Every now and then, it seems worse than it is...

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 10:51:07 GMT

i can't tell if i'm on the cusp of rediscovery or completely giving up.

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 23:24:56 GMT

I would wear these every day until I'm dead.

the shoeface sensation.

Fucking AIDS art benefits have the best stuff. I bet it's ridiculously priced.

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 20:01:33 GMT

"You do it to yourself, you do.
and that's why it really hurts."

i think i'm back.

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 02:23:19 GMT

It's never worth it. Maybe I am the only person who realizes this anymore. It's like the effort is never worth it. Good intentions? Fuck it. Bad intentions? Just as well. People are always going to misconstrue. People are always going to turn your words, your actions, shit you haven't even done... all of it against you. I've given in. I've sank into and out of myself. I'm so wonderfully detached from everything and everyone these days. I'm watching the world through a fucking microscopic lense, and let me tell you... it is making me nauseous.

Fri, 04 Aug 2006 08:21:01 GMT

I'm tired of being punished for not hating. I'm tired of being punished for not holding a grudge. I'm sorry that you can't suck it up and just exist. I'm sorry you can't give it a rest.

But it's too much to ask me to choose, not between friends, but between best friends. I won't do it.

Fuck everyone who has asked me to do so. But mostly, fuck myself for not being able to.

I think I would have cried the whole way home if it hadn't been so ungodly cold. My face would have frozen off.

But I'll make it a bit easier for all of you. I'll take myself completely out of the picture. I wont call you. If you ever want to talk to me, talk to me. I'm not making an effort for anyone. Not Larkin. Not P. Not Beth. Not Skye. Not Chris. You know where to find me. And instead of feeding off of all of this negativity, I hope you come to me when you want to.. and not just to make me send someone else away. I love you all. But the burden is fucking me up royally.

The awful thing about including Chris and Skye in this is that they have never asked me to give the rest of you up. NEVER. They don't have any words about you all except endearments and fucking love. But I won't be accused of taking sides again, so I'll include them.

It's not fair. And I won't comply.

I'm moving out of this apartment. That should make things easier on all of you. Tomorrow I take my shit home. And if I ever set foot in here again it will be to claim more of my worthless belongings. Things I will only end up burning in my backyard.

Megan can have this place all to herself. And she can set her own rules. And she can allow who she wants when she wants.

I'm tired of being a pawn.

How fucking dare you say one means more than the other. I choose nobody. I choose myself.

Thu, 03 Aug 2006 07:27:39 GMT

Friendship isn't a ring, it's a soggy piece of week old white bread between two pigeons, each pecking at it as fast as they can so they get the most out of that one stupid piece of bread.

I can almost hear my skin groaning against the frown I'm trying to wear, my face feels like a barren desert wasteland, molten lava between pockets and cracks of clay. My blood is radioactive.

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 21:56:13 GMT

I heard a commercial while driving today. I think it sums up everything that is wrong with this country.

" Go buy the new mint chocolate chip pop tarts. Put them in the freezer. It's just like ice cream. Only chewy. "

... I kid you fucking not. I almost drove off of the rode at the sheer absurdity of it all. What the fuck is wrong with the world? Consumers are no longer satisfied with--

I just cut that sentence short. I seriously can't get into a two-paragraph rant about fucking pop tarts.

I walked into the grocery store, still floored about what I had heard on the radio. I wandered the frozen food aisle, as if expecting to see giant pop tarts trapped in glass cages. But no, I just ran into two stoned czechoslavakians eating frozen waffles right from the motherfucking box. While freestyle rapping.

Oh, good. For a second I thought I had slipped into an alternate dimension with all that pop tart nonsense. But the baked euro trash really brought me back to reality.

Mon, 17 Jul 2006 15:34:47 GMT

“There are born suicides and born non-suicides. The former don’t necessarily kill themselves, the latter sometimes do. I belong to the first category, you to the second.”

“I will never kill myself,” Matthew said bluntly. “I believe, truly believe, that if you kill yourself you go to Hell.”

“It’s because you’re already in Hell that you kill yourself,” said Isabelle.

“That’s witty,” replied Matthew, “but Jesus was wittier. Let me put it this way. I’ll never kill myself because I love you.”

“You say that but you may not always love me.”

“I will always love you.”

“I wonder. If amour didn’t rhyme with toujours, maybe we’d never have thought of equating love with eternity.”

The Dreamers Gilbert Adair

O.o

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 21:13:37 GMT

I just tried to call COMCAST, and this is what I got...

" Much more than a mouthful here. You've come to the right place for nasty talk with big-busted girls who looove to get off. Mmmmm. Shoot your load between a pair of double-Ds, honey. Oh, yeah. Or just take your time enjoying huge, hot handfuls tipped in pink. "

...

It was only after that phone call that I realized something. I don't even have comcast. I need to call charter.

Klonopins, you so crazy.

