Damnsle Inthis-Dress

Things My Mom Did Not Know

2011-01-07T21:45:00.003-05:00

If your daughter ever asks you if she has high cheekbones, you say "yes".

Do NOT say "Well, there's enough padding there that you can't really tell."

NO. Just NO.

DON'T. DO NOT.

Just so we are clear:

NO

SIGH

2010-11-26T22:36:00.002-05:00

You know how sometimes I can be really, really stupid?

Ok, so, I'm watching Battlestar Galactica, the reboot of the '70s show that was playing on SciFi. It was extremely popular by all accounts, but I never watched it - didn't seem my thing. Well, I've heard really good things about it from other geeks online, and now it's available on Netflix, so...watching it.

It's an extremely violent show - lot's of blood and gore going on; humans versus Cylons - a robotic race created by humans that rebelled and who now want to exterminate humans, yadda, yadda, yadda. The show actually has a very good back story and some ancient Greek theological beliefs that would take too long to explain here. One thing I do want to say though, that really impressed me, was the way they transitioned the look of the '70s show into the 2000s: they explained all the "old technology, like phones with cords" and such by saying that although their society was very technologically advanced, they scrapped all that when the Cylons rebelled because things like networked computers and WiFi worked in the robots favor and was easily hackable and vulnerable to viruses. So they did away with digital and went back to analog. It's really very elegant of the writers.

Anyway, the real reason I'm writing this (and the way wherein my stupidity becomes apparent) has to do with the aforementioned blood and gore bits. People are always getting cut up, or damaged in some way, or standing nearby when someone else gets cut up and they are then face-splashed with the resulting spew of blood (there is always a spew). So people are constantly running around with streaks and drips and drabs of blood on their faces - sometimes their own, sometimes not. The point is, it never fucking dries. It always look red and shiny and fresh, and human blood does not act that way when it's on TOP of the skin, rather than below, where it prefers to be. It turns rusty brown, or black (depending on quantity) and gets really flaky and dirt-looking and itchy.

I know this.

So here's where the stupid comes in.

For some reason, I honestly don't know why, the depiction of blood in the show finally got to me. So I did a google search to prove (to whom, I have no idea) that THAT is NOT what dried blood does.

Never, never, never, ever do a google image search for "dried blood".

Just...don't. Gods, I'm fucking stupid sometimes. I can never unsee that.

Patriotism

2010-09-11T02:08:00.004-04:00

I love my country. And I love this patriot.

This is patriotism that I can totes get behind. Also when he sings the last bit of "Stars and Stripes Forever", I always tear up. Don't know why.

Okay, I'm Upset That There's No Jet Packs...

2010-06-17T20:32:00.002-04:00

But the year 2010 still is really fucking cool when you realize...

You were born before there were... Microwaves. VHS players. Push button telephones. 34mpg. CDs. DVDs. Free long distance, nights and weekends. And most importantly, the internet. I seriously wonder how I got along in my first few years without it.

Or, you know, decades.

Whatever. STFU!

Anyway, I was really hoping for jetpacks. I was practically promised them, dammit!

A Question...

2010-06-10T23:25:00.004-04:00

"So, um… So why is your left arm so much more cut up than your other arm?" He said, as he navigated us out of the hospital parking lot.

"Well," I said looking at him with some confusion, "I'm right handed."

Ink

2010-06-06T00:42:00.001-04:00

Watch this movie.

It is awesome. Seriously.

DO. IT.

"Something's got to stop the flow".

LOVE.

I Like To Think...

2010-06-04T22:53:00.003-04:00

That I look like this. I hope so, anyway; I think she's beautiful.

Okay, this will probably get me fired someday, but still...

2010-05-24T20:48:00.003-04:00

I don't get it. I was raised Catholic and we had that whole Christian thing going on (no, really. The Catholics are Christian. Deal.) but then one day I really looked at what the whole thing was about and I thought:

What's the big deal? Jesus died for us? And? So fucking what? He knew he was a god. Where's the sacrifice? The pain of the whipping he got? The pain of the walk to Golgotha? Seriously? There are millions upon millions of people suffering worse, much, much, worse than that right now, as we speak, on a daily basis, for years on end.

If a person gives up hir life for someone else, that person is remembered as a hero because they made the "ultimate sacrifice". And we refer to it as the "ultimate sacrifice" specifically because we don't know what comes after death. Probably nothing. That's what the odds say, anyway. So that's why it's a sacrifice: A person is giving up everything for a possible nothing.

And this guy, who (in the context of the tale) knew he was a god, who knew what came after death, who knew there was actually NOTHING at stake for him to give up his life... We're supposed to be grateful for this, why?

What was actually sacrificed?

This Jesus dude - he knew he was a god and he knew what came after death; the "book" is very specific about that. So what kind of sacrifice was it really? In the cosmic scheme of things, we're talking like a very small hangnail worth of pain. If that. How is that inspiring?

Seriously, I want to know. How does some guy going thru something that he knows is going to turn out all right supposed to “save us all“? Especially when he knows he’s a GOD?

Anyone? I open the floor…

I Love

2010-05-19T20:13:00.003-04:00

...when I make a weird sound (like when I imitate the wolf howl from the opening credits of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and my cat looks at me like "What the fuck, woman?!?!?" and does a u-turn and slinks away from me.

I love that.

Here's what happened...

2010-04-21T15:47:00.003-04:00

This started out as a comment on this post over at Shakesville, but ended up being so long I figured I'd just post it here instead:

About 5 years ago I decided to go on a diet. Through a combination of self medicating with food and alcohol (and binging and purging), an almost total lack of self regard, and a naturally fat body anyway, I was around 400 lbs. Of course, I’d also been dieting pretty much all my life. I was either dieting, about to diet or cheating on a diet. But I decided that this time I was going to “Do It Right”. I was going to “Eat Less and Exercise More”. And I was going to lose weight. Because otherwise I was going to drop dead, dead, dead. At any second. So I stopped eating and I exercised obsessively.

Now, when I moved back to OH from FL and needed a GP, I naturally went with the doctor my sister and mom had been going to for years. He is great: never fat shaming and always treats me for whatever I went in for without ever once bringing up my weight. However, I don’t always see him; it is a medical partner group so there are several doctors and a couple nurse practitioners and physicians assistants. For the most part, they are all great people.

But 5 years ago there was one nurse practitioner who, when I told him I hadn’t eaten anything in 4 days other than water with lemon (to keep hydrated and avoid scurvy), told me to keep up the good work, keep drinking the water, and advised me to try enemas, too. He said that fasting and enemas was a great purification method. At this point I had lost over 150 lbs in about 7 or 8 months. Which he knew because it was recorded in my chart. But I was still fat – I had started out at almost 400 lbs – so obviously it wasn’t an eating disorder or anything to be worried about.

That man exacerbated my already fucked up outlook on food, exercise and my own body, which ultimately led to having to have my gall bladder removed. Turns out not eating for long periods of time can cause gall stones.

So now not surprisingly I’m back to my original weight. Because the only way I can lose weight an keep it off is by literally starving myself. And I’m not willing to do that anymore. I’m much healthier now, being a fat fat fatty than I was when I was relatively thin(er). I do need to exercise more, but frankly, I’m afraid to because I know how easily I can turn obsessive. I don’t want to go through that hell again. Even though I was still fat, I’m fairly tall and I carried the weight well. I looked good and everyone was always telling me that, and how proud they were and what a great thing I had accomplished. But I had never had a more miserable time, when self harm and suicidal ideation were a daily thing. And considering I have had major clinical depression for basically my whole life, that’s saying something.

It’s only in the last few years, after finding Shakesville and Kate Harding’s Shapely Prose that I’ve fully realized how very fucked up that whole period of my life was.

Thankfully, that nurse practitioner was fired from the practice several years ago. And the physician’s assistant I’ve been seeing there lately is absolutely wonderful. She is young and thin and never once mentioned my weight when I saw her a couple months ago for a sinus infection. In fact, I was so comfortable with her I let her talk me into scheduling a pap exam, which she said she could do there in the office. I hadn’t had a pap done in probably 10 years or more because I’ve never had a gyno who didn’t fat shame me to the point of tears. So I had a pap last week, and again she never made any mention of my weight and discussed and touched my very fat body very matter-of-factly with me. She also warmed the speculum before inserting it and was exceedingly gentle and quick. I’m very thankful that I met her.

Things I overhear at work even though I really, really don’t want to listen to the banalities spewed by these people

2010-01-25T11:23:00.001-05:00

Person #1 (speaking of an older relative) “…And she quilts! Oh my god, the stitches are like 1/8 of an inch apart – perfect!”
Person #2 “That’s real quilting. People today, they use machines, that’s not real.” Said in a huffy, self righteous, judgmental tone.

Ok, first of all, this is the sort of shit I have to listen to all freaking day. Weep for me.

Second, why the fuck would using a sewing machine (I’m assuming the person meant a sewing machine; if something like a front loader was used to make a quilt, I could see the point) make it “not real”? Since when did taking advantage of time saving technology mean something has lost it’s veracity? I’m typing rather than using a quill pen. Does that make this rant any less real? Butter is no longer made using the exhausting hand churned method. Does that make butter not real? Well, actually, a lot of people refer to oleo, or margarine, or, as I like to call it, a bunch of gooey chemicals painted yellow, as butter. That is wrong. That is, in fact, not real butter. But beside the point!

The point is: I don’t like that person and the habitually huffy, self righteous, and judgmental pronouncements that come oozing over my cubical wall so that I leave work feeling like I’m lightly covered in slime from listening to such stupidity all day long.

THAT is the point.

People I Don't Trust

2009-07-03T22:24:00.001-04:00

(in no particular order)

• Anyone who voted for W twice (first time I can understand; second time is unforgivable).
• Anyone who refuses to eat more than two small slices of pizza.
• Anyone whose teeth are unnaturally white.
• Anyone who spends more time at the gym than at the playground.
• Anyone who thinks Sacha Boran Cohen is funny.
• Anyone who claims to have never been drunk.
• Anyone who refuses to be seen without makeup.
• Anyone who offers to pray for someone with whom they are angry rather than saying “FUCK YOU”.
• Anyone who thinks stem cell research is bad. (I mean, really?)
• Anyone who thinks anti-choice people are only concerned about the “babies”.
• Anyone who looks to MTV for trends to follow.
• Anyone who thinks WW is a “Lifestyle Change” and not a diet.
• Anyone who thinks diets work.
• Anyone who reads that last one and thinks “But my diet really did. It just takes…”
• Anyone who thinks calories in = calories out (or that losing weight equates it with the Law of Conservation).
• Anyone who thinks thin women are all anorexic, bulimic or have an eating disorder.
• Anyone who thinks eating disorders are good.
• Anyone who can say the store name “Menard’s” and not giggle.
• Anyone who doesn’t like Dr. Seuss.
• Anyone who is not enchanted by books.
• Anyone who thinks torture is justifiable.
• Anyone who doesn’t laugh at baby giggles.
• I haven’t really been a fan since the ‘80’s, but I’m very sad, and still shocked that Michael Jackson died.
• Anyone who thinks “reality TV” is real. Or even worse, great entertainment.
• Anyone who thinks that magic is impossible.
• Anyone who thinks David Blaine is magic. (Most. Boring. Magician. Ever.)
• CHEEZ-IT’s!!!! Love ‘em!!!!!
• Anyone who thinks global warming is a myth. (again, really?)
• Anyone who throws their co-workers under the bus to advance their own career.
• Halliburton.
• Anyone who thinks skinny people are healthy and fat people are unhealthy, simply by looking at their bodies.
• Anyone who engages in sizeism.
• Anyone who thinks racism no longer exists in this country.
• Anyone who thinks feminism is outmoded or is no longer needed.
• Anyone who thinks sexism no longer exists.
• Anyone who thinks “reverse sexism” is a problem.
• Anyone who doesn’t thinks computers and the internet are the Greatest. Things. Evar!
• Anyone who doesn’t like red wine. I’m sorry, you’re just weird.
• Anyone who thinks weird or abnormal is “bad” (yes, I just contradicted myself. In a way. BUT IT’S DIFFERENT!)
• Anyone who thinks this list is definitive. Because it’s not. More later…

Okay, then...

