I’m cold.

Tue, 22 May 2007 03:23:13 GMT

“There’s a way that still warm air can make me feel incredibly lonely and small. Just the silence of it allows me to hear the world completely and how exposed I am in it.”

-JT LeRoy The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things

it's only me, it's not my mind.

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 03:34:46 GMT

Our silhouettes are kissing
But our lips aren’t touching.

Patiently she stood,
Gazing down upon the
Small creek below,
Iced over and dusted
With powdery snow.
Freezing bare dry hand
Clutched the banister of
Wood so tightly, a
Splinter penetrates her
Flesh and two red drops
Materialize on the ice below.

Howling, cry out to the atmosphere around you!

You blink.
Suddenly shards of glass
Are penetrating your feeble
Heart;
They tear through your chest
Without remorse, crimson rain
Pours upon wounded flesh.
Ice embraces you,
Moves through your veins
like a shot of oxygen.
She is toxic, her kiss murders
And she drives men mad.
Her thorns are razor sharp
Talons that leave
Her lovers broken, yet
She is the one who craves
The pain.
Lifting the splintered
Wooden crucifix, she closes
Her eyes. Three, two, one.
The geese flew south for
The coming winter
As I bled out before
Your eyes.

I see flashes of footprints
In the dark neon x-ray bombs,
Blooming, exploding, the
Cells of my lost brain.
It toys with me;
It comes and goes at will,
Always sneak attacks.
For this is guerilla warfare.
I cannot stare down the troops
Of madness as they play
With my psyche.
Pulsating, pounding, little
Tribal natives hammering
At my skull with small
Metal sticks.
Viciously they attack;
Madness knows no mercy.
Madness demands your blood.

Now the smoke drifts
So carelessly
Dangling in the
Afternoon light.
Curling high above
Higher, higher,
Until it fades away
Into the sky.
A cold barren winter
Inhales the smoke and
Returns to the earth
Tiny powered delights.
Tongues await the
Descent of these treasures,
And as the snow falls,
We lay in a black and
White blanket of earth.
Stretched out, I wish
Only to be your angel.
As I lie in my frozen grave,
You gave up and walked
Away. Smoke still drifts
From your cigarette as
You put it out on the
Headstone of my grave.
You should have just
Spit.

“I always knew it would be like this.”

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 05:18:22 GMT

“I’m thinking about throwing up but do some bong hits instead, then flee. Deal with it. Rock’n’roll.”

“I want to write this feeling down, or draw it out, but then I feel that would make the whole thing seem impure and artificial. I decide it will only cheapen the feeling and so I lay there in the white brightness and think of memories the song brings me.”

“The feeling is neither icy nor hot. Yet there is still no in-between. Just this bland pulse that fixates in my body at any given time of the day.”

“I will pass him in the dinning hall with a nonchalance that shocks even me.”

“He was gone. The scene of us standing there was too real and too pointless. I wandered away.”

“The touch of you, or my imagined touchings, seems both repellent and oddly succulent. It stings. These feelings string.”

“The seeds of love have taken hold and if we won’t burn together, I’ll burn alone.”

“The world blows my mind.”

“What does that mean? Know me?” I ask him. “Know me? No one ever knows anyone. Ever. You will never know me.”

-Brett Easton Ellis The Rules of Attraction

“Too much thinking can ruin you.”

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 03:46:17 GMT

“Keep moving, keep busy, everything will fall into place, it always does.”

“There is a danger in just being awake. Here, looking up, it is a refugee. He imagines himself safely inside; in bed, with the covers pulled up. Asleep. Unconscious.”

“Haven’t lost your sense of humor after all but your sense of identity is what seems to have been misplaced. No. Wrong. You don’t lose what you never had.”

“He doesn’t know exactly what he wants from people except that he prefers indifference to concern. Easier to handle.”

“Clichés. They jump out at you from everywhere, but you never see your own.”

“Well, who can help? Severe depressive episodes: high risk of suicide was the final diagnosis on commitment papers he signed last January. A seven-word diagnosis. Is there a seven-word cure? Is he cured?”

