(no subject)
sandra says she wants me to start writing again. i used to keep journals, book after book, random page sleeve afater loose page sleeve. somewhere along the way i lost that. i lost every outlet i ever had and i guess that point in itself is the reason i ended up the haunted soul i now feel ive become. typing was always easier to me then writing, it came of first nature, a disadvantage of my generation i have always beleived. to prefer technology for something you can hold and you can touch. to have that sort of advancement in intelligance.
im drunk. have been for wuite a while now, and as much as that pussy little voice in the back of my head says that was a bad idea, i tell it to fuck itself and none of it matters at this second anyway. fuck tomorrow, ill deal with it tomorrow. which is, of course, the reason i end up in these states but fuck consciousness of mind too. fuck it all. it was never any good to me anyway. the intellect ive gained by choice, the diversity, the conscious being and the realisation of something more never fucking did me any good. even basic human psychology, why does a person make the choices they do, genetic or environmental, an attempt, or even severe perseverance for even the sligtest comprehension and understanding neer got me fucking anywhere. i still fucked it all. i still made the decisions i knew i wasnt supposed to but did them anyway. and for what? in pursuit of the general feeling of love and complete safety, and constant happiness. ive made the same mistake tonight and i fucking outright know i have. i wish i didnt even have to wake p in the morning and deal with the repurcussions of what ive just done. And to top it off, i did FUCK ALL in comparisison to what i would have done 4 years ago. 4 years ago i would have done exactly what i WANTED to do, and yet 4 years ago i never dealt with the repurcussions im facing now. holy shit i kissed him. oh. my. god. you fucking whore. i mean shit, if anything i should be more worried about the stunt i pulled a week and a half ago. however, im not even worried about that, even if he is jailbait, somehow i still feel quite fucking proud of what i managed to pull off, and it made me feel great. how pathetic is it to say that he made me feel so much better about myself? the jailbait. fuck. thats lke how pathetic is it to say i party with my 16year old sister and her boyfriend more often then ill admit? sandra tells me to stop explaing myself, but i ALWAYS feel the constant need. they party like i do, lke i used to, she grew up quicker then i wanted, then i envisioned, then i hoped and then i allowed, but yet i still love her. she has no idea in a pub scene and pretty much cries when her man gets involved in bar fights or gets too rowdy for her to deal with. hes just a dick that lkes to have fun. and yet i love having a night with them as much as they love it. still doesnt mean its right. like brendan. still doesnt mean its right. covered head to toe in jailtats and a mothers worst nightmare to look at, but fuck, ive been sweettalked before and he is nothing like that. he shows me a man, that will uphold the integrity of respect and dignity and honour but yet will not hit another man in veiw of 'ladies'. old fashioned to the bone, they say abundance of the heart comes from the mouth and over the past couple of weeks that ive seen him he is a gentleman. utter and complete to the point of pulling my chair out for me. but yet i know he has ties i want nothing to do with, i know he does things i dont want to know and i know he's seen things that would end my faith in everything. he represents and live the life of someone tha i just got rid of, but holy fuck, was that someone small fry compared to this. i find myself so attracted to someone so far in theres no way i could do ANYTHING without being tainted by the brush too. and its as simple as that. he represents the way of life i had envisoned when i was a kid, flipping through mum and dads tattoo magazines, in awe of ink and of bikes and of the overall free as a bird feeling every one of the oeple in the pictures i was looking at prjected. i look at myself in the mirror and im not surprised at what i see. peirced. dark. angry. tattooed. high. drunk! wack. strange. different. ever since i can remeber thats the part of life i always wanted to know more about. mum and dad bought me up in the environment were they touched along the edges, or what i saw as the edges of this scene. and i loved every second of it. i cant remember a time where i looked at it all, the pot smoking, the poker, the tattooes, ANY of that with any kind of unhappiness or dislike whatsoever. i always wanted more. harder. why? why have i always wanted to revolt so much? to be as far away from everyone else in society as possible. what ive come to thinking of as 'we' dont even get classed into society. average citizen. yeah he aint got a tattoo, a peircing, a mental illness or a fucking intoxication problem does he? yeah didnt fucking think so. and in these times during the fucking floods, crammed in a hillbilly town with stupid redneck fuckers, im most certainly not surprised im attracted to him. shit he's gotta be the only guy to not try get in my pants the same day he met me. sure he wouldnt have turned it down tonight, but it was like he was even interested in that. he wanted my attention. i could see it, i could read him, open ended questions, and constantly trying to catch my eye, i could FEEL him almost searching when he looked at me for an answer. what answer do i give off i wonder? he reads something in my face. something changes the way he looks at me, and i know its what he's reading. i wonder how much truth i actually show without realising it. never been great with subtletly, shit me i cant even hide my sneer while serving half my customers at work. half my problem. the other half being, i no longer trust my judgment. i look in his eyes, and i see truth and i see pain. and yet i cant trust a word that comes out of his mouth, i cant trust the things he says to me, and i cant trust that im not just a fuck.