2009-04-22T21:37:00.001-04:00

I have no idea what this is or where it is going. Any ideas will be appreciated.

Black painted nails chittered across the tabletop.

“We expected you before this.” She said.

The table was of a blond wood, scarred with years and use. Dark gouges were visible along the length and breadth of the surface, absorbing light into itself.

Her nails were smoothly manicured, but weirdly bent, as if from a vitamin deficiency; curving down on one side but not the other. A quarter inch of keratin gone badly wrong. I couldn’t stop looking at them, wanting to put them right.

“You knew your time was up, and yet you still delayed. You kept us waiting. Why?”

Her voice was like a silk shawl that had been dragged through burrs. Snags and skips that only emphasized the smoothness beneath. It echoed lightly in the gloom.

The room we sat in was full of smoky darkness, lit only by torches hung at intervals on the walls. It was a large space, long and high, with the table running the length of it. Old, moldy rushes lined the floor and dark, arched doorways led off at intervals along the open brick walls. Bright patches where tapestries had once hanged could be discerned against the smoke darkened masonry.

Sitting in a hard wood, high backed chair across the table, I raised my eyes to look into hers. This sounds like a simple thing, but you will never know the strength it cost me to look into that milky blue whiteness.

“What you want is not mine to give.” I said.

I couldn’t hold her gaze. My eyes dropped down to her bloody lips. Her mouth curved into a smile. My head swum and my eyes dropped further to her nails again, crawling along the wood of table, tracing scars carved in ancient times, feeling the damage as a lover caresses flesh.

“Then take it.”

Psychotic Love & Death

2008-11-26T13:35:00.005-05:00

A tuneless humming wove itself into her sleeping brain.

Accompanying the non-tune was an irritation that was crawling in jagged bursts up her spine. An irritation which was quickly growing into pain, and bringing her fully to a reluctant consciousness.

Death lay on her stomach with her hands tucked under her pillow. She could feel that the blanket had been drawn down around her hips so that her entire bare back was exposed to the attention of her lover, who was currently, it seemed, carving something into her flesh.

"What are you doing, Love?" she murmured into the pillow, without opening her eyes.

"Carving my name into you so you don’t forget me." Love replied.

Death sighed. "Why would I forget you?" Especially since you’ve carved your name into me about a thousand times already? She didn’t add. Love said nothing.

Death opened her eyes and gently turned over to face her lover. Psychotic Love’s eyes were pulsing, the pupils dilating and contracting rapidly and continuously. A disconcerting phenomenon, to be sure, but also beautiful. The irises shown with rainbow colors that changed with Love’s mood. Just now they were swirling with grays and blues, shot through with gold sparks.

Death sat up, reaching for Love’s hands and carefully extracting the X-acto knife from her left fist. Tears gathered slowly in the corners of Love’s extraordinary eyes, rolling down her round cheek, traveling the curve of her jaw to drop off her pointed chin onto the top swell of her full breasts. Holding Psychotic Love’s hands, Death leaned forward and kissed the tears away.

"Why are you sad, Love?" she asked.

"Because you were dreaming." Love said. "I could hear your dreams and you were dreaming about you and you were dreaming about you with the people and you love them and you were dreaming about being them and I don’t want you to forget me when you go away…" Love’s voice trailed off into silence, which she ended by loudly snuffling back her tears.

"Love," Death sighed. "You know you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going back to them. I can’t go back. I have my job to do and my world to oversee. My dreams are just sleeping thoughts and memories. That’s all."

"What if your thoughts and memories wake up and want to take you back for real?" Love said.

"They can’t. You know this." Suddenly Death was tired of the game. "Okay, no more carving on me when I’m sleeping. I’m not going anywhere and even if I were…" Love whimpered at that, but Death ignored it and continued. "…Even if I were going to leave this level I would take you with me."

Psychotic Love’s eyes widened and shifted into a medley of oranges and yellows.

"You would? I’d come with you?" She asked, hands clasped childlike under her chin.

Death looked at her and sighed again, but not without humor.

"Of course you would come with me. We are inextricably intertwined, you and I."

Deciding that she would be getting no more sleep this night, Death hugged Psychotic Love, then moved to the edge of the large bed. Standing up she stretched her long body, her back arching until her bones creaked, and indulged in a jaw cracking yawn. She walked across the shadow drenched room and examined her body in the looking-glass. Twisting around she was able to see the bloodless wound left by Psychotic Love’s ministrations at the base of her spine, just above the swell of her buttocks. With her left hand, Death awkwardly reached around and smoothed the cuts away until nothing but a faint scar was left on her dark, luminous skin. Psychotic Love’s reflection appeared beside her in the mirror.

Love’s head came barely to Death’s chin, her long pale hair floating up, seeming to give her more height, and reaching down almost to the floor so that she was surrounded by a nimbus of silver. Her translucent skin was glowing slightly; the beat of her heart visible in the waxing and waning phosphorescence of her blood as it moved through her veins.

Death’s own midnight skin seemed to throb with vital, solid texture next to Psychotic Love’s ethereal presence. Her hair was long, but straight and close to her head, shining blue-black as it flowed down her shoulders. Her skin was etched with swirls and constellations; patterns of life and dreams shining darkly in the night. Only her glowing, pupil-less eyes shown whitely; eyes which searched out and found all pain and sorrow and despair, and gifted it with death, bringing ease and comfort to the souls of all beings as they moved on to their next worlds.

Love’s eyes pulsed slowly through the reds of contentment, the greens of longing, the purple of rage, and the browns of hate. Her thoughts sprang out from her twisted mind like static electricity, reaching into the physical worlds and entering the minds of those who were open to receiving and acting on her emotions. Standing still she infected thousands with her unquenchable desires and selfish loves, she erupted tempers and tantrums, murder and helpless sobbing, unendurable pain and jealous rages. Unvocalized shrieks whipped the air around her and blood-soaked throats voiced the madness she incubated and birthed into the worlds.
Psychotic Love stared without seeing and spewed out emotions without feeling a thing.

Gazing at their reflections, marveling as always that the contrast of their bodies complimented each other so perfectly, Death took Psychotic Love’s hand and squeezed cruelly, bringing Love’s eyes to her own, ending the scattering of insanity into the world for that moment.

Psychotic Love sighed as she looked at her lover.

"We are meant to be together, are we not?" Love whispered.

"Always and to the end of time, I will follow you, and I will ease the suffering that you bring." Death whispered back.

Things that happen in my head:

2008-11-22T11:19:00.002-05:00

So, a man was walking in ancient Greece. He came to a village at the bottom of a mountain pass. He went up to a villager and asked how he might safely traverse the pass.
"Well, that pass is the domain of the Gorgons." said the villager. "To get through you would need to talk to Zola."
"Zola is the leader of the Gorgons?" asked the man.
"That's right." said the villager.

"Gorgon Zola is the big cheese."

Ba-dum bump.

Time flies...

2008-08-16T23:51:00.001-04:00

Jesus, I hadn't realized how long it has been since I last posted. I'm so glad I don't have kids. I imagine I would be just as neglectful of them.

KY

2008-01-31T22:26:00.001-05:00

Okay, seriously, am I the only one who thinks of Kentucky as the slippery state?

American...meh

2008-01-15T21:40:00.000-05:00

I did something tonight that I have never done before. No, it had nothing to do with a goat, although that is still on my list.

I tuned my television to Fox, and American Idol...on purpose!!!! I've only ever seen the show two or three times before, never in it's entirety, at my sister's house. She loves this shit. And she's a remarkably intelligent woman. I don't get it.

I tried to keep my snark in, inasmuch as is possible considering the circumstances, but one thing kept reoccurring to me: This was filmed before the writers strike. Is it possible (radical as this thought is), that some of the auditioners are actually actors, hired by the producers and given lines to preform (I'm thinking of the stalky guy in particular) in order to make it "interesting"?

Undoubtedly true as that is, it still doesn't work for me. Even with scripts and professional actors, this show sucks.

The real reason I tuned in is that I read on Hecklerspray that American Idol is less about singing talent and more about watching Paula Abdul's slow and amusing descent into insanity. Screw shrieky, superficial singing, I want to watch a famous person be stupid! I was extremely disappointed, therefore, that she didn't even seem to be drunk. She didn't cry once, dammit!

I am an American! I want to see another person wallow in painful and personal hell! That's what we do! Apparently. Woo!

Brains - I think mine was from Abby Normal

2008-01-13T22:40:00.000-05:00

I find that my brain is a very strange entity. It jabbers at me all the time, hounding with me idiotic observations and non sequiturs (the other day I was in the shower and all of a sudden my brain said to me "James Fenimore Cooper!" I had no clue who he was. I was thinking maybe a president from another century. I looked him up once I got to work. Turns out he wrote a bunch of books that I've heard of but never read. My search on him did lead me to a rather scathing and funny essay about him by Mark Twain, though, so that was cool) and I normally have to have music playing all the time just to keep my brain from repeating one line from the last song I heard over and over again - I'm pathetically prone to earworms. I think iPods are one of the best things ever - I can have music everywhere! All the time! And it has the added benefit of keeping me from having to participate in those annoying casual social niceties that we all come across in day to day life (I particularly enjoyed pretending that I couldn't hear the various charity collectors during the holidays; I couldn't hear them so therefore they ceased to exist).

But the really annoying thing about my brain is that it gives me the most wonderful stories and ideas and fantastical images, and then when I sit down to write it all out, to build it into an actual living world...that's when it shuts up, creeps off into a corner, and snickers quietly to itself. I've tried to beat it into submission with wine and various reality altering substances but it seems immune to my machinations.

How the hell do I get my brain to behave and do what I want it to, when I want it to?

Neglect...

2007-12-30T14:18:00.000-05:00

One of my best and most prolific talents. I shall try to curb it in the future.

I'm 'It'? Wait, what?

2007-10-11T20:24:00.000-04:00

Apparently, this is adult tag and I haven't 8 friends to tag back, so here comes random posting time!!!

1) Post these rules before you give your facts

2) List 8 random facts about yourself

3) At the end of your post, choose (tag) 8 people and list their names, linking to them

4) Leave a comment on their blog, letting them know they've been tagged

8 Random Facts About Me

1 – I have a superstition about the number 8. Multiples are good, squares are better, 8’s are best. Every day I clock out at 5:08, unless I’m working late, then I clock out at the nearest 8 or multiple thereof : 5:18, 6:32, 7:56 etc… Or on 34. 34 Doesn’t match the pattern, but it’s a wonderfully good number. 12:34 being the best of them.

2 – I believe in ghosts. And I believe in unicorns. Elves. Fairies. Dragons. Magic. All things preposterous and unpretentious. That’s why I don’t believe in Christianity. Zeus and all the gods of Olympia make a much better case for belief.

3 – I’m in love with a French rock star.

4 – I’m quasi bulimic (I’m only ever able to throw up half of what I eat, and then only if I’ve also had way too much to drink).

5 – I question reality an annoying amount of the time. I spend way too much time wondering if I’m someone’s dream, or if I’m dreaming all of you.

6 – I’m pigeon toed.

7 – I love math, but it doesn’t me so much.

8 – I write. But not nearly enough to purge the ghosts that I believe in so heartily.

sigh

2007-09-24T22:51:00.000-04:00

I really just have nothing to say right now.

again *sigh*

Maybe later.

Sugar and spice and everything....

2007-09-01T11:57:00.000-04:00

Did you know that cigarettes can taste sweet? That with the right coating on your tongue and the correct inhalation technique, cigs can taste just fine.