“Deceased. Too formal a word to have any meaning. A symbol without impression, without power to hurt, or to heal.”

“So where is the fault? Is it in believing that the people you love are immortal? Untouchable? No, everyone believes that. Only no one knows it’s what he believes-until it happens. Then comes the rage, the banging about the walls, crying what if, what if. Everyone is always so damned surprised, that is the horror of it.”

“I’d like to be more in control, I guess. So people can quit worrying about me.”

“And you just can’t live like that. You can’t live with all that emotion floating around, looking for a place to land. It’s too exhausting.”

“Who the fuck needs anybody?”

“The only way to deal with absurdity is to recognize it.”

“He feels as if he could shatter into a million pieces if he is jarred.”

“Sometimes people say stupid things, because they’re stupid.”

“That was it. Everything seems so excessive, now and too intense, too important. Karen is right, learn to relax, don’t think so much, just be.”

“People are like icebergs; one-seventh visible and operative, and the rest just so much protoplasmic energy, seething around under there, looking for a target to funnel toward.”

“That it is chance and not perfection that rules the world.”

“Depending upon the reality one must face, one may prefer to opt for illusion.”

“Maybe you gotta feel lousy sometime, in order to feel better. A little advice, kiddo, about feeling. Don’t think too much about it. And don’t expect it always to tickle.”

“Grief is ugly. It is isolating. It is not something to be shared with others, it is something to be afraid of, to get rid of, and fast. Get those months, days, hours, minutes out of the way, it can’t be quick enough.”

“That box,” he says. “I feel like I’ve been in it forever. Everybody looking in, to see how you’re doing. Even when they’re on your side, they’re still looking in. Like, nobody can get in there with you.”

-Judith Guest Ordinary People

don't ever touch a raptor

Fri, 27 Oct 2006 17:15:01 GMT

"Liar! Liar, Liar, Liar! You've all got your heads up your assholes because love is. It just is and nothing you can say can make it go away because it is the point of why we are here, it is the highest point and once you are up there, looking down on everyone else, you're there forever. Because if you move, right, you fall. You fall."
-Lost and Delirious

“I don’t let anyone touch me.”

Thu, 26 Oct 2006 06:03:35 GMT

“But how long can a person float, looking at an empty horizon? How long do you drift before you call it quits?”

“What is beauty unless you intended to use it, like a hammer, or a key? It was just something for other people to use and admire, or envy, despise. To nail their dreams onto like a picture hanger on a blank wall. And so many girls saying, use me, dream me.”

“Why not? Because I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, their smell of beer or fifteen-year-old whiskey. Men who didn’t come to the emergency room with you, men who left on Christmas Eve. Men who slammed the security gates, who made you love them and then changed their minds. Forests of boys, their ragged shrubs full of eyes following you, grabbing your breast, waving their money, eyes already knocking you down, taking what they felt was theirs.
Because I could still see a woman in a red bathrobe crawling in the street. A woman on a roof in the wind, mute and strange. Women with pills, with knives, women dying their hair. Women painting doorknobs with poison for love, making dinners too large to eat, firing into a child’s room at close range. It was a play and I knew how it ended, I didn’t want to audition for any of the roles. It was no game, no casual thrill. It was a three-bullet Russian roulette.”

“People just wanted to be loved. That was the thing about words, they were clear and specific-chair, eye, stone-but when you talked about feelings, words were too stiff, they were this and not that, they couldn’t include all the meanings. In defining, they always left something out.”

“Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.”

“I sure wasn’t going to let myself get disappointed again. I never let anyone touch me. Damn straight.”

“The Romans were right. One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.”

“In three days of battle, 150,000 men fought at Gettysburg. There were fifty thousand casualties. I struggled with the enormity of that. One in three dead, wounded or missing. Like a giant hole ripped in the fabric of existence. Claire died, Barry died, but seven thousand died at Gettysburg. How could God watch them pass without weeping? How could he have allowed the sun to rise on Gettysburg?”

