|
|
Friday, November 9th, 2007
| |
10:52 am
|
We start by stripping them. I rip Ballet Barbie’s tutu as I pull it off. When they’re naked still pouting inanely, we cut off their hair, until a tumbleweed of flaxen lies on the dressing table.
‘They’re so stupid.’ Paisley says, drawing zigzags on her Barbie scalp with eyeliner.
‘Let’s burn them.’ I say.
We go outside, round the back of Paisley's house, into her garden. The security light flicks on, flooding the garden with a brilliant white light. There’s a concrete barbeque at the bottom, past the fishpond and the crazy paving. We huddle around it.
'Shall we dismember them first?'
'No' I say, decisive. 'They deserve to be burned alive.'
We lay them on their hair, side by side, arms reaching stiffly upwards. I set fire to the bed of hair with a lighter, and flames leap up with a whoosh.
The dolls curl and melt, their plastic shells shrivelling into their hollow bodies. They give off an acrid chemical smoke that makes us cough. When the fire dies down, it leaves a hissing mass of molten goo that sticks to the barbeque as it cools.
'Wow' Paisley says, poking it with a stick. 'That was radical.'
There are faint traces left in the blackening ooze: fingertips, toes, even a nose and a mouth, a single blue eye. I shiver, not because I'm cold, but because I can feel my skin tightening, like cling wrap pulling taut, around the soft contours of my body.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, October 9th, 2006
| |
10:44 am - Panic! At The Disco - Camisado
|
Finally, I'm back after a much un-needed break, i doubt anyone who used to be is left now, eh anyways heya.
The I.V. and your hospital bed
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events
This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital
And it's not so pleasant
And it's not so conventional
And it sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
The anesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where
The apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in
No it's not so pleasant.
And it's not so conventional
And it sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
Just sit back, just sit back
Just sit back and relax
Just sit back, just sit back
Just sit back and relapse
Again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
You're a regular decorated emergency
You're a regular decorated emergency
This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital
And it's not so pleasant. And it's not so conventional
And it sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
The anesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where
The apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in
No it's not so pleasant.
And it's not so conventional
And it sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
Sit back, sit back, relax, relapse
Sit back, sit back, bababada
You can take the kid out of the fight
You're a regular decorated emergency
The bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame
The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again
You're a regular decorated emergency
The bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame
The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
Sit back, sit back, relax, relapse
Sit back, sit back, bababada
You can take the kid out of the fight
The I.V. and your hospital bed
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Friday, November 25th, 2005
| |
3:39 pm
|
hey
just something i wrote, i know it aint great or whatever but i felt like posting it anyway, it just describes how ifeel so well.
The silence echoes off the walls of my empty house, mocking me, throwing in my face what I can’t have. Glancing over at that god forsaken object of my demise, tempted by the comfort within. I know what it’s trying to do to me. Tempting me with its contents. Failure is the imminent threat of my day. Yet so unwelcome and undesired, it is my security, my safety net, something I know so well and love yet despise at the same time. Something that will destroy all my efforts, all I have accomplished so far, yet I keep going back for more, like an addiction that no matter how much I cater to won’t subside. The stepping stones into redemption are rough and tainted with my past. How much I long to make it across, though so afraid of what lies ahead. If only I had the courage.
If only I wasn’t me.
current mood: just read the entry
current music: Papa Roach - Binge
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|