Tongues are strange things. A mass of ruinously strong muscle covered with alien-looking buds, all equally stupid and talented. Sweet registers at the tip, salt to the left and to the right. There’s more to it, but that’s the basics; that’s all that really matters.

If you coat your mouth with the correct substances (I’ve found that red wine, pizza grease and despair work best) then inhale the poisons from a cigarette so that the smoke hits the tip of your tongue, slipping down the middle of the muscle then going on to invade your throat and conquer your lungs, it tastes like sugar. The feel of it on the tongue is like being hit with a stream of high powered powdered sugar.

It’s been said that in the face of the intolerable that death is sweet. Sweet as confectioners sugar inhaled through a pipe. Death as a sweet conclusion, death as a sweet coming home, death as a sweet goodbye. Death as sweet release.

Slow suicide sweet as sugar and more addicting. The problem presents when you actually want to live. To taste the sweet life.

On the Job

2007-08-06T21:52:00.000-04:00

Blood dripped. That was the most annoying thing. The smell was bad but the dripping was worse. He shrugged mentally and continued on with his work.

“You ain’t done yet?” yelled a voice above the shriek of the chain saw.

Henry looked over at the foreman standing in the doorway to the cold room. With 28 years on the job, the foreman was tall and burly with arms the size of tree trunks and a gray mustache dripping with sweat. He stood at least 6’4” and could trim a carcass in under a minute. At least that’s what the foreman said. Henry had never actually seen him work.

“I’ll be done with this one soon and then I have a calf and two more full grown to go. It’ll be fast.” Henry yelled back.

Henry raised his chainsaw, dripping in spite of the cold, in a half salute and got on about business. The foreman stared at him a minute longer and then turned and walked away. Henry gave him the creeps. The foreman looked at the workers in the next room, watching the carcasses slide slow and stately out from Henry’s slaughter room into the waiting knives of the packagers. They took what remained from Henry’s saw and moved them from place to place, getting them ready for the matrons and socialites who wanted neatly wrapped beef for their supper. No one ever wanted to know where it came from; no one wanted to know what Henry did.

Seeing the foreman gone, Henry gripped the chainsaw and felt the catch and bite as the blade sunk into partially frozen flesh and cut it down neatly. Bits of meat and bone fell away gently (or ploppingly) to the floor. Henry told himself that the cattle didn’t feel a thing.

The conveyor belt above him advanced as he worked, slowly moving the carcasses along towards the opening to the next room, a doorway strung with thick flaps of rubber.

The calf was next. He sawed it neatly in two, the hind legs stuck out at right angles to it’s body, hanging from the twin hooks planted on either side of it’s rump. So young and no life left to live. It’s blood pattered maddeningly on the floor.

The next one came along. Henry looked at it, feeling bile rise in his throat. The tattered remains of the carcass’s shirt lay in greasy and beer splattered swags sweeping against the floor. The legs, instead of sticking straight out as the others did, hung down so the toes were about even with the elbows of the body. Henry raised the chainsaw.

“This is what you get” he muttered under his breath, unaware that he had spoken aloud. He almost threw the chainsaw’s blade into the groin of the carcass, slicing the scrotum and penis almost perfectly in half. The carcass’s eye’s opened wide and blood vomited out of the struggling mouth as Henry worked his way deeper into the inner workings of the carcass. The blade of the chainsaw whined it’s way down the body, crying out shrilly when it hit the sternum, struggling to make it’s way though the hard bone. Sweat gleamed like pearls on Henry’s forehead.

”This is what you get.”

The blood was falling faster now. The next carcass on the line opened her eyes. Pain filled and drowsy, she looked at a world upside down and moaned in nauseating tones as her long dark hair lazed against the cement work floor.

“Henry?” She said, her voice full of mucus and drugs. “Henry, what are you doing wrong now?”

“This is what you get!” Henry shrieked, unhearing, as his chainsaw journeyed it’s way through the man. “DON’T TOUCH ME AGAIN!”. The bellow could barely be heard under the whine and thunder of all the slaughterhouse machinery. “YOU. DON’T. GET. TO. TOUCH. ME!” Henry’s muscles bulged under his parka, his teeth grinding down on the flesh of his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. Blood ran in a small rill down his chin.

The saw bit it’s way through the skull with an unexpected speed, and flashed with a grating sound against the cement. Henry lifted the blade and breathed great gasps of frosty air, steam billowing in and out of his nose and mouth.

“You can’t touch me now.”

The words came out soft and almost lovingly calm.

“Henry?” Said the next carcass. The word came out gargled and tense. “Henry? What are you DOING?”

Henry looked at her.

“You knew. You knew and you didn’t protect me.”

The chainsaw bit deep again. Screams issued faintly from the other side of the thick rubber strips as his stepfather moved into the packaging room.

“YOU KNEW, YOU BITCH! HELP ME!”

A howl like death rose from Henry’s throat as his mother’s eyes stared at him in uncomprehending pain and terror mixed with shame and remorse.

“HELP ME NOW!”

The annoying blood dripped down in answer.

And soon he heard sirens winging their way around the slaughterhouse.

Things That Make Me Want to Throw Up:

2007-08-03T21:29:00.000-04:00

Hypocrisy:

"America has never been an empire. We may be the only great power in history that had the chance, and refused -- preferring greatness to power and justice to glory."

--GEORGE W. BUSH

The Prom

2007-07-22T12:16:00.001-04:00

...and then they laughed at me once more. The cries and the gales of mirth surrounded my head as my thoughts were bloody and my eyes danced. My feet were encased in jeweled slippers of finest silk; my legs were long and lean under lengths of satin. My bosom was heaving and my gun was heavy and my hair was sparkling in the light. All the world danced with me and all the music beat in time to my heart: Erratic and frantic and slightly manic, tired and hurried and entirely panicked, I made them all dance till dawn, till dawn. And I made them all dance till dawn.

A death’s mask rictus, a gentle nod, a flirt of lashes and a heart rending shriek. A twist of the hips, and hump of the mons, a flair of skirts and a taste of blood: these were all that was needed to make them look at me to look at me LOOK AT ME! And I made them all dance till dawn, till dawn. And I made them all dance till dawn.

Horrors and terrors and slightly worse things; tremendous deadly monsters and small soul sucking holes; hot flashes and cold spots, dead hands on your neck; the chill up your spine when you know the unknown is near:

“This is fun! Oh fun! Oh how much fun we shall have! Laugh now! Laugh loud! Be gleeful and merry! Be bright and young and oh! so much better than me!” and I shot at them one by one.

My laughter was light and gay and tinkling, my breath sour as an old grave. My footsteps in time to the lively music left trails in the blood behind.

“So smile, oh smile! You’d better damn smile, don’t think you’ll get out of here alive. I’ve barred all the doors, the windows are cement and the help you expect will never arrive. Yes, this I’ve learned: the help you expect will never arrive.”

And I made them all dance till dawn, till dawn. And I made them all dance till dawn.

Managements are Funny

2007-07-13T18:50:00.000-04:00

This is the note I found taped to my front door when I got home from work today:

Dear Residents,

The power company has informed us that the power to all of the buildings will be shut off on Saturday July 14th from the hours of 7:00 am until Noon. We apologize for the obvious inconvenience this will cause and hope that this will be the end of the electrical supply for the property.

Management

Well, good lord, I hope not. I laughed until I peed my pants.

How I Saved The World:

2007-05-02T12:31:00.000-04:00

I live in an apartment. I like not having to worry about the yard or the hot water heater and all that jazz. I also like knowing that there are always people within 25 feet of me, even if it’s on the other side of a wall. But mostly it's because I can barely keep a one bedroom apartment tidy; do you have any idea of the health hazards that would present themselves if I tried to keep an entire house clean by myself?

The dust rhinos would be enormous. That’s right. Not dust bunnies. Dust rhinoceroses. Huge. They would most likely gain sentience through an unholy union with some moldy hummus and rancid camembert. Then they would just sit around the house all day, being dusty, watching TV (Because really, who’s going to hire a giant sentient dust rhino, even at minimum wage?) and slowly eating away at my furniture and belongings. It would be enough to make me stamp my foot in a fit of pique, and then that would send up a cloud of dust which would asphyxiate me and I would die. Then the giant sentient dust rhinos would escape the house and alarm people by charging down the street and eating all the ice cream (they love ice cream), but then they would be caught up and torn apart by the wind, eventually encircling the globe in an impenetrable cloud of sentient dust, causing a nuclear winter effect similar to setting off all the nukes at once and that would be the end of life on the planet for a billion, billion years.

So it’s probably better that I’m not a homeowner. Safer.

Vegetarianism and Euthanasia

2007-04-30T00:24:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty much a half hearted vegetarian because it's mostly for health reasons. Half of my family has died of heart disease and cancer, so I try to stay away from most meats. Plus, I actually just prefer veggies: given the choice between a meat lovers and a veggie lovers pizza, I’ll always go for the veggie pizza. It just tastes better to me. Although there are times I wish I could keep a cow tied up in the back yard so I could go out and gnaw on it whenever I get hungry. I think that may be hormonal. And I love the stinky cheeses. So like I said, it’s all half hearted.

I’m not opposed to eating meat, nor am I any kind of rabid PETA freak. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m for cruelty to animals. I abhor the whole idea of sport hunting, and using animals to test for land mines and shit like that. But if I could, I would love to parade up and down in front of the PETA headquarters wearing a full length mink coat with badgers on my feet and a live wombat on my head, just to annoy them. The PETA people, not the badgers and the wombat. The whole PETA cult seems to be populated by wildly and obnoxiously self righteous idiots.

Ironically, that last part is used to describe me by a lot of my friends as well: wildly obnoxious self righteous idiot. It’s how I know they love me.

I had a conversation about pets (with subliminal subtext about animal rights) with my sister once that was surreal and superficial all at the same time. She was telling me about some program where skanktastic socialites take their dogs to this woman who says she’s a pet psychologist or psychic or some such shit. Well, this one vacuous excuse of a human woman brought her dog in and the pet psychic told her that the dog wanted to be put down. After my sister relayed that particular bit of information, I just stared at her mouth agape, and thought, “Holy shit, that poor dog must really loathe that anorexic little twit! Maybe she uses it to purge or something, and that’s why it's begging for euthanasia!”

My sister looked at me confused because I looked so shocked that the psychic was telling the twit her dog was suicidal. Until, to clarify, I explained what the term “to be put down” meant when used in reference to animals. Generally.

Turns out the anorexic little twit was carrying the dog around all the time and the psychic was just saying that the dog wanted to be put down on the ground once in awhile.

It was funny. We laughed. Then she called me a wildly obnoxious self righteous idiot.

Good times.

What actually drives us?

2007-04-29T01:12:00.000-04:00

I really want to know. According to anthropologists (from what I understand) our most basic instincts for the continuation of life boils down to food and sex.

Not that I have a problem with this. In theory. In practice it is a different matter.

I can go for days without food (trust me, my brain is evil and has made me go for four days (the longest) without any food. Although I was allowed lemon water and a glass of red wine each night, so it wasn’t all bad.) And I haven’t been able to have actual sex for years. Years. Seriously, for like 108 years I’ve been only able to touch myself and no others.

That last bit may be an exaggeration. But not much of one.

So either I’m extraordinarily strong in exerting my will over nature, or I’m a self indulgent twit who is so self absorbed that I think my feelings of inadequacy and insecurity actually amount to something and that they take precedence over what other people are going through, and am therefore to be offered charitable help and assistance.

Thinking on it, I think I actually prefer to just die, thanks.

How many xanax DOES it take to get to the center of the crypt?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Why I'm a Ridiculously Fabulous Geek

2007-04-23T18:50:00.000-04:00

I bought a can of nuts. "Less than 50% peanuts"! the label proudly proclaimed. I didn't care. That's not why I got them.

I got them because I like to eat nuts out of the can, one at a time, with chop sticks.

