Yeeeeehaaaaw

I'm a sick bitch, a piece of shit, too broken to keep.
I'm a failed mind healing at the wrong time, unsure and on my knees.
I'm an old joke, a burnt smoke, a song that doesn't rhyme.
I'm a broken clock, a clay-filled lock, an all-out waste of time.
I'm grated cheese, I'm mucus; sleaze, I'm a flaw in the design.
I'm a wasted day, I'm hell to pay when words ask me if I'm fine.
I'm a ferris wheel rolling downhill into a crowd of cotton blaze.
I'm a rusted nail in the junkmail that cuts you like a blade.
I'm the elastic mind, the strangest find, the cruelest kid in line.
I'm bitterness, I'm forgetfulness, I'm homeward bound, but blind.
I'm over-whelmed and under-held, I'm the headache you thought you lost.
I'm a broken cloud, I'm shutting down, I'm clarity at a cost.
I'm a shrinking frown, a weed that's brown, I'm a cheapened cross to dress.
I'm a fucking bloke in women's clothes, an androgynous soul- a mess.
I'm a purple goon in a contorted room, I'm shining crusted shoes.
I'm a tone-deaf ear, a break once here, I'm the rainbow to your bruise.
I'm bitterness, I'm listlessness, I'm hopes that failed once found.
I'm an ugly crone sent to die alone, and rise once in the ground.
I'm bitterness, I'm laziness, I'm invisible as sound.
I'm happiness when reading this sparks your pretty frown.
I'm sleepiness when the sun begins and wakes the broken truth.
I'm the emptiness that avoids the rest, yet somehow fills the room.
I'm butterflies, I'm the sunshine, I'm a breakfast finally served.
I'm bitterness, I need a rest that I did nothing to deserve.
I'm licorice planted in the dirt, but prospering like a seed.
I'm a child who, in my ignorance, planted a licorice tree.
I'm cause for concern, I'm justice unlearned, I'm a stew in the pot getting cold.
I'm every tock on the mickey-mouse clock, I'm the yellowed crunched page getting old.
I'm stuck in the haze of past happy days through healthier plays of the mind.
I'm finishing quilts that I started on stilts but managed to shrink and revive.
I'm bitterness, I'm loneliness, I'm a hypocrite at her best.
I'm missing things that should redeem all this restlessness.

ok, let's give it another push.

beauty becomes a one note joke, the more you see the less you get
am i sure that things are meant to become one way
am i doomed to accept things as the have never been
i deafen myself with inspiration
leaving my own well to run dry
an ink still bleeding through the paper
fibers left untouched now tainted with the smell of failure
stems
fallen, scattered
leaving paths of stripped fragrance
listen
pathetic sad little fuck that you are
listen and believe that there is hope in the swollen desperation

...

Hm... so... after like... 5 years of my suggestions being completely ignored things are finally looking toward the greater good. I'm glad. However it has been a strenuous day... full of tension and restlessness, although for the most part there is a cure in progress...
So the other week my brother was being a huge creepy perv, and he doesn't remember because he was drinking a LOT... he was saying and doing all this shit to our room mate that made my inner feminist recoil with disgust... But now he's being all vociferous about his innocence when I was sober and saw the whole thing... I mean, I personally would have had her react more firmly at the time than she did but now she's bringing it all up and playing the victim card although she wasn't acting anywhere near as pissed as I was at the time and could have easily been avoided if she would have acted more annoyed than amused, so now it's a huge deal that I'm trying to stay out of... the whole thing is fucking poison, she should have stopped it at the start instead of letting it get to the point where he said something about her weight that sincerely offended her, but of course that would only have been the responsible, mature thing to do. Not that I'm condoning my brother in any way, he was being a fucking pig and I was proud to call myself a lesbian that night, but still, leave it to them to start the first confrontation... I really like her husband, he's a really great guy. But sometimes I feel like... blah, I don't know, I should probably stop while I'm ahead, really...
At any rate... I'm bored... getting kind of tired... and thirsty. Hm... maybe hungry too... there's a possibility of hungry... not much haha... I feel like I'm getting sick or something... I don't know, I haven't been like, SICK-sick in a long time, what with the puking and sick-feeling sickness... I'm probably due for it unfortunately... Oh well, I guess we'll find out...
Band of the day: Alice in Chains

Betty White is hot!

Haha... so I put this thing on where I can translate everything I write to some kind of Hindi language or something because I thought I may as well be equal-opportunity (as though I had international readers- hah!) and it took me like... pretty much literally forever before I figured out how to keep everything from going to that language after I typed it. However, I have finally figured that out and so am pretty psyched about finally being able to write in here again. In celebration of my light heartedness, I have chosen to share a few pictures I stole from fail blog and my friend T.J. who stole them from god knows where. All the internet really is is plagorism, have you noticed? Who's complaining though? It's all free advertisement! Anyway, I don't have much to say other than I'm bored and stuff... I'm pretty tired too since I've been falling asleep before midnight these past few days and somehow managing to get up at the ass-crack of dawn..hm... I had pizza for dinner... mistake... I can already feel my throat reacting... frickin lactose-intolerant body. Oh well, that'll teach me not to be vegan... It's pretty sad when you can't afford to be healthy... Hopefully Obama will change things for the best the way I'm hoping!!!
These pictures crack me up! Note the mother in HUGE denial over here... part of me wonders if there's really someone that pathetically blind or if it's some gay kids like, poking fin at their parents... that's what I would do... then again I prank call people and pretend to be god, haha..........well, not since I was like 17 but still.............



