Tuesday, July 31, 2001
(12:44 a.m.) [link]
Before I say anything, please understand these maniacal/insane/lunatic ravings are a type of therapy. I'm not writing to sound bitter/depressed/agry/upset/etc, but rather to give an outlet to those emotions lest they try and eat my from the inside. I have enough problems, I don't need to explode on top of it.
That'd be messy.
Don't cry for me, ArgenKita.
Streaming conscious set to music. Song: Escape Club - Wild Wild West (Sue me, I'm listening to my 80s playlist)
And I try the experiment knowing it's doomed from the start, because how can anyone have a nervous breakdown while they're in a good mood, anyway?
"What do you expect, playing 80s music? The 80s were the living symbol of utter shallow-ism. Ism... Ism..."
Don't think it. Gah, let's go to the surreal playlist.
"Siouxsie and the Banshees, Counting Crows, Alanis Morissette, more Escape Club."
I want the lyrics. That song is talking about love and death and reaching beyond and I don't have a clue, mainly in that I can hear the words, but the meaning is so far beyond me... can anyone really feel that towards another humanbeing, or is it simply to sell a song?
"Commercialism everywhere you look, baby. Nothing is sacred. Religion is another commercial, you know."
Whoa, it's coming now. Figures it'd be a Counting Crows song, too. Hell, he sounds like he was high when he wrote this one.
"Well duh."
He's singing to me. "he sings to everybody like that, trust me"
I feel special. "You're unique... just like everyone else."
Anyone else think it slightly odd that Ms. Morissette was able to take a four syllable word and turn it into twelve syllables? And I've yet to decipher this song, Uninvited. It's beyond me.
"Like the other Escape Club one?"
I prefer Still. It is perhaps the only song that has a remote chance of making me believe in faith again.
"This just in, new hockey league in hell. 'The weather is perfect here.' says one player."
::pauses to listen to another song::
Sorry, I can't stream on that song. It's a world unto itself.
I'm so tempted to MST a song. Has it been done before? Probably. Still...
::looks for lyrics::
And proving you can't force a stream, just to note.
"You're a little late, Einstein."
It was an experiment. Happy/good/content moods are not good streaming emotions.
"We once had a philosophy prof who said being content was the equivalent to being a cow chewing grass. We flipped him the finger."
And now we go to the stage of typing the first things that come out of our... fingers... as we listen to certain songs (which shall not be named just for the hell of it in some cases). Step back, I don't want to be responsible for any mental injuries.
::puts surreal CD in and hits random::
....rollercoasters. I'm sure she was talking about rollercoasters. Nevermind the name of the song would lead me to believe she's talking about pot. Rollercoasters. Emotional ones that are better than an E ticket (whatever the hell that ever meant, I'm not that old) and leaving you dizzy and high and broken and sad and who the hell is Mary Jane anyway?
::next song::
BWA HA HA HA HA HA... ::snicker:: Yeah, right. Perfect. Sure. Obviously this is not a song who's meaning is aimed at myself. I'd love for someone to say I have to be perfect. I'd quickly counter. If the deities aren't perfect, I don't think I have to be. And they'd have to be imperfect just for the fact that there's an idiot floating around who feels I have to be perfect. Yah.
Don't ask, I just have an affinity for the word idiot. It rolls off the tongue. Moron's another one, but not the same bite to it, you know?
::next song::
...you know, one would say Ms. Morissette had an awful lot of male acquaintances, if this song is any indication. You have to respect anyone who can cram that many syllables into a measure, IMO. So this is what happens when one gos to find inner peace in India, huh? I'll settle for going to 'Frisco. Maybe I can find some cute bi guy who's not camera shy.
Sue me, I'm a sadist with voyeuristic tendencies. Least I know what I like, and I'm not forcing anyone else to submit to my choices (unless their cute, male, legal, and want to).
::nother song::
...and much like I've had to say with a few partners, this does nothing for me. It falls flat. Sheesh.
::and another::
If I look at/interpret this song the wrong way, I can easily say that every idiot is a god. Scary thought, isn't it?
And every time I hit the bridge, I see a group dancing around a bonfire offering their celebration up to the goddess...
..and why isn't religion genderless, anyway? Who denoted that god was male or a male word? Why is there a female version 'goddess'? I want a new, genderless word to replace the now un-P.C. titles defining deitic entities (and I am well aware that deitic is not a word but it's my journal and I can make it up any way I feel like). ::sticks out tongue::
::last one for now::
This is the one I can't understand. Emotions reaching beyond life and death. Loving someone so much to want to leave your presence everywhere so they won't be hurt though your gone... No, I don't understand. I'm not familiar. I like the song, I enjoy the melody, but I can't grasp the meaning anymore than a blind person can read a word printed out in a book (braille doesn't count).
"Just think of me, and I'll be there..."
But what if I've never met you before. Would you still be there as well?
"She doesn't realized she's doing that even now, does she?"
He's not real...
"Except where it counts."
...is that a kind of death too?
"He's immortal, nobody can take him away from you."
But to feel this way towards flesh and blood... That is what I don't understand. I suppose, no, I know it's possible to feel that towards something that was never born in the traditional sense of the word (screw all the psychologists who say it ain't healthy, because it's a sanity anchor right now, thankyouverymuch), but towards a real person?