That's not the only fun I rock out on. I'm an animal of outrageousness partying, with naked thighs.

Plus, I really, really like knock-off name brand purses. I have some sort of unholy Guccci Coach hybrid that my niece bought for me that I wish I could stop using, but it has, oh! So many useful pockets. Plus the hidden lead lined enriched plutonium panel which every middle eastern spy needs nowadays.

I really love chop sticks. They're so tappity-tappity-tap.

I really need a new job...

2007-04-09T21:58:00.001-04:00

Why is it that old ladies feel the need to wear so much perfume that you can smell them as soon as they walk into the building, no matter which floor you're on at the time?

I work with several dear old souls who have either had their nasal passages cauterized or are so desperately afraid of dying without anyone noticing that they judge their continued existence by the various violent reactions of people encountering their semi-solid wall of personal smog.

Or...

They are just trying to kill me. My god, these women reek.

Supporting the theory of homicidal intent is the fact that they all wear different scents. I use the word "scent" along the same lines of a skunk's "scent".

Different, competing, cloying and harsh, incense-tuous and overwhelming (one of them has overtones of rancid Palmolive) I swear to god the air becomes unbreathable for all the various gases these women exude voluntarily. Sometimes I have to wield a pomander of rosemary, frankincense and cloves to combat the plague of their combined assault on my olfactory sense.

And to make matters worse, they have more than one perfume each. Everyday it is a different evil concoction of aromas, so it's nothing I could possibly become accustomed or immune to. They all wear at least 864 various and equally appalling fragrances, and I swear to god they do it on purpose. I'm not sure what that purpose is, but I'm sure it's evil and has something to do with the fact that I still have lots of sex and they don't.

Dudes, seriously. They stink.

This one's for Josh...

2007-03-10T01:58:00.000-05:00

B'cuz he doubted. And I always admire doubters. We are the ones who make everyone else either open their minds or, you know, feel all superior and supercilious.

Either way, we can make fun of their hairstyles.

Doubt all, accept nothing, and use a good moisturizer.

Peace (Yeah, right.) out.

My God, My God, Why Did You Make Your Children So Stupid?

2007-02-07T20:32:00.000-05:00

I want to know why "God damn", "Goddamn", "Godamn", "God dam" and other variations thereof are considered "bad", or "vulgar" or "blasphemous" (a term, by the way, which I was appalled to find out appears in legal texts as applying to criminally chargeable statutes). I've been told that it's because one of the "Commandments" is to not take God's name in vain.

K.

But god is not a name, it's a title.

There are literally millions of gods throughout history, thousands of which are still "alive" today. How the hell (and by what arrogance) do the christians suppose I'm invoking their god? When I say “Goddamn it! I’ve lost the love of McDougal again! That fucking cheating bastard has a greased up knothole with pouty lips! Goddamn it!”, how does anyone presume to know that I’m not asking the god Mithra, or Baal or Lord Vishnu or Queen Elizabeth to damn McDougal? It’s not like I’m saying Yahwe (or Jayweh or Ya, way! or Satan, or however you spell it, I’m no scholar) damn him. THAT would be taking the christian god’s name in vain. Then I could see the christians getting their collective panties in a bunch.

But no one says that. I have never heard “Yahweh damn it!” from the lips of anyone, ever. I just googled the spelling, btw.

I’m just so tired of hearing bleeped out songs and stand up comic routines. It’s fucking annoying. We all know they’re saying “god” during the bleep. The “damn” part is OK, but saying the “god” part first is what makes it wrong. The irony makes me giggle. And then cry. Maybe everyone should start saying “Damngod!” instead. I bet THAT wouldn’t get bleeped.

Why are we catering to the sensibilities of people who looked at Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Bakker, Ted Haggard, and others of their ilk and said “Mmmhmm. Them’s good people. Mmmhmm.” even after said men had proved, beyond a shadow of doubt, their hypocrisy?

I don’t get it. Queen Elizabeth damn you all.

Fuck this Shit

2007-02-06T23:34:00.000-05:00

It's 6 fucking degrees F right now, not counting the wind chill.

Fuck it. I'm getting naked and going to bed. If I die of hypothermia then it was just meant to be. If I don't, then that means that all my dreams were meant to come true and that Tinkerbelle really DOES exist!

I love these little bets with myself. I always win.

Bonne nuit et frosty nipples to you all!

New from the land of Who Gives a Shit?

2007-02-03T21:49:00.000-05:00

So anyway, I was talking to my dog groomer, which is weird because I don't have a dog, and he told me that the Superbowl was really just a bunch of hot guys (debatable point) getting together for purely commercial reasons. And I said "nu-uh it's totally about the competition" and then we did each others hair.

It was a good day. Tell me who wins, because I am so not watching.

A Post for T.L. Hines, Since I'm Sure He Won't...

2007-01-05T22:56:00.000-05:00

I recently almost read a book. Thanks be to the gods that protect me and my thinking brain, I did not finish it. It is a most ridiculous book; the most ridiculous thing about it is that in the hands of a capable author the premise would have been magnificent. In the hands of the actual author, however, it is nothing short of an embarrassing travesty. Aside from the stilted characters, transparent plot line and weak writing, the whole religion trip made me gag.

What really sucks is that the underlying idea for the story was really quite good. Intriguing, even, which is why I plucked it off the library shelf in the first place. But it all went downhill from there. Seriously, how did this guy get published? I write better than this clown, and I've never been published. Unless, of course, you count the publishing house that said my story about the futuristic, skywalking space knight and his courageous band of misfit heroes that overthrew the evil emperor solely by love, luck and light swords was a sure thing. They told me that all needed to do was pay $34,000 to an offshore account and they would get me in print. I sent the money a long, long time ago, to a bank account far, far away. And they promised me I would get a free copy of the book. I can't imagine what happened to it. I still check my mailbox everyday...

Anyway, I digress...

I wrote to T.L Hines’s blog, but I’m sure I’ll never get posted. Judging by the slobbering posts that exist in that place, either the guy’s handlers never let him hear the bad side or he himself will never let his half-witted fans know there IS a bad side. Gods forbid there be a dissenting voice amongst the believers. Therefore I present to you in its entirety the post I sent to one T.L. Hines about his book (of which I had great hopes, which were dashed like a kittens brains against a Texans boot heel) and of which I’m sure will never see the light of day on his blog:

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! How in the name of all that is holy did this stupid piece of shit ever get published, much less on ANY best list?

Not only is the writing almost sophomoric, the plot holes (not to mention the plausibility holes) are mind boggling. I could not even force myself to read the whole thing; I read almost halfway through – long after where I saw where the story was going and the whole 'whodunit' aspect was long solved – then I skipped to the ridiculous, wretched, painfully obvious ending. How much did you (or your publishers) pay the authors whose quotes of admiration adorn the dust sleeve? I find it impossible to believe that any thinking person would praise this dung heap-like compilation of words of their own accord.

My only consolation is that I didn’t pay anything for this travesty; I borrowed it from my local library. And then returned it way in advance of the due date so that others may laugh at it in unbridled scorn as well.

Please don’t write anything more. Please.

Harsh? Perhaps. However, one must remember the truism of Jesus (the one that lives down the hall from me, not the one in the bible):

« Tu as gagnée ta place aux Paradis
et si un ange passe pars avec lui. »

Actually neither one of them said that, but I just thought it needed to be repeated anyway.

THANK YOU CLEVELAND AND GOODNIGHT!

3 year olds are fun...when you don't want to kill them.

2006-11-21T22:16:00.000-05:00

I babysat my niece the other day. I shouldn't have, because I'm not supposed to lift anything more than 10 pounds, and a healthy 3 year old weighs at least, what? 5 or 6 hundred pounds, I'm guessing. Or, you know, around 25 pounds maybe, for those who are not subjective. Anyway, my sister is sick, so I took the kid.

Did you ever notice that when a 3 year old thinks she's in trouble she becomes the most obstinate, stubborn and objectionable child in the world? My 3 year old was in the bathroom. She had just finished going potty and we had finished an argument of who was going to wipe her. I lost. I thought she should be able to do it (after all it was just pee) and her excuse as to why she couldn't was "I don' wanna! Because!" which, when you're 3 makes sense. So after washing my hands, I went back out to the kitchen to stir the soup, because that's what I do when I've been bested by 3 a year old. Suddenly there was a crash of the most unimpressive sort. I recognized the sound of my hair dryer falling off the counter top, because I'd caused it so many times myself. I rounded the corner in a hurry though, thinking she may have hurt herself. There she stood, in all her Dora the Explorer underwear glory, and she said... "I was trying to push it back up."

Uh huh. That's what she was doing.

I told her to get out of the bathroom. And wouldn't you know it, suddenly the bathroom was Disneyland, Cinderella's castle, and Baskin Robins all wrapped up together: it was her most favorite place in the world and she decided that she did NOT want to leave it. I had to physically pick the child up (and oh, my abused abdominal muscles loved that) along with her jeans and take her into the living room. She was screaming the whole way as if I was flaying her with razor blades. A thought which crossed my mind but which I did not do. I (forcefully, admittedly) put her jeans on her, and it's amazing what strength a child of 3 can command to her knees. If she don't wan' 'em to unbend, they ain't gonna unbend. But I got the jeans on her (Yay me, 30 years older and stronger. How sad is it that I count this as a victory?) and then I plopped her down on the couch, turned off the TV (we were watching Disney, so it wasn't all that painful for me) and told her she was in time out. She screamed and cried. Cried and screamed. At one point I was afraid for my upholstery thinking she was going to puke on my couch. THAT would have upset me. Eventually though, she hiccupped to a stop and started breathing again. After about 5 minutes of quiet I asked her is she was done. She said yes and asked if she could get off the couch. I said yes. She was immediately all smiles and she dug in the bag that her mom had packed. She came out with something called "Floam", and she proceeded to smear it all over my apartment with laughter and something akin to naked glee. This was her revenge, I'm sure of it.

I Should Not Be Writing Right Now

2006-10-19T22:10:00.000-04:00

I need to go to sleep. I'm to have surgery soon. I need my rest. No, I should not be writing right now.
My insides are in turmoil again, and I've already thrown up so it's not that. My brain is throwing pictures against the white shiny screen of my mind. I don't know what it means, but it seems like a good story. There seems to be a lot of blood involved, anyhow. And mythology, which is always interesting even when blood gets boring. My god, I'm fucking insane. And I'm so into the benefits of insanity.

I've been putting off for so long that which i've dreaded because I know how much I will love it.

I'm pretty sure god hates me.

Vive le livre!

Damn, damn damn, damn, damn!

2006-10-07T07:52:00.000-04:00

I've tried a couple of times, but I can't seem to write anything witty right now. I'll try again later. It will probably have something to do with Tennesse Williams and suicide. I don't know if that's ironic or not.

Bush and Cheney are destroying our country. Mostly Cheney, I imagine, because Bush is a twunt.

More later.

The Evils of Christianity (Now with fewer grammatical errors!)

2006-10-04T19:17:00.000-04:00

I'd like to propose a ban on the Chronicles of Narnia books, because they promote the evils of Christianity. On the face of things, they are merely fantastical stories about a group of siblings who are transported to another world by way of an old wardrobe. A world full of mythical beasts, magical inhabitants and time-bending phenomena. But in reality, these are all allegorical references to C.S. Lewis's Christian beliefs, a fact which is readily admitted by the author. He has never even tried to deny his attempt to draw unsuspecting children into the hate mongering, self-righteous religion. On the contrary! He actually revels in his perversity because he is, in fact, a theologian! He's all about the Christianity, unlike Ms.Rowling who has never endorsed any religion whatsoever in any of her novels. I don't want my children, and other people’s children, exposed to the misogynistic and closed minded teachings of such a horrible and deceitful cult as Christianity. This religion’s factions generally have no respect for life; In fact Christianity is responsible for more suffering, death and murder than drugs and abortion combined. I believe it is in the best interests of our society to stamp this blight out. The very least we can do is to prevent our children from being exposed to its evils in their very schools, which are, ideally, places to open and expand the mind, not places of censorship and rigidity.

