| (no subject) |
[Dec. 6th, 2010|05:42 am] |
This journal is friends only but if you comment I'll add you almost 100% of the time. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 19th, 2009|09:25 pm] |
|
And then he clutches my back-his fingers spread out like winter-stricken tree branches. Touch reawakens my spinal cord. I am brought back into the world through his tongue. Above me like a blind plough horse, the grotesque reemergence. He makes me good again with each kiss. His sweat is like holy water. I see myself becoming worthy through his eyes. He shows me there is still truth, hope, a path out of these woods. No condoms and dirty words. This softness. Our hands drifting like lily pads over each other. We move as through a dream. My sad eyes through the dark. His hardness pressed against my back, kissing me softly as though tentative in the joy of this permission. He strokes me like something small and fragile, his hands on my side, the places where I fold. He smooths my feet like a Hindi bride. He anoints me with henna. "You have a girlfriend." "I know. I don't like my girlfriend." That means nothing. Beside me on a step, two scared children at the edge of the primordial dark. He buys me a purple frog. He kisses my forehead. What am I but the dark seductress? The girl with the witchy eyes crouched in the corner of the woods? |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Apr. 20th, 2009|11:39 am] |
|
I show great loyalty to the hard things I've been through |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 30th, 2009|08:36 pm] |
If I needed you would you come to me?
Would you come to me for to ease my pain?
If you needed me I would come to you.
I would swim the seas for to ease your pain. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 30th, 2009|04:04 pm] |
I'm HIV free.
But I got rejected from Reed. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 27th, 2009|07:14 pm] |
I got rejected from Bard. Fuck my life.
Edit: I was so trashed that I have absolutely no recollection of writing this entry. Fuck my life twice. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 15th, 2009|09:26 pm] |
all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next
-salinger |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 15th, 2009|01:59 am] |
wtf
my dog ate my pot |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 20th, 2009|04:09 am] |
Well, I'm almost certainly into Reed and Hampshire.
The Blow are amazing.
And I just drank beer and smoked resin with Hunter. And watched a movie about AIDS with an adorable child in it. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jan. 7th, 2009|01:50 pm] |
Scene: An interrogation room in Seattle. In a chair behind the cold, metal table sits Peter Norton, 42. He is a slim man who sits with an acute precision and awareness of his body. He is wearing a sheer T-shirt and jeans and, although it is freezing in the precinct, he seems unaware of the cold. He sits leaning forward with his hands braced against his knees, intently watching the scene on the television that has been wheeled into the room. It shows a reporter standing in front of horrific carnage at the waterfront. A crane has fallen unto a boat of tourists, killing 30. Relief workers bustle about with towels and bottles of water and bereaved relatives sob on stacks of piling. Next to Peter, pacing in the interrogation room is Sergeant Mike Standard, 55 and weeks away from retirement. He is a stocky man with a gray buzz cut. He worked homicide for six years and he is hard to shock but it is clear that this man intrigues him. He tries to keep a gruff manner but an acute curiosity is displayed in his features as he watches Peter’s reaction to the scene. Suddenly, Peter lifts his head and begins to speak.
Peter: (with wonderment) You’d think that there would be more blood, wouldn’t you? I mean, all of those people and you don’t see anything? It’s almost like it didn’t happen at all.
Sergeant: Well, it did happen. You made it happen. How long have you been working as a crane operator, Mr. Norton?
Peter: I didn’t know her then. I didn’t know anything. I could have been happy, don’t you think? The dog, the car, the white picket fence with Tivo and a pretty little girl named after my mom. Those people were lucky. They didn’t know what it all comes down to. Shit. It’s all just cause-and-effect.
Sergeant: Well, that’s all very interesting, Peter, but do you think you could start by telling me a date? There’s 30 people dead here, for Christ’s sakes. Some of them are kids. People are howling for your blood in the streets. They’re saying murder or they’re saying negligence. Accidents happen, I get it. You’re tired, the gears shift, something releases. We can work on it.