"What the hell are you scared of besides the obvious?"
...I can't lose myself within myself, can I? It sounds rather redundant.
"...to lose yourself in another..."
I can't, I won't. That's not healthy in any sense of the word.
"Admit it. It isn't that you can't understand the song..."
...I'm just afraid of it.
breathless / Breathe here
Monday, July 30, 2001
(8:21 p.m.) [link]
Everyone would look at me funny... if I said I spoke with God today.
Honestly, I don't even know if it was God as presented in the Christian philosophies, some other popular deity, perhaps the God and Goddess... I dunno. But I spoke with something, I'm sure.
I know it was something else... because none of the voices in my head sound like a Hawaiian native.
Whatever it was didn't stay long. In fact, it didn't really talk in the conversational sense. It said just one sentence to me. One, that's all.
You know, of course, if you put the bullets in the gun and shoot through the floor, you're going to play house to some chick with a mustache named Bertha.
Nevermind the fact that I wouldn't be aiming for an actual person. I'm not a killer (so far that I know of). I was aiming for the stereo. The one being played at decibels so loud it sounds like someone's beating on the ceiling. (That's actually the downbeat)
Honest.
So the guns stayed unloaded, even though the stereo deserves to die.
But, if the chance ever came around... to paint that mural previously mentioned... I might not be able to resist it.
"She's been watching too much 'Gay Purr-ee'."
And now, an open letter: (names changed to protect the idiot)
Dear Ashati,
How are you? I hear life is not being kind to you. Of course, you yourself have not told me this. Is it because you realize now that you've burned the bridge? It's ashes, like you and I.
Honestly, even after all the crap you pulled and your so called views of friendship, I'm not angry at you. Someone said I had a right to hate you, but I don't. You see, hating you or being upset would mean I still cared on some level.
I couldn't care less, now. And I owe it all to you.
Do you remember the very first nail you struck in the coffin, dear? I was having family problems Yes, they were similar to the last problems, but they were still there. Just like you and yours that I'd listened to over and over and over again. But you said you were tired of hearing about my problems. I guess I had bored you with it.
And yet, it never once occurred to you that I felt the same way? How often do I have to hear about your grandmother doing this, your aunt doing that? How many times did I listen to old stories of your mother, eh? And you never thought I got tired of hearing about it, did you?
Well, at the time, you were my friend. You never really learned, that's what friends do. They listen, even when they may not want to.
And over the years, I would continue to give. I'm not a saint. Boy, I'm no saint. Maybe you would have been better off in San Diego and graduating there. Maybe I was being a bit needy when I called crying, because you made me think you were the only person who understood me.
But you chose to come back. I didn't force you, and I didn't hold a gun to your head. No, it was your choice. I just happened to be an easy excuse so you could go and pour some sob story onto some other unsuspecting shmuck about how you came back for me, when you could have graduated high school if you'd stayed.
And yet, I note you've had a better than ample opportunity to finish HS. Hell, you even got me to enroll... then dropped out.
Another nail, mind you.
Now I will admit to the biggest mistake in our friendship and my life. Your... boyfriend. Yes, I am clinically depressed. Yes, at the time, I was very much screwed up in the head. Yes, he took advantage of that and we slept together... well, actually, it was like the worse five minutes of my life.
I frankly don't see what you were screaming about all those nights. Unless you were practicing your acting skills.
But anyway, I've said I'm sorry so many times I was blue in the face. But it wasn't enough for you. You said you forgave me, but didn't. Well, guess what? I can't say sorry anymore. Don't get me wrong, I regret it, but I don't like empty words, and I won't give them.
You want me to say sorry for eternity? Well, sorry is only a word now. I'm not doing it. I can't be sorry anymore.
And I digress. You see, before, that ever happened, something else came along. Something else that was the last nail in the coffin. I just wasn't aware of it at the time.
Remember? No? Let me refresh. My stepfather and my uncle. They both have something very important in common.
Still guessing? That's okay, you weren't as smart as you wanted me to believe, anyway.
They're both dead for one, and both times you said you'd come to the funeral.
Both times you didn't.
That wasn't the worse part, though. No, not even. What sealed it shut was when you told me why
For my stepfather's, you said you had been to so many funerals that you just couldn't go to another one.
Like they're some kind of party for me, too, right?
But for my uncle? Your words are branded, lady. Just like those five lousy minutes, they have been done and they are never going away.
"I just didn't feel like going."
Nor did I to your mother's, then your grandmother's. Especially your grandmother. You knew how much I disliked that woman. She was a hypocrite who wa
Sure, we had a few good times. There was the L.A. Guns concert, then later the GN'R one (which I paid for, in case you forgot, but it didn't matter). I wasn't even asking for your money (because I shelled out more than my fair share on you, didn't I? Who was it that had to go to their mother when you didn't have enough to eat, hmm? Who did you play for a sucker before I left?). But your time was too precious, I suppose.
Does it bother you to know I don't need or want your time anymore?
The times have come and gone. You can't reclaim the past, and in this case, I don't want to. Let it die, alright? Just remember the good times and go find some other schmuck. There's plenty out there, I'm sure.
