I was doing laundry at B's house and we were watching a movie. He was texting someone all night. I told him I was going to leave cause I was annoyed at the light that the phone was making and the sound of the buttons clicking when he would text someone.

He replied 'Well, you text someone earlier today and I didn't say anything about it.' I told him it was V and that I was just responding to her message about going out on Thursday to see this band called, Nobunny. He wasn't satisfied and insisted in looking at my phone. I showed him the text and he grabbed the phone out of my hand and looked through the messages. He saw that A had text me the week before that said 'I wish you were here on this fire excape with me watching the lightning," B freaked out and back handed me in the face. Twice. Then I started yelling and then he grabbed my mouth and forced me to the ground. I'm really scared at this point cause last time he did that, he took all the breath out of me and I couldn't breathe and he wouldn't get off and I almost suffocated to death.

I raced through the highway a constant 90 mph. Lights beamed off cars and reflectors and glass windows off tall buildings. I approached the bridge and instantly paranoia filtered through my brain waves. The air got still and I wanted another line.

I got to the place. 14#2 Haight st. It was a cute little abode on the 4th floor. Girls everywhere. As soon as I walk in I am handed a 1/5 of Jack. I take a swig and move on. I walk down the sleek hallway to the room at the end. More girls. Half empty bottles of wine, beer cans tossed about and a big fucking snake around a girls body. Everyone in awe.

I see my friend Joey but he tells me he is leaving soon. I am angered because I don't know these people. I only know him and Judy and now he is leaving. I drove here for nothing, I think to myself. He tells me to calm down and assures me that these girls are nice and they like me. I think about it and take another swig from the bottle. Maybe if I do another line, I'll feel better.

I race to the bathroom, take out my white candy and cut one up. After snorting I look around and realize that this bathroom is a gothic altar.The walls are black and purple and filled to the brim with knick knacks and weird little things. There are offerings everywhere and pictures of H.R.Giger art. Interestingly, there are little buddahs calculatingly placed throughout the tiny space too. I smell Nag Champa. And I laugh a little at the irony that this altar is in the toilet room. Every time they take a dump, they are offering up a gift to the Gods. Clever. 

I walk out and my nerves are at ease. Joey walks out the door and I don't follow him. I find a place to sit in the kitchen, away from the commotion and find solace in the solitude. Shortly after just getting comfortable, Judy walks in and starts up a conversation. Soon after, we are interupted. Her friend comes up behined her and starts making out with her. Nice.

Within minutes, the party in the back moves to the kitchen, where I'm sitting. The girls realize that there are no boys here so they start talking shit and rejoicing at their womanhood. A couple girls start making out with eachother. Judy again with another girl. Some other girl with another. This is getting interesting, I think to myself.

All of a sudden one of the chicks brings out a pile of coke on a mirror that says "Graduation, Class of 2004." Holy shit. They do a couple lines and then I feel it safe to take my little baggy out and share the wealth. Judy sees this and takes off her t-shirt. "Do a line on my tits" she says. I see no harm in it so I do. Then everyone wants to do lines off her tits.

Then it's time to take off the shirts. Every couple of minutes or so, some girl takes her shirt off to reveal her naked breasts. By the end of the night, we were topless and spun out. Making out with one another. I didn't really partake in the kissing. I don't like the way coke tastes in other peoples mouths but Judy didn't really give me a choice to deny her.

It's almost 2 am and they want to go get a drink at the bar across the street before last call. I think, YES, my escape!! You would wonder why I'd be so excited to leave this amazing scenario. I didn't know either, I just wasn't feeling it.
 
