Angelina Jolie's Blurty Entries [entries|friends|calendar] Angelina Jolie [ website | why sodomize dragonflies? ] [ userinfo | blurty userinfo ] [ calendar | blurty calendar ]

[05 Nov 2003|10:43am] [ This journal is / was part of a non-profit roleplaying community and is not intended to be taken literally as the character portrayed. I am in no way associated with the owners of the intellectual property the character belongs to. No copyright infringement is intended, nor do I pretend to own any part of said property, trademarks or characters. This journal may be subject to permanent suspension without notice at the request of the real person, trademark holder, copyright owner or agent thereof. ] 1 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

I'll find my way back home. [16 Sep 2003|04:32pm] [ mood | impressed ] [ music | Stereophonics - Getaway ] Something I spoke of weeks ago has now been both trailed and tested. There are never a lot of positive feelings etched into one side of my respective personality, but this adds to those few. Having won an Oscar, what seems like a lifetime ago, giving it to Jamie to show him how much inspiration came from him ordering me around as a child with those valuable words "Angie, act!". I acted, I never once stopped acting... when my heart was in the wrong place, squashed metaphorically between two opposing walls. When life felt like it had no meaning at all, and the one thought inside that contradicted wanting to die was losing my Jamie, I had to act... being alone in my room, with other people which was occasionally the case. During those deathly silences my mother used to, and still does have from time to time... I'd quote lines from movies, or run around the couch pretending I was Freddie Krueger. Now only pretending either, as a child the same thing would happen as it does to this day, my body would form itself into the wildest form of character, if I pictured a character with no home or family, suddenly I felt wrapped in a blanket... my blood felt cold, stomach empty. All issued by this one thought, that I was experiencing everything that this character had... a wild form of Schizophrenia, according to my father, but what the fuck does he know? Wonderful actor, but he'll never redeem his absence from my mother’s life... or my life, for that matter, or Jamie's. There were strange looks given at annual cocktail parties when I wouldn't interact with other children... who would want to? Conversation with yourself, even then seemed more valid, a confidence boost from another would cause a smile but the real difficulty was causing a smile at yourself. At your actions, and at your dreams. I did just that. Impulse, I took off from London at the end of last week and never once looked back. It's not the same as it used to be, with Maddox thrown into the mix, James took him to the airport to see me off... they'd be taking a flight later that next day, anyway... leaving him felt like leaving a part of me, but part of the journey was to find that part I'd lost. Now, even now I can't help but feel I didn't lose anything... I just didn't have it to begin with, I thought I was unique and one of a kind. I knew I was, but... that assurance had decreased over time, that was what I had thought needed to be found. If lying in bed thinking over and over about what would happen "if" I did this, or "if" I did that, made sense it couldn't settle; then what was it that made me any different from the next person, doing exactly the same thing at that exact time. Dreaming... not even dreaming of a better situation but just warring, internally with themselves over the most destructing of sentences, "What if?" What if I brushed my teeth a little later today? What if... I bought a one-way trip to Cambodia and gave up my life to meet others who could teach me to respect each breath I take? What if... I didn't take a shit when I needed one? Then those come to an abrupt halt, and answers are brought into the mix, possible answers. Answers directing the 'impulse' in an entirely different direction. They could fall out, if I don't brush them now! I couldn't afford the trip there! I'd probably shit myself! ( Literally. For a visionary. ) The answers tend to outweigh the questions, somehow they make more sense. The mild approach to doing things is a far more secure way to live life, generally the questions never push past those answers, when thinking about it - and I mean, REALLY thinking about it -- there are replies to those questions, that when put onto these... invisible scales, on top of the questions that came before the impulsive existence could take over and "win", as it were. "I could always go to the dentist! Who needs teeth, anyway? Like one missed brush will hurt!". "Look at them, they're not exactly the top of the food chain. I can't know what it's like to be part of their society, but... I could sell my house and belongings!". "I might not brown my panties, if I do there's anti-perspirant in my purse and those new panties at home that I've yet to wear. Nobody would know!". Right, so which will it be? Shitting yourself to go a couple of hours with feces on your underwear and actually living, or following a programmed routine which holds a high point of cased sandwiches and a sugar-free coke? It's nobody’s decision but your own. I took the heavy side, and I've yet to turn back. Saturday, was like a blast from the past. James took our mother, Maddox and I to an old Italian restaurant. I'm guessing his memory isn't all that great at times, it was at this place that our infamous "father," ( Use of inverts, anyone? ) would take us on a special Saturday evening, after someone's birthday, or after one of his films hit the mainstream. Any excuse we'd be taken to this restaurant, I remembered the moment we got there and in the hall I put up a fight. I didn't want to eat in there, so much had changed since those times, just setting foot in there would bring back unwanted memories that settled in a corner of my head, and were very fucking happy there. Maddy was in my arms, this whole time. It did feel like being young again, like any moment my father would walk around the corner and beat down on me with the negativity he liked to use to make himself feel more powerful... but my son kept me on a level plain, I wasn't about to scream. I shouted. I shouted at my mother, of all people... I smashed a mirror in the bathroom before we left the house. Cut each and every one of my knuckles, and cried... she was beautiful, loving and kept a strong sense of self, all I could do was tell her I didn't give a fuck... and when using those words towards your parents, for the first time or in my case when you've not seen them for months on end after being with them for a major part of both youth and adulthood. Everything freezes. I think she knew I'd cave in and go, she always knows. I used to put it down to psychic ability, but even cutting the romanticisms out... it's an ability that every mother has, I know this first hand now. Although, I've yet to master the face Maddox makes before he topples over the towers I build with his bricks. Give me time. The second we took our seats at the reserved table I remembered having to sit beside him, my mother opposite from me, Jamie beside and across-but-one, his "work colleague". Fucking, bit on the side more like. The nerve, my mom put herself into meeting new people and this woman had the nerve to show up, get all buddy buddy with her and then knock off to the bathroom mid-meal to receive a deep dicking from he-who-does-no-wrong. That was the night he told me, I couldn't have a tattoo... as if it would stop me, my mom was always the supportive one, James held my hand under the table and I tried with everything to answer back to him, all I got were tears. I've never cried so much in my whole life, and that's pretty, damn long space of time. It wasn't just about the thing he said, he made me nervous, this was about the time when everything was confusing. My sexuality, was a complete mystery to me. The future, didn't seem visible past that repetitive chain of events. Being closed in, isn't a great feeling but Saturday was like that... the atmosphere was so tense, if I'd had a penis, I wouldn't have still had it by the end of the evening. There wasn't much said during the meal, but before we each got into our respective cabs, I promised my mother I'd make the next time we had together so special it would prove "it". I knew what "it" was, but for some reason. I can't ever tell my mother how much I love her. My reason for living. Now, to excuse myself I have some pancakes I need to begin painting the ceiling with... "art" for breakfast, instead of the generic food. "Sometimes we all wonder how things come to be. A chain of events - A leads to B leads to C leads to Z. Each life is made up of big decisions and each day is made up of a million little decisions. What shirt to wear, what street to walk on, what to eat for lunch. Now all of these seemingly inconsequential choices may change your life forever. But who can handle that kind of responsibility? It would paralyze you to think about it. So you have to trust your instinct, what the Greeks might call your character. You better pray to whatever god you believe in that your character knows what the hell it's doing. I thought I was a man of character. Good character. I did a good thing. One good deed that started another chain that I wasn't ready for. A ride I had no business taking." - 'Playing God' ( all she had to do, was smile. ) 3 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

