Last night was real fun. I was in a grouchy-er'an hell mood all day, and so naturally I got two shags instead of one :D. Nothing like lots of fucking to bring a woman back up. I don't know what it is but I've been so irritable these last few weeks, not to mention pretty depressed. So, true to form Mike set out to make me less of a grizzlecunt by buying booze and junk food, making me play resi5 (damn you :P), dressing up in drag, tickling and prodding and just... trying I guess. He also mentioned something about going on a date, but I can't expect anything 'cause he's let me down so much.
Alex is on her crusade of sunshine in a mass attempt to cheer and enlighten all her friends. Something about acid and gardens... Who knows. I would feel pretty sexy about it if I could bear to look in the mirror at the moment.
Self confidence T minus two seconds.
Social awkwardness at 68%.
Reclusion at 100%.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
Friday, 19 June 2009
Quite Frankly
If I didn't live for love, I'd have killed myself by now. Don't think I'm not tempted. Behind every smile, under the sparkle of my eyes, entwining each thread of hair is the intense self hatred and shame, the despise reflecting itself back onto me, the burning humiliation I (and countless others- don't get me wrong) have to live with.
Do not for one minute think I am not completely sick of life. Do not think I am not depressed. Do not think that I do not see the sunshine through bars. Life is agony.
I live it.
I am thinking. I am thinking about 4 AM on the bridges of central London. It is watching the sun rise and heat up the tar, it is feeling the traffic rumble the place you are sitting, it is the earthy smell of Thames. It is being alone to enjoy the solitary morning-mourning.
I am also thinking about blood. Cutting. Those little red lines speeding across. And the big ones. I am thinking about how I have no reason to feel to sad and angry, oh angsty teen. And I am thinking about how relieving it would be to cut into those soft pillowy thighs, embroidered with stretch marks and injury free. Almost a clean canvas to devastate.
And I am thinking about how pornography degrades me. When I watch it, I feel alone. When Mike watches it, I feel inadequate.
Thinking.. I wish nobody in my life took drugs. I wish we were all clean and pure, all happy. All together.
I am thinking so deeply into my own life I might drown.
I am thinking - Gods, I wish I could voice how I feel. I wish I was not so weak I had to write everything down because the words evaporate on my lips and turn into hot dust that chokes. And I wish I did not drink. How I wish.
And I am thinking - Shit, I've been hearing voices for nearly seven months ongoing. That's longer than the last time.
Mostly I am thinking - Fuck. Michael will read this rather soon, and then I will have to try and explain why I feel so fucked up. And I don't have a reason, nor an excuse.
*******************************
Edit post
*******************************
Michael, don't think this is anything you have caused. If I know men like I know women (deeper on the inside *winkwink*) they freakin beat themselves up over ev-e-ry stupid thing. It's not you. Just leave it alone if you think it is. Right now. Drop it. Drop it. Good boy.
Do not for one minute think I am not completely sick of life. Do not think I am not depressed. Do not think that I do not see the sunshine through bars. Life is agony.
I live it.
I am thinking. I am thinking about 4 AM on the bridges of central London. It is watching the sun rise and heat up the tar, it is feeling the traffic rumble the place you are sitting, it is the earthy smell of Thames. It is being alone to enjoy the solitary morning-mourning.
I am also thinking about blood. Cutting. Those little red lines speeding across. And the big ones. I am thinking about how I have no reason to feel to sad and angry, oh angsty teen. And I am thinking about how relieving it would be to cut into those soft pillowy thighs, embroidered with stretch marks and injury free. Almost a clean canvas to devastate.
And I am thinking about how pornography degrades me. When I watch it, I feel alone. When Mike watches it, I feel inadequate.
Thinking.. I wish nobody in my life took drugs. I wish we were all clean and pure, all happy. All together.
I am thinking so deeply into my own life I might drown.
I am thinking - Gods, I wish I could voice how I feel. I wish I was not so weak I had to write everything down because the words evaporate on my lips and turn into hot dust that chokes. And I wish I did not drink. How I wish.
And I am thinking - Shit, I've been hearing voices for nearly seven months ongoing. That's longer than the last time.
Mostly I am thinking - Fuck. Michael will read this rather soon, and then I will have to try and explain why I feel so fucked up. And I don't have a reason, nor an excuse.
*******************************
Edit post
*******************************
Michael, don't think this is anything you have caused. If I know men like I know women (deeper on the inside *winkwink*) they freakin beat themselves up over ev-e-ry stupid thing. It's not you. Just leave it alone if you think it is. Right now. Drop it. Drop it. Good boy.
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Junkfood Junkie
Things I love to chow down on when everyone is out the house, away for the weekend or in deep sleep.