But one day you're going to have to wake up and realize you can't get by on people for the rest of your life. You're an adult now, just like myself. You have to take responsibility. I'm sorry your mother passed away. I'm sorry that you feel stuck in that age where everything would be taken care of for you and all you had to worry about was a good time. That time is gone, indeed if it ever existed already.
Are you really happy letting someone else, be it another person, Fate, Chance, Whim... dictate which way your life is going to go?
Sorry, I can't.
I hope you get to that point you're looking for. Until then, farewell.
Gen
breathless / Breathe here
(6:07 p.m.) [link]
I'm existing. Sometimes that's the only way to explain how I feel.
Before I go off on my tangent, I should put on the sociable face. Give me a sec...
::finds mask and coughs from all the dust::
I don't use this thing that often.
Okay, replies, responses, and things of that nature...
Raine: I have no clue why you'd want to read, as I'm liable to lose it on this thing at any given moment... but you're free to read. Would you like me to link to you as well?
The good ::cough:: people at SRB. Let the moving commence. To get your username and password, go here: http://yaoiville.com/srb/misc/signup.htm. Harlen's working the templates, so he's the one to ask coding questions and such. I'm just supplying the space, really.
Amber: Yes, slowly but surely it's moving. Did you get the email? If you have any login problems, let me know.
Harlen: ...you're Winamp's crazy. I'll send the men with the straight jacket to take it away.
Okay, think that's it. If it's not... remind me. I have to post again so I can probably go off on a tangent. Ah, streaming consciousness. It's helping me maintain the ability to pretend I'm sane for the rest of the mortal world. (no, I'm not mortal. I was spawned. Long story)
breathless / Breathe here
Sunday, July 29, 2001
(9:12 p.m.) [link]
Just because I've never bothered using the random skin option on Winamp before now, I'm going to document what it brings up with each song on this particular playlist (warning: playlist file called 'cheerful' This is not a regularly used playlist). I'll color the skin/song in blue, and my comments in white. Granted, I don't have a lot of skins, and most are variations of Zel, but... well, we'll see.
311 - Come Original SKIN: Mystic Zel (fanart)
...strangely apropos (you'd have to see the skin)
Siouxsie and the Banshees - Kiss them for Me SKIN: Ken Hidaka (Weiß Kreuz)
I like this option already...
U2 - Elevation SKIN: Plain shot of Zelgadis on white bg (Slayers)
...nope, I don't see the connection here...
Clinic - Second Line SKIN: Zel in Drag (very red bg)
...I think it's on crack...
Madonna - Don't Tell Me SKIN: (see previous)
Makes a little more sense here, though.
Erasure - Respect SKIN: Zel casting a Ra Tilt
...I'd respect anybody getting ready to blast me like that.
Fat Boy Slim - Weapon of Choice SKIN: Manga Gourry blue (Slayers)
...whatever this thing is smoking, I don't want any.
Lenny Kravitz - If You Can't Say No SKIN: Bren Okiayu (original chara)
My winamp is a perve, I'm sure... ::cracks up:: If you knew Bren, you'd understand.
Queen/David Bowie - Under Pressure SKIN: fanart of Old West Zel with open shirt.
Either my Winamp is perverted, or my computer is. And my comp is bi, I'm sure.
Shaggy - Dance N Shout SKIN: Ken skin again
....weird, yet I like it...
Sting - Desert Rose SKIN: see previous
My comp has a Ken fetish. I'm not about to complain.
I need more skins. Maybe some from Nightwalker... definitely some Outlaw Star. More WK... CCS if I could find any... I'll look tomorrow.
1 sigh / Breathe here
(2:21 p.m.) [link]
::reads Tenshi no Korin's journal:: ...I'd ask her what it's like to have another, but I find sometimes when it comes to such intimacies, it really is none of my business.
breathless / Breathe here
(1:59 p.m.) [link]
Yet another link to a thought pattern that may be the sole reason for the total degeneration of humanity today. I'm not linking to it, though, because someone finds it funny. I, however, do not.
I'm going to say this as simple as I can, as I don't know who else besides those whom I know possess the intellect necessary to understand my opinionated (and really, that's all they are, I've made no bones about that) ramblings.
I can hate. I can hate anyone. I can, perhaps, even hate you. (and if you're my elder sister... you know I do)
I will not, however, let the world know this.
So instead, I will be pleasant. I will say hello. And I will probably never see the faces I saw today ever again in my life.
And the hate, if in fact it exists, stays safely wrapped up in my own thoughts. And no one is the wiser.
Now, to break this down even further... Everyone is entitled to their own thoughts. But when those thoughts become words, or worse, actions... and those thoughts are running in a negative to violent path, then humanity dies a little more.
Nevermind the fact it's in ICU as we speak.
There are many many many people I wish did not exist, but they do. There are many things in the world I wish were not there. I usually find I cannot do much about this, however. So I simply avoid it and try to find some small contentment in life elsewhere.
Bad days... everyone has them. It's okay to talk about being upset or angry or whatever.
I personally don't need to hear about hate or being told who should do what based on someone else's opinion (who have yet again confused opinion for fact. I want to know when these types of people have held the position of God, myself).