fuck im talking like im looking at him for a relationship. and its not even like that either. how the hell could i have a relationship with someone like that? thats connected to THAT. that scares me more than junkies. im terrified of that which i know nothing about. i know junkies. i know junkies inside out, to the point where i even sat last night and picked herion and dmt. i shouldnt know this shit, and yet i do know despite having never stuck a fucking dirty cunt needle in my arm. my family doesnt believe me, we dont fight and our relationship with each other is at it should be, but they dont believe i was never a junkie. it cuts. depper then ill ever admit. but i can [just] deal with that. and i will go the rest of my life never worrying about a speedfreak again because i have the knowledge to pick them for what they are. this, i know nothing about. this scares me. this the type of gang cult shit that seeps through the cracks like a green toxic gas and anyone who inspects what the fuck that is! just drops 'naturally'. i knew long before him what they did, what they stood for, and i never had a problem with it, if anything i fucking downright agreed! but this.. it feels like i may as well get a nice big tattoo, buy a leather jacket and an automatic and just accept the fact thats the lfe ill lead. see as much as i was always attracted to the scene, i always envisioned families, and fucking sunshine and lollipops i guess, with just me as the black sheep crammed in the middle. this is deep, this is more like 'crybaby', teach your kids to shoot by the time theyre three, and thats if daddy even comes home kinda shit. thats the kinda shit he represents, that wont leave me be, that someow seems imoulded into the personality that is me in essence. i need sandra again, cause as it turns out this writing shit doesnt actually work, i cant sort anything out anymore i just go around in constant fucking cycle of my own confusion. i wonder half the time if i should medicate myself for the sake of the the people around me, i know they suffer watching me constantly destroy myself, which alos seems strange to me because i cant understand how they can care that much about me. i dont particularly want their fucking meds, but in te same token when i weigh pros and cons, i most certainly wouldnt be seen going to the pub and kissing random hardcore tattooed guys if i were medicated. at least then i wouldnt have to wake up in the morning and deal with expectations and explainations and bullshit. i dread it to the pit of my stomach, i wonder what he'll say and how he'll react, i wonder if he'll show at all. i wonder if this rebound is coming a little to quickly, and considering its not like im seually frustrated, whether its a rebound at all. i think the later is what scares me the most. and for that i wish in all honesty that i could somehow make glen feel the way i do in regards to that, i feel so broken that all it takes is one person to take their time in approach and a pair of warm strong arms to win me over. fucking pussy. jesus christ. all i have are more and more questions and all i get is more confused and less answers. i get nowhere. enter sandra. if only. but no instead, thanks to the flood im stuck in a sithole redneck town, blocked in by water everyside with a abunch of wankers, and im have a mental/emotional breakdown over the one decent guy here, with no access to sandra whatsoeer. oh yeah what now? friken awesome. no wonder i went and got plastered tonight. which reminds me, when i go back and read tis tomorrow, SERVES YOU RIGHT.lets just hope its cohesive enough to be able to reread and give to sandra, CAUSE IT HELPS! as fucking if. half my luck, the only person that will even realise this is here is the one person id probably most be most ashamed if read it. if he could see what ive become, if he could see what ive done, the choices ive made and the places i ended up in, he'd ask what happened to the girl he knew. and the closest i can come to answering that is with the statement that she never existed in the first place.
