Insomnia

What am I doing up? What the hell am I doing awake at quarter after five in the morning?

I know what I was doing at this time when I last stayed the weekend at Platteville. It hurts like no one's business to remember. I shouldn't have gotten up...but there was laundry in the dryer still, and I wasn't ready to resign myself to hardcore nudity for the next two days. Oh, what twisted webs we weave. My eyes are sticky (it's time to throw away these contacts), my heart is heavy (time to throw that away, too), and I can't sleep. God, but I wish I could. All I have are Nietzsche books to keep me company and the promise that with time comes healing.

Pfah.

With time comes healing? I know what could heal me. He does, too. Fuck you, Boy-Who-Hurt-Me. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I don't need your sarcasm. I don't want a class with you. I want you to show up at my door with a letter of confession and I want you to tell me why you've decided to lie, to laugh, and to apply "that fatal knife" to me again and again. Maybe then I won't have to sit in a deserted computer lab with nothing but my keys for solace, and maybe then I won't have to sit and listen to the birds as they sing at first light and remember that when I was there with you, they sang the same songs.

Oh, now that's pathetic. "Sang the same songs." Why does that hurt, too? To everyone else, I've recovered from that blunder. Here's a secret, though...

I haven't.

I'm still small and fragile inside. Still wishing I could rewind the clock and instead of going there as was insisted, I wish I would have gone to sleep (like I wanted). Is it because you pushed me to feel? I handled those disgusting feelings well enough before -- it wasn't a problem, you know -- but after the Christmas lights and Ours, I found myself afraid to even think. You bastard. Fuck you. It's all your fault.

I'm going to bed now, I think. A friend from back home is coming to visit Wednesday, and we're going to tear up Madison like there's no tomorrow. If I can find the funds (donation, anyone?), I may stop in and get my nose pierced...finally. This weekend should prove fun, if I can manage to reign in my anger and confusion. Oh, it will be fun. I'll make it fun, if nothing else. I will fucking make it fun.

There. Behave yourselves, dolls. Let me know how events in your world are shaping up.

Mobscene.

Oh, I can't help it. Falling back in love with Manson. Utter genius. Beautiful poet. Sensational voice.

What the hell is up with this recent cold streak? I'm not digging the fact that I have to wear a hoodie again...or the fact that people are now wearing coats. Granted, I hate sweating--thus, extreme heat is something I happily avoid. But coats? Come on, kids. Let's kick it in the ass and get the sixty-degree goodness back. Thankyouverymuch.

I'm vey much immersed in the philosopher Nietzsche now. Reading "Antichrist" by that intellectual madman. Though I can't agree with all that he says about Christianity, I must admit that he's making a good case for his views. If you haven't already checked him out, I strongly urge you to do so. Nietzsche is one of the famous modern philosophers deserving of his status. Forget the fact that the Nazis based their doctrines on his writings -- Nietzsche would have been disgusted with them, you know. They were uncreative, uninventive, and slobbish; they were like the Lion in his "Three Metamorpheses."

Everything I'm typing right now is unconnected. I can't help it. I smell food. And my eyes are sticky. I had a wonderful time last night, for the record. There was much canoodling and happiness. If I could just get that to stretch across another three years, it would be pure bliss. "I'd like to love you but my heart is a sore." Isn't that disturbingly poetic? Maybe it's just me. I can see before me that image. A heart as a sore. Oh, yes...I can see it.

Behave yourselves, darlings. Take care.

Headache.

Oh, yes. Went on a drinking binge last night. Had the worst possible stuff mixed in with raspberry-lemonade and grape Kool-Aid. Why?

...I don't know.

I ended up calling Klein and attempting to sing him REM's "It's the End of the World." I fell over backwards in my chair after Justin tried pulling of my sock to showcase his foot fetish. I stretched myself out on the ground after dancing to an Ultraviolence techno mix, and nearly passed out. Everyone around me was either trashed...or close to it. We made our own shot glass out of a cut-up plastic Kool-Aid bottle -- darling Brian took almost 6 shots. Yeah. He, Justin, and I were hammered. Nate and Ali were only partly so. It was good 'ol fashioned drunken fun. I had to keep my phone out of reach, or I would have called about five people just to tell them exactly what I thought of them. Both good and bad things.