"One there was a child
who was taught that it's okay to think bad things
as long as you could always do good things
because this child was told
that it wasn't what went into a person that mattered
nearly as much as what came out."
And I'm feeling very violent at the moment, because I am trapped in my environment where the people downstairs keep playing their music at such levels that it disturbs me greatly, yet nobody cares, and nobody can/will do anything.
"We can sue when we move out."
When is that going to happen, I ask?
I can't, and frankly, shouldn't, have to use earplugs. It hurts my ears.
I can't shoot them, because I'll be the one who is wrong and I will be locked away and I really have no inclination to play 'house' with some 5'11' chick named Bertha or Bruna.
I can't shoot myself... because that'd hurt.
And going insane is not an option because 1: I already am, and 2: anymore and I'll be locked up soemwhere else, and they don't allow access to computers.
No, I can't find inner peace if the outside is so fucked up.
And napalm ain't cheap.
"The floor is vibrating, but it's not an earthquake."
The trees are falling by the wayside, leaving an empty, dead field. No, I'm not being literal.
"Streaming conscious can be a good way of relieving tension, if the tension weren't shaking the floor as we type."
pleasestopnowaitforgetthe'please'justfuckin'stop soIcangobacktopretendingI'msaneinsteadofimagining whatitwouldbeliketouseyourintestinestodecoratea shrinetosomesnakegodandyourbodyfluidsinamural depictingthestrugglebetweennightanddayisthattoo muchtoask?
"No, she's not calm, yet, but that took some of the edge off her stress."
SHE claims I'm the only person for her, and everyone has to have one person, and yet I can't say the same so if it's not her, who is it?
And I've been lied to before and thought someone was the one but they took and took and never gave and good gods, was it really too much asking her to be there when I had to go to my stepfather's funeral, yet I couldn't even be myself because everyone kept coming up saying to me "Oh, Erica, I'm so sorry..." but Erica wasn't even there for her own father's (yes, her dad, my stepfather) funeral and I was but nobody cared they all thought I was Erica and I didn't bother with the truth because if I replied "I'm not Erica, I'm her sister." then the next question of course is "Where's Erica? Did she come?" and all the other questions that come when you have to explain that someone is too fucked in the head to attend their father's funeral and say goodbye (solely because she's an insane bitch who's existance is a plague upon the earth as a whole) so I have to pretend to be her beause it really is easier and fuck how I'm feeling right now, since I'm obviously not me.
"Does she win the record for the world's longest run-on sentence, yet?"
Okay, that helped a little. Not everything, but some.
Next topic: What is it like to go off the deep end when I'm in a good mood?
1 sigh / Breathe here
(9:55 a.m.) [link]
And I'm still tired. I don't travel well, especially on wild goose chases...
I got one of those ink refill things. Works. I'll use them from now on.
Harlen: How much do you pay for your site now? Depending on the price, you may want to switch somewhere else. Let me know.
After reading Kit's journal, I followed the link to the unintelligent test. Results are as follows: (copies and pastes)
You have a knack for greatness. For the record,you are:
80% Un-telligent!
which is significantly higher than the current average of 60%
Here is the custom report of your personality that led our team of geeks to conclude (with confidence) that you are resourceful and sly woman:
"The subject shows a very high level of intelligence, and her sense of observation is one of her best qualities. Considering this, she shows a lot of potential, but that's only part of the equation.
"Also, as much as we hate violence, an occasional mauling is one way to solve day-to-day problems like unpleasant coworkers or pesky door-to-door salesmen; she just isn't tough enough, sir, and she avoids any solution that involves violence.
"Finally, the subject displayed a healthy (better than most net freaks anyway) sense of humor, a fair and productive sense of morality, and a barbaric self-confidence. The balance of these three traits is important; high levels of confidence, medium levels of morality, and a good level of humor make for the strongest individuals."
As to what this all means... I have absolutely no idea.
breathless / Breathe here
Saturday, July 28, 2001
(7:44 a.m.) [link]
So it's 7:30 am and I should either still be asleep searching for something there, or just now waking up to look at CC. But no... I have to start getting ready to go to a computer swapmeet with mom on the pretense of getting cheap computer type stuff, when I know all she wants to do is talk to her dear proffessor.
Lovely.
Then I have to come back and help her with her presentation and sit through her music for roughly ninety minutes so I can burn her oh-so-precious vinyls to CD format, which wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to actually hear the crap.
I listen to alternative, industrial and new world. She listens to 70s R&B.
I'm in hell.
I'm not saying there's anything wrong with her musical choices... but imagine having to listen to your parents' music for over an hour with no recourse?
...like I said.
No dreams. Didn't bother.
I'm noticing soem strange spacing going on with this thing. It's not my doing, just so you know...
Kit has the keys to the other script, but I never heard from anyone else save Harlen, so...
::sigh::
Give me ambiguity, or give me something else.