“Who am I? I am who I say I am and tomorrow someone else entirely. You are too nostalgic, you want memory to secure you, console you. The past is a bore. What matters is only oneself and what one creates from what one has learned. Imagination uses what it needs and discards the rest-where you want to erect a museum.”

“Don’t cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.”

“What was a weed, anyway. A plant nobody planted? A seed escaped from a traveler’s coat, something that didn’t belong? Was it something that grew better than what should have been there? Wasn’t that just a word, weed, trailing its judgments. Useless, without value. Unwanted.”

“He said the reason we studied history was to find out why things were the way they were, how we got here. He said you could do anything you wanted to people who didn’t know their history. That was the way a totalitarian system worked.”

“Half of you have gone as far in life as you’re ever going to. Look around. It’s all downhill from here. The rest of us will go a bit further, a steady job, a trip to Hawaii, or a move to Phoenix, Arizona, but out of fifteen hundred how many will do anything truly worthwhile, write a play, paint a painting that will hang in a gallery, find a cure for herpes? Two of us, maybe three? And how many will find true love. About the same. And enlightenment? Maybe one. The rest of us will make compromises, find excuses, someone or something to blame, and hold that over our hearts like a pendant on a chain.”

“It’s the century of the displaced person,” he said. “You can never go home.”

-Janet Fitch White Oleander

“She’s never where she is, she’s only inside her head.”

Wed, 25 Oct 2006 05:47:35 GMT

“How was it that the earth could open up under you and swallow you whole, close above you as if you never were.”

“Sometimes I lay on my bed in the room with the roses and watched the girl in the other bed make scar tattoos on her ashy dark skin with a safety pin, a diaper pin with a yellow duck. She opened her skin in lines and loops. It healed over into pink pillowly tissue. She opened them again. It took me a while, but finally I understood. She wanted it to show.”

“The nearest I’d come to feeling anything like God was the plain blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?”

“God is dead, haven’t you heard, he died a hundred years ago, gave out from sheer lack of interest, decided to play golf instead.”

“If evil means to be self-motivated, to be the center of one’s own universe, to live on one’s own terms, then every artist, every thinker, every original mind, is evil. Because we dare to look through our own eyes rather than mouth clichés lent us from the so-called fathers. To dare to see is to steal fire from the Gods.”

“Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. Never expect to outgrow loneliness. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. An intelligent, sensitive person is the expectation, the very great exception. If you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment. The best you’ll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in the way.”

“Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I’ve told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to.”

“Love’s an illusion. It’s a dream you wake up from with an enormous hangover and net credit debt. I’d rather have cash.”

“When you committed suicide, you didn’t want something slow. Someone could walk in, someone could save you.”

“Just lying down for a little while, she was so tired. She’d been walking so long; she just wanted to rest, and it wasn’t as cold as she thought. She was so sleepy. It was the surrender she wanted. To stop fighting the storm and the enveloping night, to lie down in the whiteness and sleep.”

-Janet Fitch White Oleander

“It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.”

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 04:28:39 GMT

“Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind.”

“We are the ones who sacked Rome. Fear only feeble age and death in bed. Don’t forget who you are.”

“A handful of stars appeared in the sky, but in L.A. none of the constellations were the right ones, so I connected them up in new arrangements: the Spider, the Wave, the Guitar.”

“Always learn poems by heart, they have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they’ll make your soul impervious to the world’s soft decay.”

“I felt my guilt like a brand.”

“Weren’t chains ashamed of their prisoners?”

“I could hear the icy winds of Sweden, but he didn’t seem to feel the chill.”

“Only peons made excuses for themselves, she taught me. Never apologize, never explain.”

“How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?”

“This ragged heart, I should rip it out and bury it for compost.”

“A jewel is forming inside my body. No, it’s not my heart. This is harder, cold and clean. I wrap myself round this new jewel, cradle it within me.”

“My hatred gives me strength.”

“Taste his fear. It tastes just like champagne. Cold and crisp and absolutely without sweetness.”

“Isn’t it funny. I’m enjoying my hatred so much more than I’ve ever enjoyed love. 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. It’s so soothing. I feel infinitely better now.”