I feel all four winds brush against my skin. [09 Sep 2003|12:48am] [ mood | Discontent ] [ music | Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon ] If you're of dominant aptitude, you're more than likely less able to spill your feelings and less able to get over yourself enough to tell someone something... tell someone anything, anything that you need to. But how exactly can that be done without losing a sense of yourself that you've finally pinpointed as being a flaw of your personality. Things can change, when gone about the right way but only in some circumstances, there are others; as in the case of a collective ego where nothing can change fully. Fucking statements are given and looked upon as something to follow, a path or dot-to-dot of your life, why do that? Why does humanity have to settle in that position? Up is up, and down is down. No matter what someone says, that can't be changed. No, gravity is a force of this planet and gravity, surprise surprise, keeps everything pulled onto the ground. Does it? Isn't there a way too float, and be free of it. A way to rise to your limits and then fall to a crash against the cement below, only varied seconds after touching the sky? I don't dream every night, but last night.. ( or to be politically correct, this morning ) as my head hit the pillow, and sleep had eventually made itself known, I dreamed of flying. There was nothing vaguely strong enough to stand out far as surroundings go... and my life didn't flash before my eyes in some, strange, kaleidoscopic vision - which has a straight up beginning, a humiliating or... exciting, thrilling, intimidating end but a blurred middle. It was just there. A feeling of floating. Feet not being able to touch the ground, and though this feeling felt like a relief to me, the moment I woke up. Priorities had been set in an unforeseen diagram beside me, scarring the skin of my forearm until I made something out of my thoughts and tried to change something. The last year has been a daunting one, I never thought I could handle things alone without someone to be there for support... and although people have been there, and people will continue to be there, my independence is stronger than it was ever before. It's not a necessarily good feeling, Hell neither is feeling like a spare wheel on an XJS convertible when all four have just been pumped to high Heaven... notice the use of both Heaven and Hell in the same sentence, even my writing is trying to tell me things. Crazy, crazy... always the strange one, not taking advice from anything logic, but writing, surroundings and scenery is just "finger licking good". Someone told me, only a day or so ago, that they always saw me as a leader, one woman to stand up against every person and situation life throws at them and not feel a single threat in the world... which I suppose, given history is partly right, and partly wrong. There was a time where everyone would speak to me, everyone at a premiere would turn their heads and be... I don't know, moved? By my presence there. I did thrive on attention, and those vibes pushed me into making more of a show, whether blood was involved or just bad misconceptions of what love ( and/or ) lust was. If someone fell for me, that boosted a confidence in myself that I needed. I needed to be told something, and to ask it and then be answered another few thousand times before I believed it deep down. Now, I couldn't give a shit, and that makes me so undecided, you know? Is giving nothing towards one moment and too much towards another a bad thing to do? There's a big, onslaught going on inside my mind. Half of it agrees with the "angelic" conscience and the other, with the adjacent conscience. It's so similar to multiple personalities, without the pity. Some days, it'll feel worth speaking to someone close; this example being my mother... most times, we do love each other - unconditionally; don't bring confusion into this aspect... but there are other times in which sitting in silence feels mandatory. Just, twitch the sporadic brow in her direction as she watches television, quite aware she's being watched; but for some reason terrified to turn around and ask why looks are being exchanged. "Top dog", she called me. "Everyone pays attention," she said. Do they still? Could they give a shit, if I took a shit? Could I give a shit if they gave a shit? Would roles be reversed if they needed something? If they needed the same reassurance that I used to look to, and search for. So many questions, too many fucking questions? rest assured, things will happen. I will wake up tomorrow and instead of taking Maddox to the generically, fucked up park... I'll take him to the zoo, or stay in the garden and exchange light saber fights, sing nursery rhymes together while dancing in a circle, call Jamie and just be glad to speak to him, for no former reason. "There's cheese, in the refrigerator!". Crazy. Happy. No distinctive line between the two. I like that. Do I be satisfied? I do be just that. Only today, hopes started looking up on the Cambodian front.. plans for a school only a few hundred yards away from the plot of our jungle home. Maybe I could give this all up? Become a schoolteacher, if I could teach. A writer, if I could write. One of those big, buff physical education teachers.. the one's that girls talk about while they're changing for a session of sprinting, pondering over whether or not this lady has a penis, or not. All possible, if only I could maintain a positive feeling of sanity without taking on somebody else's life. As always, tomorrow is another day; this Sunday another week... and if I'm lucky, next year another bit wiser. 35 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Hide the tears from the world. [05 Sep 2003|03:08pm] [ mood | cynical ] [ music | David A. Stewart - Flight to Freedom ] There are many aspects too an individual's personality, and a fine line between two trains can be drawn on the verge of sleep. I slipped into a state of being both tired, exhausted; mentally worn down one evening last week and from there many thoughts came into my head, too many thoughts. Mixed thoughts, of the good, the bad and the fucking unbelievable. What if there's a fire warning, while I'm lying in this state, between the netherworlds, unsure of my position amidst the yawns and the dreams, there are two actions to head into, either you stay there and wait until there are sure signs of the fire being there, or you move. You move for your life, just incase the inevitable happens, both have two sides of a personality spectrum, not moving could involve sloth. An intermission of attitude, "I'll do that later", "Er.. I'll wait a minute"; no you won't, what if there is no fucking future? What if that fire is there? Balancing the scales, not moving could be a laid back venture, without any inhibition to worry about any remote circumstance. Now those are sorted, the moving can condole being efficient and living for each moment, if there's a warning you move INCASE, just incase there is a real danger to your life, springing into a worrying capacity. What if you're too full of thought? What if everything you do has been pre-conceived in a plan when you were nine years old. Along with lust for getting married, you feared for your life and own mortality enough to scream from a scraped knee and somewhere deep inside, on that night you caught the Chicken Pox you figured it fatal, no doubt your age. There is no prior knowledge to what or how this behavior comes about, maybe it springs from the parents ( more likely in some cases, than others. ) or maybe it things are to be believed, it came from the after effects of a life gone and lived long before the one you're experiencing now had started. I'm not sure which of these I fall into, it could be a better experience if I handed myself the open palette. You can pride yourself of having no intention for activities, but if Maddox was in the same type of danger, I'd move as soon as I heard the word fire. Overly protective. Maternal instinct. Maturity. I've no idea, but it's there all the same, I couldn't have him hurt. Everything for his best interest, is the right choice, which is when the decision about moving and residing in Cambodia indefinitely came about. I'll never let him forget where his home is, the house there is in the midst of the jungle... so deep every morning is out of the ordinary, yet only just bordering. Elephants, monkeys, temples. A childhood dream coming to light, it feels not only special and valid to myself, but hopefully to him; there are endless destinies he can set for himself and this place is one of endless inspiration, each tree is like a muse. Pointing and guiding. The branches stretch so far into the sky the top feels like it's the hardest to reach, but locals did their part many years back to come up with a device which aids the reaching, there are ways to go up there. Be up there. Stay up there, and still keep a level head of who you are. I'll admit, this all still seems like a dream, but it is reality and an amazing reality, at that. Maddox and I ventured into the depths of North Wales for a small time last week, barely anyone in sight. Tell me, why head to a jam-packed beach, filled with topless women ( Hnh. ) to have a good time, the wilderness is where the never-ending "fun" - is it fun? -- lies. Visiting a castle, old as civilization as we know it can't be found on any Spanish beach, and having your child laugh at you when you fall down the steps of a walled garden, only to land on a huge, gigantic, MELVIN-SIZED thistle may be a bad experience for your ass the laughter eases the pain. As the laughter did throughout divorce proceedings, as the laughter did through hard times, it keeps me moving. I can no longer stand in front of a