| why the hell not |
[01 Jul 2005|12:05am] |
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so, I'm being stalked by red mini coopers, and I can't stop wasting time. I've turned it into an art form. I still seem to get a fair bit done, so it's all good. Every so often my brain will make a little scanning noise and then a blip and I'll remember a text I should have sent or a call I should have made or some kind of small animal I should have rescued, and then I realise I've been vacuuming the same peice of carpet for TEN MINUTES. well. exaggeration maybe. a while. at least everything ends up very clean.
Last night I got to experience the joys of my friend Sams boy Nicks house. This is worth noting because he is one of the rare and priviliged few who own both a jukebox AND a pool table. The "I have a jukebox and Pool table" club. I plan to join it one day, God willing.
slam dunk da funk. \p/
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| Scratching glass. |
[05 Jun 2005|08:18pm] |
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I don't believe in catharsis. I think that in our culture, we celebrate it far too much. There seems to be this idea that the wider the scale on which we express our emotions, the more meaning they have. That somehow, by making as big a fucking mess as we possibly can, it will make everything all better. Or more bareable. I don't believe that at all. I think that it does more damage than help. Do you really want the shittiest, weakest, most bruised parts of your emotions on display for anyone who cares to look? Do you really want to wear your heart on your sleeve, to open the doors of your life for anyone to walk through? So I don't wear my emotions close to the surface any more. This is the first time in a very very long time that I have even put something so personal into words, let alone displayed it somewhere that anyone can see. But this time, I want to. I am sick and tired of letting the world see whatever part of me it chooses to, making judgements based on nothing. So this is me telling an ugly truth. An ugly truth that needs to be told. One that has been too long in coming.
My life has been short so far but I have made a lot of mistakes. I am not afraid to admit that. I think that refusing to face up to the error of your ways, blindly denying that you have ever done wrong, can be far more damaging than doing wrong in the first place. I have also been wronged. Like everyone has. Part of being alive is being wronged. Part of surviving is accepting that sometimes, bad things are going to happen to you and there's nothing you can do about it. About 2 years ago I promised myself that I would never lie prostrate at anyones feet ever again. I promised myself that no one would ever manipulate me or exploit me, no one would ever be able to control me or have power over me so long as a bone in my body could resist. I broke that promise. More than that, I chose to. There are paths that I chose to walk down that I should never have. Mistakes make a very long time ago that are still cropping up to fuck up my life. I do not want this. It took a lot for me to get to this point in my life. A lot of work and a lot of strength and a lot of fighting and a lot of shit. But I did it. I got out. I survived and I blossomed and I escaped. I fucking did it. And I will not be dragged back down.
2 years. 2 years is a long long time, when you haven't lived that many years anyway. 2 years that have changed the shape of who I am, for the rest of my life. 2 years that I do not want hanging over me like a curse. How can you escape your past when it rears its head every time you see it, when it's still fucking up your life even though you don't want it there, when it still gets drunk at parties and shouts and makes you cry so hard you can feel your whole body ache from it. How can someone you haven't loved for a very long time make you hurt so much? They say no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. This is probably true, but it does not mean that they can't fuck up your life an incredibly large amount. They can still make your stomach feel like a tight little knot every time you see them, a knot of fear and resentment that didn't used to be there. I got away from you. I got away from that whole sorry mess. I got away from the person I used to be, the person so scared and blind and desperate that the sunny spots in our hell felt like paradise. I stopped caring about you. I haven't cried over you in so long. You aren't what keeps me awake at night any more, and you haven't been in forever. But the things you do still make me cry sometimes. The things you do just to hurt me. The way you keep trying to drag me down into your hell.