1 sigh / Breathe here
Friday, July 27, 2001
(11:42 p.m.) [link]
Well, new layout. And believe me, it wasn't easy. And because I didn't feel like having the entire thing rebuilt when I change two lines every day, I had to use javascript (think mock SSI). You can thank livejournal for the idea/design, since I ::cough:: borrowed it. In short, it's late, I'm tired, I'm going to bed.
breathless / Breathe here
(11:49 a.m.) [link]
As I thought, didn't dream. I can't blame myself for last night, though. I was really exhausted.
And I have to go somewhere tomorrow...
I'm wondering what it's like to bury myself in the scent of someone else who has a hold of my very soul. Or if the term soulmate really has meaning.
Maybe that's what the God and Goddess are to each other...
Do you still practice Wiccan, Kit? Just curious. I don't know why, but I'm thinking of getting a deck of Tarot cards... just to see.
"And the metalic blue dolphins go 'round and 'round on the gyroscope."
Society's standards for sanity dictates that it's too risky to lose one's self completely within another for long stretches of time. I agree, if only because one can lose themselves as an individual.
But still, I wonder what those brief moments when it's safe to do so feel like.
"We don't commit violent acts because we don't want to get in troube, not because we don't want to cause violence. But you have to admit, some people take up space..."
I wonder what it's like to forget reality in the span of the heartbeat of another...
"Perhaps there's a reason she doesn't dream. She really shouldn't be trying so hard, I say..."
These things I have to find elsewhere, and try and capture the words to paint to a different canvas, but it's never like the original.
"Dreams can be nightmares too, and who wants to remember those? Even if we do..."
....I'm just wondering why these things are bothering me now. Seems like I should have thought about this a lot sooner.
Did I ever mention my mom reads palms? She doesn't charge, and real 'psychics' do it for free anyway. She once read one guy's palm and asked him if he'd ever been sick in his life, to the point of dying. He said no, never, and thought mom was joking. But he went back and asked his mother, who said that yes, when he was an infant, he'd gotten ill and they weren't sure he was going to make it.
She said the minute she ever tries to charge for her gift, she's certain she'll lose it. Integrity.
...I don't care if it's inexpensive computer stuffs, I don't want to go tomorrow...
2 sighs / Breathe here
(12:27 a.m.) [link]
I'm probably too tired to dream... again. But I'm going to try and imagine the wonderful moment cocooned in grey wings as I drift off.
You'll have to excuse the next part, it's not going to make sense. I'm experimenting and I'm nearly asleep at the keyboard. And whether this matters, current music is 'Weapon of Choice" by Fat Boy Slim.
butterfly ghost in abaondon houses carry secrets on their shadowy wings
bits of the past that the eyes of the modern day man will never see
safe as he is between his mistresses Sanity and Lucidity
but having met with the whore-sons of Chaos, these images that do not exist mean more for me
because I can see them, even if I can't understand
so I'm trying to decipher a language I'm not sure I'm suppose to
and I look to the secret worlds within the minds where neither Sanity nor Lucidity can survive
which only puzzles me more, because I know I become as logical as any butterfly ghost
and yet this knowledge never stays
a fleeting thing I'm trying to grasp, so I wonder if I should
maybe these things are no more my right to capture
than said butterfly... in a jar.
...I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight.
breathless / Breathe here
Thursday, July 26, 2001
(7:58 a.m.) [link]
I don't want to go. I don't have to go, really... but if I don't, she's going to keep whining and asking and really, I'm getting sick of it. Now I have to put on my cracked mask and go outside because the parental unit wants me to sit in on one of her class. Okay, so she likes the prof, and he seems to like her (least she's waiting until after class is over for the summer to say/do anything about it), but what does that have to do with me? Not to mention the fact she's already stated that if this comes to some kind of fruitation (fruation... I dunno, and someone ripped me off for my dictionary) David and I will have to find alternative living arrangements. No, she's not kicking us out, she'd leave. Fine, whatever. Nevermind the I've only been living with [you/her] all my life and [you/she] call me your best friend. (And I quote "Everyone needs that one person in their lives, and you're that person for me.") But it's okay. I hope it works out, but I don't know...
...and a part of me, really doesn't care.
Once again I didn't dream last night, and I was too tired to try and imagine anything before I went to sleep. (Something I read as a child, if you imagine or think about something and concentrate on it before you sleep or as you're drifting off, you may dream about it)
No dreams, and I don't have time to go look for others' dreams. She wants to be at the station at nine.
And my mask is still cracked.
"It's more than cracked. I'm holding it together with duct tape and tissue."
It's overcast again. I think they burn off faster where Kit is, but I'm not sure. Roughly speaking, we approximated that Kit is about forty miles N-NE from my location.
Basically, she's on the other side of the mountains I always see.
I grabbed a livejournal on Tuesday to keep down the more boring/practical aspects of my day in. SO I'm free to go off on any tangent I so wish here.
Like the one of wanting to find a brush to dip into the cloudy sky I'm staring at, and paint the color over my eyes... so I can see them all the time.
Like wanting to find the door to animeland, which I know is just around the corner from Shangr-la.
Or wondering what it would be like to have more than two people in your family that you like and can talk to.
Oh yeah, David's made some more music. One is a cleaned up version of a song he did before (Old version: Dirt. New one: Mud. New version sounds better) and the other a completely new one ("Can't"). I'm going to upload them to another site I'm renting (I have more space there anyway). I have a song I need to finish myself. Maybe today... and get away from the computer.