mirror, detest myself for a relationship ending so much that I could imagine my own funeral. Without him. That would and could have been a possibility, I am truly blessed. Although my ass hurts like Roseanne in a mousetrap. The time above, as said came with many thoughts. One of those being the people who have seemingly passed through my life, through my years and a part of me is still holding onto them. One person, being the first to come to mind. I broke their heart and they're willing to stick it out. Only with that, comes difficulty. I can't seem to find the right words when I speak with her; to think how much pain someone can go through with that happening to them and still have the courtesy, the attitude and the heart to keep moving, enough to speak to the one person who could make you feel as you're dying while still breathing... and for me to be the one which did that? I can't find the forgiveness in myself. I still look at her, and carry a smile for with everyone there is hope, and things can be resolved. Fragments of a heart, maybe not. Pieces of a crushed soul may not measure up to the mass of a completed ego but as I trust it. As I now trust myself. There are a thousand apologies I could rightfully say, none of which I could justify inside my mind, and words without prior thought? Sometimes, they're right. Sometimes speaking past that inflation of self-worth, the inflation that was brought on by self-destruction, that; again which came from minor narcissism, can be the right thing to do. Those words, no one expects can be those that have the most meaning to people. Is singing a song to a close friend or partner not more heartfelt than a simple "I love you"? I have grown. I will continue to grow, and Clea? Your friendship still means the whole, forsaken world to me. There is, however another. Another I could trust, another that would stick by me even if I started to go downhill again. Someone I identify with, and there's no way of thinking about never having met her. A presence so full of unknown wisdom she made me fall to my knees, a word spoken can bring about a bandaged complex. Noni, you really should pick up that phone. A third, stitched up by life’s actions, that of which now results itself into soon becoming one of the greatest gifts a woman would ask for. Britt, don't worry. Eggbert, will have his Mumma's good looks and stubborn aptitude. A fourth with the fifth, soul bound to another. Each have passed through my life, but the memories stick, Cam and Mike... don't mack on each other in front of me again, caphiché? It takes a lot to say I love you, but if true. Feels a whole lot better. Sap? That was. What a pisser, long walk from a short precipice ( being a slide, with Maddy. ) awaits. -- for loves that are lost ; I thank you. A.J.V. (( angeiina jolie v )) ( Tears from the moon. ) 44 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Dreamed A Dream?¬!¬? [11 Aug 2003|04:59pm] [ mood | rejuvenated ] [ music | Moby - Porcelain. ] Have you ever paused your life at night to try and dream of something a little less ordinary? Paused to dream of walking past people on the street and not a single person taking any notice of you, things have been like this most of my life... most of my acting life, and in a way took everything into me. All the attention. There's lack of modesty in Hollywood, "I am Hollywood"...? What the fuck does that mean, when you're big, you're big... but people precede you; people have done this all before. Every premiere, has been done before... every story, has been written before. We're all in a huge fucking machine, recycling every word, every activity... it's all been done before, and it will be done, again. This, or that... even, was written on a piece of scrap paper I always keep beside my bed or wherever it is the hell I sleep on a certain evening. I got lost in the moment, but the moment was far too short... I like, hell I fucking survive on these random outbursts of philosophical or, lifelike tendencies; but they've decreased in time, in number. Who knows what it was, whether it was a small amount of time in my life in which I really though rebellion and mature, well thought about actions could take place along the exact same wavelength as one another... I can never say something is impossible, but the closest to impossible anyone could ever get? Exactly that. I have to face facts, there's Maddox now... Maddox, needs me to be there for him. I need him to be there for me? Give and take both points, it's the truth... there's no way he can have me there when some of my time is broken into careless situations, activities that can be damaging. To go even deeper and say more, if he could speak more than a few words and he told me what to do... if he told me to get him a cat ( Pussy, but you know... minding the language. ), looked up at me with those deep, deep brown eyes... I'd crumble and give in, I'd crumble and give in if he asked me for a prostitute. NOT, that he would... but this is the effect he has on me, I'm infatuated with this small boy. Not just any small boy, but the small boy who wakes up on a morning and the first word out of his mouth is "Mumma". Living within and being a huge part of a hectic life, he can top up any mood... if things are going downhill faster than a fucking... nun on roller skates WHO, is about to crash straight through a showbiz facade and dance on stage with her sisters singing a "Glory of Love" number, just one smile of giggle can settle, relax and even take away every little piece of angst left to reside within pheromones of your body. Last Monday, I took Maddy for a stroll only to run into Billy who... as always, sat against a bench trying to act cool, while still hiding the miniscule erection he'd obtained from the skinny chick with the tight ass on her "Lose Fat, Live fit" route around central park. Again; as always the dildo sat there and spoke to me, as if nothing had happened... as if it hadn't been a year or more since he called the last shots on our relationship, which at the time I thought could never end. You know those people who will have the audacity to name call and insult everyone around them but never have the brains or brawn it takes to swallow the shit they're talking and apologize for something that did actually happen and did actually hurt individual people so much that suddenly the beatings of men on screen would accidentally slip into a severe beating... and not only be Lara Croft. He still doesn't get it, he never did get it... he never will get it, he lost me and he lost Maddox... and we now have more love between us than we ever could for him. I called her, again. I've called her many times a night, every night a week... every week a month for a long time now. It's possible I could have missed the chance, I'd take that feeling over that of being `the friend`... but what does it matter? She's gone again and I'm still living, she's slipped from my fingers and I can still breathe. I've just read through old entries, when I wrote them, I'd be... conservative towards each word, I'd examine each word after it had been written, and though it never made sense to me; someone else always had a little to say about it. Which had me turn over a leaf, of course I've been down... I've been busy, I've still tried to set things aside to write things in this journal; things that could at least reach one person... but now, when I write it's as if, the entire thing is a competition. How many words are written, how long the post is... why Alexandria is in love with Herbert, why Herbert doesn't have the time of day; why popcorn tastes so good, which movies are on a "to watch" list... which movies are liked, which movies are disliked... why you cut your hair, why you bought these shoes; the rambling continues and it's all well to read, but... I give up trying to keep high standards and write with originality, I give up making myself sweat to think straight TO write something; if I have something to write, I will write it... without much care about the words, length... how in love I am with the person that will never even blink at me, why popcorn tastes like shit, which movies I watched last night; which movies I've seen that have moved me, which movies made me sick; why I didn't brush my hair today and instead sang Chicago songs into the mirror holding an antiperspirant can. As once said in an update... "Original thought is like original Sin: both happened before you were born to people you could not have possibly met." Original, mature - - but never deceased. A.J.V 16 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

