I wasn't always a monster, I was a saint.
I have read all known materials pertaining and related to A Series of Unfortunate Events, and my conclusion is this; Either I am very bad at puzzles, connect-the-dots, drawing conclusions and otherwise have Missed the Point, or Lemoney Snicket is in fact Jack Terricloth's pen name, and I should Just Go With It, and say I've enjoyed it very much and move along.
I haven't seen a World/Inferno show in over a month! Ridiculous!
Here's a lesson, kiddies; 20 dollars will buy you cigarettes, Subway, and one tab of acid.
The Oddchild Uprising has been hired to perform, for $2,200, in Virginia Beach, on New Year's Eve. Nick is trying to wrangle the guy into paying for two nights in a hotel for us, too (Leave the 30th, perform the 31st into the 1st, leave after we sleep off our hang overs). My life is ever-so exciting and wonderful. And I get to share it all with Joe, and he with me, and us with Cassandra and Xaq and Nick.
There's three days in a row every week that I don't get to see him, and those feel very long, until I Remember. Then I sit down (it's more of a controlled free fall) and realize that three days is a blink of a fucking eye and I don't feel sorry for myself any more. Well, no, I still feel a little sorry for myself, but much less so.
I made him red and black dreadlocks and put them in his hair and they're the best set I've ever made in my life. I pull on them to jerk his head towards mine so I can kiss him roughly on the mouth, pressing his body to the side of a car. I like that boy.
My hair is almost long enough to pull now, and he does.
The library staff Christmas party is going on downstairs, but I'm a little disgusted by people lately. It's not their fault. I just really want to be with my gypsy circus, ripping people off and standing on my head and running through dark allys late at night with cans of spray paint rattling in my bag and hiding our faces in our too-long sleeves because we can't stop laughing. I want to be cold and wet. I want other people's apartments and couches and clothes. I want blood running from my eyes and my hands and my throat. What lips! Cheekbones! I want him digging his fingers in between my ribs. I want cigarettes picked up off the ground and I want ecstasy and I want back seats of cars and dirty nails and using someone else's toothbrush and hanging by my shoulders from meat hooks while an audience applauds. I don't want to have to take my earrings out ever again, unless I'm changing them to something prettier or larger. I want a legitimate reason to wear a gasmask. I want and want, and I'm starting to get.
I think I'm happy.
I haven't seen a World/Inferno show in over a month! Ridiculous!
Here's a lesson, kiddies; 20 dollars will buy you cigarettes, Subway, and one tab of acid.
The Oddchild Uprising has been hired to perform, for $2,200, in Virginia Beach, on New Year's Eve. Nick is trying to wrangle the guy into paying for two nights in a hotel for us, too (Leave the 30th, perform the 31st into the 1st, leave after we sleep off our hang overs). My life is ever-so exciting and wonderful. And I get to share it all with Joe, and he with me, and us with Cassandra and Xaq and Nick.
There's three days in a row every week that I don't get to see him, and those feel very long, until I Remember. Then I sit down (it's more of a controlled free fall) and realize that three days is a blink of a fucking eye and I don't feel sorry for myself any more. Well, no, I still feel a little sorry for myself, but much less so.
I made him red and black dreadlocks and put them in his hair and they're the best set I've ever made in my life. I pull on them to jerk his head towards mine so I can kiss him roughly on the mouth, pressing his body to the side of a car. I like that boy.
My hair is almost long enough to pull now, and he does.
The library staff Christmas party is going on downstairs, but I'm a little disgusted by people lately. It's not their fault. I just really want to be with my gypsy circus, ripping people off and standing on my head and running through dark allys late at night with cans of spray paint rattling in my bag and hiding our faces in our too-long sleeves because we can't stop laughing. I want to be cold and wet. I want other people's apartments and couches and clothes. I want blood running from my eyes and my hands and my throat. What lips! Cheekbones! I want him digging his fingers in between my ribs. I want cigarettes picked up off the ground and I want ecstasy and I want back seats of cars and dirty nails and using someone else's toothbrush and hanging by my shoulders from meat hooks while an audience applauds. I don't want to have to take my earrings out ever again, unless I'm changing them to something prettier or larger. I want a legitimate reason to wear a gasmask. I want and want, and I'm starting to get.
I think I'm happy.