“As if anybody would waste their acid on a bunch of straights.”

“They can’t tough us. We’re the Vikings. We go into battle without armor for the flush and the blood of it.”

-Janet Fitch White Oleander

“Rip yourself open. Sew yourself shut.”

Mon, 25 Sep 2006 16:49:37 GMT

“Nobody’s all-the-way dead yet, but let’s just say the clock is ticking.”

“Another thing is no matter how much you think you love somebody, you’ll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.”

“There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention.”

“Besides, it happens fast for some people and slow for some, accidents or gravity, but we all end up mutilated. Most women know this feeling of being more and more invisible everyday.”

“It’s the Marilyn Monroe school of medicine where enough of any drug will cure any disease.”

“the only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.”

“Game shows are designed to make us feel better about the random, useless facts that are all we have left of our education.”

“When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?”

“We’ll be remembered more for what we destroy than what we create.”

“When we don’t know who to heat, we hate ourselves.”

“Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everybody I’ve ever known.”

“The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.”

“Oh, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me. I’ll be anybody you want me to be.”

“you can go anywhere in the world,” Brandy goes on and on. You just can’t let people know who you really are. “You can live a completely normal, regular life,” she says. You just can’t let anybody get close enough to you to learn the truth. “In a word,” she says, “veils.”

“Don’t worry,” Brandy says. “other people will fill in the blanks.” The same as how they do with God, she says.”

“Behind another veil, the real world is that much farther away.”

“Oh, I wish I could make my poor heart just burst.”

“Caged behind my silk, settled inside my cloud of organza and georgette, the idea that I can’t share my problems with other people makes me not give a shit about their problems.”

“Even if somebody is only wearing an eye patch, you always want to look. To see if he’s faking. The man in the Hathaway Shirt. Or to see the horror underneath.”

“The most boring thing in the entire world,” Brandy says, “is nudity.”

“The second most boring thing, she says, is honesty.”

“The third most boring thing in the entire world is your sorry-assed past.”

“The queen supreme’s face is the moon in the night sky that bends over and kisses me good night.”

-Chuck Palahniuk Invisible Monsters

Mon, 25 Sep 2006 02:14:54 GMT

“At long last, my pain is a serious matter. I’ve won.”

Mon, 25 Sep 2006 01:19:34 GMT

“I’ve been depressed for so long that I don’t remember life before that. Then they gave me drugs to make me better, and they worked for a little while, but they don’t do it anymore. Nothing works.”

“I don’t need, much less want, people around when I am using. That often means I have to share my stuff with them, and even more often it means that I have to conceal my use from them. I can’t stand people’s disapproving eyes. I hate the way they look disgusted.”

“They can take away my drugs, but I cannot imagine that they will ever be able to take away my loneliness.”

“The only wish I have is for more coke now, more speed now, more pills now. My life is defined by need.”

“Shit. I don’t want to hear one more person tell me how great I used to be, and how horrible I am now. I know they think that’s a compliment. I know they think they’re telling me something about my native character that I ought to be happy about, but it just breaks my heart. What’s wrong with me? Even when I was the person I used to be, I was not very happy. If anything, I am happier now, and everyone else is displeased. I can’t win.”

“But I still feel cold and lonely for a moment, so I sit up again and do some more coke. That’s the trick: when I do coke, my emotions are almost reasonable.”

“Together we are scary. We can use long past this point when everyone else has passed out or gone home.”

“All of those years of depression got people to worry about me. But now they’re scared. They’re really scared. They used to worry that I might get sad enough to kill myself, but no one ever believed I’d really do it, not even me. But now they are scared that I am just going to end up dead. They’re afraid that they will find me dead. And they mean it. I see the way they look at me. I see fear.
Finally, people take my sorrow seriously.”