*Aims fingers to head* [26 Jul 2003|02:26pm] [ mood | touched ] [ music | The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony ] I didn't die or fall from the face of the planet, but promotion and other activities have kept my mind in a place of cluster. Whether the right thing to do about it is write more random nonsense in this journal and allow more thinking time to be peeled from me like a cat from a fucking damp drainpipe, is another question and theory altogether, if anything I've been letting those close to me slip through my fingers... and when all is said and done, people are not gonna be there forever... but they will be with you for the full duration until the paths separate. One thing I had get back months ago... was the vibe and sense of security which came from being my own person. I could never live without Maddox or Jamie in my life... this has been told countless times through the media, in different ways each story is true. A) I'd rather see my father slip from a row boat into a pit of sharks. ( With laser beams? ) Than speak to him. ( B ) I'd rather actually fuck my brother than speak to my father... and C? Well... there is no C, I'm flowing so I'm not gonna ponder over another point. In this whirlwind that I dashingly call life... there's space to write in this thing. I'm not going to head back into that old clich? of a scheduled journal... `Today, I did this.` `Yesterday, I washed my feet of all sins and then dances under a fountain naked!` ... and next week, I shall become Pope, and conduct in an illicit affair with the American secretary of State... while watching American Pie on an Ostrich. Three night's ago, Maddox fell asleep in my arms... the closer I held him the more secure I felt with myself, there were no pretenses for anything but feeling safe. I felt needed, wanted. Those two emotions are hard to come across in almost every situation. When a child is at the brink of adolescence... they have few things in mind, one being disrespect and hate towards those closest to them; in a way we never grow out of this. We never escape the childhood flaw that within a given circumstance could make the strongest person insane. Love. This is love. Maddox is love. What I feel for that one woman... was, still is love. It's just a shame - a huge fuckin' shame -- that she fails to realize she is the one. She is the one I want to at least metaphorically give my life in a struggle to find out if we could ever be together. To just find out if there could ever be a time where the both of us could curl together and put the stress and worries of Hollywood behind. Press is good, Angie. Press is good... for what? For the film, yes... the way I see it, the way I see releases in general is... well put it this way; you'd still buy the pasta without Chef Boyardee playing over in your head a hundred times. Buy it, 'cause it makes you feel better... you like the taste, see see a trailer you become intrigued in - you go to see the movie. Is it really essential that `ze star` of the show make television appearances? Suppose, in a way it is... but that's flying beyond all explanations to having the trailer in the first place. If there's an opinion to be fraught... WAIT FOR DVD. Insight is blinded by the rocks of society. The damage is done... should I be leaving? 5 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

-- Here It Comes A G A I N. [18 Jul 2003|05:59pm] [ mood | determined ] "Stop living like you're immortal" ... Update? Give me time. Give. Me. Time. 2 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

I Ain't No Good At This... [01 Jul 2003|03:14pm] [ mood | apathetic ] [ music | Blondie - Rapture ] *Patent, French manicured nails scarred themselves against a miniature tub of hazelnut mousse, within the grasp of her other hand lay a small, plastic spoon that only airlines can supply. Slamming the pot down on the tray in front of her she exhaled deeply, turning to Maddox who sat in the seat beside her, tied in with the seatbelt he played with a small stuffed toy in the shape of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. Succulent lips froze in a smile as her Ocean tinted eyes narrowed themselves in the direction of a passing blonde stewardess. She lifted her head, scoring her nails against a small scab that continued to lay quiescent since filming had ended, the PowerBook sat beneath the pot of mousse than had already started to seep out of the gaps that had formed, she mouthed "Shit," while gathering the tub and spoon, shoving it on the hostesses trolley the second time they were passed, she placed her index finger between her lips, sucking at the chocolate that with time stained her nails. Wiping the finger against the back of the nylon seat in front, she flipped open the laptop* If you were happy every day of your life you wouldn't be a human being. You'd be a game-show host. Part of an affair… but wait, it’s fine, fucking dandy; it was a "joint decision" not an affair. I’ve spent months being down on myself for hurting someone, believing I’d hurt him, scarred his soul enough to never love again… I’ve killed myself over and over, internally wondering why and how I could distance myself from someone. This taken into account, what I said was true… what I’ve always said, you’re happy – I’m happy. So sick and twisted is this story, I could expect it to appear in the Bold and the fucking Beautiful… guy and girl fall "in love", girl fears her independence and spaces herself… feeling selfish and guilty each second of each day, the guy is bestowed with a wife and along comes the perfect little existence he and she both deserve, yearn and would die for. It’s all right … right? You have the mother and the father re-united for the child, how it should be… right? Either way, this sad little story that has consumed more than one life has ended… things can return back to the way they were. I hope you’re both extremely happy. Now, life and instant is not so much metaphorically moving forward, but moving back… time spinning backwards within a subtle ambiance of sorts, months have been lost and now it’s time to make up for them. Spending time with my son before promotion for the Cradle of Life gets into full swing, then we move onto another location and another chapter of life. Fucking twenty-eight years old, I’m doing what saves me from jumping into the deep, vast waters of the Atlantic, I have a beautiful son… and I’m still mentally eight years old. One person can bring me to the level I should be at, this person… she doesn’t know, how could she? When I come into contact, or she - in turn - - replies, I’m able to obtain anything in my own mind and wavelength. It’s petty to consider yourself in love with some one you’ve not had physical contact with for the better part of five years… petty, stupid. Fucking selfish. I can’t love another… not until I’ve found out the consequences of loving her and losing her. I’ve yet to lose, I’ve yet to gain; stranded in an in-between… a valley I find it hard to crawl from, a mountain I find it hard to climb. Once your mind sets in on a goal, there’s nothing that will renounce and minimize the need… infact, as time goes on the want and need gets more thorough. What is this? Is this… some sort of Biblical law originated way back when the `right` way was a male for female? Some… way to avert heartache? I’m willing to suffer years of heartache and pain for just one final kiss. I’d suffer anything to just see how this will turn out… taking leave from London after visiting the Appleton household, I’m prepared to fly to her home… stand beneath the god damn balcony if I have to, and just call out her name, see where that leads me in the path of life. The path of chance. I love anything. I love everything. I love her… Heh, why is this so fucking difficult. It’s easier to type or… write things up into a journal than to tell someone to their face. A string of failed relationships and I’m still eager for one last risk. If it kills me trying, so be it. To promotion? Sh-yeah… something like that. You Were The Only One. 6 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Losing Grip. [26 Jun 2003|04:00pm] [ mood | blah ] [ music | Alisha's Attic - Stone in my Shoe ] *Peering over the teetering Venice balcony, the water below glistens and reflects the rising sun emitting from the flanking side of town, over rooftops and through gaps. The soft breeze floats through her lengthy, dark hair, holding the coffee cup between both palms flawless French manicured nails tip themselves against the pottery of the white mug that lay within her seize. Glistening silver eyes glimpsed over the edge of the marble, contemplating many things without saying a word. A right palm left the mug and rested itself against the rail of the balcony, the other made it’s was slowly but surely up past the ripples of the towel which encased her body forcefully, she placed the edge of the cup softly onto her pouting, cushioned lip, tipping it back to get the last few drips of coffee to drain down her throat. With a sigh, she flipped the cup back down, her eyes clenched with the smallest of gasps emanating through pouted lips. * "FUCK!" *Her head tilted sideways, eyes wincing from the sunlight, which was now ominously peeking its rays, which to her, felt like the sharpest of daggers piercing through the dark, simmering pupils. With a cant of the head she abruptly turned back through the glass doors of the apartment, placing the mug down on a glass topped table surface quite carelessly. Maddox, sleeping like an angel in the corner of the bedroom, twisted to the side as she opened the door, allowing the light to sleek its way in. Taking a step into the room, she closed the door behind her leaving darkness again. Darkness was the best way to do most things, even if the majority of the time things had to be taken by chance. She eagerly scratched the back of her neck, observing the Mac PowerBook, which adorned itself in the corner of the hotel bedroom, beside the sleeping child. She took time to make her way towards it, flipping it open with one hand. Clicking the blue explorer icon while simultaneously pulling a wooden chair towards her, spinning it around effortlessly, she straddled over it, placing both fingers on the keypad, unsure of what to write of say. The white box gleamed before her, intensely pressing down on her conscience, suddenly she started to type, each word was accompanied by a slow nod.* When she kisses me, I feel all four winds blow at my face... but what do you do, with a woman; that has no love for you? She is my lost captive and no longer lies along my legs. I wrote that for you. … Why is it so much easier quoting things through the past, whether being truth or scripted? This, I’ll never know, this I’ll never understand it; but having it there as an out for feelings can be easier. Do I want easier? Fuck 'easier'. The challenge is what makes love… or `lust` worth the wait and the end result more superior than anything else ever experienced. But when the challenge is so out of reach, your fingers never able to touch that sweet skin… you’re lost, lost and hungry… like a puppy dog without it’s master. Gia knew what she wanted. I know what I want… but don’t have the balls to obtain it. Fuck you, Angie. Fuck you and your characterless excuses… for now more than ever you need to be yourself. I've since lost the ability to write about my life and have people pay attention... resulting in sounding like a fucking psycho. 5 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

