are king, hale by design.
But whose design? Your creator's whim?
Wombless, adrift, purposeless purpose.
Vengeance. All that remains, vengeance.
Take the shot, a clean death. Blood for blood.
Dead cells, empty cells, a bomb in a ruin.
Unnatural perfection bound up in rage.
A pair of legs that don't work.
A doctor who drinks brandy and severs ties, limbs.
A chipper young woman dragged away screaming.
A voice with no soul who makes you laugh.
A box of memories, thrown in the sky.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Winking Out
All across the universe, the stars are winking out.
So we set off in spaceships, to see what that's about.
We fought across the galaxy, to bring them back the light,
But we didn't tread carefully, swallowed up by the night.
And all across the sky, they yet burn, they yet hunger.
All across the sky, they yet seek, they yet fight, they drag under.
No more dreaming of a world free from war, free from slaughter.
No more hunting like a hound for a torch, for a beacon in the water.
No more fighting like a fiend, like a god, like a sword -
Like a bow, like a beast, like a fist,
Like a man, so alive with the bloodshed.
All across the universe, the voices raise in horror,
For the stars are winking out, the light is fading from them.
We tried to save them from it, tried to keep their fires glowing,
But as they fade our fires are the only ones worth knowing.
No more dreaming of a world free from fear, free from chaos.
No more cutting like a knife through the sky, like a bullet from the madness.
No more praying like a fool, for a god, for a sword -
For a fiend, for a bow, for a beast,
For a fist, of a man in the darkness.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
treading where no life has gone before.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
so let's all cry, as there's no hope no more.
So we set off in spaceships, to see what that's about.
We fought across the galaxy, to bring them back the light,
But we didn't tread carefully, swallowed up by the night.
And all across the sky, they yet burn, they yet hunger.
All across the sky, they yet seek, they yet fight, they drag under.
No more dreaming of a world free from war, free from slaughter.
No more hunting like a hound for a torch, for a beacon in the water.
No more fighting like a fiend, like a god, like a sword -
Like a bow, like a beast, like a fist,
Like a man, so alive with the bloodshed.
All across the universe, the voices raise in horror,
For the stars are winking out, the light is fading from them.
We tried to save them from it, tried to keep their fires glowing,
But as they fade our fires are the only ones worth knowing.
No more dreaming of a world free from fear, free from chaos.
No more cutting like a knife through the sky, like a bullet from the madness.
No more praying like a fool, for a god, for a sword -
For a fiend, for a bow, for a beast,
For a fist, of a man in the darkness.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
treading where no life has gone before.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
so let's all cry, as there's no hope no more.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The Case 2
The scene is a chamber, draped with thick red curtains. The air is smoky and the lighting seductive - the atmosphere is that of a sordid little bordello. Reclining on a couch in the centre of the room is L, a whore. She is arrayed in a manner and garb that suggests but doesn't reveal. Enter S.
L: Well hello -
She eyes him up and down with distaste.
L: ...love. What's your pleasure?
S: Huh. This isn't the men's room.
L: Oh, like that is it? I swear, they always send the jokers to me. And by the smell of you, you're some kind of joke yourself. A joking joke, how about that? Are you one of M's? She's been trying to get back at me ever since I left her to handle those two Scots. She couldn't walk straight for a week, you know.
She eyes him up and down again, lips pursing.
L: Pretty poor joke, even for her. Look, love - I don't fuck punters with lice. No offence or anything, but it's hard enough to avoid things like that in a place like this. And if M sent you along, tell her she'll have to do better than that.
S finds his tongue.
S: You've got it all wrong, madam.
L: I'm no madam. Not yet, anyway.
S: Right, miss. Whatever you like. Fact is, I'm here on business.
L (laughing): Business, is it? Instead of pleasure? In here, they're one and the same, love. Though you'll be needing a wash before you get to do the business with anyone.
S pats himself down.
