(no subject)
fuck.
I keep sitting down to update here, and I'll type a few lines and hit delete. It's all too personal, all too historical, all too fucking self righteous boring crap. It would irritate me to write it, and it would irritate me even more that people actually read it. What does anyone even get out of the whole public personal journal? Is it a voyeuristic thing?
I don't go outside much anymore. It's too fucking crowded everywhere. It's disgusting. This city is an empire built on broken dreams, high end retail on the ground floor of tenements, everyone scatters around trying to impress everyone else.
Here's a little bit more for the voyeurs.
I'm filled with disgust. It's not even hate. It's contempt. It's this vile infestation of people, too many of them in too small an area, all of their putrid smells and sounds, the vile eyes wandering over your body filled with lust or rage or just nothing at all, horrid beasts trying to figure out if they want to fuck you or if they want to know where you got your shoes. It leaves a grimy film on your skin.
I looked at old photos a few nights ago, they were like images out of some stereotype movie. I miss that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I lived in a house.
An apartment, really.
It was on the ground floor of the building, and all the windows faced to brick walls.
One evening, I returned to my apartment that all the windows faced to brick walls, to discover something that hadn't been there before.
A mass grave.
A massacre, if you will.
There were piles of dead flies on all the windowsills. Dozens of them, shiny opalescent corpses. Like little oil slicks with legs and wings poking out at awkward angles. Some were tangled in cobwebs, little loners suspended an inch or so above the rest.
In all the time I lived in that apartment, I saw only three or four lives flies buzzing about. But there were easily over a hundred dead ones, piled up on each windowsill.
Strange.
_______________________________________
I took a step out the last few months, turned my back and left a life behind. I returned to an old one, and seem to have gotten realities mixed up.
I wonder if all Geminis lead these double and triple lives?
She may not be fit for public consumption, for private interludes, or for nocturnal emissions.
Maybe.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
5 4 3 2...
1
Fill in the blanks with something trite, something borrowed, something blue? Properly destructive, delightfully misanthropic, deadly deafening noise.
This time of year...this time last year...this time next year. I've never been one to panic on coming of age, those inevitable chronological changes. Silly really, other things to focus on rather than something you can't avoid.
She doesn't like crowded rooms, dark and stained with sweat. The latter is reserved for elsewhere, neverwhere, behind curtains and once upon a time there was a girl on a rooftop, pressed against cold torn tiles caulk under my nails as we clawed at the walls....once upon a time she screamed and ruled the world. She misses the warm liquid therapy.
high heels failing terribly at vegan meals, should I stop the clock and just dry fuck the second hand as it crawls along, over stylized pop ads litter all the reflections in the glass...blend black shadow round those lids paint those hands those hairs...those dead trees outside make real life real time into a movie set, knock it down flat dimension - - -
5 4 3 2 1
=================================================
'm going to speak some words.
One thing - I feel like updating, but don't feel like being all cryptic weirdo girl right now. So here are things I am thinking.
One thing - I hate myspace. And yet, I find myself on it constantly. It's a disgusting, vicious addiction, and the most effective free marketing promotional tool out there currently.
One thing - I got to spend time with the fabulous drunks the other day. We took silly photos, which should be floating around somewhere soon.
One thing - Sometimes an appartment seems very large, and very empty.
One thing - I am incredibly entertained by those pro-eating disorder websites.
One thing - I miss having time to read. There were a few months last year that I was going through multiple novels a week, and now I have stacks waiting for me that seem to be collecting dust.
One thing - that's about it.
---leela
I keep sitting down to update here, and I'll type a few lines and hit delete. It's all too personal, all too historical, all too fucking self righteous boring crap. It would irritate me to write it, and it would irritate me even more that people actually read it. What does anyone even get out of the whole public personal journal? Is it a voyeuristic thing?
I don't go outside much anymore. It's too fucking crowded everywhere. It's disgusting. This city is an empire built on broken dreams, high end retail on the ground floor of tenements, everyone scatters around trying to impress everyone else.
Here's a little bit more for the voyeurs.
I'm filled with disgust. It's not even hate. It's contempt. It's this vile infestation of people, too many of them in too small an area, all of their putrid smells and sounds, the vile eyes wandering over your body filled with lust or rage or just nothing at all, horrid beasts trying to figure out if they want to fuck you or if they want to know where you got your shoes. It leaves a grimy film on your skin.
I looked at old photos a few nights ago, they were like images out of some stereotype movie. I miss that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I lived in a house.
An apartment, really.
It was on the ground floor of the building, and all the windows faced to brick walls.
One evening, I returned to my apartment that all the windows faced to brick walls, to discover something that hadn't been there before.
A mass grave.
A massacre, if you will.
There were piles of dead flies on all the windowsills. Dozens of them, shiny opalescent corpses. Like little oil slicks with legs and wings poking out at awkward angles. Some were tangled in cobwebs, little loners suspended an inch or so above the rest.
In all the time I lived in that apartment, I saw only three or four lives flies buzzing about. But there were easily over a hundred dead ones, piled up on each windowsill.
Strange.
_______________________________________
I took a step out the last few months, turned my back and left a life behind. I returned to an old one, and seem to have gotten realities mixed up.
I wonder if all Geminis lead these double and triple lives?
She may not be fit for public consumption, for private interludes, or for nocturnal emissions.
Maybe.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
5 4 3 2...
1
Fill in the blanks with something trite, something borrowed, something blue? Properly destructive, delightfully misanthropic, deadly deafening noise.
This time of year...this time last year...this time next year. I've never been one to panic on coming of age, those inevitable chronological changes. Silly really, other things to focus on rather than something you can't avoid.
She doesn't like crowded rooms, dark and stained with sweat. The latter is reserved for elsewhere, neverwhere, behind curtains and once upon a time there was a girl on a rooftop, pressed against cold torn tiles caulk under my nails as we clawed at the walls....once upon a time she screamed and ruled the world. She misses the warm liquid therapy.
high heels failing terribly at vegan meals, should I stop the clock and just dry fuck the second hand as it crawls along, over stylized pop ads litter all the reflections in the glass...blend black shadow round those lids paint those hands those hairs...those dead trees outside make real life real time into a movie set, knock it down flat dimension - - -
5 4 3 2 1
=================================================
'm going to speak some words.
One thing - I feel like updating, but don't feel like being all cryptic weirdo girl right now. So here are things I am thinking.
One thing - I hate myspace. And yet, I find myself on it constantly. It's a disgusting, vicious addiction, and the most effective free marketing promotional tool out there currently.
One thing - I got to spend time with the fabulous drunks the other day. We took silly photos, which should be floating around somewhere soon.
One thing - Sometimes an appartment seems very large, and very empty.
One thing - I am incredibly entertained by those pro-eating disorder websites.
One thing - I miss having time to read. There were a few months last year that I was going through multiple novels a week, and now I have stacks waiting for me that seem to be collecting dust.
One thing - that's about it.
---leela