“I am, at heart, still an addict, and for people like us, the thrill is always gone. It’s leaving before it has even arrived. Every time my dealer dropped off my fix of cocaine, I was already trying to figure our when he would bring more-and this was before I’d even gotten started on what was there. And pretty soon it becomes a way of life: there are no moments of joy, because you are always anticipating when the next possible moments of joy might arrive. As soon as tomorrow? As late as next year? Maybe in a week or two? Not that it matters, because you would not enjoy that joy either, you’d be too busy wondering where the next fix of fun would come from. Addiction is, in its essence, an inability to live in the moment.”

“I hate this time of year. If I could, I’d check into the hospital from Christmas to New Year’s on an annual basis.”

“I feel like I need to do the worrying for the both of us.”

“Without cocaine, this really hurts. I knew it. I knew it would. I was all cool with him on drugs, but now that I’m clean, I want him to love me for real, or just go away.”

“This is so sad. Like everything else in my life, this is so sad.”

”I say good-bye. I will never see him or speak to him again. Not because I don’t love him, but because I do.”

-Elizabeth Wurtzel More, Now, Again.

There are no angels here.

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 21:18:18 GMT

Darfur has been called the worst humanitarian crisis of the 21st century. Not since the Rwandan genocide of 1994 has the world seen such a calculated campaign of displacement, starvation, rape and mass slaughter. The ongoing devastation has killed an estimated 400,000 and displaced over 2.5 million Sudanese since February 2003. Darfur is our century’s first genocide, and I am willing to bet that most of you don’t even know where Darfur is located. Without knowledge, we are sitting by idly, allowing genocide to occur directly in front of us.

The emergency in Sudan’s western region of Darfur presents the starkest challenge to the world since the Rwanda genocide in 1994. A government-backed Arab militia known as Janjaweed has been engaging in campaigns to displace and wipe out communities of African tribal farmers.
Villages have been razed, women and girls are systematically raped and branded, men and boys murdered, and food and water supplies targeted and destroyed. Government aerial bombardments support the Janjaweed by hurling explosives as well as barrels of nails, car chassis and old appliances from planes to crush people and property. Tens of thousands have died. Well over a million people have been driven from their homes, and only in the past few weeks have humanitarian agencies gained limited access to some of the affected region.

Mukesh Kapila, the former United Nations humanitarian coordinator for Sudan, said on March 19, 2004 that the violence in Darfur is “more than a conflict, it's an organized attempt to do away with one set of people.” The U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum has issued its first ever genocide emergency. John Prendergast of International Crisis Group warns, “We have not yet hit the apex of the crisis.”

The United States Agency for International Development (USAID) estimates that 350,000 people or more could die in the coming months. Ongoing assessments by independent organizations such as Medecins sans Frontieres (Doctors without Borders) suggest that USAID’s estimate may be conservative. If aid is denied or unavailable, as many as a million people could perish.
Lives are hanging in the balance on a massive scale. The latest UN estimates say that between 10 and 15 thousand people are dying every month. Ignorance is our hugest obstacle in fighting this atrocity and other acts of genocide throughout the world. Uneducated, we offer no help to these people, or the future generations who may be affected by genocide, a growing problem in our violence-filled world. We are raising children in a culture of hate; I urge you to educate yourself to prevent this hate from seeping into the minds of the future. Refusing to acknowledge the horror, despite the fact that it is not on your door step is an atrocity in itself. Please, for the millions around the world suffering, give a moment of your time and learn how we can stop the hatred through knowledge and compassion. Visit http://www.savedarfur.org/content before time runs out, and learn how you can fight the battle against genocide.

Wed, 06 Sep 2006 06:19:45 GMT

"There's high, and there's high, and to get really high--I mean so high that you can walk on the water, that high--that's where I'm goin'."
- George Harrison

“I am bad. I’m not an artist, I’m not a genius-I’m a mess.”

Mon, 04 Sep 2006 01:52:49 GMT

“I just want to be alone with my drugs. That’s all I want. Just leave us alone, let us be happy together. Why can no one just let us be? We are in love, we are a young and misunderstood couple, everyone wants to tear us apart. I mean, no one actually knows about us-we have kept our passion private. And still, they are all trying to keep us separated. The community disapproves; they say it will never work out between us; they say we are young and foolish-they just don’t understand. We are Romeo and Juliet! We are star-crossed lovers. No one will let us be.”