Scrambled eggs with soysauce and bbq sauce slathered very liberally, black pepper and buttered untoasted bread.
Anything else i can put soysauce on.
Prawn stirfry, light on the sesame oil (people always put too much in! It's potent) but plenty of soysauce in the noodle water as it soaks up. Fresh spring onion and other raw veg, some raw and some cooked garlic, always plenty of (pre fried) tofu mixed in. Deep fried shallots. Vegetable stock on the side.
Any strange curry mixture I procure from the cupboards. They're getting pretty fucking good :D
Brown rice with salty sweet carrots. This is a bit odd I guess? I get unusual cravings.
Rainbow trout. 'Nuff said.
Marmite on toast, Earl Grey, soymilk. Mmmhmmm.
Spaghetti, red sauce with no particular tomato flavour, heaps of pecorino, black pepper. That is true comfort food to me.
Tiramisu without cream.
A rare/blue steak fried in such hot oil that the outside goes salty and crispy, the inside raw warm and bloody. No pre-salting, just a little pepper or ground mustard seeds. I feel naughty now :D
Cheese in mash. I don't like cheese, and it doesn't much like me. But oh my does it do carby starches bad things.
Slop. This is soya protein/any meat - lamb or very tender ground beef works best, onions cooked in butter, gravy granules, wine, passata, pepper and sometimes cooking lime leaves too. It's basic sloppy joe look with school food flavour in a home-y kind of way. Mint works so well with lamb you wish they fed on eachother to just infuse something orgasmic :(
Haagen Daaz vanilla icecream with frenchfries mixed in.
Lemon sorbet.
Avocado and lots of lemon salt and pepper.
Poached eggs with smoked salmon, but placed quickly so the salmon starts cooking on the egg. Ridiculous amounts of black pepper.
Cheese on toast with lea & perrins.
Lemon drizzle cake - only Matron can make it properly so I'll pine for the rest of my life -_-
Apple laces with that funky filling.
Rainbow belts.
Scrambled eggs with soysauce and bbq sauce slathered very liberally, black pepper and buttered untoasted bread.
Anything else i can put soysauce on.
Prawn stirfry, light on the sesame oil (people always put too much in! It's potent) but plenty of soysauce in the noodle water as it soaks up. Fresh spring onion and other raw veg, some raw and some cooked garlic, always plenty of (pre fried) tofu mixed in. Deep fried shallots. Vegetable stock on the side.
Any strange curry mixture I procure from the cupboards. They're getting pretty fucking good :D
Brown rice with salty sweet carrots. This is a bit odd I guess? I get unusual cravings.
Rainbow trout. 'Nuff said.
Marmite on toast, Earl Grey, soymilk. Mmmhmmm.
Spaghetti, red sauce with no particular tomato flavour, heaps of pecorino, black pepper. That is true comfort food to me.
Tiramisu without cream.
A rare/blue steak fried in such hot oil that the outside goes salty and crispy, the inside raw warm and bloody. No pre-salting, just a little pepper or ground mustard seeds. I feel naughty now :D
Cheese in mash. I don't like cheese, and it doesn't much like me. But oh my does it do carby starches bad things.
Slop. This is soya protein/any meat - lamb or very tender ground beef works best, onions cooked in butter, gravy granules, wine, passata, pepper and sometimes cooking lime leaves too. It's basic sloppy joe look with school food flavour in a home-y kind of way. Mint works so well with lamb you wish they fed on eachother to just infuse something orgasmic :(
Haagen Daaz vanilla icecream with frenchfries mixed in.
Lemon sorbet.
Avocado and lots of lemon salt and pepper.
Poached eggs with smoked salmon, but placed quickly so the salmon starts cooking on the egg. Ridiculous amounts of black pepper.
Cheese on toast with lea & perrins.
Lemon drizzle cake - only Matron can make it properly so I'll pine for the rest of my life -_-
Apple laces with that funky filling.
Rainbow belts.
But Not Until
You hear words
You taste
I breathe
It echoes
Resonant
Michael ;) You're so sweet when you're sleeping. You cringe and thrash around, grumble and mumble. I kiss your wrist, stroke your hair back and rub your tummy. You smile, curl over and go back to sleep. With a hard-on.
That.
That is the man I am in love with :D
You taste
I breathe
It echoes
Resonant
Michael ;) You're so sweet when you're sleeping. You cringe and thrash around, grumble and mumble. I kiss your wrist, stroke your hair back and rub your tummy. You smile, curl over and go back to sleep. With a hard-on.
That.
That is the man I am in love with :D
Sunday, 7 June 2009
I am playing solitaire.
I am playing solitaire.
It is night
And the red queens are screaming.
I cannot see the stars for sky, it shrouds with sorrow,
And the kings are starting to march
Even though it's July. Through my head.
