Ween

Slit throat, blackened eye,
Road rash and blood run dry,
Self-mutilation,
Full desecration,
And that's just my brother.


Two flaps of skin
Quickly worn thin
Pieces of you
Bleeding right through
I felt that pain.


False democracy
All hypocrisy
Never be leniant
Too inconvenient
Why can't people listen?

The second layer of skin is the most painful. Bones are sliding around. Even that hurts. It's still... I don't want to think about it.

Don't say I didn't warn you...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3O5uy-MBBk

DESTROY

Guilty. Just a little? Maybe more than just a little. It would have been wrong to hide it. Some might call it trivial, meaningless, and if I had kept quiet it would have been just that; just a little tick. But look at the effect it's having now. I didn't mean that. I just wanted to be honest. Why must pain attach itself to everything I do?

I can't get my mind off that girl in Boston. She had blond, neck-length hair. She wore black with a low neckline and a hint of mascara, also black. She was very pale. We stood next to each other by the side of the road waiting for the WALK sign to light up. I've seen her for perhaps fifteen seconds in my whole life and yet somehow I can't seem to forget her. Not in a romantic way, mind. Nothing like that. It was just one of those moments that never leaves you. I hold onto it because it's special to me, being one of the few things I've ever been able to consistently remember.

IT'S OVER NINE THOUSAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!!!!!!!!!!

Halloween has always been special to me. Not in a good way. It's the darkest time of the year. What else would we call the celebration of night, of greed, of lust, of fire, of daemonic creatures and witchcraft, of fear, terror, the screams of little children, of acts of evil committed in the light of blood, of deals with the Devil himself? Do you know the story of the jack-o'-lantern? It tells of a man name Jack who one day met the Devil and trapped him with a cross. There are many variations of this part of the story, but they all end with Jack releasing the Devil on the condition that he be never sent into Hell. When Jack died he could not enter Heaven, for he was a thief and a dishonest man. So he went down to Hell, but because of his pact with the Devil he could not enter there either. In desperation he asked the Devil for a lantern so he could find his way. The Devil took the turnip he was eating and put a piece of flaming coal inside, then gave it to Jack. Jack set off with his new lantern, and forever wanders in darkness, trying to find a place where his soul may rest. But he never will.
Consider this: in this world all celebrations, good or evil, have been rewritten into little more than market holidays. Everything is about money. Just think about what you're really celebrating. Christmas (the inaccurate anniversary of the Virgin Birth) is now about magic reindeer and getting presents. Easter (the more accurate anniversary of when someone rose from the dead!) is now about bunnies and chocolate eggs. Thanksgiving (remembrance of a time when people were happy to just be alive) is now about turkey. Halloween (celebration of death) is about candy. You see the similarities? They don't mean anything anymore. And what with "political correctness" these days they're going to start meaning less and less.

Feeling kinda down. Still got Civics to do.

-pation

There's a storm coming.

Not that kind of storm. The other kind. The kind you can't see; you can only feel it. I've only felt one of these before, about six months ago. I kept whispering "There's a storm coming." Over and over again. I couldn't help it. Ella kept looking at me like I was crazy, but she still comforted me.

It's strange when I think of Ella. There's a twitch. Not a good twitch or a bad twitch, just a twitch. I look at the past sometimes and think of the time when I knew I would never love anyone else. "Love is not fickle. The people who try to understand it are." I think I still do love her, in a way. At least part of me does. Part of me always did...

Am I making you jealous, Tash?

Time changes everything. I'm completely different from who I used to be. When I think of myself two years ago I feel nothing but pity. I was just beginning to realize who (and what) I am then. I was in for a surprise. That was the year I stumbled upon... that which consumed my life and soul. That was the year I died. I never truly recovered. The year after... at the very least I had some inkling of what had happened. I spent what seemed like forever trying to find myself. I pursued illogical relationships, began to take mezzophisical drugs, wallowed in self-pity like a giraffe in a tar pit. It took a long time before I reached a stable state of mind.

Looking back on the pathetic scrap of what barely passes for a human that my life used to be, I'm so glad those years are over.

I can't believe it's post 45

Last night I had the weirdest dream of my life so far. And that's saying something.

