Susie says...
I need my life to be organized and headed in a stable direction. I need a course of action. I need a situation where I am forced to prove myself, in which only my intellect and will allow me to succeed. I need a healthy challenge. I need a new crowd, one that isn't made up mostly of idiots. I need a new location, this place has become a bore. I need an education. I need a new job. I desperately need a change.
Nina says...
I need more art, in all forms. I need to start drawing again. I need to take more pictures. I need music, old and new. I need to go to more concerts, preferably alone. I need to throw myself into dangerous situations. I need to pray. I need to see the world. I need to get completely lost in a moment. I need to forget about the past and ignore the future. I need to sing, regardless if I sound good or not.
Lacey says...
I need to settle old scores, in the world and in myself. I need to act out. I need to take up a violent hobby, like boxing. I need to swear more, it's good for my soul. I need to find better ways to be destructive. I need to find a companion, someone who doesn't want to save or destroy me, but rather someone who is along for the ride. I need to start over again.
Amanda says...
I need a better understanding of myself and what I really want. I need to find God again. I need to get a move on and stop waiting for "whatever" to happen. I need to exercise more. I need to trust somebody. I need to view myself in a better light.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
I Fear Nothing
You see, their morals, their code, it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve.
Susie says...
You know there are a great many things to be learned in this life. The greatest lesson of all being that everyone in this world, including your enemies, will succumb to death. I have yet to meet a single immortal in this world, and I seriously doubt I ever will in this lifetime. I love death. It is one of the most underestimated things, yet the truth is it levels the playing field for all. It makes the game of life completely pointless, since everyone is going to win the same thing in the end anyway. Or I suppose it can also mean everyone will lose in the end. But I am an optimist and prefer to see my glass half full.
There are very few people who realize and accept this simple, inevitable, unchangeable truth. I know I am going to die someday. I also know that I probably won't see it coming, so making any sort of prediction about when, where and how is a waste of time. I also know how truly futile material gain is. Sure having a lot of money may be usefull today. But is my money going to protect me from that bus that will flatten me tomorrow? I think not. The same can be said about power, or rather the illusion of power. Can I really strike fear into the heart of the cancer that will eat away my body someday? I highly doubt it.
Those of us that actually do pull our heads far enough out of our asses to make this realization are privy to quite the spectacle when we do. Most of the humans that populate this earth are simple, God-fearing creatures, who are easily manipulated by the ideas of wealth and material accomplishment. They fear death, yet so many do not actually believe in it. It's so strange. It gives someone like me an upper hand. You see, I know the game, and I play it well. Yet I know the game is pointless. I know I will win the exact same thing as my oponents when it is all said and done.
You may ask why play the game at all? In return I ask, why the hell not?
The game is more fun than most could ever imagine. Especially once you realize the true nature of it. The actually point of the game is not to win. The point is to fuck with as many players along the way as possible. And search for that worthy adversary who has truly awakened to his or her own mortality. That is where you will find the true meaning in life.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Groggy Thoughts
The Narrator says...
She wakes up after having slept for 14 hours. Her head is killing her. It is a pain she goes to sleep with and wakes up with now, no matter how easy she tries to take it. The only thing that seems to numb her these days are the drugs. Marijuana, muscle relaxers, Zomig... these have become her new friends.
Her head is reeling with pain and bad thoughts. You would think after 14 hours she would feel refreshed, rejuvenated...ready. Instead she feels disoriented and absolutely terrified. Nothing comes to her clearly anymore, it seems. This phantom illness is beginning to take a firmer hold on her mind, the only thing she has ever had control over. It is taking it from her.
She wakes from strange dreams. Dreams filled with the past. She has been dreaming of the only one she has ever loved. Strange dreams, where he is completely present, yet distant. Always in the room with her or walking (yes, she dreams of walking now) beside her, but careful to never touch her. A metaphorical mirror of their true to life relationship. It almost feels as if he is saying goodbye in the best way he can. No...it is more that she is saying goodbye.
Isolation is becoming her new M.O. Her friends wonder where she has disappeared to, and why. She makes up whatever excuse seems convenient at the time. But the truth is, she knows they cannot help her. And she has lived enough of this life to know that it is unfair to make the ones that love you watch as you suffer when they cannot do a thing to help you. Not a single thing. So she has begun to lie to her friends to protect them. And in all honesty, to protect herself. To protect the little pride she has left. She does not want to them to see her in more pain than she can handle. She does not want them to see how much she is losing her mind to it.
She fears she is dying. Slowly and painfully. It has made her realize how much she wants to live. She hates how ironic it all is. She spent so much of her life wanting to be dead. Now that she feels she might actually get her wish, she wants nothing more than to take it back. She wants to make a new wish. But no longer has any clear idea of what she wants. Or what she could actually have.
She wakes up after having slept for 14 hours. Her head is killing her. It is a pain she goes to sleep with and wakes up with now, no matter how easy she tries to take it. The only thing that seems to numb her these days are the drugs. Marijuana, muscle relaxers, Zomig... these have become her new friends.