S: Not that kind of business. Do you think I just strolled in here, looking like this? As you've so charmingly put it, I reek. I stink of the gutter and I look like I've been living in it to boot. And as a matter of fact, I have been. Too many people in this world'll turn their noses up at a nice, cosy gutter. At least you don't have to share a gutter. That bed looks pretty comfy. How often do you have to share?
L: Often enough. Okay, I'll bite. What's a walking garbage dump like you doing in a place like this? More to the point, how did you get in?
S: One crisp banknote to the gorilla on the door, three crisp banknotes to the lovely woman at the front desk, and asking for you by name. You're quite famous, you know. In the gutters. Is it true that a man died in your arms, and your kiss stole his soul?
L: I wouldn't know about my kiss stealing his soul. He was over sixty, though. What can I say? He got overexcited. You'd be surprised how often that kind of thing happens in a place like this.
S: Yes, I'm sure you've seen it before. After all, you've lived in places like this since you were fourteen, haven't you? Do you know what they call you?
L: Don't say it.
S: The Nun, isn't it? Funny nickname for a whore. I suppose it must have to do with all the time you spend on your -
L: What do they call you? And more to the point, what the hell do you want? You're not interested in fucking me, despite the fact that you can't keep your eyes off me. You pay rather a lot of money to get into a room alone with me and then all you do is insult me and natter on about gutters. State your business or I'll call the matron. There are rules, you know.
S: Very well, we'll get down to it then. What would you do if I told you that the sun was rising at midnight?
L: That the moon would wax at midday. But wait a second -
S: Would you really? Well, in that case, I suppose I should inform you that the contest is over.
L: The victor the loser and the loser the victor. And the whores shall inherit the earth and take all the pleasure from it.
S: And with that pleasure they will hold the pleasured to ransom.
L: Taking all that was taken from them.
S: Withholding that which they were given.
L: Reclaiming what they gave! And then, when everything belongs for those who served for coin, they will make an end of it. No longer will man be slave to the orgasm.
S: No longer will women be slave to the orgasm.
L: The whole world's an orgasm.
S looks taken aback.
S: That isn't part of the script.
L: Fuck the script. I know what you're here for now, and you know that I'm who you were looking for. So fuck it. Fuck everything. Everything fucks and everything is fucked. The whole world's just one big orgasm.
S: Really? I always thought the world was a gigantic shit.
L: You're wrong. Working in a place like this, you figure out a few things. The world's what we call a screamer. The build-up is long, tough, hard. You might even bruise a bit, and you won't be good for walking much afterwards. But when the actual moment comes...
S: They scream?
L: That's one word for it. Have you ever heard a screamer? You stand there and smell like a dungheap, but I reckon you've been around the block a few times. You've probably had some pretty good sex, right?
S: My cock works the same as everyone else's.
L: I bet it does. Working here...living here...you get to see the ultimate in sex. A screamer is like nothing else on this planet. When the moment comes, you can't hold back. And I don't just mean you come. I don't even just mean you moan and your toes curl and you pant afterwards. A real screamer is one in a million. A real screamer is where everything that you are, every part of your soul, every bit of strength in your body is pushed out.. So much pleasure that there isn't room inside you for anything else, and everything that you are is forced out of you.
S: Out of your...
L: No. There's already stuff coming out there, if you're a man. And stuff coming in, if you're a woman. Didn't you pay attention in sex ed? So everything else has to come out of your mouth. It's more than a scream. It's everything. And then you take a huge, juddering breath right afterwards and pull it all back inside you.
S: And that's life, is it? A screamer?
L: It's a screamer without the breath, drawn out over years and years and years. You fill yourself up with pleasure until you don't have room to be you anymore, and then when your body's rotted away by all that pleasure and it can't take anymore, you go to take that huge breath to draw yourself back in, and you fall apart. That's life. You're either coming, or you're dead.
S: One time, I saw a man slit another man's throat for the change in his pocket. He had three silver coins, and he had his throat slit over it. He wasn't coming. Neither was the man who killed him. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was a distinct lack of orgasms in the area. There was plenty of shit though.
L laughs.
L: Love, that's not life. Life is here -
She fondles her breasts.