Oy. Now I have a killer headache, and I'm not going to Zoology so I can finish this critical analysis paper. I've skipped five classes this week...isn't it disgusting? I SWEAR I'll go to ALL of them next week. It's the second-to-last full week of classes, anyway. I don't know what's wrong with me, but the upset-ness and the depression have just made it so damn hard to go to school. I just want to sit in my room, or sit alone in the PSC. Oh, and I finally righted the upturned boat of emotions. I spoke my heart -- spoke it good. Now the ball's in his court. Yeah.

Going home again this weekend to help my sister with prom. Hooray. Don't know what's up for Friday and Saturday night. Too much effing bad vibes going around. Anyone got some entertainment for me?

Disappear.

Yup. This about sums it up.

Surrendering

Draw it across, once, twice, three times fill the furrows.
Gently now so as not to scare them, lap the ichor up with
A three-pronged tongue. Watch the eyes…they always kill.
Watch his eyes, they kill me. Turn around to face the music,
Wrestle with the notes as they brush against the skin…

He butchered me with a single sentence. He destroyed me with
A thought. Honesty was the virtue that gnashed its teeth, that rose
Up like Leviathan and ate the air around me. I fell with eyes open,
The blues and greys rushing past like the modem glow of his gaze.
‘Obscurity like glue,’ he said…but it was all lies. We splintered.

Headstones like child-flung pebbles dotted the hillside; we two traversed
In near-silence, searching (seeking desperately) for redemption that
Traipsed unseen between us. There was orange empty pavement in his
Smile, a vacant lot behind his eyes fenced by poignant pictures. Images of
Who-am-I and what-they-think and why-did-I severed his esteem in detail.

Tender wanting looks shot with soft precision, the rabbit’s taste still lingered
On my mouth. I tried in vain to dredge the truth—I hoped in desperation such
Words would find me worthy. Worse than silence his mordant remarks; devoid
Of any sentiment, they slithered like white worms into my heart and gnawed
Loose private composure. On the inside I died…on the out I shook and moved away.

Beneath the exterior ripe with painted thorns, something sincere lurks and
Sighs. Begging on knees not used to crushing passion, I beg you…bring about
The birth of earnestness. Nothing is lost forever, and still I stand here—waiting,
Perhaps, always waiting. Unable to see through the mire of half-truths and
Uncertainties, I ask: find me. Catch me. Heal me. Help me.

Oh, does this week look like it's going to suck. Depression's riding my back like a three-ton monkey. Insanity's peering over my shoulder and huffing like an asthmatic rhinoceros. I need to shake loose everything that's had me down and upset this last week and half...but I can't. "Run away, terrified child." If only I could, Maynard. If only I could. I've got to hold it all up in order to take a test Thursday, in order to start and finish a six-page critical analysis paper due Friday, and in order to help my sister get ready for prom Saturday. Bleeeeeeergh. "Disconnect and self-destruct one bullet at a time. What your rush? Everyone will have his time to die." Not to seem completely bitter and disgustingly black, but if life isn't going to get any better soon, that 'time to die' had better come quick.

...