I probably deserved this. I am just reaping the results of my own bad judgement. The fact is, sometimes it feels like you are my punishment. Like you were sent by fate to force my attrition. But I carried the burden of us for so long, and I will not carry the burden of you any further. It's over now. It's over and I'm glad it's over and it needs to be left buried where it belongs. You say I forget all the good you did for me - the way you rescued me. And, yes, sometimes I was happy. You kept me well in the cage we created. For a while my mind was so warped that I couldn't even see the world that you didn't show to me. I have never been a weak woman. I have strength and conviction and I stand by my beliefs. But with you I didn't. With you I became weak, I believed myself to be worthless. I am not going to blame that on you. That would be a lie, that would be refusing to accept the responsibility of my own actions. Whatever you did to me, I let you. But I can't believe I felt grateful to you, that I put up with so much shit and felt grateful for it. You made me feel like I wasn't even good enough for you, that I was lucky to have the little attention and affection you gave to me. I thought I was lucky. I thought I was fucking LUCKY. You did things to me that were beyond the fucking pale. I let you because it seemed worth it. The good seemed to outweigh the bad. I put up with the agony of what you did to me for a smile and a kiss. The thought of it now turns my fucking stomach.
I always thought that when we ended, it would be me who was cut up inside. That I would be the one left broken. But the past few months have shown me just how wrong I was. I am not the weak one. I have packed up my emotional baggage and moved on with my life, and you are the one left crying, the one who can't let go. And I have given you chances, and I have given you time, but still you try to drag me down with you. I want you to accept the fact that we are over and that I am living my life the way I want to now, and you don't have any right to mess with it any more. You say you have but still you keep fucking torturing me every chance you get. I didn't used to hate you. I pitied you, sometimes you made me so angry I couldn't see, but I didn't hate you. I don't think I do now. But I know that I can't justify allowing you to be in my life any more.
Perhaps this does just present a bad picture of the way we were. Well, a bad picture, but a fucking accurate one too. But you're right. You did help me through some bad times, and some good ones as well. For that I thank you. And I do not bear you any ill will. Because of that, I am going to give you this opportunity. To leave and never darken the doorway of my life again. I am not going to try to fuck up your life. I do not want to. I do not want anything except for you to stop trying to destroy me and leave me alone.
This is the end of that chapter of my life. I can't believe it has dragged on so fucking long, so far after it should have stopped. Now please, go and start a new chapter of your own life. One in which I do not feature. Let me fucking go. I do not want my life to turn into someone elses fucking train wreck.
I will not be a casualty of your war.
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[14 Feb 2005|02:41am] |
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I didn't think I would find you here, in all this decay.
I lost you once, when I went wandering away from the road. In dark city, where faces change and terror clings to your mind like a parasite. I needed it all; the burning colours on the tip of my tongue, as I writhed and danced and burnt in the sun, desperate for a saviour.
Popping pills full of sunshine and kissing the stars, we keep on and on searching for some experience, some knowledge. We are so blasé in our own experimentation, pushing boundaries because we have nothing better to do. Tearing at hearts like bruised fruit, I am so sick and tired of this apathy that has infected my world. When did it become this way? When did we all become so tragically hip and desolate? I have tasted strange new worlds, vacationing from reality and drinking in new atmospheres. I never ever want to lose my lust again - please God, don't let me become jaded.
In my silent hill, there's the shadow of a rape victim in the corner of every bathroom. Succubi dance with foetus's swimming around their body as they move. Every mistake you have ever made will haunt you for the rest of your life, if you let it. Do not let it. Is it really worth it, sacrificing your whole future for the past?
As night segues into day, I like to imagine that I can go dancing through dreams. A thousand different worlds and I am tied to none of them, grazing the edges of reality. I wish sometimes that I could open up my mind; turn a key and open a window and watch an ocean of colour and form and sound spill out all across this world and paint everything with my magic.
As I sit and press my mouth to yours, I feel so lucky to have form, to be tangible. Breaking away from reality has made me appreciate how delicate it is. I love my ears to hear, my eyes to see, my hands to touch. I love the feeling of bodies pressed next to my own, or perhaps I just love the fact that I have the capability to feel. Tangled in you, I know at last that I am free from myself.
I will not watch myself and everything I love fade away like an old photograph, until it's all just a bad memory tucked away in an old book for the future to find and discard. I love my life and I love my dreams, and there is fire inside my veins that I will never lose again.