Damn...

2006-10-04T18:52:00.000-04:00

It's been a long fucking time since I posted. I've been wondering why I've been so fucking bored...

Oh, the heart! When it meeteth its own, how the beats do sound!

2006-06-12T20:19:00.000-04:00

This is my newest most favoritist person in the world right now:

http://rudepundit.blogspot.com/

And the irony is, I found him by following a link from what started out as a K-Fed article that I was forced by paralyzing boredom to read whilst supposedly working.

It's fate.

Quote of the Day

2006-05-28T19:13:00.000-04:00

"A country that gives up rights for security, deserves neither."

Possibly a misquote, by me, but attributed to Benjamin Franklin.

Whatever happened to "land of the free, home of the brave"? What freedoms are our soldiers dying for, pretending for the moment that we are in a necessary war? Are we truly ready to give up our freedom, our rights, our civil liberties for the flimsy promise of a politician who says he can save us from the devil?

I speak for no one but myself, but I would rather face the devil, and possibly die in the process with all my rights, freedoms and liberties intact, than die knowing that my life is not my own.

This is not new: Live free or die trying. Isn't that the whole fucking point of this country? When did that change?

Bring on the danger; leave my rights alone.

Quote of the Day

2006-05-07T12:20:00.000-04:00

"All happiness depends on courage and work. I have had many periods of wretchedness, but with energy and above all with illusions, I pulled through them all."

- Honoré de Balzac

2006-04-28T21:43:00.000-04:00

I’m cold.

So long cold
and then:
you stand before me –
me and not me and oh so us.
I wrap my arms around
reaching under your jacket
right to grasp left forearm
at the small of your back,
and resting my chin
at that indecipherable place where your shoulder
turns gently into your neck.
My shoulders collapse
smaller and more feminine so
that your shoulders can enfold me
us
and I borrow your heat.
I can feel the gentle whisk of your stubble
against my temple and then lower
on my cheek and my ear
against my neck,
as you bow your head to me
to us
to
.
I can feel your hands grasp each other
behind my back in silent prayer
each perfect finger entwined together tight,
as I feel your lips touch that indescribable place
where my neck meets my shoulder;
and our thighs kiss.

Has there ever been a hug so perfect as ours?

Safety is a Myth

2006-04-23T03:42:00.000-04:00

She’s behind me.

Always behind me: poking me prodding me, behind and bothering me. Her face is squashed against the glass of my brain. Her drool foams and clouds against my barrier of hope, as her naked hips pump and her thighs scream of dark destinies untaken.

My head shakes in negation and my stomach churns with bile. My face jerks to the right, my chin bangs against my shoulder: Body spasms to undo my minds betrayal.

My teeth grind.

I hold myself with the glistening of grass as the wind blows the blades south; the sparkle of the mica as the setting sun reflects against the pavement. How do we forget the things that fascinate ourselves as children? When do we stop seeing the shiny things; when do we stop chasing after the random butterflies that flitter by, rather than catching the ball?

And she sees you, so complacent in your love. She will hurt you, your protests notwithstanding. How arrogant we are in being alive. She sees the meat of my heart and longs to end her fast; she grinds her teeth, as my teeth gnash....

The long and sallow light fades behind, and the feeling of death is dearth aligned. I can feel the pulse of her desire beat in my nipples alive with neglected heat; I need to take my face off and be who I am underneath...

She will wait.

In all hell and hopeless laughter, she will wait.

Outside my window:

2006-04-23T02:34:00.000-04:00

I saw a beautiful man today:

A young man came home with his friend. They got out of the truck and two little girls ran up to them. I couldn't hear what was said: a silent movie in a way these children will never know. The first little girl ran up to him, a child knowing, getting to know, wanting to know what it is to be a woman she talks to him then turns her back to him. She didn't cross her arms across her non-existent chest: she held them out from her sides. He smiled and grasped her by the arm pits and lifted. Her face lit like the sun, her arms and legs spread in the air as she looked like a star, a tree, a cheerleader, the dancer and fighter that she is. His height was small next to her glow, and he lifted her higher than his head. Then the other girl, taller and you could see the awkwardness that she was living in: skinny and growing and she will be so beautiful one day. She came to him with no words, only presented her back to him and he lifted: his smile was as great as the joy and gratitude on her face. She lit like a ballerina en jette.

They walked into the building together: all of them small and large and whole and apart. Not knowing I existed and watched and envied and cried for their beauty and friendship.

That is what I saw today. This is why I didn't die today, although they almost killed me.

Suicide is my only option...

2006-04-16T20:17:00.000-04:00

I’m tired of being in love
with impossible, unreachable men.
I’m tired of being ugly
even when I’m not
(but I am).

I’m tired of always being alone
I’m tired of always chasing others away.
I’m tired of being the one who is strong
to no one leaning on me.

I’m tired of fantasies and imagination
I’m tired of hope and calls to god.
I’m tired of loneliness and cold and wine
I’m tired of masturbation and porn and dreams.

I’m tired of being alone
and alone
and alone
and always alone especially when I’m with a couple.
I’m tired of talking to myself and pretending;
I’m tired of holding myself in the shower.

I’m tired of wishing the pain would stop

I just want it to stop

just stop

and stop

I want it to stop tonight.

I’m tired of trying to be elegant and eloquent
I’m tired of trying to be patient and strong.
I’m tired of trying to hang on for nothing,
for promises that never come
and never come
and never come
and fruition that never comes
to all my daydreams unfulfilled.

I’m tired of believing in angels
I’m tired of believing in hell.
I’m tired of trying to placate the gods
and the demons that torment my soul.

I’m tired of counting
I’m tired of trying to make the numbers match
I’m tired of having to watch the clocks for specific times
that make no sense
in this world or the next.

I’m tired of wanting to bleed
I’m tired of seeing my veins stretch
I’m tired of needing my own destruction to hold my brain together.

I just want to lay down,
I just want to lay everything down,
And I want everything inside to be quiet.
I just want to let everything go
And to be at last at peace with myself:

I just want a do-over...

Who Knew?

2006-04-14T15:44:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, 6:34PM - Evil Part of my Brain says "We're not going to eat again until Friday at 1:34PM."
Dumb Part of my Brain says "Huh? Oh, well, OK."
Me, standing in the middle, says "What the fuck?"
Evil Part of my Brain says "We're not eating again until Friday at 1:34PM. If we eat between now and then something bad will happen."
Dumb part of my Brain says "Oh, OK. No eating then. We will not eat. No food. OK then."
Me, standing in the middle, says, "What the FUCK?"
Evil Part of my Brain says "We're not eating agin until 1:34PM Friday. Something bad will happen if we eat. I'm not gonna say what. But it would be bad. Get used to it. Food ain't gonna happen."
Dumb Part of my Brain says "Yeah, he's the boss. No eating. Something bad will happen if we eat. Um... Where'd I leave my synapses?"
Me, standing in the middle, says "Yeah, but I'm hungry..."
Evil Part of my Brain says "No eating until 1:34 on Friday. Live with it."
Dumb Part of my Brain says "Oh look, something shiney!"
Me, standing in the middle, says "Well fuck."

I'm so happy it's Friday.

What the fuck is CPE?

2006-04-08T00:17:00.000-04:00

I'm no longer sick. Or at least, I'm no longer projectile vomiting against my bathroom walls as I make my way towards the toilet. So I have a question...

What's up with this CPE shit? As far as I can tell, and granted, I'm not that smart, but as far as I can tell the whole issue is about a bunch of over-privileged, whiny assed, spoiled children bitching that the other guys, i.e., those that came before them, got more than they are going to get.

As far as I can tell (and this very well may be wrong because I can't find news coverage from the student and union POV) the whole problem is that companies can fire employees under the age of 26 within a two year probation period for any reason. If this is true, and I pray that I am missing something, then I just want to say...GROW THE FUCK UP, YOUTH OF FRANCE!!! Welcome to my fucking world, where you have to prove your worth to an employer (for your whole career, not just the first two years, you pussies) to keep your job. In a lot of ways, France's work place rights are totally cool and I wish we (i.e. – countries other than France) could take advantage of such privileges. But see, the problem is that France is going bankrupt because of their welfare policies.

Now, I truly believe that government should support the people and not the other way around. I believe that everyone is entitled to free health care and a (financially) worry free retirement. HOWEVER, when excessively lenient social welfare programs lead to the bankruptcy of the country, then it may be time to look for alternative programs, or at least an overhaul of the existing ones. But that’s just the way I see it, and I throw up a lot, so I may be wrong.

I'm just a naked drunk bitch with wings.

Children make me sick. Literally.

2006-04-01T16:07:00.000-05:00

I'm coming down with something, and it's pissing me off. Every time my sister's two (admittedly adorable, but still make me glad I don't have any of my own) kids get sick, they end up passing it on to me. Hanging out with my nephew is great because he's just under 5 years old, and already he can bullshit like a pro. Having a conversation with him is like being on an acid trip through Disneyworld -- everything is innocent but oddly twisted and distorted. And his sister is the meanest and bossiest (but still cuddly) 2 1/5 year old ever. I live in fear of pissing her off. That child can SCREAM, brother! So I do love them, but my god! You would think someone (like a parent, maybe?!?!?) would teach them to cover their mouths when they sneeze, or at least not to aim it at someone else’s face.

Wine can be used as an antiseptic, right? If I get good and drunk, it could potentially kill off whatever this latest bug is that they've infected me with. Or at least make me not care that I'm sick. Let's find out!

I wanna get drunk and eat cheese.

2006-03-30T23:38:00.000-05:00

Yeah, that's pretty much about it. I love a nice brie and a good cabernet souvignon. Other than that...eh.

Horny much?

2006-03-28T19:38:00.000-05:00

Now I wish I was the shiny girl from The Killers "Mr. Brightside" video, which is right before the woodland creatures on PCP video of Jet's "Look What You've Done" on VOD. I want to be a shiny girl in a darkly glittering hot frost covered dream, with dark bits creeping out from the corners, mysterious and skulky in a filthy gorgeous world. I want to be sexy moody in a slumpy see-through whimper of a gown, being wanted lusted desired hoped hopped and hyped. I want to shoot a look of blue ice over my shoulder that will still a man's heart with overwhelming knowledge that he has never known love because he has never known me. I want to glow with untouchable ethereal majesty that inspires the basest most animalistic and glorious longing for sex, just sex and sex without the merest hint of a whisper of desire for procreation, just fucking in the glowing darkness of solid hard lust. I want to dance with black holes about my head and stars bowing at my feet, witless and faithless to all that is good for me and light, unheeding and dismissive of pleas for a return to the dry and barren reality of now. I want to feel eyes on me, unwavering unwilling unable to turn away, hard and bright with thoughts of how my body would bend under theirs, how my flesh would feel under theirs, how my wetness would quench their thirst. I want my mind to thrum with the music of bodies slaking each other, thighs grasping each other, chests smashing each other, hips rocking together, fingers grasping one another, mouths finding purchase on every surface, hearts hunting forever in music that is ceaseless and merciless and loving beyond all sensation. I want to be a shiny girl in a dark world where lust can be love and love can be intertwined with hate to bring back hope, and every desire is fulfilled in the shadows of luxurious decadence in my heart.

I Shall

2006-03-15T21:26:00.000-05:00

I can ache with despondency:
my limbs hanging motionless
as dead weights pulling me down.
I can be immobile with tears:
acidic emotion coursing over my face
etching tracks into my skin.
I can reach for you continuously:
my fingers stretching out to the sky
pulling back with naught but My dreams.
I can laugh and rollick and ignore the pain:
my life spread out before me like a lover
begging to be taken.
I can revel and dance in my glory:
cavorting, twisting and shining
in multiple paroxysms of living.
I can raise myself up.
I can raise myself up:
I can raise myself up
as stars that consume themselves in ecstasies of fire.