im drunk. have been for wuite a while now, and as much as that pussy little voice in the back of my head says that was a bad idea, i tell it to fuck itself and none of it matters at this second anyway. fuck tomorrow, ill deal with it tomorrow. which is, of course, the reason i end up in these states but fuck consciousness of mind too. fuck it all. it was never any good to me anyway. the intellect ive gained by choice, the diversity, the conscious being and the realisation of something more never fucking did me any good. even basic human psychology, why does a person make the choices they do, genetic or environmental, an attempt, or even severe perseverance for even the sligtest comprehension and understanding neer got me fucking anywhere. i still fucked it all. i still made the decisions i knew i wasnt supposed to but did them anyway. and for what? in pursuit of the general feeling of love and complete safety, and constant happiness. ive made the same mistake tonight and i fucking outright know i have. i wish i didnt even have to wake p in the morning and deal with the repurcussions of what ive just done. And to top it off, i did FUCK ALL in comparisison to what i would have done 4 years ago. 4 years ago i would have done exactly what i WANTED to do, and yet 4 years ago i never dealt with the repurcussions im facing now. holy shit i kissed him. oh. my. god. you fucking whore. i mean shit, if anything i should be more worried about the stunt i pulled a week and a half ago. however, im not even worried about that, even if he is jailbait, somehow i still feel quite fucking proud of what i managed to pull off, and it made me feel great. how pathetic is it to say that he made me feel so much better about myself? the jailbait. fuck. thats lke how pathetic is it to say i party with my 16year old sister and her boyfriend more often then ill admit? sandra tells me to stop explaing myself, but i ALWAYS feel the constant need. they party like i do, lke i used to, she grew up quicker then i wanted, then i envisioned, then i hoped and then i allowed, but yet i still love her. she has no idea in a pub scene and pretty much cries when her man gets involved in bar fights or gets too rowdy for her to deal with. hes just a dick that lkes to have fun. and yet i love having a night with them as much as they love it. still doesnt mean its right. like brendan. still doesnt mean its right. covered head to toe in jailtats and a mothers worst nightmare to look at, but fuck, ive been sweettalked before and he is nothing like that. he shows me a man, that will uphold the integrity of respect and dignity and honour but yet will not hit another man in veiw of 'ladies'. old fashioned to the bone, they say abundance of the heart comes from the mouth and over the past couple of weeks that ive seen him he is a gentleman. utter and complete to the point of pulling my chair out for me. but yet i know he has ties i want nothing to do with, i know he does things i dont want to know and i know he's seen things that would end my faith in everything. he represents and live the life of someone tha i just got rid of, but holy fuck, was that someone small fry compared to this. i find myself so attracted to someone so far in theres no way i could do ANYTHING without being tainted by the brush too. and its as simple as that. he represents the way of life i had envisoned when i was a kid, flipping through mum and dads tattoo magazines, in awe of ink and of bikes and of the overall free as a bird feeling every one of the oeple in the pictures i was looking at prjected. i look at myself in the mirror and im not surprised at what i see. peirced. dark. angry. tattooed. high. drunk! wack. strange. different. ever since i can remeber thats the part of life i always wanted to know more about. mum and dad bought me up in the environment were they touched along the edges, or what i saw as the edges of this scene. and i loved every second of it. i cant remember a time where i looked at it all, the pot smoking, the poker, the tattooes, ANY of that with any kind of unhappiness or dislike whatsoever. i always wanted more. harder. why? why have i always wanted to revolt so much? to be as far away from everyone else in society as possible. what ive come to thinking of as 'we' dont even get classed into society. average citizen. yeah he aint got a tattoo, a peircing, a mental illness or a fucking intoxication problem does he? yeah didnt fucking think so. and in these times during the fucking floods, crammed in a hillbilly town with stupid redneck fuckers, im most certainly not surprised im attracted to him. shit he's gotta be the only guy to not try get in my pants the same day he met me. sure he wouldnt have turned it down tonight, but it was like he was even interested in that. he wanted my attention. i could see it, i could read him, open ended questions, and constantly trying to catch my eye, i could FEEL him almost searching when he looked at me for an answer. what answer do i give off i wonder? he reads something in my face. something changes the way he looks at me, and i know its what he's reading. i wonder how much truth i actually show without realising it. never been great with subtletly, shit me i cant even hide my sneer while serving half my customers at work. half my problem. the other half being, i no longer trust my judgment. i look in his eyes, and i see truth and i see pain. and yet i cant trust a word that comes out of his mouth, i cant trust the things he says to me, and i cant trust that im not just a fuck.