I lost you once, when I went wandering away from the road. I was scared and I was alone, and though I saw the world in a jar I felt nothing. Life can be hard sometimes; sometimes you will find you don't like the war you are fighting or the person you have become. But always there will be something to sweep you away and carry you far above the clouds, where the sun is so bright it will melt your eyes and your heart. I will carry forever on the tip of my tongue, as I fall through oblivion and realise that you were never really far away at all.
I fucking love life, and nobody will ever, ever, take that away from me.
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[10 Dec 2004|02:47pm] |
The couple sitting on the seat in front of you on the bus won't stop kissing. A boy and a girl, maybe 17 or 18 years old. She's a lot bigger than him; he's skinny and has a thin attempt at a beard, she is taller than him and looks as though she weighs a lot more. Despite this she is seated nearly on top of him, her hands grasping hungrily at his shoulders, his back, her pink flesh gleaming. You can hear their lips smack wetly together. Their private, intimate love displayed for a whole bus to see.
You look out of the window - god, anywhere but at the tongues and saliva before you - and watch the grey buildings go by. Grey sky, grey road, grey people - a sea of grey drowning you. "We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are." Maybe it's drowning you from within.
A hundred times this same bus ride and you're still in the same place. Just backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards every single day. Still. A job's a job, isn't it. There are far worse ruts to be stuck in.
The conquistadors before you lay down their arms and stop to breathe. The girl is smiling round the bus; an idiotic smile of self satisfaction, dumb pride. Right at that moment you want nothing more than to hit her, wipe that smile off her face - why? You aren't jealous, you aren't a bitter cynic - perhaps it's the easy confidence of the young and in love that is bothering you so much. Perhaps it's the way that they can display their love so casually, as if it were nothing more than chaff in the wind. Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just the fact that you can't stand to see their tongues, dripping with saliva and off to do battle again.
You remember the first flushes of being in love. The tickle through your blood, the hot, heady feeling when you brush up next to someone. The way you get shy around them and are too scared to speak, let alone kiss them.. apparently the couple in front have never had this problem.
Now he's groping her, the two of them clasped together in furious bondage, all but fucking on the seat. She is the more dominant of the two, sucking and pulling him to her, eating him alive.
You remember the last time you had sex. Cold. Passionless. Your girlfriend left soon after. It wasn't that it was bad sex as such, but there was no need, no real desire. Just a pattern needing to be continued, a habit to fix. She picked up her underwear off the bedroom floor and kissed you on the cheek before she let herself out.
You're wishing that you'd picked another seat - any other seat, even next to that old man who keeps mumbling to himself or the Stepford wife over in the corner - as the noises before you intensify, the two almost ripping each other apart. The girl leans back and her face splits into four and opens like a flower, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth and a mouth dripping with ooze, surrounded by tentacles. She uses one of these to pull the boy into her mouth and crunches him up, the sound of his bones breaking cracking obscenely throughout the bus.
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[04 Nov 2004|08:34pm] |
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I'm not going to be around much any more, due to moving out and away from internet access. I will still be able to check emails pretty regularly, so please email me, I'd really like to hear from you all :) Even if you have nothing to say, I love getting emails.
killkillkawaii@gmail.com
I will try to update this thing, to be honest I haven't been updating much anyay so maybe this will motivate me to update more, when I get the chance to.
Thankyou for being my LJ friends and giving me many hours of entertainment and allowing me to look through this small window into your lives. It's been fun, kids.
once again,
killkillkawaii@gmail.com
Thanks for the ride.
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[19 Oct 2004|04:00pm] |
This has got to be the most SICKENING display of too much wealth ever. I mean, for fucks sake! The spokesmodel is Shania Twain, I think that says it all. Sorry to stereotype but it's true. She's the epitome of souless, pointless over indulgence. It's an example of extremely good marketing that they have been able to convince people that they actually want a hi tech air freshener. Oh sorry, it's a "lifestyle improvement."