L: And here -
She indicates her crotch.
L: And if you're not with them, you're thinking about them, missing them, wondering when you can feel them next. That man with the coins? He was dead before the knife touched his throat. The man who did the killing? Dead hands on the blade. Everyone is dead unless they're fucking. Fucking is life.
S: I can see why they call you The Nun. This is practically religion.
L: Better. It's real. Now, you've got something to give me. Hand it over and get out. You've ruined my evening.
S: Sorry. Is it the smell? I'll do something about it next time I feel like being alive. Before I hand it over, you've got to say the last line. Orders are orders.
L rolls her eyes and gets up, crossing the floor to S. She puts a hand against his chest.
L: The end will come when dead men do.
S takes her hand and plants a kiss on it. From behind him, he presents a briefcase. L takes it calmly.
Lights down.
L: Well hello -
She eyes him up and down with distaste.
L: ...love. What's your pleasure?
S: Huh. This isn't the men's room.
L: Oh, like that is it? I swear, they always send the jokers to me. And by the smell of you, you're some kind of joke yourself. A joking joke, how about that? Are you one of M's? She's been trying to get back at me ever since I left her to handle those two Scots. She couldn't walk straight for a week, you know.
She eyes him up and down again, lips pursing.
L: Pretty poor joke, even for her. Look, love - I don't fuck punters with lice. No offence or anything, but it's hard enough to avoid things like that in a place like this. And if M sent you along, tell her she'll have to do better than that.
S finds his tongue.
S: You've got it all wrong, madam.
L: I'm no madam. Not yet, anyway.
S: Right, miss. Whatever you like. Fact is, I'm here on business.
L (laughing): Business, is it? Instead of pleasure? In here, they're one and the same, love. Though you'll be needing a wash before you get to do the business with anyone.
S pats himself down.
S: Not that kind of business. Do you think I just strolled in here, looking like this? As you've so charmingly put it, I reek. I stink of the gutter and I look like I've been living in it to boot. And as a matter of fact, I have been. Too many people in this world'll turn their noses up at a nice, cosy gutter. At least you don't have to share a gutter. That bed looks pretty comfy. How often do you have to share?
L: Often enough. Okay, I'll bite. What's a walking garbage dump like you doing in a place like this? More to the point, how did you get in?
S: One crisp banknote to the gorilla on the door, three crisp banknotes to the lovely woman at the front desk, and asking for you by name. You're quite famous, you know. In the gutters. Is it true that a man died in your arms, and your kiss stole his soul?
L: I wouldn't know about my kiss stealing his soul. He was over sixty, though. What can I say? He got overexcited. You'd be surprised how often that kind of thing happens in a place like this.
S: Yes, I'm sure you've seen it before. After all, you've lived in places like this since you were fourteen, haven't you? Do you know what they call you?
L: Don't say it.
S: The Nun, isn't it? Funny nickname for a whore. I suppose it must have to do with all the time you spend on your -
L: What do they call you? And more to the point, what the hell do you want? You're not interested in fucking me, despite the fact that you can't keep your eyes off me. You pay rather a lot of money to get into a room alone with me and then all you do is insult me and natter on about gutters. State your business or I'll call the matron. There are rules, you know.
S: Very well, we'll get down to it then. What would you do if I told you that the sun was rising at midnight?
L: That the moon would wax at midday. But wait a second -
S: Would you really? Well, in that case, I suppose I should inform you that the contest is over.
L: The victor the loser and the loser the victor. And the whores shall inherit the earth and take all the pleasure from it.
S: And with that pleasure they will hold the pleasured to ransom.
L: Taking all that was taken from them.
S: Withholding that which they were given.
L: Reclaiming what they gave! And then, when everything belongs for those who served for coin, they will make an end of it. No longer will man be slave to the orgasm.
S: No longer will women be slave to the orgasm.
L: The whole world's an orgasm.
S looks taken aback.
S: That isn't part of the script.