Her head is reeling with pain and bad thoughts. You would think after 14 hours she would feel refreshed, rejuvenated...ready. Instead she feels disoriented and absolutely terrified. Nothing comes to her clearly anymore, it seems. This phantom illness is beginning to take a firmer hold on her mind, the only thing she has ever had control over. It is taking it from her.
She wakes from strange dreams. Dreams filled with the past. She has been dreaming of the only one she has ever loved. Strange dreams, where he is completely present, yet distant. Always in the room with her or walking (yes, she dreams of walking now) beside her, but careful to never touch her. A metaphorical mirror of their true to life relationship. It almost feels as if he is saying goodbye in the best way he can. No...it is more that she is saying goodbye.
Isolation is becoming her new M.O. Her friends wonder where she has disappeared to, and why. She makes up whatever excuse seems convenient at the time. But the truth is, she knows they cannot help her. And she has lived enough of this life to know that it is unfair to make the ones that love you watch as you suffer when they cannot do a thing to help you. Not a single thing. So she has begun to lie to her friends to protect them. And in all honesty, to protect herself. To protect the little pride she has left. She does not want to them to see her in more pain than she can handle. She does not want them to see how much she is losing her mind to it.
She fears she is dying. Slowly and painfully. It has made her realize how much she wants to live. She hates how ironic it all is. She spent so much of her life wanting to be dead. Now that she feels she might actually get her wish, she wants nothing more than to take it back. She wants to make a new wish. But no longer has any clear idea of what she wants. Or what she could actually have.
Friday, May 22, 2009
In My Recent Solitude
Amanda says...
I find myself singing lately. A lot. It has been so many years since I actually sang, I forgot how much I enjoy it. I also forgot that I am actually pretty decent at it. In fact, I have gotten better at it.
When I was 14 years old I sang for my entire family at my grandparents 50th anniversary party. It was held in a large auditorium, complete with a stage that had been set up for the various grandchildren performing. I was still pretty shy back then and I was not too keen on the whole being on stage thing. But my grandmother loved it when I sang, plus I was hoping for a chance to really do something impressive in front of my family. My extended family always did, and still very much does, view me as the "little trooper," but not actually someone talented or capable of real achievement. I was secretly so excited to finally have a chance to prove them all wrong.
I took the stage in my wheelchair. My first notes were perfect I can admit to myself now in retrospect. But after singing a few lines, my nerves got to me and my mind suddenly became empty. I had forgotten the words. I just sat their on stage, with the music playing in the background. I desperately tried to remember at least a single word to the song I had practice over a hundred times. But nothing came. I just looked out at everyone in silence. I remember feeling very far away. Finally I uttered, "Sorry..." and wheeled myself off stage. I went directly to the bathroom, locked myself in the last stall, and proceeded to have my first mental breakdown. I cried for about an hour and refused to come out for anyone. Even my mother. To this day, I do not remember the words to the song I was trying to sing.
It sounds silly, but I never really got over that moment. It was the first time I had ever failed at something I wanted so badly to excell at. And I had done it in front of an audience that for the most part already believed I would never be capable of accomplishing much.
I stopped singing that day.
It feels good to be singing again. Like I have rediscovered something I loved, but lost. And, yet again, it sounds silly, but it also feels like I have made a first step toward moving past traumatic memories in my life. The memories that I have been all too eager to just hide so I don't have to face them.
I have a lot more singing to do, though.
Angel, you sing about beautiful things
And all I wanna do is believe
But I traded my dreams
For this mess of memories
And they just stopped working for me
I find myself singing lately. A lot. It has been so many years since I actually sang, I forgot how much I enjoy it. I also forgot that I am actually pretty decent at it. In fact, I have gotten better at it.
When I was 14 years old I sang for my entire family at my grandparents 50th anniversary party. It was held in a large auditorium, complete with a stage that had been set up for the various grandchildren performing. I was still pretty shy back then and I was not too keen on the whole being on stage thing. But my grandmother loved it when I sang, plus I was hoping for a chance to really do something impressive in front of my family. My extended family always did, and still very much does, view me as the "little trooper," but not actually someone talented or capable of real achievement. I was secretly so excited to finally have a chance to prove them all wrong.
I took the stage in my wheelchair. My first notes were perfect I can admit to myself now in retrospect. But after singing a few lines, my nerves got to me and my mind suddenly became empty. I had forgotten the words. I just sat their on stage, with the music playing in the background. I desperately tried to remember at least a single word to the song I had practice over a hundred times. But nothing came. I just looked out at everyone in silence. I remember feeling very far away. Finally I uttered, "Sorry..." and wheeled myself off stage. I went directly to the bathroom, locked myself in the last stall, and proceeded to have my first mental breakdown. I cried for about an hour and refused to come out for anyone. Even my mother. To this day, I do not remember the words to the song I was trying to sing.
It sounds silly, but I never really got over that moment. It was the first time I had ever failed at something I wanted so badly to excell at. And I had done it in front of an audience that for the most part already believed I would never be capable of accomplishing much.