I'm touching the window
because it's as close as I want
to get to the reality
and still find them there
whoever they are...
I'd ask David his secret, since he's alone too, except he has a lot of people calling him. Problem is, he doesn't like to talk to them. He likes to think... to ponder the dying world and th intricities within it and himself.
They want to talk about CDs and clothes.
"If wishes were fishes, the seas would be empty, but we wish he was real..."
Nine o-clock... how I loathe you today. I would freeze time at 8:59 if I thought I could, just to spite you.
""Someone call the men in white, she's talking about time freezes again..."
I don't want to go... not today. I haven't imagined what it's like to be alive, yet...
breathless / Breathe here
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
(11:03 a.m.) [link]
I have to read other's journals for their dreams, because I don't have any of my own.
...Guns N' Roses said it best, then. 'Vicarious existance is a fuckin' waste of time.' (forget the song)
I still have my imagination, but it's slowly being veiled by an emotion that I know I don't like. Several, perhaps, but I'm only sure of the one.
But... for one brief, maybe even happy moment... last night I was surrounded by wings.
Not the pristine, glowing white of the Euro-depicted angels of heaven. No, I'm strangely not into white wings. These were a shadowy gray, soft... And for that moment, I felt... okay.
Feeling okay is a rare phenomenon for me, even on my best days.
Feeling okay means no matter what, I don't have to constantly worry, because everything will work out.
Feeling okay... is okay.
I wish I could have seen who they belonged to, even if the logical cause states they were a figment of my own imagination. I'd like to thank them... for the moment in time.
I'm wondering if this is what it's like to go insane.
...like I can go insane. How can you go to a place you already live in anyway? Only difference now is the masks are cracking. I can see the fine lines in the surface.
Pheh... I need a drug to keep the surface smooth. Pretty much saying I need a drug to keep the mask in play.
I see a porcelain harlequin mask, tied in the back with a string of pills.
...this line of thought is depressing me. I think I'll go play neopets or something now.
Escapism... sometimes it's all I can accomplish.
breathless / Breathe here
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
(12:57 p.m.) [link]
To sleep perchance to dream, to sleep perchance to forget, or, to sleep perchance to never wake up...
Well, whatever happens, I'm going to lay down and sleep for a bit. Even though lately I feel just as drained when I wake up. Just so tired, but whether it's physical or something else...
I wish I could go back to that abandon house I saw. I want to know what was it that looked at me, and why.
And I wish... I could dream when I sleep. Good dreams, or at least wistful thinking, like dreaming about a nice yaoi paring or something.
Or dreaming about a silver haired angel to make me believe reality will work out for me.
...at least I would sleep, except I live in an apartment complex with a bunch of inconsiderate assholes who feel they must share their idea of music (I don't find songs with singers who don't sing but talk about female anatomy, sexual intercourse, or random acts of violence over areas of city that rightly doesn't belong to anyone as music, but that's just me) with me, whether I want them to or not.
Guess I have to play my own CDs and try and cocoon myself in a veil of sound of my own choosing. So... flip the fan on high (I like the sound of the fan's motor. It's strangely comforting) and stick in latest burned CD (eclectic mix, this one).
Does everyone have that one person they can just let everything go with? Someone they can say "I feel like diving off the Golden Gate and taking a swim with the fishes" and the person won't immediately put them in the mental ward, but will instead just listen?
If you do... tell me what it's like. I thought I had someone like that, but she turned out to be a flake who was emotionally selfish. When I needed her the most after losing first my step father then my uncle, she was no where to be seen. I would have accepted this, except when I asked her why, one of the reasons given was "I just didn't want to go."
Kinda harsh coming from someone who wants you to give them the label of best friend.
She's not, BTW. Not by a long shot. I heard recently she's having troubles at home, but after that, I can't offer her my sympathies (especially knowing most of the cause of the problems are from her end anyway).
I haven't bothered looking for anyone else to fill that space. I'm too tired.
I just want to sleep.
breathless / Breathe here
(7:21 a.m.) [link]
I didn't dream last night.
I seldom do anymore. Well the scientific explanation is we all dream and simply forget. I find it bull and besides... I know when I have simply forgotten something; my dreams do not exist.
How sad... to find the only thing I can talk to without fear of anger at having my feelings but on a judgement stand... is a fifteen in. screen, a keyboard, and a small unit sitting away under my (ha ha) desk.
I'm going to change the URL to the journal again. It will still be the yaoiville, but I need to change the folder. I gave this URL to certain parties back when I put the Book of Genism here, and I'm afraid they'll forget and wind up here and read this and it gets back to the parental unit who will feel guilty and she has enough problems to deal with...
I'll change it now... and simply edit the scribble.nu page.
The streaming bit of consciousness can wait until then.
breathless / Breathe here
Monday, July 23, 2001
(8:18 p.m.) [link]
Just when you think it's safe to go back to the journals...
The following is a Genism, but I felt it needed to go here to:
"Apparently the old saying 'If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all' has changed. Now it's 'If you can't say something nice, say it even louder and make sure everyone who doesn't agree with you know what a rotten sack of flesh they are.'