“It’s a song about rushing a girl to the hospital after she’s slit her wrists. It’s not her first suicide attempt, he’s madly in love with her, and everything he does doesn’t prevent her from wanting to be dead. Love is not enough-in fact, it’s not anything at all. He can’t reach her. Just as it is now, for me-nobody can reach me.”

“It’s just that, indeed, they cannot reach me, because nothing they can do for me will equal the annihilating and totalizing cold comfort that I get from drugs.”

“That’s the main difference between depression and addiction, as far as I can tell: depression is full of need, and addiction fulfills that need.”

“And right now, I would like to be fulfilled again. Lydia is not going to help me with all her concern, with all her comforting gestures, reaching for my hand, looking me deeply and lovingly straight in the eyes, directly into my dilated pupils. But drugs will help me. That’s all I need.”

“Their Eastern European hunk of junk kills them-an unsteady automobile does what the Russian tanks and years of heartbreak could not do. Life is so tragic. That’s what it comes down to-doesn’t it?”

“It is nice to cry over something or somebody who isn’t me. Or aren’t all our tears really for ourselves anyway? When we cry with joy at weddings, aren’t we really sad that such happiness belongs to someone else? All our emotions, even the generous ones, even the empathy, are really just a way of bringing the woes of the world closer to home. It’s all one big opportunity to feel, to feel more.”

“I’m cold. I’ve frozen into someone who just can’t be touched. I dare you to try.”

-Elizabeth Wurtzel More, Now, Again

so swoon baby starry nights

Wed, 16 Aug 2006 00:39:40 GMT

i hate being all broken up about shit like this. it makes me feel weak. i can't handle feeling anymore. bah, bah, bah!

drive on drive on

Mon, 14 Aug 2006 17:52:09 GMT

i got my license!!!

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 19:10:20 GMT

well this is fun?

freak to your own groove daddy-o.

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 00:02:28 GMT

A snap dragon scalawag stood amongst the
Rich yellow daisies in the junkyard.
A cloud consumed the space
Clogging the lungs of mama wind
And her little gusts.
Grey kisses and fiery sores bred
Burrowing their madness in the spoils
Of the space age trash.
Day-Glo haze emits from the snap
Dragon scalawag and his neon
Jelly lime green arms are thrown up
In prayer, as he sways to the beat of
Internal bongo drums and wooden flutes
Calling upon ancient gods. Grooving
With mama wind they plead to mister man
To take away the dread and grey.
The man sneers and cackles
“no warmth for the weak”.
Pointing to the orange juice
In their sterile cups, he says,
“drink up and
escape.”

Wed, 08 Feb 2006 17:01:49 GMT

I'm back!!! http://www.myspace.com/elvisandhisboss add me.

“Fix it. That’s what I wish someone would do. Fix life and I will live again.”

Sat, 04 Feb 2006 08:20:03 GMT

“Too late cam I to love You, O Your beauty both so ancient and so fresh. Yet too late came I to love You. And behold, You were within me, and I out of myself, where I made search for You.”

-Saint Augustine “Confessions”

“I crush up my pills and snort them like dust. They are my sugar. They are the sweetness in the days that have none. They drip through me like tupelo honey. Then they are gone. Then I need more. I always need more.”

“For all of my life I have needed more.”

“All I can remember is goodbyes.”

“And drugs are a relief from the way I feel about everyone else abandoning me, all my friends meeting for a drink at the Corner Bistro and forgetting to call and invite me along, everyone going away to upstate New York for the weekend and forgetting to ask me to join them, everybody I know heading to our old roommate’s wedding in the south of France except for me, all my boyfriends who stick around for a few months and then decide enough is enough.”

“I can see that I beg and plead for love that is freely offered because I somehow believe that if I don’t ask for it, everyone will forget about me”

“I am cursed with this. Cursed with a personality that feels too much or too little, and never the right thing. So now I am taking drugs, never to feel again.”