It just strikes me as so fucking RIDICULOUS that this product even exists.
The flash intro opens up with the words, "It's like nothing you've ever experienced before. Play scents like you play music." I haven't experienced sex with an amphibian before, it doesn't make it something that I particularly WANT or NEED to experience. To me this product is just the height of completely unnecessary products for products sake. It plays some faux spiritual bullshit music in the background, like this crappy air freshener is going to help you reach some kind of spiritual nirvana. IT'S A FUCKING AIR FRESHENER! HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE MAD??
"How much does it cost?
Although we do not set retail prices, the suggested retail value for the starter kit, which includes the disc player and 'exploring a mountain trail' disc, is $34.99. Other individual discs have a suggested retail value of $5.99."
It outrages me that there are people out there who are WILLING to spend 35 dollars on an air freshener. It's just so... ridiculous. I can't even explain why this has garnered such a reaction from me, alls I know is that I now want to hunt down the inventor of this atrocity and make them pay.
Delightful scents they have available include:
[+]wondering barefoot on the shore (includes walking barefoot in the sand and wading along the shore as well as 3 other fragrances)
[+]strolling through the garden (picking peachy freesias, strolling by lilacs and making a bouquet respectively along with 2 other generic fantasy scents I can't be bothered noting)
[+]exploring a mountain trail (exploring the mountains and gazing at tall firs are two that jumped out at me)
Honestly... I don't get it. I don't get why people are willing to pay for this fake synthesised version of there fantasies made by some chemist in a lab who probably hasn't SEEN a fucking mountain in years, yet alone explored them. It's not just the fact that companies are now claiming to bottle an experience and sell it as a commodity, it's the fact that we as a collective species are rejecting reality in exchange for some fake idealised sanitised synthetic version. Is it that fucking difficult to "stroll through the garden" that you have to rely on some plastic chemical recreation?
We're rejecting our reality in exchange for some hyperidealised fantasy world created by people in white coats. How long until you can buy the perfect lover online? The perfect child? How long until you can engineer everything about yourself, become some perfect dream being without fault or reality? It annoys me so much that people are spending millions every year trying to create some utopia around themselves with products and furniture and bullshit like this, to try and live up to some perfect image they have in their head which is about as far removed from real life as possible. People are already so detached from reality that they believe anything their government and media tell them.
I guess what really gets to me is that people are spending money to try and acheive nirvana, and it's stupid and it's pointless and it's so so.. bourgeois, it's so FRUITLESS, it's so pointless and self indulgent for it's own sake.. it's just pathetic.
What a pointless piece of shit.
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[23 Aug 2004|02:49am] |
Back, albeit briefly.
Can you say confusion? Coz I sure can.
2 is a good number. It's less than 3. [you] or 4. or 5. or any other number besides one.
I'm going to go finish my sangria now.
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[31 Jul 2004|04:11pm] |
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mood |
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cheerful |
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I have gone away. Those who need to, know where to find me.
He is perfect for me
To practice surgery
One look coagulates
Its time to operate
Just keep it going
Just keep it going
Just keep it going
Hes not dead, hes gonna live
Hes not dead, hes gonna live
I see his eyes rolling back in his head
Isn't it funny how much things can change in just one day? It can be such a small amount, or it can be a lifetime.
If you just stop fighting, just give in, have you lost the war or have you won?
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[22 Jul 2004|11:37pm] |
I haven't made a picture post in a long time.
So, here is some crappy lo res webcam pictures of me being a zombie (although you can't really tell, which is a shame because the makeup was actually well good)
and a bonus treat: a picture drawn by ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) evilpete of me feeling up his HOTT girlfriend.
( Zombie Pip + HOT ILLUSTRATED LOVIN )
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[14 Jul 2004|07:43am] |
Morning. Thoughts swimming around in my head like fish. Not the mekano kind. "My sister just tried to plant 6 plants in the living room carpet then went upstairs and called an ambulace." What the hell am I meant to say to that? How big can clownfish grow to? Can they swim through air? How many people can you fit down the side of one bed?