I couldn't say why as I sit and rock all alone in this night
That the jacks are tumbling. Stranger-
I thought it was easy.
But now there's just clubs that I don't want to know,
Echoing shadows. Whispering wonders.
And my heart's beat for now, I should switch to the glamour
To try and make headway - such glimmering frustration
That ends with a spade.
Well, that's life.
It is night
And the red queens are screaming.
I cannot see the stars for sky, it shrouds with sorrow,
And the kings are starting to march
Even though it's July. Through my head.
I couldn't say why as I sit and rock all alone in this night
That the jacks are tumbling. Stranger-
I thought it was easy.
But now there's just clubs that I don't want to know,
Echoing shadows. Whispering wonders.
And my heart's beat for now, I should switch to the glamour
To try and make headway - such glimmering frustration
That ends with a spade.
Well, that's life.
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Rain Lullabyes
A storm woke me gently this morning, and the cold draught bit and poked until I got out of bed. Waiting for the kettle to boil I stood mindlessly at the fridge piling left-over curry into my mouth. Cup of tea in hand, I descended to my room once more wondering why we all do the same shit every morning no matter how and when we wake. There's a fucking train alarm that's been going off for about half an hour non-stop - I'm beginning to hope something died on the tracks.
I know Mike's weekend was less than favourable and mine wasn't vastly better. We did picnic in the park which was nice (I love feeling like I can be the centre of something's world for a few hours, don't you?). Then we had a BBQ that turned into everyone appearing at my house and drinking all Mike's alcohol. The next day I had pukey hangoverness, and cooked dinner for 5 inc. Mike's dad.
College monday.
Junkies shoot up because they're pacifist and see no sense in shooting forward. ^-^
I know Mike's weekend was less than favourable and mine wasn't vastly better. We did picnic in the park which was nice (I love feeling like I can be the centre of something's world for a few hours, don't you?). Then we had a BBQ that turned into everyone appearing at my house and drinking all Mike's alcohol. The next day I had pukey hangoverness, and cooked dinner for 5 inc. Mike's dad.
College monday.
Junkies shoot up because they're pacifist and see no sense in shooting forward. ^-^
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
Got my Mind in the Gutter, Got the Gutter on my Mind
You make the rain smell so good.
I wanted to blog the recipe for the curry I made last night. But there was alot of random shit in there including baked beans, ketchup and butter. I don't remember the details, but it made use of some of the uncooked BBQ vegetables *shoots evil look* I don't like sitting in the dark on my own, especially not to sit there turning vegetables for no one to eat.
Mmm, anger and tears aside (feckin' PMT monster)... Exams are out the way, I've lost my keys and I'm broke-ish.
You reduce me to tears in front of you, at your feet, knowing no one else may witness that.
It's actually quite relaxing to sit down mid-afternoon and ramble here to myself. I have a confession. I love one note. It is my sorrow. I can't read music, or else I would know and be wed to that note. It's resonant, blue, sharp. Placebo songs always seem to hit it. It's peppermint and lemons in cold water. How can I make you all understand? Do I sound like I'm losing it? A little fucking crazy? I am not schizophrenic. I have roles. Different roles I have adapted and unleashed to keep me alive. Don't you understand? I need to be the lover, the killer, the liar, the baby, the bitch, the slut, the beauty queen, the wonder girl, the mother. I am me. In all aspects of myself. Some people have names for people like me, and I have names for them.
You are something musical in my poems.
NO MORE WIRES
DO NOT RESUSCITATE.
I wanted to blog the recipe for the curry I made last night. But there was alot of random shit in there including baked beans, ketchup and butter. I don't remember the details, but it made use of some of the uncooked BBQ vegetables *shoots evil look* I don't like sitting in the dark on my own, especially not to sit there turning vegetables for no one to eat.
Mmm, anger and tears aside (feckin' PMT monster)... Exams are out the way, I've lost my keys and I'm broke-ish.
You reduce me to tears in front of you, at your feet, knowing no one else may witness that.
It's actually quite relaxing to sit down mid-afternoon and ramble here to myself. I have a confession. I love one note. It is my sorrow. I can't read music, or else I would know and be wed to that note. It's resonant, blue, sharp. Placebo songs always seem to hit it. It's peppermint and lemons in cold water. How can I make you all understand? Do I sound like I'm losing it? A little fucking crazy? I am not schizophrenic. I have roles. Different roles I have adapted and unleashed to keep me alive. Don't you understand? I need to be the lover, the killer, the liar, the baby, the bitch, the slut, the beauty queen, the wonder girl, the mother. I am me. In all aspects of myself. Some people have names for people like me, and I have names for them.
You are something musical in my poems.
NO MORE WIRES
DO NOT RESUSCITATE.
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