L: Fuck the script. I know what you're here for now, and you know that I'm who you were looking for. So fuck it. Fuck everything. Everything fucks and everything is fucked. The whole world's just one big orgasm.
S: Really? I always thought the world was a gigantic shit.
L: You're wrong. Working in a place like this, you figure out a few things. The world's what we call a screamer. The build-up is long, tough, hard. You might even bruise a bit, and you won't be good for walking much afterwards. But when the actual moment comes...
S: They scream?
L: That's one word for it. Have you ever heard a screamer? You stand there and smell like a dungheap, but I reckon you've been around the block a few times. You've probably had some pretty good sex, right?
S: My cock works the same as everyone else's.
L: I bet it does. Working here...living here...you get to see the ultimate in sex. A screamer is like nothing else on this planet. When the moment comes, you can't hold back. And I don't just mean you come. I don't even just mean you moan and your toes curl and you pant afterwards. A real screamer is one in a million. A real screamer is where everything that you are, every part of your soul, every bit of strength in your body is pushed out.. So much pleasure that there isn't room inside you for anything else, and everything that you are is forced out of you.
S: Out of your...
L: No. There's already stuff coming out there, if you're a man. And stuff coming in, if you're a woman. Didn't you pay attention in sex ed? So everything else has to come out of your mouth. It's more than a scream. It's everything. And then you take a huge, juddering breath right afterwards and pull it all back inside you.
S: And that's life, is it? A screamer?
L: It's a screamer without the breath, drawn out over years and years and years. You fill yourself up with pleasure until you don't have room to be you anymore, and then when your body's rotted away by all that pleasure and it can't take anymore, you go to take that huge breath to draw yourself back in, and you fall apart. That's life. You're either coming, or you're dead.
S: One time, I saw a man slit another man's throat for the change in his pocket. He had three silver coins, and he had his throat slit over it. He wasn't coming. Neither was the man who killed him. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was a distinct lack of orgasms in the area. There was plenty of shit though.
L laughs.
L: Love, that's not life. Life is here -
She fondles her breasts.
L: And here -
She indicates her crotch.
L: And if you're not with them, you're thinking about them, missing them, wondering when you can feel them next. That man with the coins? He was dead before the knife touched his throat. The man who did the killing? Dead hands on the blade. Everyone is dead unless they're fucking. Fucking is life.
S: I can see why they call you The Nun. This is practically religion.
L: Better. It's real. Now, you've got something to give me. Hand it over and get out. You've ruined my evening.
S: Sorry. Is it the smell? I'll do something about it next time I feel like being alive. Before I hand it over, you've got to say the last line. Orders are orders.
L rolls her eyes and gets up, crossing the floor to S. She puts a hand against his chest.
L: The end will come when dead men do.
S takes her hand and plants a kiss on it. From behind him, he presents a briefcase. L takes it calmly.
Lights down.
Mind Vomit
There's a towering heart that blots out the sun,
And there's a footsore runner whose race is won,
And there's a mighty king whose time is done,
And there's one, there's only one.
And there's this dreadful noise inside my thoughts,
Rolling around my head -
How can nobody hear it?
It's enough to wake the dead.
And there are bells that chime,
And there's a man that rhymes,
And we're all out of time,
Time, time, time!
And as I move my body towards you,
As your fingers grasp the air,
As I move my hands, my face, my feet,
To catch you unaware.
There's nothing left inside my mind,
There's nothing that there is to find,
There's nothing but this hellish grind,
Take mind, take mind, take mind.
For gods will weep, and beggars rule,
Wise men laugh and act the fool,
The sun will wax, the moon will wane,
And nothing will ever be the same.
And there's a footsore runner whose race is won,
And there's a mighty king whose time is done,
And there's one, there's only one.
And there's this dreadful noise inside my thoughts,
Rolling around my head -
How can nobody hear it?
It's enough to wake the dead.
And there are bells that chime,
And there's a man that rhymes,
And we're all out of time,
Time, time, time!
And as I move my body towards you,
As your fingers grasp the air,
As I move my hands, my face, my feet,
To catch you unaware.