The happy times are the ones that stay with us. I like them. I want to keep them in a box and bring them out on weekends and holidays. Because after all, I'm scared I will ruin them.
Spectator, everything that once meant something to you, a parody of virtues, a childhood full of morals flittering away like little fishes.
I'm waiting to be rescued.
I hate this house and everything it stands for.
I am Damage Limitation.
I don't do my job so good.
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[10 Jul 2004|06:17pm] |
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PLEASE SEND ME BLU TACK.
Comment leaving your email address and I'll send you my address.
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[09 Jul 2004|06:41pm] |
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mood |
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amused |
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My New CV, as written by Jon of local emo-core (?) general shouty screamy band savedbyzero:
"Give her a job, she's awesome."
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[08 Jul 2004|03:18pm] |
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mood |
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I'm giving up smoking. Except for very occasionally.
edit: it's about half 6 and I thought fuck it and just smoked a cigarette. That's like.. 1 hour and ten minutes.. I kind of suck at willpower.
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[05 Jul 2004|09:52pm] |
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Almost the best thing in the world...
Getting stoned and reading Harry Potter.
Second only to:
Fucking, Friends, Love, Nurses, Zombies, pant wearing 'Nam veterans, the trapezium, hot anime girls, Gezs knife and my new shoes.
Nnmmmmmmmmmyyyeaaaah. ^__^
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[04 Jul 2004|10:18pm] |
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BIRTHDAY TIME \o\ /o/ [ Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<o </p>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.] <p align="center">BIRTHDAY TIME \o\ /o/ <o/ </p> I've had a well fun weekend :) Much love to Sam, Kirst, Aid, Cayne and Mike for making last night a whole bunch of fun :) And today as well. <P align="center">THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU__<3</P> <p align="center"> \o\ /o/ <o/ \m/ xHXCx IT'S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY xHXCx \m/ \o\ /o/ <o/ </p> |
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[03 Jul 2004|02:00am] |
Most awkward moment EVER.
So, I'm hanging out at my friend Matts house with some people. It's his birthday, so we're just sitting around, chilling, having a few drinks, when at about 12 ish, 2 of his friends turn up, reasonably pissed.
So, Matt and his friends being.. Matt and his friends, the conversation inevitably turns to how all potheads should be shot and killed.
"You could just stab them and they'd be like, whatever dude, I'm so wasted."
At this point I feel it is necessary to stand up for my ilk, so I say -
"Well to be fair, most potheads would just get up and stab you back."
At this point, Matts friend says
"My Dad was stabbed by a pothead."
There is an extremely awkward silence, punctuated by me saying.. "Oh, err.. sorry."
What are the odds of that happening :|
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[01 Jul 2004|11:56pm] |
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It won't ever be me, will it.
Also, I'm addicted to Dr Pepper.
And finally, it is my birthday in.. 3 days 2 days in 4 minutes time.
Fucking yeah. \m/
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| Dead men don't wear plaid. |
[27 Jun 2004|07:53pm] |
Trapezium = absolut MOW.
Squishy happy nice love ^__^
Steve Martin is a bit ace really.
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[25 Jun 2004|10:29pm] |
Have you ever noticed that, in films, whenever anyone says
"I don't know what you're talking about.."
They invariably do know exactly what is being talked about.
Does anyone else stop books half way through, when the romance has just started? I'm reading Michel Houellebecq (cannot be arsed finding the correct spelling of that) books at the moment. Intentionally or otherwise, I have never ever read an author before who was able to capture so exactly the exquisiteness of love and loss. Platform was the first book I've read in a very long time which.. not only made me cry, but really made me feel loss.
I am getting the flux capacitor (geek points if you know what that is) tattooed on me soon. FUCKING AWESOME. Those films were the best.
Edit: I forgot to add, a crazy man gave me five quid on the street today. I couldn't understand what he was saying, then he waved a five pound note at me. I said "That's okay, you keep it for yourself" and he started getting angry and saying "aershegya fookin stupid or somarthin" so I took it and said thanks and left sharply.
