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When your passion is writing - Writers block becomes more of an emotion.

Apr. 10th, 2013 | 02:28 pm
location: Home
mood: Catatonic
music: 311

Being alone is like being with the inner thoughts you keep hidden in the back of your head.  You've air between your ears now because your deepest secrets are simply shooting the shit with you as they float casually across each room you walk into.  At this point, for me, it's almost a comforting thing.  My friends can't entertain me as well.

Don't get me wrong - we all have our demons - and we all know about them.  Know how they eat at us everyday while we  all try to act completely competent and sane.  Uncomfortably normal.  I suppose you could call me comfortably missing.  I started neglecting my friends immediately after high school.  Slowly, but not without notice.  Now they just expect it of me.  I'm the girl who's kind of there and never there but could possibly show up randomly at any point and time during the day.  The few true friends I have sort of understand.  Or at least they pretend to.  They are the only people I can stand to be around, so far.  Which must mean they intrigue me - or I wouldn't stick around.

People think they understand things too much.  More often than not they're far off track but still smug about the fact that they think they've got everybody all figured out.  Nobody understands themselves - let alone anybody else!  It was when I started to think this way about all of my friends that I began the seclusion.  The great divide, as I like to call it.  Its not just me.  People don't want to connect anymore.


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Let's make this much less complicated

Mar. 3rd, 2013 | 12:48 pm
location: homesweethome
mood: empathetic
music: sage francis

Let's make this much less complicated.  I know about her - you know that I do - so let's save ourselves the trouble.  I want to fuck you regardless.  I can be just as stoic.  Watch my twitch-less lips form your name while you do that thing you know I love.  Tomorrow you'll be sitting in some five star restaurant with her, laughing to be polite and drinking the strongest whiskey there to forget the moment as quickly as possible.  I'll be thinking of the deep conversations that we continue in your darkened bedroom every time you sneak me in.  You may now consider yourself a notch in my bedpost.

I'd tell you a secret but the shift in your stare changed my mind.  You must get by so easily with that stare.  It's your eyes.

I get awkward around you.  
I get angry.

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Sugar Coated Water Bottle Car Town

Dec. 27th, 2012 | 02:53 pm
location: Working - Las Vegas Blvd
mood: apatheticapathetic
music: Mishka

He sugar coats things - His words a fluid epoxy
Coating my emotions with a thick resin proxy
Leading with pretty phrases just to suck me into the picture
Framed and hammered to your wall – immovable fixture

I watched a bottle roll down a drain on the side of the road today.  For what seemed like hours but could only have been a couple of minutes.  It reminded me of freedom, in the sense that, there are no obligations, no though to where it’s going or where it will end up.  It can’t even THINK  . . . ::sigh:: Real Freedom . . .   Then the cool air hit me as she opened my car door and slid into a seat already piled with empty Arrowhead water-bottles and broken plastic cups I keep “forgetting” to throw away

“How many?” She asked, cigarette clogging my nasal passages.  I don’t smoke.  We’re in my car.  She doesn’t care…

Please remember how we were – with our dreams in our hands
I can’t pick this apart anymore

I hate that feeling you get at work when your stomach drops and you realize that this isn't where you want to be at all and that sickly stone of resentment and regret drops into the pit of your soul with a resounding THUNK!  . . . That feeling you feel all the way from your toes to your throat. . . That feeling that makes you dread waking up the next day.   .   .
Something hasn't been right in my head for a few weeks.  The depression is sinking in again.  Settling.  
Sometimes I feel like it's just supposed to be there - for how often it stops by.

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I read books before it was trendy!

Dec. 26th, 2012 | 04:24 pm
location: Working - Las Vegas Blvd
mood: Blaseee
music: Keyboard clicks and office shits

You were much more likable in pictures...

Please add me to your list of crowning achievements
easy lay, without pay, and apparently needless

They say that women are so complicated - - a mystery.  Hah.  
I'm so mysterious I write my every waking thought on the edges of household junk-mail and used napkins.  
A walk through my house would give you at least three life stories.  They're similar but, not the same.  
I wonder who would laugh at the stories? Who would cry?
Maybe the only thing I should be asking at this point is who would even read them anymore. . . It seems as if no one does.  

Let's make picture book stories to highlight the glories
because people don't read anymore it's too boring
they like pop-art pictures and comic book captions
slap a ka-chow on my forehead just for some laughs then
I'll make all of my backgrounds out of really small letters
pointillism's still livin' - subliminal vectors

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Let the dogs out

Dec. 11th, 2012 | 10:30 pm
location: Den
mood: Intrigued / Angry
music: The Breeders

That real as fuck got you so much i can feel it in your swagger 
pumped up tit's that don't do shit for men because it's all in the wrapper
go rock them nike's on your feet - you don't even have to tie the laces
newport and blunt secured behind the ear - and you call me the fuckin' racist?
skin color shouldn't matter if you're beaten up the mic
and I've got fifty dollars down right now that this bitch's barks worse than her bite
so cut the bullshit, stop the presses, give me YOUR opinion
not some cookie cutter gang-bang shit just because you think you're winning

I'm having an extremely difficult time dealing with people in the world.  That's pretty much all I have to say today.

