home | profile | guestbook


--

recent entries | past entries


kud

:: 2015 3 April :: 12.20am

I'm a magical unicorn. I can figure things out.

- don't talk
- write down everything
- munch alone, stay alive
- fake a smile, always
- if all else fails, wave goodbye, smiling, as always.

--


kurzhaar

:: 2009 28 July :: 8.26pm

I know I said I'd never update here again. Yeah. Well, I wanted to write up a Q&A to perhaps explain some of my choices last year.

Read more..

I don't know if this'll answer all the questions anyone might have. I don't care if you think these answers are lame. They're mine and they're legit, albeit a year late. I'm sorry if I left anyone in the dust. If anyone cares about this pathetic life of mine still: I'm engaged to Troy (yes, that horrid person) and we're planning on getting married next year.

I love and miss you all.

2 nones | --


41102

:: 2007 4 February :: 12.59am

god, i miss that girl.

4 nones | --


41102

:: 2006 12 April :: 9.31pm

silence prevails

--


41102

:: 2006 4 April :: 12.07pm

did i ever tell you all the times i traced that dreampromise on my arm? elsewhere, sweetpain i cursed, but revelled in that it was a tangible promise for you; at time si hurt not for release, but foryou

i would never have the courage to show you, but i made those promises to you and to me, nonetheless


andtheseppuku? that too, countlesstimes.




i don't want the hurt anymore; that is, I do, desperately, and i long for it and wish ian would let me hurt myself the way alex lets you

but i can', because i promised and i want to spare ian that





i want to be the one to hold the knife for you, too


i want to save you, make you see, fucking seeme, see you in my my head my heart my skin my promises

save you show you so that you won't anymore




ambitiousselfishbutahope, nonetheless

--


41102

:: 2006 4 April :: 12.01pm

her hopes her tears are not enough to save her from the tortue and the deadend hallway and the hooks of Jacal

thrown down a long stairwell, landing crumpled and broken and bleeding, bits of glass and nails in her face her arms her throat her hands her broken crucifixion

she fights back, better than the other, better than the 41102,

fights and runs and cries uselessly, trying to find you

she tries all the keys


and feels the hooks and the rattle of chains

the reminders of the jackal, the lackey

the click of a gun the glock the click of a knife the culling blade

a perfect sacrifice for a perfect girl





and she stops deadstill midrun down that long, endless hallway of passages and offshots and grill-patterned lights from above in the dustmotes emanating downward



and she stops


andsheturns





and she walks back

meets the hooks the chains; flesh rent and torn, bones bruised and broken, chains 'round her hands her ribs, crushing breath, 'round throat crushing thought

stares down the shortbarrel, the shortrelease, smilesandraves and screams and laughs and thanks themartjrhersaviourthehelioqueen, Erin Moriam, as the 125213e reminds her of her love and her promises and the twinmark, branded in mouth, heart, throat, stomach

seppuku followingpromises rebranded

arms traced again with those marks, those promises from a dream yet real

and she thanks them, thanks them both






she diesshesuffers for you


shewould(is)layingherdown





foryou

--


41102

:: 2006 4 April :: 12.00pm

standing right whereyouare, you'll be half of whatyouwere
Mostly, as she lies in the furnace room by a wall of drifting cinders, or out on the roof under a blanket of stars, Jobhi thinks about all those times she spent with her (you:a312000), all the days, nights, and inbetweens where converstion hung heavy between the two, and fond memories, bitter despair drifted comfortablypainfully in the unbroken air. The joy of mere company, the reassurance of presence. The comforting hope of mere thought of her

and

the bitter taste of iron and the brun of sawed steel, fresh from the teeth. Polaroids and trinkets of memory smouldering sullenly on a dying fire in the boiler room, down far below with the hum of fans and the light of stars and fire, where she, she, the myrmidon, the broken one, b20114, sat before the fire with a cigarrette in her mouth and a gun to her head.

e312521, the anti-equillibrium, Erin, tinged in black and white, ash and metal, guntohead, knifetothroat

two caught in a pushandpull

Jobhi sighs, exhaling the smells of autumn, cold air on the move, a slight pang of chilled oxygen.

She wears the key, still, 'round her neck, in hopes of finding a passage, a door, a sign, God, anything down in those labrythine depths, those terrible, hauntng mazes consturcted before Jacal, but ruled by him nonetheless, damned lackey, 01:40261, Erin's.

She's lain on the other side of this door and that, proverbial and real, listening to you as you drifted far, far beyond her reach; pained by this, and pained by her inabilty to grasp the knob, turn the key, and pull, so simple a chain of actions that would lead to you--yetshewasunable.

She despairs that it was he who forced his way to you, that she, always the timid one, always the first to cry, was unable to reach you.