“But with cocaine, the laws of conservation and caution get defenestrated fast. The cocaine disappears fast. That’s what it does. The joke is: What do you do on cocaine? More cocaine.”

“it’s the small, stupid shit that makes him use. It’s the stuff that most people can handle that makes addicts get high. We get high over nothing.”

“So you start to have people like me, people who say, I am an addict and I like it, try and stop me.”

“But I’m on strike from life. Until conditions improve, I will sit in my emptiness, fill myself with drugs, and wait for word about negotiations, because I can’t negotiate for myself anymore.”

“Any pill will do. I don’t care about the effect anymore, up or down, so long as I’m never just straight.”

“Reality is for people who can’t handle drugs!”

“In the Middle Ages, physicians would ‘bleed’ hysterics, patients with maladies of the soul; medieval medics understood that bloodletting could be curative, though they thought it was a form of cleansing, a way to release demons from the body. And, in a way, that is what people who cut themselves are doing too.”

“Any guy who sees my legs will loose his hard-on right away. Any guy who sees my sores will never want to see me again.”

“That’s the difference between using and abusing: when you use drugs, they are indeed useful; they help you get through. By the time you are abusing, it’s just about the drugs; addiction is its own thing. I do drugs because I do drugs-doing drugs makes you want to do more drugs-and that’s what makes it an addiction. It feeds on itself, it is a closed system, it has no external logic at all. In that way, it’s like true love: at first you fall for the person because of this thing or that.”

“So I could say I love cocaine because it makes me forget that I am waiting for some guy to call me. I can tell you I love speed because it lets me stay awake for days. I could claim that I love heroin because when I’m on it I just don’t care about anything at all. And it would be true, it would all be true. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I do drugs to do drugs. My loneliness, my self-pity, my romantic failures-those were all excellent reasons to pick up dope in the first place. But they don’t matter anymore. The world has gone on without me. Life has gone on without me. Things have changed. For all I know, I could be in New York, hang out with my friends and do good work, and fall in love-and not feel lonely at all. Who knows what my life would be like?”

“The circumstances that got me started on my addiction no longer exist. I’m doing what I’m doing because I just can’t stop.”

“People think I do drugs because I’m self-destructive. But, if anything, I am averting suicide. I don’t much like my life, but for some dumb reason, I want to be alive, because sooner or later, I figure it will work out. I should and could be in New York, taking steps toward making it work, but I’ve been trying that for years and it’s no longer feasible. I can’t do it anymore. I give up. I surrender. The only thing keeping me from killing myself is drugs-and the fact that I can still run away.”

-Elizabeth Wurtzel More, Now, Again

poetry on a snowy day?

Fri, 09 Dec 2005 12:08:44 GMT

And a leaf fell from her grasp

A strange hush settles upon the world
An unclaimed wail is heard from the sky
As these acidic tears fall from her eyes.

Melting the ground they touch below
This morning is no longer filled with dreams;
In its place is the skeleton of sorrow.

She cherishes these pale bones
Taunt, frail skin, she smiles
It might be nothing, but it makes her whole.

Sunset falling, blood red and intense
In its beauty, she gasps and wonders
If this burning façade will fade along with it.

Life seems too complex, frightening,
For the delicate little girl observing
Humanity and all its horrors.

She binds herself inside her mind
And closes off her injured heart
As the icy winds of winter sweep her away.

She is but a decaying leaf on a cold autumn day.

small jean genie snuck off to the city

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 22:37:18 GMT

i got bored, so i took some photos over the past few days and messed around with them in paintshop pro.

the tumble bus in the storage unit parking lot. i tried to get inside but failed.

me after helping move my aunt out.

cassanova, at the airport. my dad and i made fun of him.

i have a fixation with lights and the highway.

back in summit.

Thu, 21 Jul 2005 01:00:39 GMT

Thu, 14 Jul 2005 02:42:09 GMT

http://parkinglotkiss.deviantart.com/

check that shit out yo.

Wed, 13 Jul 2005 04:03:22 GMT

you think your free? i'm free! you don't know what freedom is! i'm free. i can breathe. and you...will choke on your average fucking mediocre life.