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I'm afraid that if you look at something long enough - it loses all its meaning - Warhol

Nov. 25th, 2012 | 09:02 pm
location: Sitting in Chairs
music: Trip-hop

I take life by the pipe because I forgot how to be sober
And I don't like what I'm like so much now that I'm older. . .
                                       . . . and when I can't stand the conversations they carry on around me
                                       I disappear, it's so weird, but to this day no one's found me

Everything IS losing its meaning for me.  I feel like I've thought about some things so much, broken them down into circles so often, at this point it's all pointless!  Nothing seems to hold any significance to me any longer.  I don't understand it.  And I'm pretending incredibly well.  I need to leave to empty my cup - to empty everything that's already inside of me, all the perceptions, all the opinions.  All of the circles.  I want to break so many rules - because there aren't any rules.  Not anymore.  

Sometimes my dreams are in words - that's why I tell so many stories
I go out of my way to make sure I'm not boring
live my life like I'm like a modern day gypsy
at least that's what you'd think if you talked to my friends - they all miss me

Photo on 2010-11-07 at 22.23
Photo on 2010-11-24 at 19.04 #2
Photo on 2010-11-24 at 19.04 #3

People kiss me and tell me my kisses are perfect 
and I don't tell them thank you - I don't think they deserve it
I let my lips conjure bliss upon pieces of select men
like their hips, little nips, just to hear them say again
then I slowly sip on the slips of feminine gasps 
that I hear with these ears - compare and contrast

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Like honey

Nov. 23rd, 2012 | 10:10 pm
location: couch
mood: Itchy
music: Macklemore

Slow like honey seduction as your touch makes me function
so correctly - we connect and I start to feel the corruption 
A husky giggle consumption as your fingertips suction
to parts of my body that just haven't been touched and 
you slowly implode me I feel my body exploding
and I like this excitement so much it's still showing
when you lay down next to me snoring as if the whole thing were boring
my smiles diminished, along with my glory 
but it's okay - I'm not whorey, I just wanted a story
that didn't end in pretend but this one i'll be ignoring
like molasses it'll pass this void low in my heart
slow like honey, but funny, how quickly it starts 

Photo on 2012-05-17 at 13.42 #4
Photo on 2012-05-17 at 13.41 #5

I'd like to intercept myself at the moment.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  I hate the way I feel about myself.  
I can't function tonight.  -- I feel like an ugly person.  Ugly in my soul.  Ugly in my person.  

I can't think.  

I need to leave my house - no one is here tonight - I kind of want to hide away.  But people are inviting me out.  Several options are weighing.  This sounds so fucking idiotic to be even reading back to myself.  What the fuck is wrong with me!?!?! 
Get out of the house you fucking FUCK!

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I'm attracted to intelligence.

Nov. 21st, 2012 | 08:08 pm
location: Right here.
mood: Grounded
music: The Doors

People are so focused on breaking everything down.  So focused on figuring everything thing and everyone else out.  And so unfocused on themselves.  They're miserable.  All of them. 

I'll put your soul into this hole and fill it in while your still moving
smash it down into the ground while you watch everything I'm doing
I'll pay attention to your expressions because I'll be looking for a sign
that you've noticed now your soul is in the ground and not your mind
because my soul was never whole and I highly doubt that yours was either
and my suspicions were confirmed as I watched your soul expel its ether
I collected it and all the bullshit along with all those reasons
you screamed at me, those unheard pleas, about how much you need them

This is so totalitarian.  And we live it every day.
I'm so fed up with the bullshit.  The fake-ness.  The hostility.  The hate. 

Photo on 2012-05-17 at 13.38 #6

I've been talking to someone.  They're nice. 
They're intelligent.
The sex was better than I expected. 
And he doesn't live his life for anyone other than himself. 
I don't know if he gets me - who I am - yet.
And I know I don't get him.  But I like that he's strange.  I like that he's talented.
I like that he's nice.

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Tits on fire

Nov. 9th, 2012 | 04:41 pm
location: Homeish
mood: sleepysleepy
music: Indie Rock

Last night I went to Hippy Julie's 41st Birthday Bash - I wound up in the garage with several, with several old friends, topless, with my tits on fire.  Needless to say it was a pretty epic night.  

Photo on 2010-10-14 at 12.27 #3

I'm exhuming myself to better examine
parts of my mind I didn't understand when
I was fully alive and breathing on my own
before the weed and the pills seeped into my bones
and then we fell in love and I got stuck in the fall
opiates spells regrets when you swallow them all

Migraine again - it's the fourth one this week.  
I just want the pain to stop.  I just want some roxy's.  I just want some sleep. 
My eyes feel hallow, completely.  I can literally FEEL my eye sockets.  Which is strange to say.  Hmm...
My dog is barking - every bark is like a nail being hammered in.  I don't have lights or music on.  Staring at this screen probably isn't helping.  -- Then again neither is the fact that I've been working for 8 days straight staring at one all day.  
I threw up today at work because of it - a few times.  I tried not to say anything but we changed buildings and we have stalls now so the girl next to me went and told someone and they sent me home an hour early.  
I really needed that hour... ... ...

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No Place Like Home

Nov. 7th, 2012 | 09:12 pm
location: Around
mood: Pain!@#$%^&*(
music: nirvana

We'll call this home because you say you love me
I think its funny you don't notice that I never say it back
or maybe that's just something I tell myself so I won't feel so fucking bad . . .

He tells me I don't love him all the time.  I know he believes it.  Because its true.   I don't know why I stay If I know that.  It's like an addiction - to comfort, routine.  I'm disgusted with myself. I have a terrible migraine today and I'd like to go to sleep now. . . 

 Photo on 2012-10-09 at 23.29 #2

She pressed herself against the sheets - such a pillowcase portrait
but this princess sits at home locked inside her literary fortress
telling herself that life is hell and the future will be boring
its all bullshit and you're losing if you take in what their whoring

porcelain skin, a cheeky grin, a princess to his fortress

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