I fear for my children."
The same overly critical people who feel that their opinion is fact, and to hell with all the others who don't want to be confined to their very tiny box of thought will, hopefully, find someone just as intolerant of their views and perhaps take them down several pegs.
It would help if I had someone IRL to talk to, but... I don't.
Honestly, I just want to curl up in bed and pretend none of this is real, because it's frickin' hell.
And why did this old line of thought get revised? I went to T. Giredancer's blog, who mentioned the initial rant of uncreative garbage saying how if writers didn't do a certain line of thought, they shouldn't write. Then I went to the ML itself. While I found many people sharing a similar line of thought (If you don't like it, don't read it) said person simply continues going on and on about her very narrow minded point of view and bascially gotten to the point of snide remarks. I'm not trying to change the person's mind (I don't have that many years to fix something so obviously broken) but for the love of whatever, please, nobody want's to HEAR it.
Just... shoot me. Please. Because these types of people... the overly critical, unimaginative, intolerant sub-species of humanity... they're going to take over. And I don't... know, I won't live in a world like that.
...no more journal hopping. And I'm seriously thinking of just getting off all MLs. Nobody will miss me anyway.
breathless / Breathe here
(2:30 p.m.) [link]
I know you probably won't see this or anything, but I'll write is anyway.
Kit: Got the package. I'm not at all familar with the story, but the artwork is nice (understatement). Also, that's a new flavor, isn't it? At least as far as what I've gotten (they took away the milk... ::smiffs::). Anyway, I like it. It's not milk, but it's good. So basically wanted to say thank you. Hopefully I can make it up when I go to Yaoicon. Cross you fingers I can get a ride and not have to buy a bus ticket.
That's all for now. ::goes to play a game and munch on Pocky::
breathless / Breathe here
(9:01 a.m.) [link]
I so did not want to wake up. I'm tired. I'm getting more and more tired of people and the masses and society that my body just hurts thinking about the times I'm going to have to deal with them.
I'm tired of people.
Pettiness is on the rise, as is intolerance. Stupidity too, for that matter. Being smart seems to be an easy brand for ridicule.
Only reason I don't go for communal living is there'd probably be no internet. Though one would ask me why I want it, if I'm so put out with people...
Just because I go online, doesn't mean I have to talk to anyone.
To burning words from masses stole
the right of individuality
and follow the herd, do as told
for thinking is a liability
Streaming consciousness again.
I think I'll add another Genism now...
breathless / Breathe here
Sunday, July 22, 2001
(6:52 p.m.) [link]
Amber: Whoa, didn't know you were here. /^^; Don't feel depressed. Let Kit get herself back together, that's all. Heck, I'm tempted to follow her example. The masses are getting worse. It's frightening seeing what's happened to people in the last ten years alone. (Mom says the Boomers have all sold out, too. She would know. Pisses her off). How's ye ol' life de amour? ^-^
Someone remind me to make facies and u/l them to my journal.
The day is gone, it's evening now... and I have know clue where the heck it went. I did nothing. I didn't plan it that way, surely, but that's what happened to it. I hate days like that.
Oh yeah... shower time. (I prefer evening showers to morning ones)
For some reason, that abandon house is still in my mind. I wonder why. It's almost like a waking dream. Is there some significance? Or is my mind just cracking again?
And goodbye to logic and its grace
For on evening wings the insanity comes
To take you away from this place
breathless / Breathe here
(3:02 p.m.) [link]
I saw a house while I was on the bus
It was an abandon, old, ghost of a thing
Nobody paid it much attention as the bus rambled on
But I swear for one moment,
A ghost looked out the door.
And of course, there would be ghost in such a forgotten piece of history.
It was an old house; no glass in the window
Only a shell, really
But after seeing that ghost, I began to wonder
What other secrets laid forgotten there.
What other bits of history that nobody else paid attention to?
What other... ghosts?
I don't know much about the ghost I say.
Young or Old, Female or Male
I don't know.
I wonder if it was smiling.. I think it was.
Do I have a right to go disturb the haunting peace
To find the ghost that smiled at me?
I don't know.
Streaming bit of consciousness. I did see an abandon house on Friday, and it felt like a presence looked at me through the door, but what the presence was, I don't know...
"Warning, harsh language ahead. Proceed with caution."
Now then, main reason for this entry... I am so sick and tired of hearing people rant about what they don't like/hate in fics. Damnit, nobody is holding a gods-be-damned 12-gauge to your sexual reproductive organs and demanding you READ! ShutupshutupshutupshutthehellUPALREADY!
Do these people who list in painstaking detail ever consider how there's some poor newbie reading and will now never post that first fic? This may be a fic I would have loved to read, but because the insentive asshole who wrote the rant in the first place didn't fuckin' think, I'll never get to read it.
And do I CARE what someone else doesn't like? I'm not forcing them to read [insert fic type here]. Read what you like, ignore what you don't, and get the hell to steppin.
Yes, I'm aware the profanity levels are quite high in this entry, but I am beyond pissed. People in general are getting dumber and growing less and less fuckin' tolerant.
Marlon Brando had the right idea. Now if I can make a few billion dollars and buy myself a private island, I'd leave the masses to stew in their own crap.