I was playing a game called PornStar RPG, which is a first-person shooter. You go around and talk to people, complete seemingly unrelated Dance Dance Revolution-style minigames, collect useless items, and snowboard. Despite the title it seemed only slightly sex-related; the only nudity was one hairy fat guy holding a sausage. Although there were girls tugging at their clothes. I don't know. I don't know if my mind is trying to tell me something, and if it is I don't want to know what. Life is confusing enough already.

We're fire and ice, she and I, and it's becoming blatantly obvious which is which. I ran my hands under the tap; even under the coldest setting it still felt warm. My body is just insensitive to cold. I can't explain it.

I always knew music affected me, but I'm only just starting to realize how much. Pain! Every time I heard that it felt like I had been stung. This explains a lot.

Elbow sex! But seriously, what would you do if you found a transvestite in your cereal? Seriously, what would you do?

I always laugh when I'm about to say something absurd. I can't help it. But I was THIS close to taking the cheeseburger seriously.

Now that the jacket is off I feel ridiculous. It's like the physical embodiment of the effects of a couple of beers.

Someday I'll work out why he had numbers written on his thigh. I will.

I still feel like there's rice all over me. And somehow I've still got the sensation of toasted bread colliding with the back of my head.

Tell us about it, Janet!

My heart is bleeding, the Beast is feeding, we reap no more than we sow...
Darkness seeding, so misleading, the Reaper's picture show...

In short: WOO HOO WHAT A NIGHT!!!

Cuddle Box

The danger has gone now.
But that doesn't mean that we can rest.
It's hard to understand my non-precaution
Some kind of demon
Won't let us tell it what is best
You don't know when we'll be undone
And at last lose control
But there's no sense holding on for happiness' sake
We just keep on going in the hope of some cake
And while the day's long since done
But the fight's never won
We're just happy that we're
Still alive.

There's some love left out there.
We see it around us, every day.
Amongst the stares of all the strangest people
Where do we find it?
It starts inside, I know the way.
But every touch ignites a spark
That makes me scream with desire
But when we've forgotten how to recognize lust
You can shoot me then for I'll have broken our trust
Though I crash at every turn
And my body seems to burn
I'm just happy that I'm
Still alive.

Know that I love you.
I wish I could live inside your mind.
It's different but at least you can be certain
Of who you are now.
At least I think, I have no clue.
Some days all I can do is write
And now I'm hungry for cake
While there's no light waiting at the end of this tube
We can always hold on to our Companion Cube
I've got no identity
But still find serenity
In the people who are
Still alive

She's not bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention

He really lost it today. He was shouting. He's so impulsive for a deep thinker it's embarrassing.

The top front of my mouth feels burned. Suits my mood. And it all started out so well.

Sometimes it's an irritation that animals have no concept of clothing. At others it's a lifesaver.
Every twist of muscles was agony. For me at least. Even if I couldn't see right through you it would still show in your face. You know you can't hide anything from me.

You're the only one who knows how I see weapons. Every couple of weeks I still find myself miming a stabbing motion over my heart. Somehow I know exactly what it feels like. Agony.

Why must everything collapse around me the instant I achieve stability? Why does my own life conspire against me? Am I not allowed to simply be happy?

Science progresses, people regress, babies die, the empath screams, time paints a thin whitewash over everything that people tell themselves they can't see through, the world keeps spinning. Where are we going? How far will we go? Why are the oversensitive ones the only ones who sense at all? Why do people put so much faith into Darkness but none into the Light? Why haven't we destroyed ourselves already? Everyone expects the world to be handed to them on a silver platter and then get angry when everyone expects the same of them. We know what we're doing is wrong, but people have so many wrong ideas about how to change it that nothing ever happens. The truth is people don't want anything to change. They're "happy" and nothing can get in the way of that. Can't you see no one is happy anymore? They fill the air with chemicals and wonder why people get cancer. Who's to say happiness isn't the same? But when everything is a metaphor for everything else all meaning is lost and all forms of communication collapse. People can't communicate anymore and we're unable to express why. Maybe the knife was the best option. But then people wouldn't understand. I'll know tomorrow.

Is this a dagger I see before me?

My sweater is still missing.

Josh, of all people, thinks I'm being negative.

Sasha is putting no effort in whatsoever.

Jennifer's nice, but she just can't act.

