d0ntlook_now

So, I'm trying this new thing where I try to be a good person. I try, I really do. Okay, well at certain times I know I could be trying harder.. But I'm going to play the role of "victim of circumstance" in those particular circumstances. It is notttt my fault that people, to put it in simple terms, suck.

Wear socks to bed when you are sick.

Never save old text messages & then masochistically read them late at night. Or ever, really.

Always take your make-up off before bed.

Eat.

Do not wear white underwear with white clothes. Even though it seems to make sense.

Listen to old people.

Don't use embarrassing ringtones. Its bad enough when it rings in a place where its not supposed to. Beyonce addressing all of the single ladies in church is not received well.

Do not make irrational/emotionally driven phonecalls or text when intoxicated.

& you know, it's like I don't even know. But the thing is, livejournal, that I do know. I do. I really, really, do. But do I care? No. No, I don't care. Why? Because it's almost like I don't even know.

Oh hello Meltdown, how are you? I'm just peachy, thanks. What brings you here? Oh, here to see me you say? You flatter me too much, really. Oh, Meltdown, darling, you've always been tres drole. Accompany me? Why of course, as if you give me any choice with your undeniable charm...
Paris you say? I hear it's lovely this time of year...

Someday when we're older, wiser. Lonlier. Closer to death, is what I mean. We'll appreciate this then. For now we'll make our excuses about our busy lifestyles. Because the lawn won't mow itself and thinking is to have its own time slot. Time to think things over. Time to thing things through. Well, let me tell you something: I've thought things over, through, around, and under. My lawn is maintained at a perfect one and a quarter inches, and all I can think of now is how I can't wait to have nothing to think about. I cannot wait to have an overgrown lawn with weeds up to my belly button, and this.




It's too bad that this was then, and then isn't now.

I am constantly tired. No matter what I do or what I appear to be.

I don't know if I care because I care, or if I care because I've
always cared.

I kind of don't want to move.

I hateee second hand smoke.

I lost that ring.

I love painting.

I'm glad I lost that ring.

I'm sorry, but I still refuse to change.

Highschool was anything but the "golden years"

I'm scared at how easily that could have been me.

I very much enjoy being the only child.

I'd commit suicide if I was forced to move to suburbia. Seriously.

I'm ridiculously organized and unorganized at the very same time.

I have really weird dreams. I mix them up with reality. A lot.

I feel so guilty.

I don't think anything good will come of this. Yet, I continue to dig my grave.

Oh how I hate this new MSN. Can't they leave well enough alone? Goddamn progressive technology.

It just felt like my head was going to explode. No, I'm lying. It felt my entire cirulatory system was going to have a malfunction of epic proportions, one never before known to man, in which every artery and vein alike would burst through my skin and spill hot blood all over my bed that I'd made, and then made again. And then again. And again and again. I don't even make my bed. I don't do it. Rarely do I make my bed. This was one of those rare times. I had to hide my phone in a pile of clothes (my version of hiding my phone: thrown into pile of laundry so when looking for it to throw again, hopefully I'll get too fed up with trying to locate it that my temper would have cooled in the process.) I hid my phone and made my bed for something to do with my hands. But I had to keep doing it. I had to, it wasn't sitting well. Either the sheets would look wrinkled, or the duvet would look lumpy, or something something was wrong every time. On attempt number twenty-seven. I kid you not, the number was twenty-seven. Anyway, on attempt number twenty-seven, the issue that time was that it just looked wrinkled. Everything was fine, but it looked wrinkled. So, I backed out of the room quietly, careful not to disturb the finally un-lumpy duvet. I backed out and went for the iron. So I ironed my top sheet straight. Right on the bed I did. All this while my circulatory system malfunction of epic proportions was still underway and after I had finished the ironing is when I pictured the hot blood from said malfunction completely ruining my impeccably made bed. I just could not have that. No, absolutely not. So I sat atop a very cold patch of ceramic tile. I figured, ceramic tile is easy to clean. Also, I thought it best to put a few stories between myself and the upstairs bedrooms. I don't think I'd be able to look at the bed for too long. It would just drive me mad, the flawlessness of it.