A Ride... I Had No Business Taking. [09 Jun 2003|11:18pm] [ mood | apathetic ] [ music | Silence. ] --- Sometimes we all wonder how things come to be. A chain of events: A leads to B leads to C leads to Z. Each life is made up of big decisions and each day is made up of a million little decisions. What shirt to wear, what street to walk on, what to eat for lunch. Now all of these seemingly inconsequential choices may change your life forever. But who can handle that kind of responsibility? It would paralyze you to think about it. So you have to trust your instinct, what the Greeks might call your character. You better pray to whatever god you believe in that your character knows what the hell it's doing. I thought I was a woman of character. Good character. I started the day off thinking nothing would happen, often when you do that... anything can - and will - - occur. Whether it be bad or good, a certain event always bestows itself upon the un-expected. Lying awake, we look forward to a world of tomorrows ( Pun intended ) or look back at a lifetime of mistakes. It's not up to us what happens, one thing we cannot cheat from acting is the way of life; if you feel you need a change, and act unexpected, the life force knows. On waking up to my usual routine of spending time with Maddox, before post-production bullshit... "Hey, Angie... this is what we have planned for today - a whole lot of.. everything you're used to!" Whoop-di-fuckin-do. Much as I'd kill to spend every waking moment with Maddox, location prohibits certain boundaries. Lunch time I get a call, from an old friend, someone I've not seen for a long, long time - well over five years. What she, and : or I had gotten up to in the space between contact became the last things on our mind. The past came up. Every little thing that had happened or could have happened if we'd have ended up together ( and Yes, you heard it right ). I consider myself to be blessed with the luck of love which I have experienced within my lifetime. Jenny was my first love, every single day... hearing her was like a blessing, the sound of that forever sweet voice in my ears just made my heart beat and although neither of us were wanting to begin anything. Due to blossoming and moderated marriages and the like, it didn't stop the stories, the smiles, the heartache and the laughter that once scorned my soul was now back, in the flesh. Only the last time I saw her. Saw that petite little face smiling back at me from the back of the black cab on 54th street, there wasn't a single urge. Every thought about Billy, zoned me. Sure it was love. One sided. Knowing I can't change anything, and the most valued experiences were : and are learned through the toughest of circumstances. This was one chapter, in the first book of my life; which I'd carelessly forget if possible. Ryan made me feel as though I could love again, almost Joan and Keenan reversed and revised in such a way, that the end of the story was very much different to the script. The time we spent together was precious, and I did have a vague need to try in the latter days to patch things up, but the boat had already sailed away into the sunset, across the ocean and towards greener pastures. I'm happy for him, to be going on with his life; after what must have seemed like years of tension and emotional and suicidal manic depression. Just a hunch. The best time? Everytime. There's two moments that stand out above the rest, both involving the out doors, one... the rain sprouting a blossoming seed; the other - over flooding the ground to destroy the plantation altogether. Here I stand. Many oppertunities to be had... but the past keeps drawing closer. Part of the past I want at the future, but future and life can't be planned. If so. It'd be a whole different proposition. These culminating thoughts, which led to me injuring my finger in a drawer... bad to good : good to bad, smile to frown - happiness to temporary pain, now left with a small scar from a blister; life is helping me to remember this day. When life ( or something like it? ) helped me realize things are still very much unpredictable... and shall remain that way. I called her, once again. - "I did a good thing. One good deed that started another chain that I wasn't ready for. A ride I had no business taking." 11 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Wondering... Where You Are. [04 Jun 2003|10:42am] [ mood | contemplative ] [ music | Marvin Gaye - Desperate Situation ] Happy Birthday... Happy Birthday. Another year, hell I'd even forgotten it was my birthday until I answered the telephone at three, and ended up being fucking caught with Jamie screaming the happy birthday song down the phone, I still wanted sleep. I do want sleep. I want to lie aback and forget that I'm another year older, the past year has been great in some aspects, and deadly in others. Why should I celebrate going through it, things can only either get better or worse. All respects to anyone who has any wishes towards me, whether they be for death or joy; save them. Object at hand being an update. Correction, an update of sorts. I refuse to become all giddy to the fact I turned 28 12. I'll stick with the cranky option. Having said, however.. I've managed to aquire the entire day to myself, a full day spent with Maddox, it still seems like a dream though I've now had him two years; and there's been a minimum amount of time spent with just the two of us, in any place but either of the houses. Being in England, still... there's a lot of places on the visiting agenda. Somehow I think Derby is pretty far to stretch for Maddox. London would be great, perhaps take a step in the other direction and visit Wales, take a diversion through Swansea before heading back up North. My mind needs more release, everytime I've even went to either pick up the phone, or make my way to visit Ryan... I've stopped myself, for once I'm afraid. I already know what the majority thinks of me; yet I want more than anything to have a fully legid conversation with him... one that doesn't include either of us ignoring the other, and leaving. My father was right, I do have a closed heart... I've attempted to come up with any other reason as to why the relationship failed; and can't. The heart is an open box, a box of which; when open. Emits anything and everything you want. Once closed, the key is hard to find, almost impossible. If and when the instrument is re-opened; even more things escape it's grasp; when again it closes. The loss and longing amounts to more than it did the first time. When and where this box will be pried and held open, remains to be said. Before I end up turning into a high-on-crack model... as opposed to an emotionally scarred, mentally unstable actress, I'll draw the entry to a full close. Just like that box. 6 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

The Blue VW In Space 22. [27 May 2003|07:24pm] [ mood | pensive ] [ music | Stevie Wonder - Cherie Amoir ] The story started out with a little girl... a little boy... and a small navy VW. Who was to know how this once perfect little story would end. Whether it be tragedy as Romeo and Juliet... or happiness as in Heathers ( Shut the fuck up, I miss Noni like hell "on earth, heaven on ea--" ANYWAY ). What events the little boy, the little girl and the little car will travel through are unknown to everyone, people they pass in the street, while in the leather clad seats gaze in amazement, gaze in awe. What will become of the two people, that they just saw? Will they crash and burn, or avoid the accident? Get their heads blown off, or side track away from the gang shooting. When will this journey end? Will it end? The little boy. The little girl... and the little car. Substancial update later for Cam. I need to be around more for you, sweetpea. Still need to get my head straight and have people's opinions faltered. -- I Blame Not Heaven -- 4 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