She remembers the sound of a knife scraping, wishing desperately she had no promised him no harm would come to her by her own blade and hand again

she remembers the sound and remembers how much it hurt, how she felt the pain, and wished she had the physical marks, the blood, to show for it; the scars on her arms and the scars on her heart, she wished so deeply she could bear them outwardly for you to see

to see

to see that she is very much a part ofyou, and you ofshe, to see that she wants to share all your hopes, your joys, your suffering, your pain; she wants to drift there alongside you, she wants to hurt as you hurt, the empathise

completely
and

utterly

her heartstops, skips a beat, fastforwardpause, when she hears these things;

the drinking the forcedencouragedwhat? drinking, she wants to slam those bottles into her own head, over DL's head, have those very same constructed shards of glass shattered into her body glassandalcohol stinging she wants to

send splinters of coloured glass into her hands, her hands to useless to reach out and save you

hands that are inneffectual

hands that have failed her time
andtime

after time

and again




she wants to reel withyou, drunkandsick, lying in a corner surrounded by unfamiliar, hostile faces; not a phone call away, but there besideyouwithyou, holding you in her

and thoughts of holding you close cascade down...

head in your lap a painful night long ago in a basement far away, hearing of like violation, sharing in the sorrowcomfort of -you'vebeentheretoo-

she wants to smashandtear and destroy the lyingbastard faces of those who inflicted such injury upon you

--timid touches, wanting so badly to just pull you close, but afraid, somehow

so she lay, she lay that night of cross country emergency calls and gutwrenchinghurt, she lay with you, backtoback, so safe, so reassured; she sat awake and alone, watching you sleep, reassured, at least, that she could watch over you in your sleep, guard you from the unseen but nonetheless known and heard

arm in arm walking under stars under clouds through ruins and factories

lying beside you, sitting by the wall near yuour bed as you lay in pain and sickness; wishing she could share it with you, but at the least, there for you, although you knew it not in your sleep

lying with you in bed, waking in the night to find you there, beside her; waking later with her arms around you, caressingholdingkeeping you safe.. unsure if she should pullback, return to herself, keep her undeserving arms from wrappng around you to keep you safe.. yet unable to leave; then guilt, adn worry of upsetting you

lying coutnless times afterward together, watching over you as you slept, or waking with you beside her, reciprocated

small bites and kisses on her neck, which she smiles to remember even now





a sigh, then; Jobhi

the guiltanddoubt,t he wanting to do the right thing

the wanting to be the better of the two for you; the want to be your constellation, not he yours

wanting so many selfish things for good reasons, pure reasons

wanting to pullyouaway, bringyouhome


Wanting to make you see


but timid, crying, as she is, she fears still

doing the wrong, mistaken, fuckingup again, pulling you away from one who will change for the better after all (although she does not believe he will; rotrotrot and damned decay, the two of you--she wants to save you from that)


when you poisoned your lungs with tar smoke nicotene, she wanted to flood her breath with the same, wanted to chokecough reek the same as you wanted to share that

and the same when you drank yourself dizzy; desptie her disgust of the alcohol, the foxes and the laurels, she wanted to share in that, just so that she could be there with you

--


41102

:: 2006 3 April :: 7.53pm

storms, bring the rain. the wind. the shouts. the tears. the hopesthejoy. bringthemall.

--


41102

:: 2006 31 March :: 7.15am

kept playing the refresh, check, refresh, check, scroll, check for word of you this morning. i found none. mrr. pleasesendwordssoon?

--


41102

:: 2006 30 March :: 6.28pm

Jobhi misses. She knows and she loves regardless. She holds you as you sleep, arms cradled around your stomach, revelling the touch of hands upon your skin; direct contact, somehow feels so safe to an even further degree than

backtoback

She walks down the streets alone and she doesn't care what they sayseedo, because she's walking for you.

Walking for, you in her head and heart. Walkin' toward you, ever toward you, she'll catch up some day, see and then you and she will walk together.


She wants to hold you again, caress your soft jawline in her hands, cup your face gently and pull it towards hers. Kiss you softly above your eyes, reassure fealty and love. She wants to hold you again, under the blankets, and watch over you as you sleep.



She wants to bring you home.

--


41102

:: 2006 30 March :: 6.27pm

do you come here, anymore?

--


41102

:: 2006 7 January :: 10.30pm

i miss you. i miss you like fucking hell. she says to me. she lies to me.

so we lielielie our way into anger and bend over backwards necks and spines snapping to preserve--what?




while the one i miss, the one i deeplytrulycannotforgetcannotgetover miss --jenna. i want to lay me down for you, put me down for you, killmesaveyou. i want to take bilquis and pushher, holdher down. want to blow her brains out, and tear off the belted blindfold. i want to take colde, and just hold him. take ruthe, and hold back the tears for her, not needed tears, want to convince her, trulydeeply, things are okay. i want to see you through.. what. everything. anything, that life throws at you, trips you up with. i don't want to trip you up.

i don't want that. i don't want to be the indirect cause of blood and sickness. i want, if i can't be there beside you, yourtwin, to at least be a fondmemory, something to draw strength from simply from remembrance, a lesson, a promise, a hope.

but i am nothing and none of that. i am a failed attempt at haning on, at supportingservingfollowingleadingloving you.

i'm sorry.

i'm here.