Across Five Aprils - A Year From Now

Complete and total adoration,
My gift to you, my heart was yours,
In ten weeks you shaped it,
In one night you murdered it.
Torn from my chest and laid at your feet,
That first step that you took was the worst.
Since then you've walked a thousand miles in solace and short
remark,
And I still have these memories,
But we'll never see what we could have been.
Remember when we talked about where we'd be a year from now?
Remember when you held my hand like you'd never let it go?
Remember, 'cause that's all you can do.
We'll never make another memory,
We'll never make another memory.
I wish I would have died in your arms the last time we were
together,
So I wouldn't have to wake without you today.
This time I thought things were real,
You said they were,
What happened?
You were a priority,
Was I an option?
I let you see a side of me that I don't share with anyone.
Promises are just words unless they are fulfilled.
Knew from the beginning all I had to offer you was my heart,
I'm just sorry that it wasn't enough.
So, we'll go our own ways,
And hopefully you'll remember these things I've told you,
Hopefully you'll understand that everything I said is in
sincerity.
A broken heart is not what I wanted from this,
But I guess I've learned from it.
But aren't you supposed to learn from your mistakes?
I don't consider this a mistake,
I just wish the story didn't end this way,
'Cause i'm still in love with the person who helped me write it.
Remember when we talked about where we'd be a year from now?
Remember when you held my hand like you'd never let it go?

Miseryhead.

I drank last night to kill the sorrow,
I drank last night to ease the pain...
I drank last night and wound up sick,
I went to bed a human stain.

Oh, how funny life is. I haven't trashed myself in a year...and suddenly, it seems the only thing to do when the nightmares creep back into my skull and force me to curl inwards like melting plastic. Of course, a close friend was having a disgustingly rough night, and I called him so I could do some consolation...but that sort of stuff doesn't work well when you're fifty miles away and more than a little hammered. I'm sorry, Poison Girl, for not being able to help out in the ways I wanted to. I'm sorry for not being able to make it better.

At the moment, I'm pondering life. What else is there for me to do? I'm coming down off of an incredibly harsh, scary, and disrupting bout with depression. I'm sick of everything, but I'll do nothing to change anything. That's the bloody crux. Someone slap me back into reality. God knows I've put my friends through something like hell this week. Don't lie, my dolls, I did. You all know it. I'm sorry. I'll get better soon...I promise. There's only one other person I need to hear from in order for this machine to get fixed; it doesn't look like I'll be getting that transmission anytime soon, though, so for the time being...we'll all wait. We'll all wait, we'll all dance, and we'll all love one another. I hope.

"...'To be' is all that she desired.

But they didn't love you in our time...
Nobody wants you in your life.
Bleed and they'll serve you, alive."

"Call it aftermath, she's turning blue..."

These last few days have been trying, to say the very least. Want a summary of the intertwined perceptions I've been wrestling with? I've been listening to a lot of APC's "Thirteenth Step," and a lot of Ours' "Distorted Lullabies," for starters. Isn't it funny how music can both soothe and bring to the top the feelings that have been gnawing on one's insides for what seems like an eternity? In particular, Maynard has that certain knack for turning sentiments inside-out in order to display the very raw, very primal roots that anchor such feelings to both mind and body. I doubt the words exist that could paint accurately an image of the intensity and the genius behind his lyrics; I highly doubt there are any adjectives one could connect with the shivering beauty of his voice. Of course, Jimmy Gnecco (of Ours) has an incredible voice as well...it's haunting, the way he slides up and down in his rich tenor range (and his falsetto sound is chilling). Both men are more than deserving of any praise tossed their way -- they are the chorus of my shock, my turmoil, and my confusion.

As I sit here, I wonder what I'm really attempting to say with all this. I am now struggling through the aftermath of a terribly peculiar night, I'm afraid I may have drowned the seed of a promising friendship, and I still don't know how to go about making it right. It's cruel that human beings should be so given to sensitivity and hurt. It's cruel that I should have to sit here and wonder about a great many things that I simply can't fix. It's all cruel, the world and her greedy, bickering, bastardized children.

"Tilling my own grave to keep me level,
Jam another dragon down the hole;
Digging to the rhythm and the echo of a solitary siren,
One that pushes me along, and leaves me so
Desperate and ravenous...
I'm so weak and powerless over you.

. . .

Little angel, go away,
Come again some other day,
Devil has my ear today,
I'll never hear a word you say,
He promised I would find a little solace and some peace of mind...
Whatever. Just as long as I don't feel so desperate and ravenous.
I'm so weak and powerless over you..."

