Monday, July 26, 2010

This...is a Story. Finish it.

That motherfucker is staring at me.

There he was. An ogre. Sitting across the room, alone in a booth. What sort of creepy fuck eats at restaurant alone...in a goddamn booth? And he's staring at me; he has been staring at me for the last five minutes. Every time I look up...those eyes. Those fucking disgusting furrowing bushy whacked out eyebrows. That fucking mustache looks like someone shit and smeared it in splotchy patches above his lip. He's so fucking fat, too. God. I know I'm attractive or whatever, but does he have to be so goddamn obvious?

A friend joins him. Equally as creepy-looking. Thin, frail, glasses, a goatee. Fatass nudges Skins and they both look at me. They're smiling. Oh, god, I cannot even look at them. I can't make eye contact. They're fucking raping me in their minds right now. Thinking the most horridly vulgar, nasty things about me. I know I'm hot, but can't they control themselves? I give them the finger. They raise their eyebrows but continue looking. God, the nerve...

More people are staring, Kass.

Nearly every man in the room is staring. I'm not used to so much attention, yet. They should give me a break. Ease me into this whole, "every-man-who-looks-at-you-wants-to-ravage-you" thing. It makes me so uncomfortable, damn. My skin is crawling; I feel so fucking invaded. Why are men such creepy fucks? Why are they such assholes--such dogs?

Something flashes behind me. What the FUCK? Is someone taking a goddamn picture of me? I turn to tell off the motherfucker who thinks he can get off taking a picture of me without my consent.

A football player is sitting at a table in the court. A famous football player...I've seen him before...he's signing photographs, footballs, and jerseys at a table in the court. Dads are bringing their kids; everyone is crowded around. Guys in the mall from every direction are staring. Guys in this restaurant are staring out the window directly behind me...at a football player.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

We sat there in silence; you stroked my fingers with your fingertips.
You pulled my hand up to your mouth and kissed it softly once, twice, three times.

I thought, "Why the hell be so nice when you're doing the shittiest thing in the world?"

You thought, "I want to cushion the hurt just a little..."

A whole mess of things ran through my head. Maybe this wouldn't last long; maybe I could hate you. Maybe we really could be the best of friends; maybe our friendship really could be stronger.

Perhaps I'd find someone to make me feel good about myself.

I bawled into your shoulder a bit and you kissed my neck; probably the most sensitive kiss I have ever experienced in my life (funny, coming from you).

I wish I could have known what you were thinking.

I suddenly felt as though I was in the presence of a stranger. The feeling hasn't gone away.

I never cried after that.

...until right now.

Zombies

It was a movie...somehow. None of us were watching it--we lived it. I remembered a scene from the "trailer" that I avoided later. Shit like that.

They were malicious. If they sensed panic, they'd turn on you. A normal person riding a bicycle one minute could be a vile attacker the next if you didn't keep your cool.

I knew it was a movie. Basically, that means that I knew it wasn't real and nothing would really hurt me. I asked dad if I could go back to the house because I didn't want to watch it and though none of it was real, I wanted to be in control; because even though they couldn't hurt me 'in real life,' it was scary as fuck in the meantime.

I said 'freaky as fuck' a few times and my parents got pissed. But they can't look at one of those things and say that it isn't freaky as fuck.

I needed to get out of there; to go somewhere. The Graceland library seemed like a good place; funny enough, it wasn't Graceland and looked nothing like Graceland at all(...and I'm not talking Elvis's Graceland, for those of you who don't live near me). The real Graceland doesn't even have a library.

The whole place was blocked by a huge chain-link fence. I climbed it (like a spider-monkey, I might add) and went in. Before I got to the library, I heard a noise within. I thought it was a zombie, which would have been a terrible position for me to be in. Instead, it was whatever motherfucker organized the whole deal; the whole "movies-actually-are-fucking-real-lol" shabam. He was sexy, though. I wanted him to get me out of there; I offered to sleep with him. He agreed to it, but it ended up not working out. Damn.

Michael stopped to ask me for a lighter.

I lay on the couch with Brandon and held his hand, but a person came up from behind us and mistook me for Hilary. Brandon got up and left me there.


...then I woke up.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Lies

Why does my subconscious feel the need to shatter my wee little heart

every
single
night?

I even asked him if it was a dream this time. I'm so used to it; I had to ask him to make sure.

He said no, no, it's real.

It was beautiful...




until I woke up.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Last night I dreamt of a little girl...she was sad and I couldn't tell whether it was melodrama or true Plath-esque bipolarity. She talked of harming herself and I would have called her bluff had she not been around eight-years-old and seemingly perceptive and honest.

Her mothers came and told her to stop talking; they hit her and they made me so, so angry. I tried to stand up to her, she was thin but muscular with short, spiked hair. She was stronger than me and grabbed me and groped me.
Part of me liked it; I forgot about the little girl and playfully hit the mother and walked past.

I went to the trampoline and there were bottles and bottles of vodka and whiskey and rum; I begged them to leave, because I had been in enough trouble, but they wouldn't.


They said, "We don't really care, Kassandra; we just don't."

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Why don't I get any say in what happens in my life?

Why is everything allowed to drastically change and affect every aspect of my life but I can't do a damned thing about it?

It doesn't make sense...something is so wrong, I can feel it but I don't know what it is and I don't know what I can do about it but this. is. not. right.

I am so not in control.

I can't stand this.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Yesterday was a bad one.

Today, I feel great. I'm going to make sure that it stays that way; whether or not I feel shitty is entirely up to me. Any mood is...granted, sometimes being angry or sad is healthy, but if I'm aware that I ought not feel that way, I am in control of my mood.

If only more people could figure that out, eh?

Today is a day of searching...I need to find out what I want to do. It's terribly hard, you know, when there are a million things that seem to interest you equally.

Acting always stands out above the rest, though. It's so...effortless.

Then again, I always get really interested in science or history and tell myself that I'd be better servicing my brain by doing something in those fields.

My answer (usually)? Look at the Self-Taught Man, the Autodidact. Just because I want to learn about something in depth, does that mean I have to go to school for it or make a career out of it? Certainly not...

Why do we all think that someone else has to teach us? At one point, they were no different than we.

Right?

I'm pretty much equal to Einstein.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Kevin Costner

Running water terrifies me;
can't sleep,
can't think long enough
to be worthwhile.
Not a drip, but a flow
rushing
like
the white-water
with leeches
sucking at my leg.

I am scared
of open water
but in awe of
its apparent infinity;
reminds me of
something...