There's nothing left inside my mind,
There's nothing that there is to find,
There's nothing but this hellish grind,
Take mind, take mind, take mind.
For gods will weep, and beggars rule,
Wise men laugh and act the fool,
The sun will wax, the moon will wane,
And nothing will ever be the same.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Birthdays, Freedom, Chains.
Oh thank god, the internet here is strong enough to blog.
So! Hi! Hello! It's been a little while! I probably need to catalogue a LOT of things. And then I'm going to write a bit of prose because I promised myself that I would. So, there's that to look forward to at the end, lovely.
Jeez, how far back to go?
The Witches ended. I don't think I did a post about The Witches ending, good lord, we've got a lot of ground to cover. So The Witches ended - phenomenal show, phenomenal people. The poster is on my wall, the cast photo is on my wall, the lines WON'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD and every now and then I sit for a bit and sigh and realise that the whole she-bang is over and I don't get to do it anymore. I met some amazing people. I did some amazing things. There were some amazing in-jokes (Millie's ready for dinner! Diagon Alley! Honey badger don't give a shit! Ah, in a year's time I'm going to look back and think I'm insane!) and all in all I was a part of a show that I'm insanely proud of.
So! Hi! Hello! It's been a little while! I probably need to catalogue a LOT of things. And then I'm going to write a bit of prose because I promised myself that I would. So, there's that to look forward to at the end, lovely.
Jeez, how far back to go?
The Witches ended. I don't think I did a post about The Witches ending, good lord, we've got a lot of ground to cover. So The Witches ended - phenomenal show, phenomenal people. The poster is on my wall, the cast photo is on my wall, the lines WON'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD and every now and then I sit for a bit and sigh and realise that the whole she-bang is over and I don't get to do it anymore. I met some amazing people. I did some amazing things. There were some amazing in-jokes (Millie's ready for dinner! Diagon Alley! Honey badger don't give a shit! Ah, in a year's time I'm going to look back and think I'm insane!) and all in all I was a part of a show that I'm insanely proud of.
"It doesn't matter who you are, or what you look like, as long as somebody loves you."
So. There's that. What happened next? My birthday happened! Yes, I'm now 19. That isn't going to get a special post to itself this year because I don't have a long list of gifts to catalogue and a whole lot of insane expectations this year. I'm 19. 19 is a number. I recieved one very amazing gift and I went out to dinner with friends. It was a good time. I spent the actual birthday alone in my room feeling morbid, which I think is the proper way to spend a birthday, but the dinner on the following day was very good. Let's move on from that. I'm 19, hurrah, hurrah. /throws paper streamers around the place.
Now on to less lovely things. Last week I had to move out of the Team Galactic house and into a sharehouse. I had to do this incredibly quickly, because I was being threatened with physical violence. I'm not going to go into the why and the how of it all because that's just going to make me feel bitter about everything (which I am, oh so very bitter - I mean, seriously? Over a fucking toilet? Did you just wake up and decide that being a cunt would be fun that da - okay, yeah, let's not go over it) but I will mention it here because this is a very abrupt end to something that I dedicated a very large portion of my life to. I loved Baesty, Jennifer, whatever you want to call her. I loved her like I've never loved anybody else on this planet; unconditionally, completely, utterly, with every inch of me. And in the end that was a bad, bad, bad thing, because for whatever reason she decided that I wasn't worth respect, and when somebody that you love that much won't treat you with respect, how can you respect yourself? So I no longer love her, just like that. I loved her for almost three years with everything I had and over the past two weeks I've had to shut that off like a tap. And somehow I've managed it. My self-preservation instinct is very strong. I suppose in a way it's a shame that she never had any interest in my blog, but then again, this probably isn't saying anything she didn't already conclude. Oh well.
Oh, and as an endnote on that whole situation - Brans, you're a cunt, and I'm a cunt, and for a while we were each other's cunts. At the end of it all, you were the only reason I was still living there, and although when I actually left you were the only person who abused me on the way out, I can't bring myself to mind. Sorry. You shouldn't have taken the side against me.