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 18:00:04 GMT

Wow. I haven't been that fucked up in a long time.

It was all an accident really.

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 02:33:18 GMT

It's in these spit-soaked upper limbs that I find the greatest form of contortion. The pull of bone and sinew, sex-rocked and worn-out. The strain of brutalized muscle. Muscle that could only wish it had worked as hard as my feet. Those feet that pitter-patted, a prostitution cacophony. As if in warning. To tell of my coming. The money was easy. The drugs were easier. A shot, sniff, swallow... a three-way assault into modern heaven. I'd fuck a straight razor to turn it all around now. The blisters of what would have been. Like sun-scorched lip-prints.

I remember him pressing against my ankle. The hostility I held then. The kick to the throat I gave him.

I remember the late-night touches of insatiable fingertips. The fear I held then.

I remember trying to strangle myself every night with a plastic belt.

Age eleven.

It felt like the perfect time to practice for the end.

Because we all knew it was going to be like this.

Half-hearted words. Filtered through recycled paper.

Virtue is a marathon. I'm beyond tired, I'm dead.

This if why I drop. Drop. Drop. Face of the earth. Counter. Fuck formica. It's gone.

i just want to punch you big shocker big shocker big shocker big shocker

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 06:08:47 GMT

" I love you. But at the same time... what person would want to be put through hell? "

awesome. totally fucking awesome.

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 06:06:50 GMT

I'm really sick of people telling me to seek professional help.

Sat, 01 Jul 2006 01:49:32 GMT

should i swallow up the night and let the flood gates open wide to reveal all i want and all that i fear i am.

whilst i clumsily fumbled over your body, i tried to make you feel it. i tried to make you see it through my eyes. and i was searching for a higher power. and never even knowing that by searching i was losing half my mind.

but now i know you, god i know your war. you don't even answer. you don't even try. you don't even see that it's tearing up your mind. you don't even answer. you don't even fight. because you don't need an army. you divide and conquer.

you divide and conquer. and i am such a sucker. and look out now it's over.

anyone can be bought.

Mon, 12 Jun 2006 05:58:24 GMT

oh, kiefer.

You're a furious boy. I mean eventually you won't be a boy and it'll eat you up.

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 05:21:20 GMT

I watched ' Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance '. And unless you have also seen that movie, you are no longer allowed to speak with me. Not that it was such a great movie. But I have a strong appreciation for all things involving illegal kidney removal.

content to change.

Mon, 13 Feb 2006 03:25:59 GMT

he told me he felt like he died.
and i wanted to whisper that i will die to.
"if only to be with you."
and our organs can turn to rotting soup,
we dont use them correctly anyway
and when we are nothing but bones,
our souls can slip free
and we'll live in eachother's rib cages
and make a happy home beneath the sternum.
we can drag your body to the sea,
my skin never felt right there
and mine can be hidden away in the city
where we can hear all of the hit-and-runs
your's can be our summer home.
because i swear i'd love nothing better.

shake that laffy taffy

Sun, 11 Dec 2005 03:01:22 GMT

HOLY SHIT! I thought I lost all of these pictures a few years ago. But somehow I found them.

WEST SIDE!!

the best picture of thisisnotanexit ever.

me & thisisnotanexit having dress up time. I look like I drowned earlier in the evening.

where is that skirt? It cost like 50 cents. I bought it from 50 cent.

hot.

hotter.

HOTTEST!

Damn we made a good ice cream delivery team. I miss those shoes. I smuggled drugs in those shoes.

i am so sassy. skeet skeet skeetskeetskeet.

feel free to touch yourself.

i like helmets

and chistmas lights

and kitties

i have skeleton freak hands.

thisisnotanexit

my mom shocked us by saying something about using her vagina like a seatbelt or something. However that would work.

thisisnotanexit gave birth

me and kindra then.

Kindra a year ago

cat & the russian

OMG. We used to be so lame. We'd get all dressed up and play in the bathtub.

like this

nekkid oh snap

i dont even remember this getting taken. I used to have boobs.

i also used to be a burrito in a past life

...

I have so many more. I need to post them later.

Wed, 30 Nov 2005 04:09:39 GMT

Nip / Tuck. Now that show is FUCKED UP. And I think I love it.

devilish cadence

Tue, 25 Oct 2005 02:23:40 GMT

My Halloween costumes always fuction in three parts(soviet pirate ballerina, junkie punk cat, disco madonna princess, etc). It's like a well-rehearsed opera. Do operas have three parts? Perhaps some? Truthfully I've never seen one, but it's become a musical obsession as of late. I almost spent eighty dollars on La Traviotta & some Maria Callas the other day. Can't remember what I bought instead. A latte & something.

Anyway, this year I will be a zombie nurse dominatrix. I am keeping my eyes out for the PERFECT wig. Fate will throw it in my hands at just the right time. Even if I have to rip it off somebody else the night of, I will find it.