Yeah, we could be doing better. Maybe we would have rehearsed the whole thing by now if we could just get through one scene without someone laughing. Maybe the script would be longer if I hadn't had to practically write the whole thing myself. Maybe we would be looking better if people could do something about props instead of just talking about them. Maybe we could all just be better actors if we let some ENERGY into the play instead of speaking in a monotone. But is that likely to happen? Not really.

IMPACT snapped something at a leering passer-by that I can't explain.

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't write it. Neither in my head or on paper, the words would not come together. Maybe if he knew what he was asking of me he would have been kinder. I was an atheist for a week once and I almost killed myself before the end of it. On dark days, when the wind is frigid and my mood is sour, I still walk with a limp.

Maeralaes Lux Nast. That was all I could write. "This is how I stand." Over and over again. Line after line. Maeralaes Lux Nast. He's going to think I'm crazy now.

I saw you glance at me. You were writing about me, weren't you?

Today has not been a nice day. And I still haven't talked to the good doctor yet. Ach...

As soon as I work out who he is

It occurred to me earlier that I was upset about the drawings of the Rooms because I can't draw. So why don't I give a guided tour instead? Do something I'm actually good at?

Let's start with the Hub. The Hub is a large, six-sided room with a door on each wall. There is a spiral staircase in the middle leading up and down. The room itself is a dirty white, as though it was once sparkling but hasn't been cleaned in months. All surfaces are made of a tile that feels like linoleum but is hard and cold as marble. There is a distinct feeling of thinness to the room, as though you are walking on cracking ice or stiff paper.

The first door (#1 on the map) is a standard wooden door painted yellow. Inside is a mostly square but slightly lopsided room. On the wall on the right are various aquariums, and opposite them are several terrariums. On the wall facing the door there are several screens that can contain anything.

Directly opposite it (#7 on the map) is an identical door, only much larger and painted orange. Inside is a triangular room painted entirely in the same alarmingly bright orange. It is filled with comfy chairs, sofas and beds. There is an enormous flat-screen TV in the middle of the room and a beer fridge against the wall.

To the left of this room (#2 on the map) is what looks like an elevator door. It opens out to a large concrete plaza containing four large office buildings. These are "labelled" Human Resources, Hon-Human Resources, Claims and Returns. Most floors of these are filled with filing cabinets. The plaza itself is called Current Affairs. It is not fully understood what goes on in these building, although it probably has something to do with the Rooms.

Next door to that (#4 on the map) is a large stone doorway with malicious-looking gargoyles cared into it. This is the smallest Room, barely large enough to stand up in. It contains a few threadbare stuffed animals and nothing else. At the back is a very small, dark alcove; just the right size, one would think, for a small child to curl up in.

Directly opposite (#5 on the map) has no door. Inside is pure white. It's hard to tell where the floor ends and the wall begins. There appears to be no back wall. There is an alter of some sort at the end of the room, but it is guarded by the Ice Angel.

(#6 on the map) is the largest Room. The entrance to it is a doorway filled with hanging beads. This opens up onto the middle of an island called Eden in the middle of the C sea. Many strange things exist here. Other islands include Army Ant island, populated by a huge army of army ants; Exploding-Giraffeland, where the exploding giraffes live; Crab Claw island, full of things with shells; and the Lost Island of Nod. The Triumph Islands and ? are mostly unexplored. There is also a man-made island called Lair and a section of ocean where dragons are said to live.

Down the spiral staircase is a rust-red wasteland. Dunes of dark sand fill the horizon, with some wicked-looking mountains in the far distance. It is a harsh place.

No one knows what is up the spiral staircase. We've never looked.

Only the why answers how; but why?

I can't believe we're getting two more cats. I can't believe it. At least these two are supposed to be big and fat and floppy and quiet; the kind we've been looking for all these years. Their names are Panama and Quinny, although Panama's going to get the nickname Bagpuss because he is. There was some kind of story behind it.

Tash, where are you? I get sad when you're not online. I get sad when I log onto a message board and it tells me you were there one minute ago. I get sad when I don't know if you've read something I've written. I get sad when my blog posts have no comments. I get sad when I think about how hopelessly co-dependant I am. I shouldn't need to hear you saying that you love me every hour of the day. Maybe it would be better if... no. I'm not going to start second-guessing myself again. As soon as my insecurities start acting up the whole cycle's going to begin all over again.

I've got too much work to do. No sleep tonight. I hate procrastination.

It only lets me post five pictures at a time

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