Wednesday, April 27, 2011

If you want everyone to love you,
then you need to be mysterious.


The trick is making people believe that you're showing yourself to them and ONLY them...

They want to feel special, as though they've found a secret treasure-



-but they can never know your face.


If they're allowed to know your face at all, then it can only be a silhouette,
or a hand-covered profile,
or a shot with red highlights and blue shadows and no green
and no face.

(for no one is as beautiful when fully exposed)


Your name might be an alias,
but it has to be interesting.

vee
lux
bella
alabaster.
(but probably not alabaster; it's a bit too overt)


You should speak in riddles,
and you should make them try to
figure you out,
all the while laughing at the fact that
you never actually say anything.



You should be separated from them by a glass screen.



They should never hear your voice; if they do, then it should be low,
and distorted by eerie tones
and music box melodies.


Because the truth of the matter is this:
the more you know of someone, the less you can love them.

This is because we are all
just
shit.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Everything is all up inside me
If bloodletting were an option for the psyche,
then I'd run with it.

I think thousands of things that I never say.
I may mean to,
but they won't come out.



...there's just so much that you don't know.
"Hi, my name is Stacie."

"Hi, Stacie."

"I've been sober eighteen years now, and man, is it a bitch.
I crave the bottle every day.
I'm irritable, and it's hard to be around the people I love.
I can't stand being sober anymore.
My thoughts consume me;
see, I'm left to face all the uncertainties of life,
all the messed up shit in the world,
all the things I hate about myself,
and I've nothing to lessen the blow.
I want to better myself,
and I want to have meaningful relationships,
but all I can think about is how much I fucking hate sobriety.
I hate being 'of sound mind,'
because for me that means insanity.
I don't know what to do anymore.
My choices become more and more evident every day.
Do I drink myself into a daily stupor,
or do I choose to end it now?"

"How old are you, Stacie?"

"Eighteen."

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Self-Defense

I'm surrounded by a wall
with an electric field, and
so many barbs,
and lots of nasty prickly things.

The littlest things make me scared.
I run to the corner like a child,
and I shudder.

Feelings wrench your gut,
but you can't distinguish between
legitimacy and
paranoia.

The more often those feelings
prove themselves to be valid,
the harder it gets to
shake them off.

A constant state of heart-in-throat
is likely quite unhealthy.

An incessant tingling of nerves
probably means something bad.

Monday, April 18, 2011

The music swam through the room;
we were in a fishbowl,
and everyone gurgled
and everyone “bloop bloop bloop”-ed.
The strumming fucked the plucking
and the drumming fucked the plinking
and it was one giant orgy
that moaned
into my ears.

Is this 250-word sentence grammatically correct?

The single most important reason Miss Katherine Shallot was, at the incredibly unstable and defensless age of twenty-one, decidedly emotionally unavailable at all times to everyone she encountered and desired a relationship with, she realized, was not merely because she was desperately insecure and unsure of herself, her abilities, her looks, her smell, her voice, her walk, her poise, and her brains, but was also a combination of the many hurts and insensitivities that had been thrown at her by the various people that she had trusted throughout her life who, it stands to reason after the examination of all available and objective evidence, cared less about the permanent (or, in better terms, irrevocable and unforgivable) damages that they may have been doing to her psyche and to her soul, but more about the benefit that they would gain from treating her as—to be ever-so-sincerely cliché—a doormat or a rug or whatever you may like to call it; they treated her on most occasions as someone who is a mere rung on that ladder toward success (which anti-capitalists very much like to attack in their motivational speeches) in a world that not only promotes self-assurance and self-motivation, but also encourages the use of any available, vulnerable human being (quite resembling the work of a puppet master) to gain prominence and success in various abhorrent societal constructs including, but not limited to: careers, education, politics, and general relationships in which a person has in mind something material to gain.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

the only word I am able to think is


FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK



FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

being in a perpetual state of screaming FUCK would be really satisfying.