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Friday, January 6th, 2006
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i miss blueprint treehouses, chickenscratched on any available surface, positioned within 12blocks of yr house, or anywhere in the entire state of maine. i miss the pixtures of you, cheek craddled into the curves of yr guitar, as the look on yr face was crystal you wished it was the bones of my hip, not the balsa one outburst from shattering. every ragged breath, i shattered like glass, mended every crack with the finest duct tape walmart has to offer. i'd scour bathroom walls for the answers, or even yr latest areacode if i thought the words would pour justso from those lips i traced a thousand times inside my head.
i want to hear every 2am lucky charms story you have to share... i kno i shouldn't, but i've been reminiscing. i've been reading old memories, every seemingly careful syllable pecked out for just the right impact, when you consumed my each&every single ...everything. i lied my face off when i said that i would be ok, its never fine when you go away.
yet again, i'm chewing my kneecaps. i've said far too much.
oxox.
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Friday, September 12th, 2003
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| Time: | 1:37 pm. |
| Mood: |  numb. |
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i don't like a lot of things these days. faux people with stitched on plastick smiles. liars with something to prove. those who hurt others because they hurt inside so much they can't handle the pain, so they have to lash out. i kno about yr pain and i'd take it away if i could, i'd dissolve it into myself if it would let you step back and see yrself thru my eyes. but i'm not magician, i don't have the power to take it away so i just leave the offer open to you, if ever you find anywhere that i fit into yr plans. but as i said, i don't like a lot of things these days, the list could fill pages and pages of unruly lined sheets. -sigh-
i crave sleep because i don't get much of it. it's difficult to let myself succumb, to turn off my mind long enuff to quiet down the whirling thoughts and drift off to sleep. so when i've finally reached that point, and my innermost desires are tattooed along the insides of my eyelids, i hate being woken up. esp. for bad, horrible, devastating news.
hearing that a man who you idolized and who's mucick touched you in a way that few have come close to. one who leaves behind a legacy that many will attempt to come near but there can be only one. a man, a hero, who can never be replaced. hearing that this man has died, is enuff to ruin any thought of sleep. anything of anything except trying to figure out why yr so shaken, why the tears are collecting for a man you never met, you never spoke even a word to, never heard his voice undilluted and straight from his throat. you try to see why the death of such a man would affect you so hard and come up with nothing beyond some cheap words of how you felt like you knew him or something else as vague and cheap. so you stop the thought because to do anything to cheapen the legacy of this man, is nothing less than a horrible sin.
Johnny Cash is dead. what a horrible line of 10 bit typed font that is. has there been a worse one? i'm shure. but it's devastating and i wish to go over it with the biggest eraser possible. but it's been burned into my brain, it wouldn't do a bit of good.
john ritter is also dead. but that doesn't affect me in the least. oddly enuff i s'pose. who cries for the creepy guy who's life achievement was three's company and he never even stuck it in his hott-ass roommates? not me.
Mr. Cash, you will be missed. At least yr with June again, if there is such a thing as heaven. and hell. but that's a philosophical debate that i don't have the stomach or peace of mind to delve into at this moment. right now, i want a stiff drink, flame to duel the smoke, and something that makes some sort of sense. i'll let you kno if i find it...
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Friday, August 22nd, 2003
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if you shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologise
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"your promise is nothing to me, i can't accept your blatant lies. we'll begin an endless story, as i gouge my ears, and shut my eyes."
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Monday, August 11th, 2003
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girl breaks face (5:03:03 AM): You're an asshole. You keep signing off in my face. That hurts. Like, being punched in the vagina.
she's all vulgarity and crudeness, like me. it made me smile.
p.s. i think i have a crush. and no, not on her...
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| Subject: | this is hottsex. |
| Time: | 1:21 pm. |
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i think this is one of my fave pixtures of her so far. she has this sort of.. surreal beauty about her. i can't explain it, she's the epitome of sex.
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Thursday, July 17th, 2003
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this isn't for you.
this isn't for you.
i speak in tounges.
teen face for the dream date.
that girl wears black jeans.
paint it all black.
yea paint it all black.
this isn't for you.
teen face for the dream date.
that girl wears black jeans.
i want her to kiss those black jeans into me.
this journal is now friends only. comment if you'd like to be added. also, i'm taking off people that i don't think read my journal. if you don't comment, i'm removing you. if you'd like to be kept on or i took you off &you disagree, just comment &let me kno. more n likely i'll add ya. ciao.
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I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned the hard way that some poems dont rhyme, and some stories dont have a clear begining middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the most of it without knowing whats going to happen next.
- gilda radner
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and as a superficial post to balance out the abundance of words i'm shure no one will weed thru. i give you this final thought before i go to sleep. you kno there is no hope left for the human race when you find a porn entitled, "anne frank fucks 2 guys for bread" that is all.
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cyanidekisses's journal