- - Better Off Alone. [17 May 2003|05:01pm] [ mood | drained ] [ music | Reflections - Diana Ross and the Supremes ] It's undoubtedly known, that pride is like a storm. Some become victim to it a lot more than others... only pride, doesn't depend on where exactly you live. There's a thousand different reasons for an individual to be so wrapped up in themselves...so wrapped up, they fail to realize the important things and people that slip out of their lives. Of course it'll always be there... like the clouds, whether it's thick and gray, ready to start a downpour - or light, fluffy and reflecting the sun. Reflecting a smile. Each one of us has this eternal feeling hanging above our heads, anyone who says otherwise.. to put a blatant point to it, are fucking crazy. If it's shown or not... the angst - the weight of these clouds will be a burden upon anyone's shoulders. An on-going question. A simple chain of events. A needed answer. Will you allow the clouds to take charge of the situation, or not? Will you focus yourself on the sunlight and pray so hard for what you believe in, that the storm is pushed away? This decision can be finalized by the individual. Willpower, strength... inner strength, belief and love. How could someone in love become so... so surrounded in the gray skies that their absence is noted... that the absence of their conscience, which has been torn from their minds... so much so, that everything they do, though it may feel good. Has effects on others. On people who genuinely care. Why are these the people who should get caught up in a single persons storm? Why shouldn't we... the source of this, this... this pride be left to suffer the consequences of our own actions - just that. Alone. Hurting no one. A tornado due to quickly pass through rural and abandoned plains of life. The rain, is like an aftermath of everything... ever wanted to just sit outside in the pouring rain for hours? There's no one out there, an odd passing car. A man wrapped up, on orders to take the dog out for his evening walk, but barely ever anyone there of their own accord. To simply just sit there, have water dripping against your skin, the raindrops sliding down your nose, following on to hit the ground with less force than it's brothers. I'm not sure whether it's the rain giving hope, or inner redemption... but those moments before the storm ends - if the storm ends. The sun peeking slightly through the darkness. Is the light at the end of the tunnel forced? Is each smile - each phone call a front? It's so hard coming to terms with yourself. Our insides and minds are the worst enemies anyone of us will encounter within a single lifetime. Always that black cloud on a stormy day, magnetized into our souls. Consumed by darkness. I'm not asking to be forgiven. I'd never ask to be forgiven. I just have to forgive myself, before I can truly socialize again... I know there's another weight on my shoulders, how people will or can react to my entries. Wondering how long it will be before someone else lays a burden of my own mind... onto my own shoulders. Sometimes I think I have too much to say, but at the same time... everything I do say, do I even know what I'm saying? Isn't it just a momentary instant that makes me stop and say... "Look, your life is a mess... you're hurting everyone around you... lets mix up some analogies, then maybe things will lighten up". I know things can't lighten up, there's so much remorse in my heart, knowing how much my own actions, hurt the lives of others. Even if it was a single day. I'm so fucking stupid, and I'll never forget that. No one can tell me otherwise. Whether or not I steer from the storm of pride, and allow the sun to again rise. Is something time... will tell. 10 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

No. [11 May 2003|06:04am] - matter what flows along, or is flowing in my life right now. Nothing could stop me from giving my prayers, my wishes and greetings to my best friend, my brother, my soulmate. Happy Birthday, Jamie. just a tear ××× from the moon

Time Can Move Backwards... and Forwards... But Never Both. [04 May 2003|11:45pm] [ mood | aggravated ] [ music | Guns N' Roses - Sympathy For The Devil (Rolling Stones ) ] Time is permenantly on the run, and if you let it speed ahead of you... there's no way you'll ever be biologically able to catch up with it. When your world turns upside down, the decent of trying for anything more than a single breath becomes too much effort, the farther you climb up the mountain... the further the drop. In the past few weeks I've screwed Ryan over; I've screwed Maddox over, James over- -I've screwed myself over. Everything I tried to stop myself going back to, has slowly crept back into my life. The drinking, the smoking... Hell I've stopped myself from being around Maddox so much. It kills me that harbouring the fact of good, stiff alcohol down my throat has become more appealing than both my son and my career. It's times like these, when we need our friends and family... but the times push them away. I was fully aware of what I was doing, fully aware of how much I was hurting him, with no recolection of what I was saying. A month ago life was, what seemed to be perfect. I should have known nothing could ever be ( the textbook definition of ) perfect for long. What's worse, is the fact of me... ending my beliefs and starting to live an everyday routine, starting to live up to expectations and upon each building brick on that wall - bulldozing the pre-made place to make room for higher expectancies within myself and for others. Will 'love' ever be there for me. Will I ever be there for love? Is it possible to love someone so much, you're lost for conversation? Fuck this... Choose life. "Along with you died joy. All that remains is despair and a future of meaningless tomorrows. But I will never give up. One, to see your beautiful smile again. One, to beg the blessings of the Gods. I wait for that day. When the boards cover all, All sadness will to be covered, but until my dreams return to reality, I will have to swallow all the pain." 3 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Ode To a Broken Home [27 Apr 2003|06:50am] [ mood | crazy ] [ music | U2 - The Hands That Built America ] Am I insane? Was I insane, have I now reached sanity? Do I still dwindle? Fuck knows, after reading his latest entry I find myself repeating those words over and over again "You've changed, Angie". "You have changed." I knew this, more to the point I was aware of the transformation. It has been difficult since both Reese came back into your life; difficult to question the sexual relationship... Will Ava walk in? Will Reese come to your place, open the door to find us hardcore, animal fucking on the living room table? This shouldn't bother me, and I'm not going to; pick my brain for a thousand excuses for the 'lack of sex'. Yes, my last relationship was centered around making love... more than love, but it was Billy; the man who took my life into his hands and molded me into some sex toy, available only when he wanted me... I care too much for you and the relationship to harbor any fantasies of breaking up, splitting, but you know? Yeah, me either. I see everything you're saying and I don't want it to be true, sure change is natural... but as reclusive as I'd grown to become, I also craved attention. Craved people to take notice of me. Craved for the acceptance of others. It's only the right thing to happen once all sources are cut by some snide comment... I used to think I was above it. Fucking wrong. Entirely wrong. Even with Billy the whole relationship craved the peoples attention, it craved to be noticed, to be picked apart. This. This was different. For the first time, whether in public or at home I could drop everything and still have feelings of self worth. This... isn't going anywhere, why the fuck do I try, you know? Fucking "Tuesday I did this"... it makes me wonder, y'know... it really makes me fucking wonder why when I write this stuff people actually read it. It's the paranoia, Angie. "The paranoia, Angelina." As came so smoothly from the therapists tongue, as though he'd known and planned what to say for years. "You have to be strong, Angelina. You're an icon, you can't break down." "You're not crazy, just mentally worn". Yeah. Yeah. I'm also fucking Lord Byron... you think he'd cut the crap and tell me I was breaking down if I placed a rifle to his head? "Smile and the world smiles with you, cry... and you cry alone." If you want sex, I'll give you it. If you want gifts, I'll buy you them. If you want my heart... it's too late, you already have it. 7 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Fool. [26 Apr 2003|10:36am] [ mood | pensive ] [ music | The Beatles - I Love Her ] "You're good enough for me, doesn't that account for anything?" Everything. ...The hardest word I've ever had to say, yet the most meaningful. just a tear ××× from the moon

Maybe I'm just a girl... [26 Apr 2003|06:07am] [ mood | crappy ] [ music | Chicago Soundtrack - Funny Honey ] "Valerie was strict and inflexible and she was the only staff person we trusted. We trusted her because she wasn't afraid of us. She wasn't afraid of the doctors, either. She didn't have much to say about anything, and we liked her for that, too. We had to hear a lot of talk in that place. Each of us saw three doctors a day: the ward doctor, the resident, and our own therapist. Mostly we had to hear ourselves talk to these doctors, but they did a fair amount of talking, themselves. They had a special language; regression, acting out, hostility, withdrawal, indulging in behavior. The last phrase could be attached to any activity and make it sound suspicious: indulging in eating behavior, talking behavior, writing behavior. In the outside world people ate and talked and wrote, but nothing we did was simple." "A few started out with compassion, they ended up bitter, because we took advantage of them. (Doctors). A representative conversation with a resident: "Good morning. How are your bowel movements?" "I want to get off group. I want destination privileges>" "Do you have any headaches?" "I've been on group for six months!" "The head nurse said you were acting out after lunch yesterday"." "She's making that up." "Hmmmm. Hostility." He scribbles in a notebook. "Can I have orders for Tylenol instead of aspirin?" "There's no difference." "Aspirin gives me a stomach ache." "Are you having headaches?" "This is incase I do." "Hmmmm. Hypochondria." He scribbles again. But these two doctors were hors d'oeuvres. The entree was the therapist." "The only power they had was to dope us up. Thorazine, Stelazine, Mellaril, Librium, Valium: The therapists' friends. The resident could put us on that stuff too, in an "acute" situation. Once we were on it, it was hard to get off. A bit like heroin, except it was the staff who got addicted to our taking it. "You're doing so well," the resident would say. That was because those things knocked the heart out of us." "Between night and day was a dark universe called evening, which began at three-fifteen, when the staff retired to the living room to gossip about us with the evening staff. At three-thirty everyone emerged. Power had been transferred. From then until eleven, when the comfy women took over, we were in Mrs. McWeeneys hands. Perhaps it was her that made dusk such a dangerous time. No matter the season, dusk began at three-thirty with her arrival." "'We'll just have to agree to disagree,' Mrs. McWeeney said about ten times per evening. She had an endless store of cliches. When Mrs. McWeeney said, "We'll just have to agree to disagree" or "Little pitchers have big ears" or "Smile and the world smiles with you, cry and you cry alone," a faint but delighted grin came onto her face." "Thus, our keepers. As for finders---well, we had to be our own finders." - Susanna Kaysen -- I'm due for a large update, but have had so many other things on my mind plaguing it away from actually thinking about how much impulse I've acted upon in the last few weeks - or lack, there-of. It's not Ryan, again I say as I've said many other times before; and will undoubtedly do again he makes even the most bizarre things make sense. All but one. All but the part of me I feel I've lost... my intuitive... the intuitive that makes me wake up on a morning and do anything. Simple things like taking Maddy to the park or.. taking Ryan out to dinner. ( Contrary to popular hetero relationships, we're both the men in this relationship, mentally ). Or more 'out-there' situations like sky-diving, or deciding to lift some Cap'n Crunch from the nearby corner store... just to have a sense of fulfillment within myself. I've read 'Girl Interrupted' six times in the past couple of weeks, starting in Munich.. reading over and over even when I got home. The words, every account is filled with a thousand meanings, giving the reader the opportunity to decide the outcome of their life through those passages. Not helping me get off the valium. 'Every window on Alcatraz, has a view of San Francisco'. 2 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Pre-Amptive strike against Litegation. [13 Apr 2003|03:41am] [ mood | pissed off ] [ music | ...Crickets. ] Friday, April 11th - 2003 Day 3 - Socializing through Soccer. Dear diary, this is another day in the life; life is like a book. As much as I wanted to break into thorough monologue just there, I stopped myself. For the facts of, (a) Thinking about the past by any means, is a bad thing when you're trying to influence the future; (b) I really need food, which doesn't tie into that - but being I couldn't think of a statement for "B"; that will have to do for the period of the next three days. Fuck me, I'm becoming such a procrastinator, instead of talking too much, I sit with the notebook in front of me, an entire clean, white page; and I have no clue what to write, or how to write it. Third person, first person... a Wildebeests view point? Hm, the third isn't exactly an option, but come on people the humor should stay. People? What fucking people, I'll come home with three fucking other personalities, quite the trait. I suppose I should start with writing current events, and then go backwards in the day... I just got off the phone with Ryan not too long ago, something I never thought could happen, came up in the conversation - it appears Reese is expecting another of his children; I hadn't a clue what to say... what I happy? Sad... Mad? Nothing. There were just no culminated feelings at all, in one sense... I'm extremely happy for both he and Reese; but then there's the other part of me, the human; jealous and manipulating part that can't help thinking what would happen if he was so happy, things got boiling between the two again. I mean, yeah... it'd break my heart, it'd scar my soul; but seeing him happy is all I could ever wish for. There's something about a father with his child, like Billy; even if we don't see eye-to-eye, I'll still admit that he's an amazing father; when with his other children... something sparks, and I see the genuine love - as with all... Strange, when you feel so much; you can't think about what it is you're supposed to be feeling within a situation, of any kinds. If I'm crazy, then shoot me for having a heart. One month. I'm not one for material things, but I hope he'll appreciate the gift I have, even if we're close to foreclosure in the relationship. Moving along, onto "happier" topics, I promise. Today, of all days... was one I know I'll never experience anything quite like it, again. After waking up to a brand new "alarm-call" Kingsley created; I rolled out of my tent, looking like a fucking zombie - y'know the one's from that Michael Jackson video? No lie, God's honest truth, I could barely walk, I practically limped with squinting eyes for the first half of breakfast, that immense feeling when you're as tired as a fucking dog, then the sunlight hits your eyes, imagine that... and times it by three-hundred. I'll never live it down, I swear... NOT ONLY, did that happen, but 'turns out, that the bushes I was changing in were filled with poisonous plants, hence my entire right arm covered in red blotches, rashes... and Christ only knows what else. I'll admit, I've never been a one hundred percent "out-door" person, but this is just taking the decorations from the cake of my now-shattered ego. Damn nature. DAMN YOU... Mmhm, crazy. Thought so. Breakfast, wasn't too bad; the actual food, anyway... nothing like fresh Bat-crap to wake a girl up in the morning, barring what it was, it did actually taste pretty, damn delicious. No McDonalds, but it'll do. Shortly after breakfast, I'd say it was about eleven, twelve; in the mid-morning. We set off back through the jungle, luckily we'd relinquished our bearings and got to the camp in a mere ten minutes. ( Attachment ) Just like yesterday the children swarmed towards us, but there was no sign of the little girl, my mind had aptly named 'Daisy'. ( I assure you all, that was no 'Girl, Interrupted' reference, but - the flower? Daisy? Mmh, Alright. ) As much attention as I was paying to every other child as we entered the boundaries; I couldn't help looking for her; those beautiful brown eyes that reminded me so ineptly of my own sons, perhaps I was searching for someone to link to Maddy; a physical presence to make my heart stop yearning for his safety, now... now I was yearning for hers. I must have asked Dem', a hundred times where she was - with no answer. Suddenly, there was the smallest tap on the inner-arch of my back... turning around I saw her, my Daisy; holding another out-stretched arm containing an entire flower chain. "Seems you have a little friend, Ang," I did, I do; she'll always be with me right here. We went into the deep afternoon, playing soccer. 'Girls against boys'; with me on the boys team... I've never kicked a soccer ball in near-gone twelve years, so I was obviously "picked last". That little guy, between me and Dem', see him fucking tackling me? He took me to the ground, on more than one occasion. Such the travesty. I've prided myself a lot on being "not too mature", but having put myself through this rendition of PAIN-filled "football"; I realize where and when it was I lost my childhood ability at finding fun in the smallest of things. Not demanding. Just happy. Now I sit, alone, in a soggy tent... eating lima beans, shivering my prickled-ass off; and I've never felt more fulfilled from something so small, nor has my spine felt anymore broken, but that... will ease in time. I love you, Doodoo. Always will. Come hell, or high-water. I wish I had the words to say that... Saturday, April 12th - 2003 Day 4 - Very Moving... "VERY MOVING", he says. 8am - Ah, Christ on crutches... I've been scratching all fucking morning, not only; has the rash spread to my back, but only onto my thighs, too. Rob, claiming to be trained in 'first-aid' and paramedics took a look at it early this morning "Mosquito bites". "Nettle Stings". I swear it's more than adolescent sex-craved men who beg for my body, even the fucking plants and insects are in on it. Man, you have no idea how much this hurts right now. I'd change, but they're de-bugging my tent... Oh yeah, really worth it now with only a couple of days left. Imbeciles. I decided to go all out and do things a little different today, note down things while they happen, just incase the Alzheimer’s comes sooner than expected. T-hah... 11am - Guess who took a wrong turn? We're at a river now, when I say river, I mean a small brook, all the same; I'm undoubtedly glad we came this way, the scenery gives me a lot to think and ponder about, until the guys find the compass. The sound of the water, the escaped sun hitting it and bouncing back up to illuminate the bright green wilderness. If only my Jamie could see this... there's even a waterfall. 