Head...ache

"...I've never been so alone than with you,
I've never been scared to dream until now,
I can't close my eyes -- I'll carry on screaming;
Your words are like ice, they melt in the heat...
The cold and the pain which you seem to breed
Have become what you are and left your ruins empty..."

Nothing special to impart tonight. Concern over certain issues eating me from the inside out, but the spike-eyed serpents only surface when I'm alone and contemplating. If worse comes to worse, I suppose I'll do what needs to be done -- only because I've become rather fond of this body and the collection of exhalation adjectives that it's become.

I have pearls for opinions; when the sea swallows me completely, the nacreous sin-baubles will rise like ascending dollops of fugitive mirth.

Selected scenes from the end of the world: imbibed by the slick-tongued storm that sought to consummate a promise made on windy half-nights, she opened her umbrella and shed words ephemerally. Run for water and in the end you'll get a rust-bucket mouth only half-full of twinkles; sage nod, and then it was over. She was quiet, plastic...still-life drawn on the face of an apron.

Find "Letter to God" by London After Midnight, muse. It makes me think of your interesting-ness.

I think a lot, to be perfectly honest. This is the sound of my miseryhead. I lap it up like golden sap and in the end I think I'll fall. Am I making sense to anyone? Mad scientist is away for three days at a chemical-music-I-don't-know-what fest, and it's already driving me crazy. And then there was muse. You. Oh, you. Cane-toting silver-tongued evil-genius has-me-by-strings. That's it. Correct answer gives her six points.

And baby, more I l--- you. More I l--- you.


"All my nerves are naked wires
Tender to the touch...
Sometimes super-sensitive --
But who can care too much?
I get this feeling...

Scars of pleasure,
Scars of pain,
Atmospheric changes
Make them sensitive again.

Each emotional injury
Leaves behind its mark...
Sometimes they come tumbling out
Like shadows in the dark.
I get this feeling...

When I think about all I have seen
And all I'll never see,
When I think about the people
Who have opened up to me,
I get this feeling...

Pleasure leaves a fingerprint
As surely as mortal pain;
In memories they resonate
And echo back again...

Scars of pleasure,
Scars of pain,
Atmospheric changes
Make them sensitive again."

'Eating seeds is a past-time activity.' Ever wonder about the meaning? Eating seeds -- seeds of joy, ambition, hope, courage -- is a past-time activity. Of this completely turned-over-up-around society we've managed to stick ourselves to. We ruin the glowing seeds of what-could-be...good-things-could-take-root. My take on the hopelessly lovely song, anyway.

I misinterpret all the time. Misanthropic misinterpreter. Socialphobic silly girl, rushing headlong into the arms of life at its behest.