P.S. Betty White is hot!

That High-Pitched Ring Only You Can Hear

Some day I'll understand it all... right? Isn't that the point of fucking life? You sit around and either mope over or ignore your mistakes. You poison your brain with thoughts, circling obsessive thoughts with names like "love" or "HER" or "hate" or "death"or "pain" all the while forcing a smile to your lips whenever someone asks you how you're doing, if you're well, before they turn a half-hearted ear your way for four seconds then walk away, forget you, pushing you out of the path of their obsessive circling thoughts with names like "me" and "greed" and "sex".
Well what's next then, people? Tell me, darling, what voice is it nagging at you to do this, feel that, conform, believe, entertain, support and support and heal the deflated ego at the cost of your pride? What is that little annoying buzz, that high-pitched sound only you can hear? Why is it the grasshopper can't chirp alone without making you resent its life for dragging you out of the trance you became comfortable labeling existence? Why is it that we allow ourselves to be destroyed, to be claimed and owned by things? By people, government, money, religion, trends, society, drugs, clothing, girlfriends, wives, husbands, lovers, disease, laziness, pain, helplessness. All learned helplessness! Why is it that all we consider to be worth anything at all is what crumbles beneath our feet leaving us to grasp at what remains? Those things remaining to own us, break us, destroy us-people, government, money, religion, trends, society, drugs, disease? Does one soul on earth believe in the greater good? That all is love, without love there would be no creation? Without passion, there would be no life, no art, no music, no writing, no Brand New giving me goosebumps by performing "Sowing Season" as I type, completely wrapped up in myself... Without passion there would be no creation. And so it is logical to conclude that if in fact, one were to believe in God, label it creation, and give it a personality, that personality would be characterized by passion...by love. One would assume.
Passion is my new name for god.
I think that instead of living to be owned, to be broken, to be diseased and destroyed and disabled in your own life, there should be an alternative. There should be a venue for hope. There should be more passion, more creation, more love.
So how would one go about spreading such a RADICAL notion? A notion that Septimus Warren Smith himself would raise his eyebrows at, demand an envelope to record it, drive himself to the window to defend and smile knowingly at the one person alive that understands that he could not be owned, could not be labeled or captured or poisoned by people or religion or government or money or drugs or disease or his lover.
How would one go about saying....
Love.
Everything is love.
All things created were created through passion.
All things created were created through love.
All is love.
All is death.
All is reality and delusion.
All that you can ever do is spread it on in the biggest way you can.
Never conform, never BELONG, never believe or become a part of a system not working in the name of love or struggle to fill a role you weren't made for.
How do you go about saying....
DO NOT FEAR.
No inhibitions.
All is love.
Have no fear.
Only through misunderstanding is there hatred.
Only through mistakes is there pain.
Only through mistakes do we learn.
Only through mistakes will we get where we're going, where we're meant to be.
Fear only gets us bought.
Bought by people, government, money, religion, trends, society, drugs, clothing, girlfriends, wives, husbands, lovers, disease, laziness, pain, helplessness.
Fear only gets us controlled.
How do you go about saying...
I love you?
How do you go about meaning it?
By abandoning all fear.
By living love, creation, passion.
All is love.
All is death.
All is reality.
All is illusion.
Before you can truly love any single individual person, you must first embrace all of creation. Embrace passion. Embrace art and music and beauty. Embrace yourself.

Paparazzi

This is the general summary of I how felt on New Year's Eve... I'm not feeling much different but I guess that's probably because I can't fucking eat because of my tooth. It's cause and consequence... Food=me in damn pain...
I'd almost take baby-food sweet potatoes.
Blech.
I wish someone would be kind and feed me!
If you're wondering what that is on my hand, it's a scar. A few years ago I was attacked by a dog on my hand, but that doesn't change my opinion of dogs in general! I just get kinda freaked out if they growl at me. And the only reason I got bitten was because some stupid abusive bitch punched the guy in the head. I made a sudden movement about the same time he decided he was done taking her shit and I don't blame him at all for reacting how he did.
Anyway, I just wanted to put up a few pictures and kind of change the pace I've been going at on these. That last one with me and Sasha I look totally high, but I don't think one vicodin would have that effect on me! I seriously fucking hate pills but the night before that I had to go to the emergency room (I know, poor me, right? :P) and get something for that... Growing up in poverty has disadvantages for your whole life. It doesn't help too much that my parents completely stopped taking us to the dentist when my brother died when I was 11, so I guess I know what to do and what not to do if or when I have children of my own!
God I'm hungry! My mouth doesn't even hurt but I'm thinking about taking a pill just so I get sick to my stomach and don't feel like eating. Maybe just a vitamin or something because it's not really my style to abuse pain-killers, and I know I'll need them eventually, haha.............
Band of the day: The Jennifer Nettles Band
God bless Afterellen!

Happy New Year I guess.

How do you not post on January first? It just wouldn't make sense.
I feel like shit.
Hungover.
Headache.
Toothache.
PMS.
Good times.
An optimistic start to a year bound to bring more of the same.
I'm going to go watch Dexter.
Fuck this game.