| Something I wrote the other day. |
[13 Jun 2008|12:15am] |
Inside my forests, there are demons. They are circling, time and time again, threatening with their curled, cracked dirty fingernails. Impish cackles scatter like bullet casings all over my meadow, a dark blood creeps through the floor and seeps through rocks and grass, soil and tree roots. It covers all, bends my bones and controls my limbs, invades my skin, throttles my neck.
Once again, I wake up here. He tests me with slender pale fingertips dug deep into my forehead, twisting and turning thoughts, his thin ghastly frame is sillhoueted in the circle of the moon as he digs in further, pulling out memories, hopes and dreams and smashing them into star-light. Bone white and shattering mirror, they sweep away and he laughs at me.
I glare back, promising his death, I may be prone but my mind is, however now fragmented and blown by winds all over the night woods, will remain strong. His ebony wrists curl around my mouth, and his slavering red lips are thin and like the open slash in the deer's side, but he will not take me. He will not take me.
I will not die so easily. Not in sleeping, not in waking.
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[13 Jun 2008|12:56am] |
How the fuck did Frankie Muniz become 22 years old? That's only nine years younger than me! He was a fuckin' teenager two minutes ago!
I think i'm going to hyperventilate.
Time is not my friend.
What a show that is, though, eh? Malcolm in the middle. Now into it's two billionth series. Scary.
I have games coming. Something to distract me from the ever expanding chasm of emptiness. Half Life 2: Episode 1 & 2. Computer games make everything better.
For now, goodnight. To all four of you reading.
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[13 Jun 2008|10:45am] |
You know, when somebody calls you the most beautiful human being in the world, you can't help but smile. a lot. Thanks, you. And congratulations again!
Of course, I didn't feel that way when I retched myself awake this morning and shat my anus through a sieve. Urgh! I feel like a nice night in tonight. So that's exactly what i'll do.
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[13 Jun 2008|04:09pm] |
Here we go again. Friday's been busy. The weekend promises to be hell. I don't mind, as long as I don't drink too much.
Right now, Half Life 2 Episodes one and two are here, so i'm going to find out what exactly happened after that explosion, at the end of the last game.
Hooray!
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[13 Jun 2008|05:32pm] |
I think I want to study psych-analysis, as I said once. Perhaps if I do study it, not only will I find it incredibly interesting, but it'll also assist me better in using my own brain, and understanding why I grew up the way I did. Why the thoughts I have are often so ragged, so raw, and so undisciplined. You could decide my mood by spinning a penny and betting on the way it turns up.
I have a brain that has a potential, no doubt about that. I haven't treated it very well, choosing to soak it with alcohol. To distract myself, I suppose. I do not like thinking too much, and yet thinking is the most important thing to me. However much I try to think in a good way, my own combatting with depression, boredom, and apathy are always front and centre.
So, perhaps I may find out why. I'd like to look at my childhood. I'd seek to find out why I was such a timid child, and how this connects with my adult difficulties with the opposite sex. If it does. I don't have a problem with the opposite sex. I like them. I just have trouble with romantic relationships. I can't think it's normal by my age, to only have been in one relationship. You might call it my fourth wall. I am incredibly fatalistic in my approach to women, to tell you the truth. Mostly, I laugh it off, bu i'm aware that whenever I do talk about possible dalliances, I despair, audibly to my friends. It's never a case of "when". It's "If", or "probably never". Last night, for instance, when I got drunk, I kept banging on and bloody on, telling Rich "I'm never, ever going to find anyone, ever!". He said to me "Well, you won't with a negative attitude like that GEEZAH!", because he says geezer at the end of every sentence.
Of course, he's right. And I know he's right. I want to know WHY I don't believe in myself enough. There's no reason why I shouldn't, i'm still quite young (Quite is as good as I can get away with at thirty one), i'm open minded, intelligent and funny. So what the hell is wrong with my mind?
More on this later. If I can be bothered.
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[13 Jun 2008|11:39pm] |
Here I am again, having negotiated another evening without succumbing to booze. I'm not sure if I enjoy it, but i'm putting the work in now for the rewards later. No matter how much my life is shit now, at least it's shit for a reason.
I don't really know what it is, but i'm sure i'll find out in time.
Sitting here, throwing a cursory glance at the television (A medium i'd previously managed to deftly avoid due to being out most nights) reveals that if I held previously any hope for humankind's salvation, that hope is now largely extinguished. Television is not to blame for society and it's disgusting disintegration, it is merely a reflection of it. Tonight, i've seen so much shit I feel like i've been working in a turd factory.
And it stinks, ladies and gentlemen. It hardly does much for my soul. I'm not at all sure this is healthier than drinking. Perhaps I should drag a book out of my hilarious "tower of stuff" now amassing against the wall ever since I couldn't be bothered to buy shelves.
However, i'm lazy, and i'm not feeling motivated to do anything other than slump in a chair and sigh at the moment. I'm sure i'll perk up soon. I'm just getting impatient, that's all it is.
Like I was saying, Friday night television is the biggest offender. It's Big Brother night, which means that for a good couple of hours of airtime, centre stage on Channel Four is reserved for a room packed with screeching arm waving prickends. If they're not screeching, they're arguing. If they're not arguing, they're screeching, bellowing, shouting, crying. All sorts of noisy, horrible, ugly racket. And they're all cunts, as usual. They're all hand picked primarily so that they will all at some point either try to fuck one another, fight one another, squeal at one another, flirt with one another, or do something obnoxious. And thousands, thousands of thick, shrieking twats line the outside on eviction night, yelling their flapping mouthes off, waving placards as if they're at a fucking protest. Usually with a number replacing a word.
It's almost enough to make me want to pick up a sniper's rifle and neck a bottle of vodka, sit on the top of Tesco's and take aim indiscriminately. I'm not going to do that, but you get the idea of just how fucking disgusting I find this cunt-tastic country and it's addiction to glittery, narcissistic crap. The kicker was an advert for one of those celebrity gossip magazines. A woman lies on the floor...people surround her, is she injured? Someone says:
"She's got nothing left to say!", so a shopkeeper appears and administers the only thing that can help her. A copy of this fucking gossip magazine. It made me want to put a shotgun into the mouthes of everybody associated with this advert, and blast what's left of their brains into a wall. Gossip magazines don't give you anything to say. They give you FUCKING BULLSHIT TO SAY. I don't care about Angelina FUCKING Jolie and her pregnant sack of babies. I would fucking care if it turned out to be a goddamned giant maggot growing in her fucking womb.
Sorry, i'm just very, very irritated by this shit.
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