I realized though, you never know what the fuck is going to happen when you get in your car and drive to the city.

i always suck the soul out of every thing i can in life. and i regret that i do. 

now simple things arent satisfying. everyday, normal interactions don't move me. nice people who care about my well being dont conjure up any kind of feeling inside me. for so long i've been keen on the taste of intensity and overbearing flowing freely emotion that penetrate every pore on my body that my insatiable hunger for feeling the fullest has destroyed any kind of normalcy in my larger than life mentality.

the older i get, the more scarce they become. those who want to share in my indulgent antics. pretty soon there will be no more interactions of adrenaline pumping juices to enrich my life. i will be alone. and feeling empty handed.

he grabs the bag and pulls it over my head, the suffocation is intoxicating as blue black red emerges from lack of blood flow. i should have left things alone but how could i when my quest in life is to seek out truth in all things. i am no more a button pusher than a pissed off customer trying to justify being right. i just need to know and he never gives me the satisfaction of making things simple. i always have to find the answers to things in vehicles on driveways parked at 4 am, trash cans and cum stained couches, left jewelery on night stands or messy sheets. all the lies piled on top of each other like a screaming kid looking for his mother in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded market. i don't understand what it is about me that bleeds 'fool'. but im always treated like one by those who shouldn't matter but do.

is it my fault? i ask myself as i fall to the ground. all of this could have been avoided had i just been satisfied with being ignorant to all things. people do it all the time, you know? Or they consider it a sign and cut their losses and walk away, not one solitary urge to look back. just move on. why don't i have that same problem? why must i always have the upper hand? why cant i just let karma take care of the wrong that has been done to me?

he pulls the bag tighter and i know im going to die. i guess this is better than living a fabricated life created by the words from his delusive mouth. i no longer have to suffer being impatient, arrogant, righteous, all these things that i am. but i still blame him.

Naked, strung out on time.
Two beating molecules suspended over a brush of overgrown mildew.
Life's treacherous rejection
Sprawled out on the cold concrete to be magnified and studied
Through the eyes of the Clean and 'Straight as an Arrow'.
We are the unseen.
The fucked up paint job on the canvas of life.
How obvious we'd end up here.
Breathing in the muck of this dilapidating city.

Needle punctures skin and the delusion submerges,
A bead of blood just to remind us that we are still human.
It was the thought of immortality that destroyed us,
Or quite possibly, the promise of long lasting vibrant colors
That slowly faded by the sun.
Whatever it was,
It's not our fault.
It never is.

Splinters pricked our wounded minds,
We knew no better than to feed the machine that polluted
The water that once replenished our thirst.
Our Fathers believed in it
We were blinded by it.
So we pressed on like hungry savages.
Our fingertips calloused over and ego-dipped with denial.

Now, our bellies still empty,
Our veins a method of escape split like shoots of winter branches,
Let the wafer of hope disintegrate in the cave of our mouths
As we endlessly walk the beaten path.
We don't know where we will go,
Just where we want to be.

I lay there beside him, in the dark, and slowly move my hand over his chest. He smacks my hand back and tells me not to touch him. A languid rush of spite spill over and burn my insides. A hundred needles prick my arm where he slapped it.

"I told you not to touch me. I'm only here because you won't let me leave."

The egg in my throat cracks and I feel the yolk start to choke me. I start to hyperventilate and then burst into tears. Not even the darkness could mask his hatred for me. His utter disgust for the woman he once loved.

"Just go to sleep and leave me alone."

I don't even hear him. Just murmurs. I'm overweight with sadness and my tears are stinging my eyes to blindness. Instead of saying anything, I turn around and silently weep.

I want him to touch me. Even if it was out of pity. Just touch me. But he doesn't. Then I get this bright idea to take my clothes off. I think that maybe if he sees me naked, he'll want to touch me. I take off my clothes, I turn around to face him again, place my hand on his arm and gently run my fingers from his shoulder to his hand. He doesn't move. He just lays there, frozen, like ice. Cold. Hard. Transparent.

If he only knew. That everything that he did at that moment was intensified by a hundred. No, a million. He was the dagger and I, the stabbing victim. The tool that would lead to my ultimate end. It was the other girl that was the hands that controlled the weapon. I was a helpless receiver, bloody and dying before him. Taking the blows like a B-movie queen.

My naked body starts shivering.  I'm overwhelmed by defeat. And the sheets that cradle me soak up the shame that is sweating through my pores. He makes me feel like a whore. A dirty, pitiful whore. I'm just a pathetic girl whose only wish is to be devoured by a man that hates her.