"Bleed Black"

"Oh...

I am exploring the inside, I find it desolate;
I do implore these confines, now, as they penetrate, "recreate me."
I'm hovering throughout time, I crumble in these days --
I crumble, I cannot, I cannot find reflection in these days...

(If you listen) Listen, listen,
(Listen close) Beat by beat,
(You can hear when the heart stops) I saved the pieces,
(When it broke) And ground them all to dust.

I am destroyed by the inside, I disassociate;
I hope to destroy the outside, it will alleviate and elevate me.
Like water flowing into lungs, I'm flowing through these days,
As morphine tears through deadened veins, I'm numbing in these days...

So...

(If you listen) Listen, listen,
(Listen close) Beat by beat,
(You can hear when the heart stops) I saved the pieces,
(When it broke) And ground them all to dust.

I know what died that night, it can never be brought back to life;
Once again, I know...
I know what died that night, it can never be brought back to life;
Once again, I know...

I know I died that night and I'll never be brought back to life --
Once again, I know.
I know I died that night and I'll never be brought back to life --
Once again, I know.

(If you listen) Listen, listen,
(Listen close) Beat by beat,
(You can hear when the heart stops) I saved the pieces,
(When it broke) And ground them all to dust.

So...

(If you listen) Listen, listen,
(Listen close) It dies beat by beat,
(You can hear when the heart stops) I saved the pieces,
(When it broke) And ground them all to dust...."

How ironic that it should relate to me right now.

Paranoid?

Oh, it's a glorious day today. Sun's out, air's warm...the grass is green. The trees still don't have leaves yet -- but it'll only be a matter of time before that happens. I'm currently sporting a short-sleeved t-shirt, and for those who know me best...this isn't a normal thing. Long live multiple layers of clothing and heavy pants!

It's strange, but since the weather has taken a turn for the incredible, I find myself less depressed and more energized. I've been contemplating the notion that I have (to some degree) S-SAD, a form of SAD (or Seasonal Affective Disorder). What is it? Well, for all those individuals who haven't been blessed by a psychology class, S-SAD/SAD is "a specific type of recurring depressive illness that manifests in an annual pattern, usually from early-to-late fall and subsiding with the longer, sunnier days of spring. Some people have the milder form, called Subsyndromal-Seasonal Affective Disorder (S-SAD), also called Winter Blues, which causes minor problems in their lives but not the total disruption that full-blown Seasonal Affective Disorder causes." Yep. That's it. Minor problems and a whole lot of depression, anxiety, and stress. I'm not going to pull a pre-med student maneuver and diagnose myself, but it seems likely that I have some form of S-SAD, and it's no big deal. I'll just go out and get a whole lot of sunshine, a whole lot of fresh air, and everything will be fine.

Hah. Fine. Yeah. It's funny -- I don't have (for once) an extremely huge workload this week, and because of that fact I'm a little paranoid. I feel like I'm missing out on getting a head start somewhere, missing a deadline for some class...but I've gone over my planner/assignment book, and there's no big project that I should be starting in on. I've got a paper due for Victorian Literature in two weeks, but I'm supposed to simply have my author picked by tomorrow. Professor Hickey said that we don't need a thesis, or even an angle yet...just the author and the piece. Not a problem. I have an art exam next Friday, a Victorian Literature exam this Friday, and about five others coming up over the course of this month...but I study 4-5 days in advance, so there's nothing I can do there, either. I just finished my miderm paper for Philosophy and turned it in this morning, and we'll have another one near the end of this month -- but again, nothing I can do for another two or three weeks. I think I'm just holding onto a paranoid point of view -- and DAMMIT, it needs to stop.

Whew. Fun times. Some big changes have taken place this month already, but perhaps I'll get into that later. I've got to stop by Justin's and see what we did in Stats. I like to get ahead in that class any way I can...mwuahaha. God bless you all, kids, and behave yourselves.