Right, enough of that, let's move on to something fantastic.
I have a boyfriend.
Me. A boyfriend. One that I want to be with and want to be monogamous with and do all of those lovely things. It's infatuation and romance and sheer, incredible lust and everything that's emotional and lovely and all those things that I didn't think I could feel for another person just erupting out of me in horrifying explosions of happiness and gay.
Keep your distance, people. Things could get messy.
Now I'm going to write a bit of prose.
Chained.
Threads of silk,
Stronger than steel,
Bound me to feel.
Marked your skin,
Marked my soul,
Swallow me whole.
Tie your binds to the foot of my bed,
Tie your face to the dreams in my head,
Tie my hands as my heart runs red -
I'm not dead.
Take my life, out into the night.
Take my eyes, for you're all in my sight.
Take my strength, take all of my might -
You blaze bright.
Collared neck,
And trusting eyes,
Pierce my lies.
Willing hands,
And smoothest skin,
Draw me in.
There. That'll do for the evening.
So. There's that. What happened next? My birthday happened! Yes, I'm now 19. That isn't going to get a special post to itself this year because I don't have a long list of gifts to catalogue and a whole lot of insane expectations this year. I'm 19. 19 is a number. I recieved one very amazing gift and I went out to dinner with friends. It was a good time. I spent the actual birthday alone in my room feeling morbid, which I think is the proper way to spend a birthday, but the dinner on the following day was very good. Let's move on from that. I'm 19, hurrah, hurrah. /throws paper streamers around the place.
Now on to less lovely things. Last week I had to move out of the Team Galactic house and into a sharehouse. I had to do this incredibly quickly, because I was being threatened with physical violence. I'm not going to go into the why and the how of it all because that's just going to make me feel bitter about everything (which I am, oh so very bitter - I mean, seriously? Over a fucking toilet? Did you just wake up and decide that being a cunt would be fun that da - okay, yeah, let's not go over it) but I will mention it here because this is a very abrupt end to something that I dedicated a very large portion of my life to. I loved Baesty, Jennifer, whatever you want to call her. I loved her like I've never loved anybody else on this planet; unconditionally, completely, utterly, with every inch of me. And in the end that was a bad, bad, bad thing, because for whatever reason she decided that I wasn't worth respect, and when somebody that you love that much won't treat you with respect, how can you respect yourself? So I no longer love her, just like that. I loved her for almost three years with everything I had and over the past two weeks I've had to shut that off like a tap. And somehow I've managed it. My self-preservation instinct is very strong. I suppose in a way it's a shame that she never had any interest in my blog, but then again, this probably isn't saying anything she didn't already conclude. Oh well.
Oh, and as an endnote on that whole situation - Brans, you're a cunt, and I'm a cunt, and for a while we were each other's cunts. At the end of it all, you were the only reason I was still living there, and although when I actually left you were the only person who abused me on the way out, I can't bring myself to mind. Sorry. You shouldn't have taken the side against me.
Right, enough of that, let's move on to something fantastic.
I have a boyfriend.
Me. A boyfriend. One that I want to be with and want to be monogamous with and do all of those lovely things. It's infatuation and romance and sheer, incredible lust and everything that's emotional and lovely and all those things that I didn't think I could feel for another person just erupting out of me in horrifying explosions of happiness and gay.
Keep your distance, people. Things could get messy.
Now I'm going to write a bit of prose.
Chained.
Threads of silk,
Stronger than steel,
Bound me to feel.
Marked your skin,
Marked my soul,
Swallow me whole.
Tie your binds to the foot of my bed,
Tie your face to the dreams in my head,
Tie my hands as my heart runs red -
I'm not dead.
Take my life, out into the night.
Take my eyes, for you're all in my sight.
Take my strength, take all of my might -
You blaze bright.
Collared neck,
And trusting eyes,
Pierce my lies.
Willing hands,
And smoothest skin,
Draw me in.
There. That'll do for the evening.
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