Because it’s not finished still.

What the Hell Were They Thinking?

2006-03-06T20:57:00.000-05:00

I've always thought of South Dakota as a fairly innocuous, inoffensive state that maybe had a weird thing for big heads. That is, when I even thought of the state at all (read: never.) But now, whoo boy! What the hell have they gone and done? The governor of South Dakota (state motto: “Slightly Warmer Than North Dakota!”) has actually signed a bill banning almost all abortion rights. The only time, apparently, that it’s ok for a woman to terminate a pregnancy by choice is if her very survival is at stake, and even then only if the doctors have expended heroic efforts to save the baby first. I’m really hoping that this is actually a back door, sneaky ploy by the governor of South Dakota (personal motto: “Everyone Please Stop Looking At Me.”) to avoid the slow erosion of abortion rights though the gradual introduction of seemingly less-offensive legislation (i.e., waiting periods, parental notification requirements, requirements of Witnessing to the pregnant woman prior to giving her any abortion education or information, etc.) by banning those rights altogether in one fell swoop, thereby all but guaranteeing an appeal will be made by (hopefully) several different groups. The Supreme Court will then have to step in and overturn the law as unconstitutional, in the process reinforcing Roe v. Wade, which will then make him a hero in the annals of women’s rights. But some niggling feeling in the back of my mind makes me think that’s not what his plan is. I think that this is just what it appears to be: A front door, sneaky ploy to erode women’s right to have an abortion in favor of some people’s religious leanings.

Now, I know nothing about the governor of South Dakota (alternative personal motto: “If We Can’t Convert Them To Christianity, We’ll Pass Legislation That Makes Them Have To Adhere To Our Ideas Of Morality Anyway.”) not even his name. Nor do I really care to know anything about him; he is apparently a twit. But it seems to me that signing this bill into law is quite possibly as asinine a political move as when Orville Faubus symbolically (or not so symbolically; Faubus’s personal motto: “Subtlety Is For Pussies”) stood in the way of desegregation when he tried to prevent the Little Rock Nine from entering the previously all white high school. Hopefully, this move will prove just as beneficial to the career of the governor of South Dakota (alternative state motto: “We Finally Get To Say We Did Something Before North Dakota!”) as it did for that long ago governor of Arkansas. Everyone remembers what happened when tried to stop the admission of those nine kids into the school, but who the hell remembers him? I had to google the incident in Little Rock to get the guy’s name because, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it. And then I had to google his name to be sure it was right. I mean, come on. Orville Faubus? Someone’s having me on, right?

Hopefully someday the governor of South Dakota (alternative motto for both: “We Did It To Be Known For Something Other Than The Big Heads.”) will be as nameless and forgotten as good ‘ol Orville Faubus; completely overshadowed by the events unleashed by his misconceived notion to try to take away the rights of individuals for political gain. And, in this case, the unconstitutional attempt to legislate religious opinions.

My motto? “I Really Like Long And Rambling Mottos. Although Mine Is Comparatively Short. At Least It Started That Way. But Then It Just Kept Going. Dear God, Make It Stop, Make It Stop!!!”

More later, for I've only just begun to rant on this subject.

In Dreams

2006-02-26T15:49:00.000-05:00

There are flowers in France
that smell sweetly upon a winter morn;
a hint of a whisper of a spell
of honeysuckle, sandalwood and rose.
Grey and mellow and lost in time
the ghosts of his scent find me
upon a winter morn:
alone and in my dreams.
The stray caress of a willow branch
touches fleetingly through my mind:
sighing drops of the aching rain
falling in my dreams.
These wet and lonely and disturbing days
have a stranglehold on my thoughts.
I am agitated and still in hopeless wonder
and all through the darkness I see myself:
falling in my dreams.
And all the time the rain like love:
falling in my dreams.
And all the hope in all my heart:
falling in my dreams.
Falling in my dreams.

Quote of the Day

2006-02-25T22:46:00.000-05:00

"...there was nothing more to find out, nothing worth doing, only nasty furtive eating and resentful remembering. He was altogether wretched. He hated the dark, and he hated the light more: he hated everything..."

God never says anything back either...

2006-02-25T21:27:00.000-05:00

Again, it's been awhile since I've posted, but I guess that doesn't really matter since no one reads this blog except Mom and me. And even then I usually bore the shit out of us, but I guess that's ok since at least one of us loves me anyway. Usually. I won't tell you which one, just to keep the mystery alive.
I've been having a lot of stress and unusual amounts of jealousy coursing through me lately. I have this person in my life who has started doing something that I've always wanted to do, and prided myself on being able to do (If, you know, I wanted to) but have never actually done because I'm a fucking pussy, and they are doing it well. Better than well, they are fucking great. And it makes me feel like I'm being robbed of something that I never had a chance to have. That makes no fucking sense, but I still feel that way. Like my one chance at happiness has been stolen by my best friend, and because they have no idea how I feel because I won't talk, they are thrilled about what they've done and want to share it with me. What the fuck do you do then? They haven't actually done anything wrong, yet I still want them to fall down a steep hill that has been used for years by wasted teenagers as a place to smash glass bottles. Oh the Bactine you'd need after that trip.
Anyway, I'm going to be writing a lot more self-pitying melodramatic crap than usual from now on, and I just wanted to post a warning first. I'm caring like that.

Everyone in the world can go fuck themselves.

Friends: A Mixed Blessing

2006-01-28T03:31:00.000-05:00

Have you ever received those emails that ask you to answer a form letter full of questions about yourself that apparently is supposed to make you feel closer to the sender, because it shows how alike the two of you are despite all of your supperficial differences? Yeah, I fucking loathe 'em too. So here are my answers to the latest one. I figure, fuck 'em. If they don't already know the answers, why the hell should I try to reply truthfully to these questions?

1. What is your occupation? Ersatz Francophone Vintner.

2. What color are your underwear? Jif Creamy Peanut Butter.

3. What are you listening to right now? The voices in my head.

4. What was the last thing you ate? I don’t remember their names.

5. Do you wish on stars? Only if they wish back.

6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Shiraz.

7. How is the weather right now? Maria Garcia Yolanda Perez-Smith, but you can call me Bob.

8. Last person you spoke to on the phone? Died.

9. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Will I get money if I say yes?

10. How old are you today? Magic 8-ball says: Concentrate And Ask Again

11. Favorite drink? My own urine.

12. Favorite sport to watch? Coordinated Nancy Kerrigan Kneeing.

13. Did you ever dye your hair? I tattoo it instead.

14. Do you wear contacts or glasses? I was born without eyes, and thanks for bringing that up.

15. Any pets? I have a gimp.

16. Favorite month? Really, I have a gimp. Isn't that impressive enough for you?

17. Favorite food? Whatever my gimp buys on sale.

18. What was the last movie you watched? "Memoirs of a Gimp"

19. Favorite day of the year? Yoolulueoo day, during the secret month of Orrlgttio on the last day of Wjitskits when all the Talialitoo's eject their tails for the year and we collect the seeds upon which we vent any unused anger from the previous year by stuffing them up our noses, which initiates a fit of orgasm-like sneezes. I love that.

20. What do you do to vent anger? I snort ejected Talialitoo tail seeds.

21. Hugs or Kisses? I don't like pudding.

22. Cherry or Blueberry? Vodka.

23. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back? No, only my enemies. I have to keep my eye on you.

24. Who is most likely to respond? George W. Bush

25. Who do you live with? If by "Who" you mean "Do", and by "Do" you mean "you" and by "you live with" you mean "live alone", then the answer is 88, but only if you square the infinitive, otherwise it's an obsessive.

26. When was the last time you cried? When I found out I was born without eyes, and thanks for bringing that up.

27. What is on the floor of your closet? Carpet and a little bit of gravity.

28. What friend have you had the longest? Cecil-The-Eternal-Who-Knows-All (And Yet Still Smells Vaguely Of Old Spittle).

29. What did you do last night? Depends on what you mean by last night.

30. Favorite smells? Cecil.

31. Who/what inspires you? Inspiration, duh.

32. What are you afraid of? People who are chalky white and unattractive for no reason other than they think it's Goth and attractive in a goth/alternitive way, but it's really not.

33. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburger? Why yes. Yes, it is.

34. Favorite car? I keep my toenails pointy in case of emergency.

35. # of keys on my key ring? Might as well ask me how many O's on my O-ring, because I don't know what an O-ring is.

36. Favorite dog breed? O-rings.

37. How many years at current job? Spaghetti.

38. Favorite day of the week? Naked-Olive-Oil-Slip-N-Slide-Day.

39. How many cities/towns have you lived in/name them? Does answering a question with a question count as answering the question?

40 How many kids do you have and gender? Gimp.

Danser

2006-01-26T23:04:00.000-05:00

I want to flail my limbs
in graceful swoops.
I want to bend my back
with an ecstasy of movement.
I want my feet to forget the earth
and my hands to make love with the air;
I want to dance in love of my life again.

I want to remember my rhythm
I want to feel my history
I want to see my palms express my smiles.

I want to hear my thighs thrum
I want to taste my hair wave
I want to expand in my chest with the music I gulp.

The air is vibrant with the life I long for –
the music is sweet and the faces divine.
I want to become the instrument of your playing;
I want to become the instrument of my everything:
Je veux danser avec toi tantôt et toujours...
Et toujours.

People are Stupid, Which is One of the Many Reason Why I Don’t Like Them.

2006-01-26T21:51:00.000-05:00

I went to see “Brokeback Mountain” last weekend, and of course, being the big fucking pussy girly-girl I am, I cried my fucking eyes out. It was such a touching, moving love story: all the passion and fear and lust and uncertainty and love and doubt and longing...*sigh*. The thing that pissed me off, though, is when I told the people I work with what I did over the weekend, and they looked at me blankly when I gave them the title of the movie. I finally had to say “You know, the gay cowboy movie.” And at that, everyone knew what I was fucking talking about. I wanted so badly to say “Yeah, I know. They were going to title it ‘Jake Gyllenhall Takes it Up the Ass from Heath Ledger’ but that was just too long a title.”

People are fucking stupid.

Oh, how busy we all are...

2006-01-26T19:50:00.000-05:00

I just realized how few posts I've done in the past month. It makes me wonder: why do I like writing best when I'm drinking? Is it (excuse the hubris) Hemmingway-ish or is it just lush-y-ish? In any case, my not-been-writing has coincided with my not-been-drinking. I'll leave it up to you to decipher the meaning behind it. I'm like religion like that: Do me as you will.

Anyway, I also just noticed that it wasn't long after I posted my one and only book recommendation that said book was then discredited by The Smoking Gun, torn apart in the media, and made Oprah to look the right fool. I had no idea of the power I ~~weld~~ ~~wield~~ ~~weiled~~ had.

By the way, there's nothing better than a Funky Lama Tempranillo to brighten up an otherwise blah Thursday evening. Good enough to drink without needing to be drunk already, cheap enough to drink the entire bottle alone. Repeatedly. Only, you know, not the same bottle repeatedly. Multiple bottles.

As I was saying, James Frey got spanked by Oprah (thank god I never actually got around to buying the book - how foolish would I feel then), Oprah got spanked (privately, I presume, and in a respectful manner) by the press, and the publisher got spanked by all the media attention that is keeping the damn book on the bestseller lists. Moral: everyone must get spanked to keep the dough rollin' in. I am so now going to write my memoir about how I was in the live audience today and how it changed my life and how I now so totally respect the truth and all it means. Except for the part of where, well, everything – the whole damn memoir – happened, it will be completely true.