fuck im talking like im looking at him for a relationship. and its not even like that either. how the hell could i have a relationship with someone like that? thats connected to THAT. that scares me more than junkies. im terrified of that which i know nothing about. i know junkies. i know junkies inside out, to the point where i even sat last night and picked herion and dmt. i shouldnt know this shit, and yet i do know despite having never stuck a fucking dirty cunt needle in my arm. my family doesnt believe me, we dont fight and our relationship with each other is at it should be, but they dont believe i was never a junkie. it cuts. depper then ill ever admit. but i can [just] deal with that. and i will go the rest of my life never worrying about a speedfreak again because i have the knowledge to pick them for what they are. this, i know nothing about. this scares me. this the type of gang cult shit that seeps through the cracks like a green toxic gas and anyone who inspects what the fuck that is! just drops 'naturally'. i knew long before him what they did, what they stood for, and i never had a problem with it, if anything i fucking downright agreed! but this.. it feels like i may as well get a nice big tattoo, buy a leather jacket and an automatic and just accept the fact thats the lfe ill lead. see as much as i was always attracted to the scene, i always envisioned families, and fucking sunshine and lollipops i guess, with just me as the black sheep crammed in the middle. this is deep, this is more like 'crybaby', teach your kids to shoot by the time theyre three, and thats if daddy even comes home kinda shit. thats the kinda shit he represents, that wont leave me be, that someow seems imoulded into the personality that is me in essence. i need sandra again, cause as it turns out this writing shit doesnt actually work, i cant sort anything out anymore i just go around in constant fucking cycle of my own confusion. i wonder half the time if i should medicate myself for the sake of the the people around me, i know they suffer watching me constantly destroy myself, which alos seems strange to me because i cant understand how they can care that much about me. i dont particularly want their fucking meds, but in te same token when i weigh pros and cons, i most certainly wouldnt be seen going to the pub and kissing random hardcore tattooed guys if i were medicated. at least then i wouldnt have to wake up in the morning and deal with expectations and explainations and bullshit. i dread it to the pit of my stomach, i wonder what he'll say and how he'll react, i wonder if he'll show at all. i wonder if this rebound is coming a little to quickly, and considering its not like im seually frustrated, whether its a rebound at all. i think the later is what scares me the most. and for that i wish in all honesty that i could somehow make glen feel the way i do in regards to that, i feel so broken that all it takes is one person to take their time in approach and a pair of warm strong arms to win me over. fucking pussy. jesus christ. all i have are more and more questions and all i get is more confused and less answers. i get nowhere. enter sandra. if only. but no instead, thanks to the flood im stuck in a sithole redneck town, blocked in by water everyside with a abunch of wankers, and im have a mental/emotional breakdown over the one decent guy here, with no access to sandra whatsoeer. oh yeah what now? friken awesome. no wonder i went and got plastered tonight. which reminds me, when i go back and read tis tomorrow, SERVES YOU RIGHT.lets just hope its cohesive enough to be able to reread and give to sandra, CAUSE IT HELPS! as fucking if. half my luck, the only person that will even realise this is here is the one person id probably most be most ashamed if read it. if he could see what ive become, if he could see what ive done, the choices ive made and the places i ended up in, he'd ask what happened to the girl he knew. and the closest i can come to answering that is with the statement that she never existed in the first place.