HEY

YOU!



...yeah, you.
you know who you are.
...hi:)




that was actually supposed to be the end of my post but it reminded me of this book that i just bought. it's called "this is for you" by rob ryan. it's not some epic piece of literature or anything but i just find it adorable and meaningful. it kind of reminds me of the way i used to write when i used to write better than i do now. writing courses really ruin natural ability. all my writing is complete rubbish now. it's really unfortunate.


anyway, i've taken a great liking to rob ryan and his work. you can't really get a good feel for it unless you literally can feel it, have in in your hands and read it. but his blog is:
http://rob-ryan.blogspot.com/
if you want to check it out.




♥

There is no in between off the trail. You stray and you find heaven or hell. Paradise or purgatory.
So I can stray, searching the woods off of the path, risking complete personal hell, looking for the oasis that would make it all worth it. Or, stick to the trail that offers safety and protection from all harm that could ever come my way. The trail that leads not to an oasis, but a drinking fountain. The drinking fountain does the same job as the oasis.. but who really ever sees mirages of drinking fountains?




i completely understand why most artists/writers do drugs or drink heavily now.

I just wanted to hug them, all of them.
Now that I made them all so human, so real, it was too vivid that it hurt my eyes.
And these people, they live their lives and they do the things they have to do. And here I am.



lesson learned.

There is no air left. Not here, not anywhere. And if you think there is, then you can go ahead and breathe. But my air is gone.



----------------------------------------------------



I don't know why I felt the need to post this at almost 4am from my itouch in bed, under blankets... But I found this in an old notebook while writing my vignette & I hadn't even remembered it.. If it wasnt in my own chicken scratch, I'd never have known. I love finding arbitrary bits of writing that I don't quite remember.. Its like an unintentional vignette.

"Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you. Changes its mind... But hatred, now. That's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but hatred cradles you."
-Ingrid; White Oleander by Janet Fitch

dedicated to a friend of mine.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

on an unrelated topic to that of above (well, mostly unrelated anyway..) i have found inspiration for my writer's craft assignment. the price i payed for this inspiration may be a little bit steep. but great inspiration doesn't come cheap. i'm willing to endure for the cause.

"In a 1960s IBM film about the computer there is a good description of the creative process...
The narrator states that the artist is never bored. She looks at everything and stores it all up. She rejects nothing; she is completely uncritical. When a problem confronts her she goes through all the stuff she has collected, sorts out what seems to be helpful in this situation, and relates it in a new way, making a new solution. She prepares for leaps by taking in everything."
-Corita Kent

why you ask? because i'm not feeling particularly creative, interesting, or alive tonight/this morning.


nor will i for the rest of the day due to the fact that i am currently pulling an all nighter. around 5am i figured it would just be easier to stay up until my planned time of waking up (7:30am) and then start getting ready, than to get 2.5 hours of sleep and have it be absolute torture to get out of bed in the morning.


i can't complain though, this sleepless night was better than it's predecessors by far :)
":)" yes, that's right, a hint of emotion in an otherwise dispassionate entry.
i'm just trying to save myself from getting TOO happy about it okay?! just because i have an ounce of self-preservation..


look at what i've done, now i'm thinking about it again. ugh, damn you livejournal. excuse me, i've got to go distract myself now.