1pm - "Pin the tail on the Angelina". See, another great thing about being the outsider lady, with bug-rashes... is you get to be "it". No matter what game the children decide they want to play. ( Attatchment ) I can't say it's not entertaining... because, personally I find being knocked into the dirt and piled on quite comfortable. Giving I didn't have any 'exciting' games to show them in return, I taught them 'Red Rover'. It was about time, the "Boys" team won, the game lasted a few hours; time after time, I got caught - fuck beans; talk about me being strong as 'Lara' - - if and when they schedule a 'TRIII'; I'll be sure to give them the creative input to come here looking for an arch villain. The looks on their small little faces when saying 'Red Rover' is enough to give any mother lack of oxygen through, pinching their cheeks and eating them up. ( Metaphorically speaking, don't need to go "Suddenly, Last Summer" on them. ) By three, I realized that the boys and I had had quite enough of the ladies' shenanigans - so we 'let' them win. I never lose, I just 'give away' victory. Yup, Ang - - you keep tellin' yourself that, this little one. Will be the death of me, she got me to sing for them all. Fuck. Just... it wasn't the best rendition of a Faith Hill song ever known to man; I'll tell ya that. Alas, the heat is getting to me. I'm itching like a pig on heat. Cue snort? ...and Jolie needs to go whoop some as for her boys. 10pm - One day left, and as much want to see my family again is there... I just know I'll miss this place, I'll miss these people. I'll miss this world, the next time I come back here... It'd refurbish my belief in a supernatural force, if everyone of these beautiful kids were making more out of themselves... or at least having the chance to. I know, this entry has lacked... but so are my poor little bones. If I don't break into his arms, come Monday. Mmhm, yes... mixes in the glorious smell of mud and water stained cargo gear into his cologne. On purpose. You know, sleep doesn't sound good about now. Diving, on the other hand... I dreamed a dream... - Jellybean 9 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

Now it's your turn to cry. [10 Apr 2003|05:16pm] [ mood | Upset ] [ music | Local Tribal March ] Thursday, April 10th - 2003 Day 2 - Meeting the Refugees. I woke up this morning, with a headache the size of Jupiter. It could be the climate; maybe I'm picking up a small fever... who's to say? Although, it could be stress. Last night, I sat in my tent alone; thinking about so many different things. Everyone who has contacted me in one-way or another, through the online journal; or telephone have reassured me of how safe Maddox is. I mean.. I don't doubt it, he can cope without me. I'm just finding it so fucking difficult not waking up to see his small little face, his huge beady, watery... SPARKLING eyes. Does he miss me too? Catherine has to be one of the best mothers out there... if she says Maddox is content, then he is. Fine. Dandy. Fuck, I think I've been bitten by something. Where the hell was I? - So, the camp - - RIGHT. I had to be practically shaken awake this morning, the Valium got it's job done... for once. The one time it's not supposed to. Being the fact of the shower-less camp, there's no exact point in changing. You're out here. Doing your job. It's good to smell as if you've been working. Even if... you smell this much. Christ on crutches. I'm scratching my armpit now, Hah, that can never be good. "Eew, she's like scratching her pits.". Sorry, honey. FACT OF LIFE. We skipped breakfast, and were given a late-morning snack of a local soup concoction. Whatever the hell it is, it tasted better than anything I can make; even with modern technology. Part of the time spent here, it's good to learn more and more about the local cultures. As much as you can. After I'd eaten it, turns out... it was the hind of a Wilderbeast, stewed. Not that I'm complaining... it tasted genuinely good, better than chicken. ( Sorry, Murph. ) While eating the whole group began to discuss a lot of Geological issues, the weather; who is desperate for sex. Sex talk in the morning, the one thing greater is the actual act of sex, in the morning. I'd have called someone, but being an entire eleven hours ahead, just makes for confusion. I'd hate to wake someone up, yelling extremely loudly so they can hear, at three in the morning, or so. Nothing to be done. We sat sharing stories for a good more than half an hour; just random things swirling around in our heads. Most of the team hails from different parts of the world, there's only two American's there... and a total three or four people who can speak full English. Body language can help - that; and a translator. Demi. She's so intelligent, I don't know two languages... infact, most people I know, can only speak fluent English. Her talent is so under-rated, why? Because of 'where she came from'. These children, these people need lives and the right to do as we please. Since, so many of us who actually hold the right, jeopardize it at the drop of a hat, for a momentary ego-boost... or... an arrogant action towards someone that is whole-heartedly despised. All fingers pointing to myself. Why the fuck, do I have an un-bearing grudge against Norah Jones, I hear her talking, and think "Damn... I could get on well with her," yet as soon as a trigger sets off inside me my mouth just moves, without digesting the thoughts around in my mind. This isn't an apology... perhaps to myself? Do I even deserve an apology, having gone through teenage lives with no purpose... not to use my talent enough as to get into what I wanted, at least not fully fledged. Yet, I see people here. Like Demi, Kobe, Marianna... so much going for themselves, but in no way able to follow their dreams due to a situation such as this one. If I could, I'd take them all home; but... that isn't my purpose here, either. After lunch, we ventured into the depths of the jungle... from a visitors point of view, it's the solitary place within the boundaries of Lugufu where there is genuine access to the children. If you think it's hot on Venice Beach, you'd de-fucking-hydrate out there... the trees help stop the actual sunlight from getting in; but the amount of moisture between the trees and plants mounts up and it's not to much actually hot, as clammy. I don't think I've ever sweat so much in my entire life, not even Cambodia felt this warm. ( Attachment ) The collective contents you've absorbed over the past week, just stream out from every crevice possible. ( Thank fucking Christ I'm not a man ). So, there we were middle of a humid jungle SLASH forest, following Kingsley; you'd think a man of his prestige and minimum arrogance would be confident in his route, right? Wrong. Extremely fucking wrong... he led us the opposite way, three fucking times. I swear, even if I'd led and had no idea where I was going, I'd have got us there faster. No doubt, back in the ranks we were conversing about many a thing, mainly the idiocy of a certain "tour guide". Other things arose, such as relationships - I tried not to dwell so much on mine, taking into consideration the quantity my heart misses even just looking into his eyes. We eventually reached the fence of the camp ( Pictured above ). The minute we arrived there, cameras biding - the children just ran... I mean literally sped towards us. On the most part, I first tried contemplating a way to get in there, through the fence... see this is a time, when I need to be as thin as Sarah Michelle Gellar. Time was working with us, when I ( Along with the help of my dear Demi ) - struck up a conversation with an overly talkative little girl; she wasn't reluctant in the slight to share her story with us; most of which even I find too disturbing to share, yet through everything she'd endured, through starvation, orphanage... she still managed to smile. These kids are the people to admire; not the "celebrities"... as much as some of "us" may have gone through, in comparison to these children; it's fucking nothing. I had to hold back the tears, she gave me a small flower; which to this day I've placed inside my most treasured book, which I go nowhere without. "To see the world in a grain of sand, heaven in a wild flower." She told me everything... and, I mean; you think I'm talkative, you should meet her, she didn't resist on telling me about her dreams to go to America, there's so many children around the world that may never even get the chance to work upon their future. Then you see people like "The Olsen Twins", only in the limelight because of their obvious jail bait status... they couldn't act seriously in a real-life situation, let alone a fake one. I pray that one day she'll run into me in Los Angeles, and have the life she wants. I pray to have the obvious privilege of showing her the flower, telling her my heart was always with her. Sadly, this is all just a dream in more than my eyes. After an hour, my emotions got the better of me; and I had to say my farewells and turn, walking away to cry. "Cry? I don't fucking cry." Yet, I did. Burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears; not the right thing to do at that moment in time. Robert. ( The sound man, who I've stricken an incredible bond with ) came to comfort me and I pushed him away. Reluctant for attention given the present situation, finally getting myself together I went back to the fence; made up some cockamamie bullshit about needing a drink... and I just sat there talking to the children for hours. I felt like... you ever see "The King and I"? Who am I even writing to... myself, the people reading? Fuck knows. Will not smoke. Will not smoke. STOP YOURSELF ANG, OR I'LL FEED YOU TO THE DAWGS. Now, I really am losing it. The flower will forever be implanted between the pages of 'Beloved'. If 'God' is as great as she claims to be... then things will work out. For now, I'm scheduled for an ice cream date... remember Nano; the little village boy I was talking about? Such the little heartbreaker. "Silence is the most powerful cry." - Angelina 6 ××× just a tear ××× from the moon

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