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| Mean Girls |
[20 Jun 2004|04:57pm] |
I just saw this film with my younger cousin Adam and my little brother Tim (both male, surprisingly enough), and they were surprised when I told them that actually, girls really ARE that mean to one another (and often, a hella lot worse.)
Basic premise of the film: New girl joins school, makes friends with hot dykey chick and gay boy, then accidentally falls into clique of hot popular girls. Wackiness ensues, along with a whole lot of bitchiness from pretty much everyone in the film, and then a happy ending, involving an inspiring speech at a prom type affair. Pretty standard Teen comedy/inspiring tale of why can't we all just get along.
I was going to write a big thing about this film, but fuck it, most people have probably already seen it anyway. But the goth chick was hott.
I am stuck in a rut. I can't seem to escape my own sense of self importance and neediness. It's extremely frustrating. Also, this journal has become nothing more or less than my own vanity and shortcomings dissected and splayed out for an audience mostly comprised of people I don't know. Livejournal is fun like that. I guess it's for the narcissist in us all.
This journal started out like that. Then I got to a point where, I didn't want to pour my life out into something that anyone with a modem or a DSL line could read. So it just became a gallery of my own thoughts, and my own misguided belief that anyone actually gives a shit about what I think about love and hate and the revolution. This is not self mockery or pity, this is an objective viewpoint.
I am frustrated with my life. I am frustrated by who I am, and my seeming inability to have a normal, functioning, happy relationship or even friendship with someone I care about. I am frustrated by my own dramatics, the fireworks I create everywhere I go. I feel like a fucking attention whore, which is not something I've ever wanted to be. I think we all are on some level though. Even those of us who never share our emotions, who close our feelings away from the world, are just exercising another form of attention seeking. It actually probably works better. That way you get the attention AND the respect.
I'm reading a great book at the moment that a friend lent to me. She said it was the best book in the world. I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it's definitely one of them. Wouldn't it be cool if you could climb into books and be inside them? I would like that. I would like that a lot. I'd climb into the Sweet Valley High books. They're a symbol of everything I thought my life would be at 16, when I was 8 years old. Those books were fucking awesome. Or Nancy Drew books. I wanted to BE Nancy Drew for so long. She had a blue mustang, and she was pretty, and she had a HOTT boyfriend and stupidly large amounts of money. She was like a Barbie doll with brains.
I'm overanalysing again. I guess what I'm saying is that I want a new kind of high. And I don't know how far I'm willing to go to get it, but I have a feeling it won't be in the directions I'm going at the moment. My life needs change. The fun part of being human, we crave change and stability AT THE SAME TIME.
I feel the need to apologise. I'm a compulsive apologiser. I'm not sure where that comes from. I remember when I was 12 and I was in a clique of girls who were really horrible to me. They weren't Mean Girls. I can't even remember what it was about now. But you know what adolescent girls are like. They were horrible. And then, after all the drama and the fireworks, and parents called into school, and bla bla bla, out of the blue, I walked up to two of them and apologised. I don't know why, or what I was apologising for. I guess I thought it was my fault. I don't know, maybe it was. I'm pretty difficult to get along with sometimes. But I just remember, her smirking. Fuck Mean Girls.
I remember this one girl, it was such a parasitic friendship. I think half the time we hated each other, but when youre 9 or 10 or 11 or 12 you're best friends to the death, even if you wish each other were dead. She's such a lovely girl now, an absolute sweetheart, and I can't get over how different she is from the girl who used to make me feel so miserable. It makes me wonder, how much was her making me miserable, and how much was me letting her?
This post has now come full circle.
I'm sorry. I'm not sure what I've done wrong, or to who, but the odds are, statistically, I've probably done something. So I'm sorry for that.
If everyone said sorry more, the world would be a happier place we would all be compulsive apologists with extreme inwardly focused anger issues.
People are horrible. And I'm the Queen of Horrible.
And I just want to be nice. :(
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