Ok, enough people have taken potshots at the guy, so now I feel that I must say that he did show balls in showing up to admit he lied. Of course, if I had a few million dollars worth of book contracts and advances already in the bank, I wouldn’t mind doing the extra Oprah (A.K.A. Most Powerful /Watched /Worshiped /Copied/ Respected /Envied /Shares-A-Birthday-With-My-Sister-So-She-Should-Be-My-Best-Friend) spot to do more subversive pushing of my book. Cuz no one really meant to make the book seem even more intriguing and readable, did they? Huh? Did they? What? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WAS ALL A MARKETING PLOY TO SELL MORE VOLUMES? I feel so used. I must now go take a scalding shower and eat a tube of toothpaste. I will speak more tomorrow if I can peel my face from my pillow after the dried tears have welded the two together during the night.

Well, you know, if I don't have anything better going on.

Sing to me again...

2006-01-21T16:51:00.000-05:00

"And a tall dark man sang to me in deep rich tones: Goodnight, goodnight sweet baby. The world has mourned for you. Then it sings goodnight, goodnight. Let the moonlight take the lid off your dreams..."

Back!

2006-01-19T23:11:00.000-05:00

And possibly forth, the magic 8 ball wasn't clear on that one.

I'm here again, sorry to be gone for so long, couldn't be avoided, you wouldn't believe the traffic. I'm beat -- going to bed. But just for the night this time...

Seasons Greetings

2005-12-23T02:57:00.000-05:00

Dude, I just took a pill, and I don't know what it was supposed to do, but it like totally made one of my legs look bigger than the other:

right side -BIG
left side - small
right side - BIG
left side - small
right side - BIhey! where'd my right leg go?

I don't think that was supposed to happen. fuck. Now I have to grow another leg. That shit hurts, man. I should probably go drink. Merry fucking Christmas, you heathens.

I Can

2005-12-18T11:28:00.000-05:00

I can ache with despondency:
my limbs can hang from me
as dead weights pulling me down.
I can be immobile with tears:
they can course over my face
etching tracks into my skin.
I can reach for you continuously:
My fingers can stretch out to the sky
pulling back with naught but My dreams.
I can laugh and rollick and ignore the pain:
my life can spread out before me like a lover
begging to be taken.
I can raise myself up.
I can raise myself up:
I can raise myself up
as the burning stars that consume themselves in glory.

Because it's not finished yet.

My love/hate relationship with the Science Channel

2005-12-11T19:38:00.000-05:00

i feel myself slamming
in
and out:

BAM!
the galaxy will explode one day
WHAM!
you won’t be attractive unless you buy *this*
POW!
comets are careening all around us
SLAM!
what am I going to wear tomorrow?
CRASH!
The universe is imploding
SMASH!
i really have to clean the house
TICK!
string theory!
TOCK!
rent is due!
WHOOSH!
cosmic wide-view lens!
THUD!
every day minutiae.

back and forth
to and fro
all minute long...

how am i supposed to know
what to focus on
when the universe won’t stand still
and let me think?

A Book to Read:

2005-12-06T22:48:00.000-05:00

I just finished reading "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. My sister lent it to me, since there was still time before it was due back at the library. She loved it. I hated it, and I must own it. I cried more during the two days it took to read that damn book than I have cried in the past five years. Not because the author's experiences were horrifying (which they were), but because they reminded me of things that I've forgotten - and the fact that I shouldn't have forgotten them. I never went through anything like what Mr. Frey went through, not even remotely, but I've detoxed before (thank god I never actually puked up bits of organs) and I've lived the emotions he describes and it just reminded me of all the pain and sorrow and so I cried and cried. And while I don't believe in everything he does, I agree with him about AA and 12 Step programs: they are all bullshit. Addiction is a choice we make, and if we make bad choices we stay addicted and if we make good choices we don't and we can't blame it on anyone else. I came to that conclusion years ago when I refused to believe what they were trying to tell me: that I would forever and always be fucked up, but it wasn't my fault, I was just pathetic and weak. Plus the fact that AA and all 12 Step programs are just religion, no matter what bullshit they spout about being non-denominational and non-religious, and all religions are just about keeping (usually) old white men in power, and making sure the rabble stay in their place by keeping as many people as scared and ignorant as they can. I detest the restriction of knowledge as I detest emotional manipulation as a means of control; as I detest anyone telling me what I can and cannot do. So I will buy Mr. Frey's book so that I can keep remembering my anger and my resolve and my reasons, and so that I have a catalyst that will help me to cry when I need to. I almost never cry, and I don't think that is actually a good thing anymore.

OK, here are the lyrics - somebody write music for them, quick! The poor things are suffering from lack of substance. Have a heart...

2005-12-03T01:13:00.000-05:00

This isn’t what I signed up for
when I agreed to come.
I expected to be here
and to endure this life,
but I didn’t know...

I knew there would be sadness
but not this soul crushing grief.
I knew there would be joy
but not that it would be so brief.

I don’t know that I can endure
all that has been shown this long night;
I don’t know that I even want to try
because it’s now so hard to remember the light.

Oh lord, I wasn’t told
how I would cry –
I wasn’t warned
that I would want to die

again.

Oh shine your light
down on me.
Give me hope
that we will be;
that in the end
it’s all worth
the pain and death
that comes from birth.

I knew I’d suffer
for what I’ve done.
I knew that in the end
my time would come.

But I didn’t know
to what extremes
the fates and gods would go
to make me scream.

Oh pour your love
down on me.
Let me know
that we will be;
That in the end
this is all worth
the pain and death
that’s due from birth.

I see the sun
and it causes pain.
I feel your heat,
but it’s not the same.

I knew you when
you were unknown.
I loved you then
and that love has only grown.

You were supposed to be my hero;
You were supposed to be the one.
But now I know you’re human;
Now I know what we’ve both done.

Send your faith
down to me.
Make me know
what we can be.
And that in the end
it is all of worth –
the pain and death
just brings new birth.

Oh, I had such a bad day at work...

2005-12-01T21:59:00.000-05:00

that you really can't blame me for drinking a day early. White wine and dark chocolate...is there anything more stimulating without nudity? The feel of the chocolate melting into velvet and rose petals on my tongue, then feeling the cider bite of the wine slide through my mouth, mixing into sensuous aromas and gliding down my eagerly, greedily swallowing throat. The after taste is like a long forgotten love remembered in vague dreams during bad times; bittersweet and light only because of the deep darkness. God, I love.

She:

2005-12-01T20:29:00.000-05:00

She pisses me off
because I think she settled for less;
Then I see what she actually has
and it’s better than the rest.

She is strong and loving,
and yet still manages to be weak.
She holds everything together,
makes everyone march to her beat.

She is so obnoxious,
so incredibly vain.
Yet so humble and modest;
so unrelievedly sane.

Her eyes gaze at one clear,
her smile is open and full.
Even when she’s crazy;
even when she’s a fool.

She’s free,
She’s locked,
She’s nowhere to be found:

She is mine forever,
She is never to be owned,
She is always around.

She is the one that keeps me as me
Sarah knows who she is
And Sarah only knows what we’ll be...

More of what men SHOULD say to women, but never actually do, except in songs, and in most cases those songs are probably written by women anyway...

2005-11-30T22:58:00.000-05:00

I see you:
The way your smile doesn’t simply appear on your face;
it grows, spreads, rises like the sun.
The way you toss your head to get your hair out of your eyes,
flicking your tresses back in a deep pleasure that you don’t even notice.
The way you move with unselfconscious grace,
suddenly becoming clumsy when you notice me seeing you.
The way your eyes take in everything around you,
focusing on that which pleases you, dismissing that which does not.
The way your emotions are plain on your face,
yet the cause of your moods is still an unsolvable mystery.
The way your face glows and your eyes brighten
because you are happy to see me when I come home.
The way you move to let me know you want me
without ever saying a single word.
The way your skin becomes flushed and your breath quickens
when I put my mouth to your breast and gently suck.
The way your body responds to my touch in sensuous waves,
arching your back and writhing beneath me in ecstasy.
The way your body trembles and your muscles quiver
when you are in the midst of the orgasm I brought you to.
The way your love pours out of your soul into mine,
a tangible, fragile, powerful, all-encompassing force
that brings me to my knees.
I watch you.
I know you.
I love you.

I see you.

I feel very fat today...

2005-11-28T23:00:00.000-05:00

Control

I want to be eaten by wolves
With jaws slavering foam
And eyes red-rimmed with stars and love.
Or bears, moss covered and rough furred
With clean slashing claws and tender savage hunger -
Rending my flesh with purpose.
Or monsters from the darkness,
Cheerful and insane with death addled dreams,
Whispering endearments of blood
And warmth.
But the only monsters I have
Are the monsters inside me:
Chromosomes and genes
Dancing in eternal mockery.
Twisting my body and my mind to match their frenzy,
Holding me hostage to parentage,
Helpless and hopeless,
In holy hatred of what I am –
Who I am.
I can feel the corpse I’m encapsulated in
Plotting each fleet footed moment:
Gaining strength to pull me down
And bury me in ignominious defeat.
I want to die with teeth in my throat
And claws eviscerating me gracefully.
But I know how I will die…
Stunned, with only a shocked and soft
“oh.”

As-tu un nom? Moi non plus.

2005-11-27T02:51:00.000-05:00

Wow. hungover. wishing my head would just get it over with and fall off. but got my my first comment on a post. woohoo! Thanks Calzone! Sorry my poetry caused you to go mad, but you know... you'll have that.

Proof that drinking and typing don't mix...

2005-11-26T00:38:00.000-05:00

And all I can do is cry
for wanting you.

All I can do is cry
for needing you.

I don’t even know who you are
you’re a voice
a picture,
a song.

And all I can do is cry
and feel you in my mind.

All I can do is try
to reach with my words.

I don’t even know where you are:
you’re around the world
around in time
around with her.

And all I can do is cry.

I see the way you move,
the way you sound,
the way you are.

And all I can do is cry.

All I want to do is touch you
and feel you touch me.
I want to hold you
and feel you love me.

I see you
all of you:
Your face
your force
your very life

This is what I need
to dry

my tears.

And all I can do is cry.

Lot's of people play the guitar.
Why the fuck does it turn me on so much when you do it?

And all I can do is cry...

jesus i'm drunk now

2005-11-25T23:31:00.000-05:00

I just want to say that music is an incredibly important part of me and I hate it that I can't sing for shit and that I can't play a single instrument. I hate that I love and need music, but it wants nothing to do with me. But hey, par for the course, right. fuck.

Your Body

2005-11-25T21:09:00.000-05:00

The sight of your body enflames me,
enslaves me,
makes me senseless:

The curve of your cheek
resting against my palm;
the look in your eyes makes me gasp.

Skin so soft as to make flowers weep –
makes my mind go numb for joy.
The dip of your waist
into the swell of your hip,
echoes the fullness of your breasts;
echoes the fullness of my heart.

The fall of your hair:
curling tendrils to capture my fingers,
to capture my lust.
Your scent breaking in waves
filling the space between us with your heat –
our heat.

The rising desire in your eyes
fills my body
hardening me
raising me
maddening me:

I can barely touch you with my hands
for wanting to crush you to me
I can barely put my lips to your skin
for wanting to bite you
consume you
make you part of me.

the violence of my lust
the burning of my desire
mounts into tenderness
by the trust in your eyes
by the love in your eyes
by the passion in your eyes.

Your head falls back
exposing your throat to me,
throwing your shoulders back
exposing your breasts to me:
Your demanding submission
is more than I can withstand
and I lose myself in your body –
I know nothing but your body
once I am in your body
I am your body:
I become your heart
because you are my soul.

Do men even have a point of view?

2005-11-25T21:03:00.000-05:00

I've grown tired of waiting for a man to come along who can even feel, much less express in words, the passion and the emotion which I'm longing for. So I decided to write to myself what I want a man to say to me. I'm not sure it's accurate. I don't know if it sounds like something a man might say, even while lust inspired, or if it just sounds like a passion filled lesbian, but I wanted to share it with the world. And oh yeah, Mom? I'm Bi. Deal.

