I just found a new word.

Alexithymia
- difficulty describing feelings to other people

I get that all the time.

"A blind sky bleached white the intellect of human bone, skinning the emotions from the fracture to reveal the grief underneath. And the mirror reveals me, a naked and vulnerable fact."
- Dambuzdo Marechera, Black Sunlight

8 fears:

( This is pretty boring, I'm afraid. )

This weekend I went to see Crispin Glover for screenings of two of his movies and Q+A sessions afterwards (and book signings as well). Before the screenings he did a performance of his books which were being projected up on the screen as a slideshow, which is an experience that I can't really explain. The movies (What Is It? and It Is Fine. ( Read more... )

9 loves

Just nine random likes of mine...

( Read more... )

Day 1: 10 secrets
Day 2: 9 loves
Day 3: 8 fears
Day 4: 7 wants
Day 5: 6 places you want to go
Day 6: 5 foods
Day 7: 4 books
Day 8: 3 films
Day 9: 2 songs
Day 10: 1 picture of yourself

10 secrets:I don't really have any "secrets" per se. So here are just 10 random facts about myself ( Read more... )

'cause I'm in the mood.

I met a woman long ago ( Read more... )

I'm tired of feeling sick in my skin. I can feel it curling away at the edges...wherever I am, whatever I'm doing. Sometimes I wish I were brave enough to just screw it all up, my life, for once purposely do everything so badly that there's no going back, lose so much that I would have nothing left to worry about holding onto. Call in to work sick ( Read more... )

Hurt once and for all into silence ( Read more... )

This is just a creepy little animation I rather like. That part where the mother opens the door, checking in on him, and that angelic lullaby-like singing starts at that second...something about it.

I am so, so excited to see Emilie Autumn live again, on her last Opheliac tour before the advent of the new album, even though it's still a ( Read more... )

Just a short little fiction piece I wrote this weekend:

I.

I play music to her. I play Mozart, Bach’s cello suites, Cocteau Twins, whatever is my heart’s desire. I read books to her, every moment I get. I read, oh, Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, The Secret Garden, Charlotte Bronte. I rub weedy flowers freshly plucked from the field with my ( Read more... )