Yes, I'm well aware of the freedom of speech. And unfortunately, any idiot can, and will, say what they feel. I'm upset because nowadays nobody cares about their fellow brethren BEFORE THEY OPEN THEIR BIG FLAMIN' JAWS!
Now a statement as follows: I hate Seph from FF7 ("blasphemy!") doesn't faze me. Anyone who gets up in arms over someone else disliking a character perhaps is a bit too sensitive/obsessive. Sephiroth is a character... he doesn't care who likes him or not. He exists only through Square's good graces and our own imagination.
But saying: I hate when writers do [whatever] in fics. Now that really freakin' irks me. Especially when they make it sound like the writer is wrong for doing it. Hello? Since when is not conforming to a person's own [limited] opinions and likes wrong? Yes, I understand person doesn't like certain things in fics. Well bloody fuckin' hell, DON'T READ IT! Because soemthing person 'hates' might be something I like, and I damn well want to see it, thankyouveryfuckin'much.
::tries calming down, but act is futile::
I'm getting sick and tired of people in general. I will commit no attrocious acts against them, for I do not feel like going through the biased system of having my actions thereof found in error by my 'fellow' human beings. But I can honestly say my dislike of the masses is beyond description. Not individuals. I like certain individuals. But the populous...
...if the world were to be dstroyed tomorrow, I would not grieve. Not even for my own demise.
breathless / Breathe here
(10:52 a.m.) [link]
And thus, I've cut the last of the ties with Scribble.nu. ::sigh::
Jen: Yes, I read your journal. I read a few, actually. And thanks for the compliments. I'm glad you like the layout. You'rs is nice and neat, I might add. And the icons are working just fine. ^^
Now then, I'm not at srb (I'm an old goober and I didn't think I should interfere and things like that) but I have been reading what's been happening and... well... ::plops down two cents and takes a deep breath::
Problems always, and I mean always start when people forget how to accept/tolerate one another. Unfortunately, it's probably so deeply ingrained in human nature that even if we genetically mixed all the races up, there'd be new divisions (short versus tall people).
I spoke with Kit yesterday, and I can sympathize and quite readily empathize with her feelings. My brother as well, who wanted to deliver a message to Kit: "Pheh, I forgot what having fun is, but it doesn't matter to me."
Kit and David share a similar way of thinking... I'd like for them to try chatting to each other once in awhile... or perhaps email...
But that's a tangent. Getting back to the main point... What a person likes, what a person does for fun, what makes a person unique should not be judged (and if wishes were fishes, the seas would be empty).
Last time I checked, everyone liked Kit because of who she is. Yes, I know as well as anyone that Kit can be a bit... picky/obsessive/perfectionist. Most times I know this is who she is as a person and I accept this. On the rare occasions when it feels to me that perhaps some easing off is in order, I just talk to her. And you know something? Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. On the times it doesn't, then we silently/mutually agree to disagree and leave it at that. Why? Because we accept that aspect of the other person. Simple (whoa, what a concept).
If Kit wants to jump naked in a vat of lukewarm lemonade for kicks, who am I to say that's not how she should be having fun? If she can give me reason why it is fun, I might get my own vat and a rubber duckie and jump in too.
Nobody likes hearing that their personal choices are wrong. That's indirectly saying that being who they are is wrong as well. Show me a person who wants to hear their existance is wrong, and I'll show you an emotional masochist who's pleasure is self-fulfilling.
Isn't the whole point to this time in your lives learning what it means to be yourself?
::exhales, slaps two more cents down, and takes another deep breath::
I'm only going to say this once, and anyone I piss off can stick their lips on things unknown and suck really freakin' hard.
There were NO fuckin' spoilers to the movie.
What Kit gave was a short paleobiology lesson documenting the inaccurate portrayal of dinosaurs in the movie. And I'm glad someone can see where they messed up. I just know some idiot is going to rattle off 'facts' about dinosaurs to some poor, unsuspecting, unknowing shmuck who won't think to question where the idiot got their information from in the first place.
The gist of this entire screwed up scenario sounds that because Kit imparted some information, she got branded. So she can't have an opinion of her own; all people her age should just follow the stupid herd. This will, of course, reinforce the stereotype boomers have that all teenagers are probably dumb lumps who need to be told how to think/act/feel because they don't know.
...good job.
I'm going, now. Kit, take all the days you need to get yourself back together. You know what you need for yourself better than anyone.
I think I hear the Book of Genism calling...
breathless / Breathe here
Saturday, July 21, 2001
(1:29 p.m.) [link]
Scribble.nu is back up. Like I care. I've been burned twice in the last two days. I've learned my lesson. No thanks.
I will leave a last entry on it directing everyone to this one. Said, though. I kinda liked having each day in it's separate entry. Maybe I can fix that...
Yes, more tweaking. Wish me luck.
breathless / Breathe here
(9:47 a.m.) [link]
Oh for the love of...
Scribble.nu is down... again.
I'm staying here, now. I know my own server won't cut out on me (long as I pay the rental fees, anyway). I'll have to fix the templates and things when scribble comes back. And tell everyone who's linked to me to change...
...darn scribble.
breathless / Breathe here