This:

2005-11-25T20:52:00.000-05:00

Since I learned of your existence
the word “love” has been in my vocabulary again.

For so long, I’ve been so cynical.
Cynicism is another word for entropy,
and entropy is another word for the death of the world.

So to say you have brought me back to life
would not be a misstatement
or even an exaggeration:

merely an observation
of the magic that you prove.

Yeah...I suck.

2005-11-25T20:43:00.000-05:00

I don't know if it's obvious from the quality of the posts and the poems, but I'm recently in love. And, oh my love... It's so nice to feel this way again, even if it's not real. I've had so much shit in my life, so much non-sensible bullshit, so much hatred and self-loathing (thus the theme of the blog comes in) that I wondered if I would ever feel the longing for another again. And while the pain is exquisite and the hope is devastating, I just live for the touch again. I want so much to be touched again. oh, I so should not be allowed to drink and type. This is where regrets begin, I know it. Nothing good can come from so much bourbon...

When: A Round: Instructions

2005-11-25T19:21:00.000-05:00

1.)“When was the first time you felt loved by me?”
20.)When I was born I felt your existence and that’s when I cried.

3.)“When was the first time you saw me in your dreams?”
2.)When I knew pain when you were apart from me.

5.)“When was the first time you felt my pain?”
4.)When I saw the stars and I knew that they were real.

7.)“When was the first time you cried for me?”
6.)When the distance between us was great and time was eternal.

9.)“When was the first time you hated me?”
8.)When I felt the pain you knew you could inflict

11.)“When was the first time you needed to touch me?”
10.)When you refused to see your beauty.

13.)“When was the first time you wanted to hurt me?”
12.)When I saw your scars and I wanted to heal you.

15.)“When was the first time you called my name?”
14.)When your need was too great for me to bear.

17.)“When was the fist time you felt my love for you?”
16.)When I existed only between the stars.

19.)“When was the fist time you cried for loving me?”
18.)When I am, and you are.

mother-fuckin'-son-of-a-bitchin'-bastard-cock-sucker

2005-11-25T19:12:00.000-05:00

OK, I can't get the fucking blogging software to post in the poem in the fucking format I want it to be in, so in deference to all my loyal readers (thanks, Mom) I am posting instructions for the preceding poem for how and, more specifically, in what order the lines are to be read. I'm such an innovator. Let the joy begin!

When: A Round

2005-11-25T19:05:00.000-05:00

When: A Round

“When was the first time you felt loved by me?”

When I was born I felt your existence and that’s when I cried.

“When was the first time you saw me in your dreams?”

When I knew pain when you were apart from me.

“When was the first time you felt my pain?”

When I saw the stars and I knew that they were real.

“When was the first time you cried for me?”

When the distance between us was great and time was eternal.

“When was the first time you hated me?”

When I felt the pain you knew you could inflict.

“When was the first time you needed to touch me?”

When you refused to see your beauty.

“When was the first time you wanted to hurt me?”

When I saw your scars and I wanted to heal you.

“When was the first time you called my name?”

When your need was too great for me to bear.

“When was the fist time you felt my love for you?”

When I existed only between the stars.

“When was the fist time you cried for loving me?”

When I am, and you are.

I know you

2005-11-10T23:10:00.000-05:00

I wish I could crawl inside your skin
And wrap myself around your heart.
I wish you could crawl inside me
And feel what I feel
So you know that I know you;
To erase all doubt
And all fear
And to leave only wonder:
Childlike, thunderstruck wonder
At the beauty of it all.

Two Voices

2005-11-09T23:56:00.000-05:00

I’ve bled a lot
And it all comes out the same
It’s good (god) to bleed
But I don’t bleed anymore
And I don’t do it
Like I did it
And I don’t feel

What I felt}

{Oh god to feel!

The love and the passion
I felt!

And I don’t know what I’m supposed to teach you
And I want you to know it’s ok to cry
And hurt and hate(
And I’m such a bed woman)

And I’m such a bad woman ( the difference in sex and fucking(
because oh it’s so nice when you aren’t! and then to do it and do it! And
)and making love is subtle)

Oh the women! and the men! and it’s so nice to be so sexy! And

And lick your lips in anticipation of your love
And your carnal pleasure…

Ignore what they say
It
s
go(o)d to be that close
)close(

oh darlings, fuck and lust and touch each other…..

oh! (I need to tell you to have fun!)

and

[oh oh how i love!!}

love.

Sorrow can be red

2005-11-09T23:23:00.000-05:00

I have a vein in my chest:

It crosses from the notch in my throat

All the way to my shoulder and

Down.

A blue-green line of life

On my left,

It stands out plainly against translucent flesh;

My thin skin showing well

The pulse of my heart.

It has always been there,

This rampant showing of reluctant life,

And sometimes when I see it now

I think of you.

The last time we spoke –

Oh god, what a fool I made of myself!

I don’t even rightly know what I said.

I only remember you wanting to go,

And the flush of shame was already climbing my face:

My heart insistent on blaring humiliation

While my mind was lost in a stupor.

I know you forgive me my transgressions –

Only because you always do –

But I still want to slice that vein in my chest

And bleed out all my shame and humiliation

Until you know that I am sorry.

But hey, at least I didn't get fired from Desperate Housewives

2005-11-09T23:05:00.000-05:00

I'm in pretty much the same mood I was in last time; Feeling trapped and powerless and queerly uncertain of reality. Am I the only one who goes through the occasional bout of insanity, wherein you are shocked to realize that other people are real and have their own thoughts and feelings that have nothing to do with you, that they in fact barely even register your existence, the same way most of the time you barely register theirs? So shocked in fact, that it can cause a moment of vertigo as your hold on reality slips a notch? Or am I just a self-absorbed, egomaniacal twit? I'm going to operate under the assumption that the latter is true, because I just don't feel like dealing with a psychotic break right now. I'm too tired.

C’est pas ta faute

2005-11-07T22:28:00.000-05:00

it’s not your fault
when the rain comes down
when the blood pools in the gutter
when the fist strikes already shattered bones.

it’s not your fault
when the world makes no sense
when trust is rewarded with hatred
when love is skewered and killed as a dreaded thing.

it’s not your fault
when books are burned
when information is forbidden
when people are kept in perpetual ignorance.

it’s not your fault
when stones fall with force
when women are killed for loving
when gang rape is ordered by courts as justice.

it’s not your fault
when small eyes cry
when infants are raped and sodomized
when it’s worse for them to not be killed.

it’s not your fault
when the sun comes up
when a child cries at finding herself still alive
when misery and pain are the best she can expect from the day.

it’s not my fault
that the world is slipping away
that you feel any guilt or pain at my words
that you feel nothing at all...

Who the hell knows

2005-11-07T22:10:00.000-05:00

Well, obviously this isn't going to be an everyday thing, or even (apparently) an every week thing for me. Just when I think I've got my shit together and I going to start to be positive - WHAM! I'm knocked back down again and all I want to do is sit and stare at the walls while listening to the most depressing music I can find. Riots in France (two weeks!), death toll rising fast in the middle east, Bush still in the White House, and it's so hard to find anything good happening anywhere in the world. And all I can do is sit and wonder why everyone is so filled with hate. Remember Rodney King? Obviously, I don't know the man, but I was wondering today... Remember when he said "Can't we all just get along?" and we all (you know you did too) made fun of him for it? Why did we make fun of him for saying that? Why was a plea for peace such a foolish idea? Was it just the semi-whiney half-crying tone he used (or at least, that's how I seem to remember it) that set everyone off, or was it the concept itself? Really, was the sentiment so worthy of our derision that the mocking still lives on? Seriously, go up to anyone and say "can't we all just get along", and you'll be met with gales of laughter. Why CAN'T we get along? Why is everyone so mad at each other? And why can't I do anything about it?

Puberty part Deux: Discovering the "Secret Places" and What They Can Do

2005-10-30T21:03:00.000-05:00

I just found a cool new use for my cleavage. It is excellently equipped and perfectly placed to hold my iPod shuffle. Not only is it handier than a pocket and cooler than that stupid laynard they give you, it's gratifying to be able to have a non-sexual use for my breasts that doesn't involve child birth. While I'll always respect other women's decision to reproduce and replenish the population (go team!) I myself am definately not suited for motherhood. I much prefer being a self-absorbed twit who's in thrall of her iPod.

34

2005-10-30T18:32:00.000-05:00

why does it take me so long to figure things out?
little things i can get so quickly:

how to work a computer
how to speak French
how to manipulate my way out of problems.

But the bigger things, the real things:
just because i’ve never been told the truth
doesn’t mean
i don’t already possess it.

just

figured

that

out.

jesus i’m freakin’ old.

fuck 'em

2005-10-30T18:15:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I pretty much just don't care anymore. I need to start writing again for many reasons: it feels good, it will (hopefully) keep my brain from melting, and maybe it will piss someone off. Or maybe it will just help shut up the voices (I’m starting to get weird looks from people at work when they keep finding me huddled in a corner of my cube, clutching a fistful of my hair and weeping.) But, as I say (my new motto), Fuck 'em. (I wonder if I can work parentheses into every sentence.) I am going to start posting poetry here, both my own awful stuff and other stuff that I come across and like. God I hope I don't infringe any copyrights. I'll have to look into that, cuz that'd suck. If anyone reads this, great. If no one but my mom and my demons read it (strangely enough, those often actually are the same people/entities) that's great too. Oh, and I'm trying to teach myself French. So if anyone does actually read this and they know any useful French phrases or insults or (please god) cuss words, feel free to send them to me. Or aim them at me, whatever.

Damnsle Inthis-Dress

Things My Mom Did Not Know

*SIGH*

Patriotism

Okay, I'm Upset That There's No Jet Packs...

A Question...

Ink

I Like To Think...

Okay, this will probably get me fired someday, but still...

I Love

Here's what happened...

Things I overhear at work even though I really, really don’t want to listen to the banalities spewed by these people

People I Don't Trust

Okay, then...

Psychotic Love & Death

Things that happen in my head:

Time flies...

KY

American...meh

Brains - I think mine was from Abby Normal

Neglect...

I'm 'It'? Wait, what?

*sigh*

Sugar and spice and everything....

On the Job

Things That Make Me Want to Throw Up:

The Prom

Managements are Funny

How I Saved The World:

Vegetarianism and Euthanasia

What actually drives us?

Why I'm a Ridiculously Fabulous Geek

I really need a new job...

This one's for Josh...

My God, My God, Why Did You Make Your Children So Stupid?

Fuck this Shit

New from the land of Who Gives a Shit?

A Post for T.L. Hines, Since I'm Sure He Won't...

3 year olds are fun...when you don't want to kill them.

I Should Not Be Writing Right Now

Damn, damn damn, damn, damn!

The Evils of Christianity (Now with fewer grammatical errors!)

Damn...

Oh, the heart! When it meeteth its own, how the beats do sound!

Quote of the Day

Quote of the Day

Safety is a Myth

Outside my window:

Suicide is my only option...

Who Knew?

What the fuck is CPE?

Children make me sick. Literally.

I wanna get drunk and eat cheese.

Horny much?

I Shall

What the Hell Were They Thinking?

In Dreams

Quote of the Day

God never says anything back either...

Friends: A Mixed Blessing

Danser

People are Stupid, Which is One of the Many Reason Why I Don’t Like Them.

Oh, how busy we all are...

Sing to me again...

Back!

Seasons Greetings

I Can

My love/hate relationship with the Science Channel

A Book to Read:

OK, here are the lyrics - somebody write music for them, quick! The poor things are suffering from lack of substance. Have a heart...

Oh, I had such a bad day at work...

She:

More of what men SHOULD say to women, but never actually do, except in songs, and in most cases those songs are probably written by women anyway...

I feel very fat today...

As-tu un nom? Moi non plus.

Proof that drinking and typing don't mix...

jesus i'm drunk now

Your Body

Do men even have a point of view?

This:

SIGH

sigh