--


41102

:: 2005 30 November :: 7.59am

spent over half an hour in stopped-dead traffic this morning, to finally pull up to the intersection and see a flipped car, smashed so that it was half its height, glass and metal bits everywhere. people didn't care. just swerved into the turn lane, and passed everyone else who'd been waiting nearly an hour, left that behind. didn't bother them. bothers me. maybe it shouldn't, i don't know.

past the crash was the buck ian and i saw yesterday, dead on the sidewalk, half pushed up onto a bank of dirt and grass. yesterday, i said to ian, someone's going to saw off its antlers, and show off their prize, what they caught the other day. today, its head was bare and bloody, i could see beyond the fur to the skull that had been chipped and hacked.

makes me sick.

--


41102

:: 2005 2 November :: 9.27am

this has become a place ridden with guilt and perceived failures. i'm trying to be frank, forthright--i keep writing, then deleting, or hiding. i can't say it, because i'm too ashamed, far, far too ashamed. i've failed. i want to do better. i want to be yours again. but i seem to keep slipping, to keep falling short of grasping... something? i can't quite make it to you. i want to be there for you, to be at your side. i'm trying, but i'm being pulled down, and it seems you're looking away and you can't see me for my lowliness and i can't see for the dirt in my eyes filling hands stopping my words in my mouth i can't hear...

she takes a deep breath, and exhales forcibly, sadly, despairingly. she's stronger now, but she remembers the days on the white tile lobby floor and the gouges and the pouring and the slow sick wonderful sliding of blood down faces [she misses those] and the stretched reminders that promise the world something they aren't even aware of and she hates them, hates them so much because THEY WEREN'T THERE they DON'T KNOW she died for him and she died for her and she got him back and he's safe now but where is she? this girl can't reach to her, despite how far she throws out her arms, despite how tightly she grips onter her wrists, myrmidon branding myrmidon

she remembers the taste of those october days of sitting on unfamiliar brick steps and wandering unfamiliar squares by starlight, of roaming the roads at night --by her side

of being something to that other girl, of wanting to be that something again. this girl is so selfish, but she wants that back. not the hurt of those days, but the comraderie, the trust, the friendship. she wants the glowbonds the cutpromises the walks and the talk and the driftng conversations, slinking backstage with a knife used for scraping and for cutting, she misses that, all of that. again, not the dirt and the pain and all the sorrow in the girls' eyes, but what they shared, the hope the promises they made.

she wants to uphold her end, and she's trying.. but something's failing. she wants her FiVE back, she wants the one who once told her she loved her, that she'd take the throat of any who said she wasn't worthwhile, even the voices of her own twisted head.

can she have her again? is it too late for her? will the other accept her again, accept all her shortcomings along with the love that's always been there? she's waiting, even though death takes her away again, three thousand miles away ten thousand miles higher, where the mountains brush the oceans, she's STILL HERE.

--


41102

:: 2005 2 November :: 9.07am

westward lending for a train hidden in spotlights


i'm sorry.

--


41102

:: 2005 27 October :: 8.12pm

TWO MORE DAYS BEFORE THE TRAIN

--


41102

:: 2005 9 October :: 7.47pm

shackled to the tide



i want out, away from this place. spoken, thought, shouted countless times before.

1 none | --


41102

:: 2005 2 October :: 12.34am

she tells me she's gone.

but, fuck her, and fuck me.

i'm still here. i'll always be

for her.

my pathetic arms and hands clawing at the wall and trying desperately to climb and to follow thanking the metal barbs shearing through flesh, mine, following and shadowing

myrmidony

and remembering

last fall

last winter

and so many times that went before

all the feelings the cuts the sacrifices the shared hurts and pains the cold the walls and lookingup singingdown the forty ounces i walked to get to her to follow her because i loved her because i




am still here.



you say you're gone. but you're not. you're here in my head and my heart, your beauty etched in my skin. you'll never leave, you can't. not really. and i can't, either.


so here i am, still here, always here, waiting.

--


41102

:: 2005 26 September :: 9.39am

but for a bloody knife, lying on the sink's edge, lying in blood



words can look strange and unfamiliar, terribly awkard when you stare at, consider them for too long.

addiction

--


41102

:: 2005 18 September :: 9.57am

and call myself jezebel, wanting to leave
entering and begging and taking in a grey room, with thousands of words

--

Woohu.com | Random Journal