How did I get here? I ask myself. What happened to me?

if you really cared about someone, you'd resist the thought of that person not being in your life. and you'd do everything you can to make sure that doesn't happen; to keep them IN your life. not just sit there and say 'oh well, if that's what you want then there isn't anything I can do about it!' . . . but there is.

"you may have suffered, but you haven't learned. The suffering ends when you gain the wisdom to move on . . ."

I walk towards her, feel the adrenaline work it's way to my fists. 'I hate that you think you're so pretty with your sad elephant eyes and those painted lips. You just look like a whore who needs a good dick up her ass.'

Her mouth opens, as if she's never heard the words 'dick' or 'ass' before. And I can see her eyes swelling but she tries hard to keep from crying.

Living every day with no meaning. Feeding off the stares of others as she walks past, holding on to some senseless pride for being beautiful. A living, walking breathing oxymoron. The whole world at her finger tips because she shares her nude body with the world. But she's a virgin. Works at a tattoo shop. But she only has one, overly large tramp stamp. Says she doesn't want to be added on Myspace for a higher friend count. But she has 1389 'friends'. She likes Metal. But only girl bands. And says the word 'cock' to describe the male genitalia. But hates giving head.

Stupid bitch.

I don't care that she's a kid. I don't care that her dad's a cop. All I want to do is feel her pretty pretty face smashed up against my knuckles. I want to see blood. I want to see her skin rip. I want her to swallow the saliva from my mouth when I spit on her. I want to see black and purple and green smeared across her flawless hyde like spilled paint on a dirty canvas.

Just a cliche. A fucking poser.

People like her don't deserve to share the same air that I breath.

the lengths people will go to uncover the truth is remarkable.

but when you know someone is full of shit, you gotta call them on it, no matter what you gotta do and no matter what the repercussions . . .

sometimes just knowing is not enough but seeing is believing.

As you may or may not know, I have recently been taking Prozac to cure the chemical imbalance in my head that triggers over reactant emotions to my brain. And of course, cure all ailments of depression that reside in me.

At first, I was a bit weary of taking any form of medication for these kinds of things. I didn't want to be dependent on anything. And my strong willingness to change without any chemical support was the stubbornness that kept me from taking anti-depressants in the past. I've always thought of myself as a believer of faith and will. That if I will myself to be better on the inside, I would be okay. That the mind was so powerful that I could trick myself into being level-headed and happy. And if I did this long enough, I would eventually feel this way naturally.

I also believe that a large part of who I am is my intensity. My ability to be overbearing and to push people toward a more grandeur way of thinking or acting. And that sometimes pushing the limits of others often helps them more than hurts them. And also by being this way, I am not easily forgotten by those who have had the arduous pleasure of meeting me. I was able to feel much more than an average person does. And I like the uncontrollable rush I get when I got heated. I sort of got high from it. But more than anything, I was always in the moment. And because of that, I could feel a much deeper compassion for those around me because I felt everything - every tiny thing was magnified 300 times larger than it really was. I always thought that was a good thing. That this defect was actually a gift. And it allowed me to become one with the world.

But as the years went by, I could see myself slowly deteriorating into a maddening void of despair. And I was pushing away all those that I loved by my actions and my blindness to cure an 'illness' that I obviously could not control on my own. I've lost many opportunities to this as well. My anger, my sadness, and my paranoia have been a big part of my failure and played very little in my success in life.

Still, in the beginning of this quest to better myself through Prozac, I was angry at myself for not being able to do it on my own. That what was going to make me better was just having to remember to take 2 pills in the morning everyday. I felt like I failed myself. That now, I've somehow joined the race of all the other walking zombies. That I was a slave to sedation and free thought. That I had given up. That I doubted my strength to overcome.

But as the days go by, and as the tiny green pills I take encompass my brain, I realize that I haven't given up. I've just sped up the process. It was something I needed to do in order to stay sane. That they were calming my brain waves so it would be easier for me to attain peace within.

It's only been a couple months, but I see the changes clearly. Some of them, I don't like. Some of them, I do. But all in all, I see an overall progress in my thinking. And I am able to be more reasonable about things and less irritable about what life dishes out in front of me.