I drink far too much hot tea when I'm at work or my mother's house, which pretty much accounts for 80% of my awake time. My teeth are going to be stained and oh so british. I can't fucking wait.

Last night Larkin wanted me to cut her hair, but insisted that we take five shots of jager first. I CUT ALL HER HAIR OFF. ahahahaha.

It actually looks nice though, it's very even. Which is a miracle since I used kindegarten saftey scissors.

kindra, you so crazy.

Sat, 15 Oct 2005 00:30:18 GMT

galileo.

Sat, 01 Oct 2005 01:06:18 GMT

I bought false eyelashes today. They have green & black polka dotted feathers that sprout off of the outer edge.

I might get a tattoo from a native american medicine woman.

Ebay, you are FUCKING, BRILLIANT.

....OMG!!

Sun, 25 Sep 2005 16:23:01 GMT

I fell asleep with the TV on, and the infomercials that were on were incorperated into my dreams. I dreamt about P Diddy and Proactive facial wash. Then I dreamt about the Piccadilly cafeteria and how they have sugar free blueberry pie. Why does the Piccadilly Cafeteria ever have an infomercial on at like 4 AM?

Then I woke up to church TV, which I don't usually watch. Although Manson does say that God is in the TV. It was very interesting what the pastor man had to say. It put me at peace about a lot of things. Something about letting go of my ashes.

I could live off of everything bagels double toasted with cream cheese from Einsteins. That and Thai red curry. Mmm curry.

I went an saw Batman Begins at the dollar movie. Cillian Murphy was pretty sassy, what with his rotting sarecrow mask that dripped maggots. There's nothing sexier, I tell ya.

It's strange how I used to drink so that I wouldn't have a panic attack. And I never realized that if I didnt drink, I wouldn't get them in the first place. Oh, the things you learn when you give up the bottle. Or something.

OH! Yeah, court.

I went to court for drinking underage. For drinking underage in my own apartment and not going anywhere or doing anything really wrong, except the drinking part. And I got 6 months probation, community service, fines, etc. And if I so much as get a speeding ticket I go to jail for 6 months.

Duluth, you done me dirty.

"Dinner Time" by Russell Edson

Fri, 16 Sep 2005 02:16:14 GMT

An old man sitting at a table was waiting for his wife to serve dinner. He heard her beating a pot that had burned her. He hated the sound of a pot when it was beaten, for it advertised its pain in such a way that made him wish to inflict more of the same. And he began to punch at his own face, and his knuckles were red. How he hated red knuckles, that blaring color, more self-important than the wound.
He heard his wife drop the entire dinner on the kitchen floor with a curse. For as she was carrying it in it had burned her thumb. He heard the forks and spoons, the cups and platters all cry at once as they landed on the kitchen floor. How he hated a dinner that, once prepared, begins to burn one to death, and as if that weren't enough, screeches and roars as it lands on the floor, where it belongs anyway.
He punched himself again and fell on the floor.
When he came awake again he was quite angry, and so he punched himself again and felt dizzy. Dizziness made him angry, and so he began to hit his head against the wall, saying, now get real dizzy if you want to get dizzy. He slumped to the floor.
Oh, the legs won't work, eh? . . . He began to punch his legs. He had taught his head a lesson and now he would teach his legs a lesson.
Meanwhile he heard his wife smashing the remaining dinnerware and the dinnerware roaring and shrieking.
He saw himself in the mirror on the wall. Oh, mock me, will you. And so he smashed the mirror with a chair, which broke. Oh, don't want to be a chair no more; too good to be sat on, eh? He began to beat the pieces of the chair.
He heard his wife beating the stove with an ax. He called, when're we going to eat? as he stuffed a candle into his mouth.
When I'm good and ready, she screamed.
Want me to punch your bun? he screamed.
Come near me and I'll kick an eye out of your head.
I'll cut your ears off.
I'll give you a slap right in the face.
I'll kick you right in the breadbasket.
I'll break you in half.
The old man finally ate one of his hands. The old woman said, damn fool, whyn't you cook it first? you go on like a beast -- You know I have to subdue the kitchen every night, otherwise it'll cook me and serve me to the mice on my best china. And you know what small eaters they are; next would come the flies, and how I hate flies in my kitchen.
The old man swallowed a spoon. Okay, said the old woman, now we're short one spoon.
The old man, growing angry, swallowed himself.
Okay, said the woman, now you've done it.

i dont like my women battered. I like them butterflied and dipped in coconut.

Wed, 14 Sep 2005 00:57:24 GMT

I would take the word reptilian as a compliment.

At work today, we sat around and quoted The Princess Bride for well over an hour.

My hair is about to be all shades of lizard green and cotton candy pink.

I miss having drawn on eyebrows. Nobody did it like Jean Harlow.

I'm fascinated by kidneys. They so crazy.