♥tp

i'm either becoming more delusional, or more confident.
it's 50/50.. could be either one.
or maybe even delusionally confident?
or confidently delusional?

after tonight..despite all of my doubt, i truly just want to say my conclusion out loud. not even necessarily to that person. just out loud in general.

i've decided.

no matter what

as much as it hurts me now and will most likely continue to

as senseless it is

i've decided.

i feel like i just sold my soul to the devil.
i'll tell you what the asking price was as soon as my head stops spinning long enough for me to remember.

i'm going to, i have to"
"DON'T do it, you lunatic"
"ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
"don't you dare press that button"
"i need to"
"no, you don't"
"yes, i do"
"do you really?"
"YES, GODDAMNIT"
"then do it."
"..what?"
"do it."
"BUT I CAN'T"
"just do it."
"are you CRAZY?"
"yes."
"i can't do that, it would ruin EVERYTHING."
"so don't do it then."
"MAKE UP YOUR MIND."
"that's your job."
"i want to more than anything."
"it will just be a mess."
"i know."
"so.."
"this is torture."
"be rational, you can't do it."
"fuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk."
"you need to stop swearing."
"what do i do nowwwwwwww."
"letter."
"OH! yes! okay. well, not like i have any other choice."
"shutup & write it."
"right."

a conversation with myself.
highlight the dialogue to read my sub-concious's lines.

clearly, i've lost it.

why would you show a person who was born blind what the world looks like.. all of the beauty in it.. and then take it away again. they wouldn't have known what they were missing. they would have gone on with life just fine. right?


why didn't i just stay blissfully blind?




---------------------------------------------------


i was going to make this a seperate entry.. but i figured i'd just edit it into my "blissfully blind" entry.
so, i got an offer to write a children's book. are you laughing yet? yeah, you should be. i'm not sure if i'm flattered or not. i mean, most children's books are just kind of fluff pieces aren't they? filled with... well, fluff. with the exception of dr.seuss & the like, of course. i don't even think that i could actually do it if i tried is the thing. i'd probably end up giving the poor kids nightmares.. even if i tried to make them the stories i would have liked as a child.. that would be even worse. they'd have nightmares for sure. i was an ever so slightly twisted child.. i liked scary, dark, characters & stories.

i think the closest thing to a children's story i could come to would be something like 'lemony snicket's a series of unfortunate events. which, if you've read the books or seen the movie, can be quite disturbing for young children at certain parts.

maybe it will foster a new generation of children who aren't scared of the dark & look for the monsters in their closets.

i'm not sure that's the best idea though.. such children will grow up into people like me. the future of humanity will be doomed.. thanks to my childrens' book.


maybe for the sake of mankind i'll stick to LJ for now.




♥tp

just off the top of my head..

i enjoy my solitude more than it is healthy to.
i don't even consider myself seventeen.
i don't actually like you.
i really like bad weather.
it wasn't enough.
i lied when i told her it would get better.
i don't believe you.
i didn't fall.
i love kenny chesney.
it's wrong, but i refuse to stop.
that only made it better.
i think bleach tastes good.
i think you're completely incorrect.
i will.. always.


waiting to wish the sun good morning & then maybe i can take a nap. maybe, if the sun permits me.

this is past "pretty"

i don't know how much i like this now. i mean that's what i've wanted, that's what everyone wants. but, when it comes down to it, isn't that what we hide behind? i know i do. as long as appearance counts, theres something to fall back on. some sort of safety net. what if appearance isn't even a factor? what if it has absolutely no role whatsoever. yes, then people will like you for you.. & don't we all want that. but then again, when people don't like you at that point, then they really don't like you.

it's an insecurity. it's okay if that guy doesn't like me, what does he know anyway.. he doesn't know me. he knows me in the shallow end of the pool, but we've never swam to the deep end together.. and everyone knows the shallow end doesn't really show how good of a swimmer you are. people want to go to the deep end with that person. but what if you do? what if you go to the deep end & they let you go.. you'll drown. if you stay in the shallow end & they let you go, you won't drown. when you let go in the shallow end, you're only letting go of the shallow too. letting go of shallow in its other sense.. letting go of the exterior, the apparent character, the speciousness. letting go of the deep, however, they chose to let go of so much more. they had all of you & didn't want it anymore.

water is a funny thing.. it can have you floating on top of the world one minute, & drowning, sinking to the bottom the next.