the modern prometheus.

blip!
i'm working on being happy for me.
:)

i really don't understand where my optimism went.
maybe dexter really is my gabriel and i accidently gave it to him.
WHOOPS.
[shrug]

i'll get it back!

fade to black.

berris flemmings.
he doesn't get to be 'berries' or 'very berry' anymore.
i have lost that person as a friend, and i'm not gonna try and hide it anymore.
our relationship is in such an extreme disarray of fuckitude that i can't even care.
i have too many personal issues to work out to be concerned with this, as egotistical as it sounds.
whether you accept it or not (all my money's on the latter), i don't think we (you) know how to have just a FRIENDSHIP with me. yeah, you say that you miss the being friends and not the 'few times we made out and occassional flirting' but beyond that, what do we REALLY have?
our closeness is the child of our "private" conversations (i use private loosely because you tell christian/someone everything) and a child of the flirting! if we had never EVER had any chance of being anything more than friends, would we still be close? the question is rhetorically hypothetical, but to me the answer is a big whopping no. it's evident. we aren't close now and haven't been for the last few months because of what exactly? could it be the absence of us being able to casually flirt with each other? IS THAT IT?!?? logic, m'dear.

talking to someone was supposed to be this giant helpful 'be all, end all' of my insanity.
unfortunately, it made things worse than they were before.
i'm even more reluctant to talk to anyone now.
my "therapist" said that i was annointed and that i had powers.
:
now, i'm not one who doesn't believe that we all have special gifts and believes that i have been blessed with a higher degree of sensory perception than others but ....
THE POINT IS: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FUCKING HELP ME.
I DON'T NEED YOU TEACHING ME HOW TO CONTROL MY "POWERS".
I NEEDED YOU TO FUCKING HELP ME STOP TRYING TO KILL MYSELF.
I NEEDED YOU TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY I'M SO ANGRY AND FRUSTRATED ALL THE TIME, OR WHY I'M PRONE TO CHRONIC PANIC ATTACKS, OR WHY I CONNECT WITH PEOPLE BEST WHEN I TOUCH THEM, OR WHY OH FUCKING WHY I SUFFER FROM HEADACHES WHEN I LET MY MIND WANDER. OR MAYBE, I NEEDED YOU TO TELL ME WHY I WANDER AROUND AIMLESSLY, AND WHY I HAVE TO RESTRAIN MYSELF FROM DOING SO.
i needed you to tell me that i was right, or wrong, or normal or abnormal.
i needed help and i got .... you.
i need so much more from my relationships, and i got you.

lately, i find myself talking to myself no matter what.
right now, i'm having a fucking conversation with myself.
that shouldn't be strange, but it is.
i haven't blogged in so long because i'm so angry, i end up slamming my hands against the keys and running off to go break things.

my dad is dead to my soul.
but my brain still wonders why i have to beg him to love me.
or why i never got that dad that took me out to do things i liked.
instead, i get the dad who hit me.
who drank until there was nothing left to drink.
who didn't like me, nor love me.
who would rather watch me suffer than watch me excel.
the one who waited in the rain to tell my boyfriend at the time to break up with me.
the one who nearly broke my fingers for hiding carrots in the couch.
i get the dad whose home i was left at, after my mom figured i didn't know who he was.
i get that guy.

wuddahfest 08.
i don't really have words for it.
[shrug]
i'll be good enough one day.

i need a kitten.

i read her blogs almost religiously.
and i'm glad it's on the table now.
i'm glad that he knows i read them.
i just wish he knew how much i liked her.
and how amazing i assume she is.
and how beautiful i found her.
or, how i wish that she knew me.
and how i wonder if she even cares who i am.
e-stalking is absolutely terrible and beautiful in that way.
but i like her.
and ever since i found her, i always have.
but i'm afraid if he knew, he'd remember all of these things.
he'd remember why he love(s/d) her.
and that'd be the end for me.
insert heartbeat.
insert flash.
insert conciliation.

most people have become tramps to me.
the ones i like i'm too dependent upon.
insert fading to black.

the universe is on my side.
but the world won't give me a chance.

young folks.

so, i'm a liar.
i accept this.
every time someone asks me if something is wrong and i say no, i'm lying.
i conceal so much from the world that i've forgotten that it's bad to do so.
concealing ... repression. it's all the same.
and i do it daily.
i smile because i prefer to make everyone else happy before myself.
fuck a fedora.
i'm too curious for my own good.
i always want to know.
that's what's lurking.
it's in my mind.
i call him/it neebles.
neebles wants what he can not have.
neebles ruins everything, just to know what it's worth.
i can't explain neebles. he just popped in.
i wish neebles would leave. i'm happy, or so i thought.
maybe he'll leave when i actually AM happy?

yarrrrrrrr.
repress repress represss

penny lane.

WHAT THE FUCK.
i'm in pain.
i am suffering.
yet i refuse to get help.
i am incompetent.
i feel like shit.
i can't think straight.
i can't tell the difference between reality and a dream.
never really could.
you aren't listening.
people have it worse.
that doesn't change the fact that i'm still in pain.
my mom doesn't care.
my counselor thinks i'm too stupid.
i will probably not amount to anything ...
because i lack ambition.
frustrated.
i walked home today, cleared my mind.
made me think ...
what if this is it?
what if these are the signs that i'm finally about to die?
i've been sick before.
everytime, it's serious.
has death finally gotten it's grip on me?
mhm. me thinks.
i'm not giving up
but i won't fight the inevitable.
fatalism?

don't call it a comeback.

i am the walrus.

guess what?
my life's over.
yep.









beautiful lips.







beautiful, expressive eyes.

i'm done.

choux pastry heart.

i need to blog.
but i can't right now.

so, i leave you with a poem.
it's from 'the perks of being a wallflower'.
the main character charlie loved the poem, although he did not know the author, or when it was written or anything about it.

once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines, he wrote a poem
and he called it 'chops' because that was the name of his dog
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an 'a' and a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts.

that was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo
and he let them sing on the bus
and his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a valentine signed with a row of x's
-and he had to ask his father what the x's meant
and his father always tucked him in bed at night
and was always there to do it

once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem
and he called it 'autumn' because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an 'a' and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new paint
and the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
that was the year his sister got glasses with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
and the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in bed at night
and his father got mad when he cried for him to do it.

once upon a paper torn from his notebook, he wrote a poem
and he called it 'innocence: a question" because that was the question about his girl
and that's what it was all about
and his professor gave him an 'a' and a steady strange look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her
that was the year Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end of the apostle's creed went
and he caught his sister making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed, or even talked
and the girl around the corner wore too much makeup
that made him cough when he kissed her
- but he kissed her anyway
-- because that was the thing to do
and at three a.m. he tucked himself soundly into bed, his father snoring soundly.

that's why on the back of a brown paper bag, he tried another poem
and he called it 'absolutely nothing'
because that's what it was really all about
and he gave himself an 'a'
and a slash on each damned wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
- because this time, he didn't think he could reach the kitchen.