“Love! What is it?

Most natural painkiller what there is.

LOVE”

but hey. there's this. or this.



or best of all:

kelli, sunday, january 16:

'stop ian curtis suiciding over there!!'



what? no funny?

i fucking love this kid with all my heart. no matter what happens to me, or to him, or to us simultaneously. he's the best.

still, though, i'm feeling like the captain of the titanic. or maybe more than that, i'm like one of those musicians. whether it was foolish devotion, or (still foolish) loyalty, stubbornness, fear, whatever the fuck it was.... it's gonna take me down too.

you took my heart and you hocked it.

'mother i tried please believe me, i'm doing the best that I can. i'm ashamed of the things i've been put through, i'm ashamed of the person I am'



these are dark days.

really dark days.

i would like to think that there's some security, in anything i do... but there isn't.

it's the most terrifying thing. i'm living without a net.

and i am consistently one step away from just... well... i don't even know. doing something drastic, dramatic, and stupid.

it's my own fault for having idiots for idols, but...



'she gave away the secrets of her past and said, i've lost control again'



i'm sorry i'm such a lout. i really am. even my closest friends can attest to my... i could only describe it as flakiness, but it's not as easy as that...

i can't explain it, and i guess i shouldn't. just makes me sound like more of an asshole. but i guess that's the truth and i shouldn't bother avoiding it.

but i am sorry.




'see my true reflection, cut off my own connections. i can see life getting harder. so sad is this sensation, reverse the situation. i can't see it getting better...'

but i'm still fond of you, oh-oh-a-oh

sam cooke. you send me. bee-yoo-ti-ful (if i were andy warhol, oooooh)



sometimes, certain songs can stir such emotions in me, such strong emotions, that i literally have to stop listening.

it's not always sadness, either. sometimes i just get so overwhelmed with fondness for certain people, certain situations, i guess it would be love? but love isn't an emotion, maybe it's happiness...? the giddy, full, warm feeling, knowing that you have these amazing people in your life. people that, no matter how bad it gets, they just have that capability to make everything tolerable, even enjoyable.



it makes me smile to the point of exhaustion, makes me brim with silly tears. bee-yoo-ti-ful.

'you all may be her beaus, but i taught Josie all she knows'

wild wild wild youth (insert claps)

i can't, i'm sworn to secrecy. but wouldn't you love to know?

my writing is prolific, and yet, i'm not doing anything challenging, anything new.

i've never been good at balancing, i've always plunged headfirst into endeavors while forgetting even important things. there are definitely people that i miss and that i want to see or talk to. i'm just so notoriously bad at it. at being social. evenly social, i guess. i'm either climbing the rafters or bedridden for weeks.

and this isn't even making the least bit of sense, i know, but maybe it will to a few of you.

it's not an apology, just an explanation.

but really, i am the worst.



addendum: this book is pretty damned good.

ones that love us least, the ones we'll die to please.

well.

been an interesting sort of week so far. happy, happy birthday indeed.

one thing i can say, although i have weathered years upon years of generic (and not-so generic) heartbreak, i will always, always have my friends... some have come and gone, of course (sometimes i was the one going)... but goddamn.

sometimes all this poor me, nobody-loves-me bullshit makes me lose sight of who and what is really important to me.

the ones that really matter, i hope they know. i know i probably don't say it enough. but i hope they know.

the mean reds

"does he lay awake listening to your breath. worried you smoke too many cigarettes"

06/08

always shifing the feelings from one person to another. the names, the faces change, but the sentiments do not.

sometimes, sometimes she forgets which one she's talked to that day; she'll wonder if her cute and charming anecdotes have already been mentioned to that one or not? did she call him by the correct name, even? and does he suspect a thing???

oh god. this is how bad she's become. she's become her father, she's become Ian fucking Curtis. all those horror stories, the pain her mother felt, and the betrayal; and now she's no different.


"i will not weep for those dying days. for all the ones who've left there's a few that stayed"

_____

how do you turn it off? where's that fucking switch that makes you stop caring?

a blindness that touches perfection

courtney love once said of her doomed paramour, "kurt cobain makes my heart stop. but he's a shit"... goddamn blonde, blue-eyes-like-dinner-plates, piscean men.

i read that, and i knew exactly what she meant. that stupid, stupid feeling in at the bottom of your stomach... it's not nausea, but i am loathe to use the term 'butterflies'... maybe instead it's just the dread, the anxiety of knowing that this guy has the potential to, and most likely will, break your silly heart.

oh, maybe that's a little overdramatic. but for all the heartbreak i've given and received, the ones dispensing it have always been cold, Teutonic, emotionless ghouls.

maybe i am just as clueless as miss parker (see previous post). maybe i feel like it's some sort of game; let's see if we can make this one work. instead of accepting incompatibility, it becomes a challenge.

a challenge i'll always lose.



i am really, really down today. it's been a steady pattern of that for a while now. and what timing, too. happy birthday, indeed.

the direction you don't take

i just watched this, and i do predict a sudden, overwhelming fascination with the 1930's... great depression... gun molls... lives cut short... and other such nonsense.







and let me just say... wow. bonnie parker was really pretty. which is puzzling to me, why such a petite, pretty, and poetic young thing would willingly meet with such a horrific fate... i mean, is that really the draw, the pull of 'true love'?!?

hub-cap-diamond-star-halo

just about another week, and i will no longer be eligible for that silly club.

although, in their terms, i would have had to been famous, or at least somewhat famous, or at the VERY least, contributed SOMETHING to the pop culture landscape. and i hardly think a glorified livejournal counts, sooooooo...

maybe THAT should be my hint, or my proverbial kick-to-the-rear, to get something going. maybe it's just the fear of getting older but i am starting to feel a sort of panic, a tightening in the chest whenever i start to think about how much time has passed and just how LITTLE i've actually done and seen. the clock is ticking, damnit.