Peter: (Smiles faintly) My whole life is a series of accidents. So is yours. I saw her for the first time wearing a beige trenchcoat on the street in front of pier 32. She had long, dark hair back then and it was tied back away from her face so that you could see the light on the bones of her cheek. If that hadn’t happened, those people would still be alive. I wouldn’t be here. You’d probably be drinking shitty coffee in the lobby with your buddies.
Sergeant: Look, Norton, I’m losing my patience. A date. You’re not going anywhere until this is sorted out. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jan. 7th, 2009|11:15 am] |
I missed two weeks of school prior to break and now I've missed another three days. I need to get it together but every time I ascend the hill to the school and see the traffic lights, Luther floods my mind. I see him everywhere.
I've applied to five colleges yet, at this rate, I won't even graduate high school. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Dec. 10th, 2008|01:23 pm] |
|
Two days ago, Luther shot himself in the head behind the dumpsters in his apartment complex. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Nov. 22nd, 2008|05:00 am] |
So, one of the main reasons why I never use Livejournal anymore is because my friends list is enormous and cluttered with people who I have no interaction with.
Basically, I want to read about your lives but I can't handle this crazy influx of posts. If you would like to resume some contact with me please comment here so that I can add you to a friends group and actually read your writing. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Nov. 17th, 2008|04:05 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | The Mountain Goats-Earth Air Water Trees | ] |
Serenade
On your brow rests the color of the poppies,
the mourning of widows finds echo, oh hapless one:
when you run behind the railroads, in the fields,
the slender worker turns his back on you,
from your footprints sweet toads sprout trembling.
The youth without memories greets you, asks you about his
forgotten wish,
his hands move in your atmosphere like birds,
And there is great dampness surrounding him:
crossing his incomplete thoughts,
wishing to reach something, oh, seeking you,
his pale eyes blink in your net
like lost instruments that suddenly gleam.
Oh, I remember the first day of thirst,
the shadow pressed against the jasmines,
the deep body in which you took refuge
like a drop that also trembles
But you silence the great trees, and above the moon,
far away above,
you spy upon the sea like a thief.
Oh, night, my startled soul asks you,
you, desperately, about the metal that it needs.
-Pablo Neruda
( Read more... ) |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 26th, 2008|02:18 am] |
you get so much celebrity for bedding the local rock star.
also, i would like to note that i am generally well-liked but always set apart. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 5th, 2008|03:32 pm] |
whenever I used to try to fantasize about sex with him I imagined him dead of an overdose in some surreal morgue.
now i can't even think of how his naked body felt against mine.
i'm pleased at his leaving. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jun. 29th, 2008|09:42 pm] |
My own impulsiveness has led me to absolute despair again. I've destroyed the chance of friendship with Joe. My clinging to this long-dead relationship is another disturbing sign of how truly crazy I have allowed myself to become. My fixations are a daily embarrassment. I suppose I built all of the disasters of the past two years unto that one relationship and thought that, if I could save it, I might validate that I'm not utterly ineffectual and terrible. This final failure is staggering. It feels like a physical blow. I am utterly unloved.
I've spent the past four days in bed unable to muster up the energy to get up to shower or even go to the bathroom.
Ironically, during my one outing boys seemed to gravitate towards me perhaps because I have descended back into some churlish teenage eating disorder. The rejection of food becoming symbolic of penitence. I don't want to look good. I don't want to make myself attractive. Indeed, I want to starve away any pampering of this feeble mind and body. I want to shave my head. I want scars lining all of my skin so that people will know that I already understand how despicable I am. They can all stop telling me. I am already acutely aware of my own worthless existence.
Suicide seems like an increasingly appealing option in a pattern of behavior that seems utterly irreversible to me. I wish I'd died a few years ago when I was still a person with some worth, morals, or integrity. How did I descend to this point? How can I even pity myself when I am, in every way, the architect of my own destruction? Still, I must still have some faint replica of hope or at least the idea of atonement because I keep myself alive by rebelling against the thought of dying now in such a pitiful, unenlightened, wretched state.