I hope though, that I will some how keep some of that intensity, that spark that made me feel ALIVE. That I can still feel everything so deeply, deeper than others.

. . . although only when I'm ready to understand it and do good with it, instead of constantly create chaos.

2008 is (and was), by far, the most grueling year of my existence. I have been tried and tested more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. I've been pushed to the brink of insanity and lost and found myself quite a few times in the midst of all the craze. I've had to reinvent myself, doubt the way I saw things and to relearn the way I think. Quite possibly, the hardest thing to do for any individual alone. But it all happened. And I'm still alive.

Now, more than ever, I'll be anticipating the moment the clock strikes 12 am PST tonight. All the shit that has corroded in between the cracks of my life shall be cleaned out by the hands of time with bleach. I will start anew. I will see the world with different eyes. I'll be held together by a new heart. I will be bigger and better than I could have ever imagined myself to be. And I will leap, jump and run into every experience in life with only one expectation in mind, the lesson I will learn from it.

After all, life is just one big quotable phrase.

love the sax . . .




something to lift the spirits after the sax, taken from one of the best movies made, velvet goldmine . . .

Why do I still wake up feeling that it's a pity I didn't die in my sleep?

Everything is starting to make sense.

Time is definitely the all powerful, all-encompassing revealer of truth . . .

December 9th, 2008. Moon in Taurus.

Once again, my ability to retain any memory of my dream has failed. I will try to write what I remember.

- Adam Meinhardt. He was a high school crush and was the epitome of what I thought all guys should be like in high school. He played the lead role in my dream last night.

He and I were friends but I wanted more. I was chasing him throughout. Trying to get closer to him and at the same time seeming innocent about it. He and I were visiting our friends that we used to hang out with. During each visit, we would get closer and closer until finally, our last visit, he made it clear that I was more than just a friend to our hosts.

So at the beginning, he never acted upon any hint that I threw at him that I liked him. And it hurt me. I felt sick and embarrassed most of the time. Not knowing why I was still following him around but not wanting to leave his side. This went one for some time. Like I said, I can't remember details so I can't really unfold the story as well.

It was kinda weird though cause he was always warm to me. I could tell he liked my company but he wasn't going to offer any of his feelings on anything much deeper. I guess this was him being responsible, mature. I don't really know. But each time we saw a friend, and each time he would ignore me, each time I felt like I was dying inside.

Finally, we went to visit the family of a friend who went to war and died. The last visit. This was when he made it apparent that his feelings for me were mutual. Our friends younger sister was asking him all kinds of questions. Prying questions, questions about us. He just smiled, took my hand and answered them.  And the things he said made my heart melt.  I felt like a kid. Like it was spring time and the giddiness of new love had spilled over the brim of my heart, dripping leaves of joy on autumn ground.

After that, things get fuzzy. I don't really remember what we did or what happened next. All I know is that when I woke up, I felt like there was a huge, gaping hole in my chest.

Wake time, 7:42 am.

Last night, December 8th. Moon in Taurus.


There were a series of dreams. But only one sticks out in my mind.

I can't quite remember now at 10:17 am what I had dreamt in full detail or even in minor detail, for that matter. But I'll name off a few little things I remember that might be of significance:

- my sister was in my dream.
- my mother was in my dream briefly.
- B was in also in my dream but he was always casted by shadows; more like his silhouette.
- the puss made some appearances in my dream also, and I always had a unnerving feeling when I saw her (much like how I feel in my waking life).
- there was a dress/costume involved. It was the item that deemed prominent throughout the dream. I think my sister and I were trying to get it done for some event coming up. I tried it on and was showcasing myself with it in front of people before I woke. It was a dress that looked like a nurses outfit. It was white, possibly silver or metallic. I wore it with fishnets that had holes in them.
- I felt embarrassed most of the time throughout my dream.

My wake time, 7:25 am.

My waking life is far too painful to write about anymore. Maybe my dreams will conjure up some means to justify an end . . .

NOTE: This is the day you've been waiting for, i'm finally letting you go.


i
now
feel
nothing.