'life's going by, but it's just begun...' and look where it got them. not members of the 27 club, but surely they've found a place in the rock and roll mythos. at least, i fucking hope so (although they aren't found here, i stumbled across this in my "research"... really, an amusing read if you have the time. go here for the ha-ha's).


oh! but i digress. i always digress. maybe THAT has been the problem all along.

like a frantic inept Lazarus

and i go home having lost her love. and write this book

my pessimistic nature already had prophesied our doom. speaking nervously in dark parking lots i had mentioned my theory on the whole sad courtship debacle, people love love love the chase but when they have it, they realise they don't want it.

that, or people tend to fall in love with the idea of a person, before they truly know them - not that anyone truly knows anyone else anyway, but that's a story for another day - they invent their own backstories, project their hopes and desires, and when reality hits, it's a crushing, lonely blow. it's the proverbial jump-the-shark moment, no one wants to see the end result of courtship, they thrive off the tension and the 'what ifs', will-they-or-won't-they, neatly packaged between the commercials. our nielsen ratings took a dive that first week, and we just never could recover, could we?

if you have a choice of two things and can't decide, take both

yes, mister corso, that's a grand idea and i see what you're preaching, but it's not so black-and-white. we just want it all, and what we cannot have, always pursuing the unattainable and attempting the impossible. something that should always be encouraged in matters of life, career, or education, but in the ways of the figurative heart, it should be a big, blinking, neon "NO". do not attempt, do not pass go, or some such nonsense.

it's akin to those that only want/need the person that will treat them miserably. it's not the same, but it's pretty damn close. WHY on earth do we waste our time, when the rational, sane parts of our brain know that it isn't a good idea? or not even necessarily a bad idea, but just something that essentially does not work? two different expectations, two different sets of desires?

ah it's the morning; and the mourning it is dawning on me too; i had no warning; just a condolence card to tell me that we're through

but really, let's be honest here and admit that it's not the person we mourn, it's not some grand shakespearean tragedy. it's much sadder than that. it's realism: it's knowing that we couldn't make something work. it's another failure to add to the list, and that's what really kills.



i'm sick of these tragic little vignettes. my lexicon is stuck on song lyrics and obscure film references, gushing forth in an overcaffeinated, manic timbre. i can't seem to write about anything else lately. but maybe catharsis is necessary at this point.



"she can't understand suddenly what has happened because she's lost her mind, her usual recognition of self, and feels the eerie buzz of mystery, she really does not know who she is and what for and where she is, she looks out the window and this city is the big bleak bare stage of some giant joke being perpetrated on her."

whatever happened to?

My last post was a Jim Carroll song. And now Jim Carroll has passed away. Sad.

If I were superstitious, I would refrain from mentioning anyone in this post... OR I'd refer to some rather troubled people that have been in my life lately. Haha. But I'm not that cruel. Or am I?

Life hasn't exactly been the greatest lately. Got laid off, had to move back home, got my heart pretty much torn out, repeatedly. Dated someone I didn't even like and didn't treat him well at all. Kept going back to the one person that has my heart only to find out he's just passing the time with me.


You think you've hit your lowest point and then it just gets worse. But you know what? I'm sick of pining over things and people that don't care and/or matter. I'm sick of wasting my time.

oh lenny.

one of several things that makes me less loathsome:



...more to come, whenever i feel like it.

earth girls are not always easy.

Well apparently the problem was not with Blogger, the problem is with my rather pathetic internet connection at home. Where am I posting from, you ask? Oh. Uhh... nowhere important. Really.

But if you want to see what I really end up doing at work, this is it. Now, there is a backstory behind this, of course, but it really just involves inside jokes and stupid office humor that really isn't funny unless you're there. But since everybody loves zombies, and everybody loves romance, I figured I'd give these two lovebirds another chance.

Maybe eventually I'll give them a history, create a little world for them, or something. Hell, if work continues at this pace, it might even be a graphic novel...

rant part deux

I have finally realized why I LOATHE Everybody Loves Raymond. I try to avoid it at all costs, but first thing when I get home from work, I turn on the telly... mostly for background noise. And ninety-nine percent of the time, it's still on TBS from the morning, because for some reason I can't miss that hour block of Saved by the Bell. I used to watch the WGN Morning News (which I still love), but the news is much too depressing that early in the morning. Aah but I digress...

Just now, for whatever reason, I sat through an entire episode of Raymond. I don't really remember the entire plot, but at one point he was in the kitchen with his wife and mother, and he BEGS his mother to make him breakfast. BEGS. A grown man. He wasn't happy with his wife's breakfast so he asks his mother to make some.

And then it dawned on me. He's a fucking mama's boy.

But why do I hate mama's boys? Let's just say I've had enough experience with them to know... to know to avoid them at all costs. Infact, one ex in particular LOVED Everybody Loves Raymond, and always tried to get me to watch it. Now I know why. Sissy-ass mama's boys.

One thing I've noticed though... whereas Ray always had to beg for sex from his wife, we had the opposite problem. HAH! Oh, I would feel bad if he wasn't such a jackass. So I really don't care. But this isn't some Sex and the City type rant either. It was actually a rant about bad television... is anyone even reading this thing yet?