Still, the degree of this pain amazes me. I have truly lost everything I love. My dog is dead, Joseph hates me, Cecile is gone from my life for transgressions we share, Maura and Hunter are caught up in the mechanics of each other and were never truly solidified in my life anyway, Christina has returned to her abusive ex-boyfriend who wants me dead...
I pray to God for mercy, for truth, for him to replace the terrible things inside of me with righteousness. But he is impassive. His face is kind but remote. He blinks down from the moon.
I am so hollow. My bones have become aqueducts to carry sadness. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 30th, 2008|12:05 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Black Bear-Black Bear | ] |
I've spent the last few hours writing about the demonization of Japanese culture during World War II. This combined with soul-numbing documentaries about Hiroshima has left me with the sort of headache that feels like every bone in my skull has been crushed to a fine powder. In turn, this makes me feel very sullen, glum, and despondent to life in general. I am trying to train myself in zen acceptance of all of my shortcomings, but I'm dubious about my progress.
School is essentially over for the year. I am consistently amazed at how quickly my life seems to escape me. I remain incapable of planning anything but I think I may be on the path towards mastering the art of fooling myself into believing I have some control over my destiny.
I miss the days when I kept track of my world through this journal and my scrapbook. It was comforting to see memories neatly packaged, choices compartmentalized into simple "good" and "bad", "right" and "wrong". Increasingly, life eludes me.
I want to believe that I am capable of fulfillment.
( Read more... ) |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[May. 9th, 2008|05:40 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Bellafea-Seasons | ] |
So, what's your name?: Linnea
Where would you like to live?: In bed with a person who loves and takes care of me.
Do you like school?: I’m in it for the sex and drugs.
Are you smart?: I’m so clever but clever ain’t wise
What is your favorite type of movie?: Porn.
What type of movie can you not stand?: Anything in which the shirtless hero runs out of a burning building holding a machine gun and a scantily dressed girl.
Would you like to be famous?: I wanna be a revolutionary, baby.
Do you think you have the potential to become famous?: Maybe in some crazy twisted way. Like if I were arrested with the corpses of several prominent political figures on display in my living room or threw myself under a truck to protest the celebration of Christmas.
How tall are you?: Too short to be intimidating but big enough to ride roller coasters.
How much do you weigh?: 117 pounds
Describe your hair: Irish schoolboy with a rebellious streak or disenchanted vegan lesbian.
Do you, or others find yourself attractive?: I am consistently uncontrollably aroused by myself.
If you could, what would you change about yourself?: I’d be less crazy and more consistent.
If you were born over, would you want to change sexes?: I wish I could just be some kind of girl-boy hybrid with some feminine mystique left behind my massive penis.
Do you dress inappropriately?: I favor sackcloth and thorns.
How far have you gone sexually?: They pass me around like currency.
Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?: I’m a robot. I lack the ability to love.
Do you have any crushes?: More like long-term hang-ups with two much buried history.
what would you name them kids?: Elliott or Lewis. Wren or Allegra.
Do you steal?: Only hearts.
Do you smoke?: Incorrigibly.
Do you drink?: I like red wine and blues music.
Do you do drugs?: Drugs are single-handedly destroying our young people, son.
Are you a vegetarian?: Yes. I hate myself.
Are you depressed?: I feel so suicidal I even hate my rock ‘n’ roll.
Do you blame things you do on someone else?: Mostly George Bush and Satan.
What do you want to be when you're older?: Happy and stable.
Do you want to go to college?: Badly.
What traits do you look for in a friend?: Compassionate, quirky, intellectual, artistic, adventurous, honest.
What do you look for in a boyfriend/girlfriend?: Same thing as a friend plus a predilection for cuddling.
Do you have a life?: It’s withering as we speak.
What is your worst habit?: Emotional inconsistency and occasional crimes of passion.
What are your fears?: Being a bad person, going insane, homelessness. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
cinicolives's journal