I stopped singing that day.
It feels good to be singing again. Like I have rediscovered something I loved, but lost. And, yet again, it sounds silly, but it also feels like I have made a first step toward moving past traumatic memories in my life. The memories that I have been all too eager to just hide so I don't have to face them.
I have a lot more singing to do, though.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Ghryc.
Lacey says...
I met my soul mate in Henderson, Nevada. He is a Gemini-Cancer. He works for a side show and has a split tongue. He falls for girls with daddy issues and histories of sexual abuse. Yet, he admitted to never being with a girl quite like me before.
He carved his name into my chest. Literally. Honestly, how could I not fall in love with a boy who claimed me the first night we met?
She says I can't have him. She says he is like picking up old habits again, only in a different form. I say she is lucky we live in different states. Otherwise, I would be his.
She says he doesn't deserve to be destroyed. I say he clearly invited me to do just that.
I will see him again.
Susie says...
No. You won't.
I met my soul mate in Henderson, Nevada. He is a Gemini-Cancer. He works for a side show and has a split tongue. He falls for girls with daddy issues and histories of sexual abuse. Yet, he admitted to never being with a girl quite like me before.
He carved his name into my chest. Literally. Honestly, how could I not fall in love with a boy who claimed me the first night we met?
She says I can't have him. She says he is like picking up old habits again, only in a different form. I say she is lucky we live in different states. Otherwise, I would be his.
She says he doesn't deserve to be destroyed. I say he clearly invited me to do just that.
I will see him again.
Susie says...
No. You won't.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Francis' Vengeful Return
Lacey says:
He's not a tumor. At least that's what they told me.
I got a migraine tonight. I really hate it when that happens. It's just a waste of time.
Funny thing, though. I noticed I get these lumpy-type things in my head now when I get one. I can actually feel the little fuckers when I press on certain parts of my head. Like a little pearl. And if I run my fingertips down the right side of my head, I can feel a ripple of them all the way down to my neck. Trippy shit.
...I tried to kill Francis, and he only multiplied. He's a tricky little bastard. I fended him off for tonight. Ibuprofen, a muscle relaxer, and some good ole fashioned herb saw to that. But he is obviously still waging his war. And if I am going to win this thing, I may have to come up with some new tactics. Something to really razzle his dazzle.
Bring it on, fucker. Pain is what I do best.
Friday, May 8, 2009
"Let's tune out..."
Nina says...
"Oh haven't we heard this song about a thousand times before? Oh well! After a while it all sounds the same. I guess it's better than silence and better than shame."
I'm wearing my Format shirt today. I find myself feeling entirely too nostalgic. I miss that band so much. Some of the best moments in my life involved their music.
The first time I ever kissed a boy was because of The Format. He sang On Your Porch to me while we sat in my Buick. It was raining. "...and we talked all night about everything you could imagine. 'Cuz come the morning I'll be gone. And as our eyes start to close I turn to you and I let you know that I love you." He was a terrible singer. But I fell for him regardless. He was the first and one of the only boys who made me feel beautiful.
When I met my best friend, Kelie, in college, our first bonding moment was when I introduced her to their music. We sat in our tiny dorm room and listened to them for hours, relating our lives to their lyrics and dancing our stupid dances to their catchy beats. I can't listen to The First Single without thinking of her. "So let's make a list of who we need. It's not much if anything. Let's make a list of who we need and we'll throw it away 'cuz we don't need anyone. No we don't need anyone!" The year I spent with her was the best year of my life. It probably always will be.
The first time I fell in love, it terrified me. I denied it to even myslef, claiming oblivion. Thinking he was just fun to me. One day the song Janet came up when I was shuffling through songs on my iPod. I was floored and I could no longer escape what I was feeling. "I'm falling in love with you. Balloons or no balloons." I called him up and told him to come over right away, that it was urgent! I told him how I felt that day, almost screaming my I-love-you's at him for fear I would lose my nerve if I didn't get it all out right away. He never did love me back and is to date my biggest heartbreak, the one guy I will probably never completely get over. But I didn't and still don't care. The song made me realize that I loved the disaster in our so-called romance.
I will never forget or recreate the high I got from seeing them live. They were just as good if not better live as they were in their albums. I would sit there surrounded by people--in the beginning a hundred or so of them, in the end a thousand or so--and just lose everything. It was fabulous. Sometimes I would intentionally go to their shows alone just so I could feel like I had them to myself.
They were only together for 6 years, I followed them for 5. But what they made can never be made again by anyone else. At least not for me. They were my youth. My crazy, care-free days. My first love, the good and the bad.
It's funny how a little band can mean so much.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Status: Married
Susie says...
I really need to stop looking at myspace while I'm working. Honestly, my near obessession with it has just become ridiculous. I somehow justify looking at in that it can be somewhat effective in drowning out whatever horrible things the low-life I happen to be speaking with on the phone is saying. If I am paying attention to myspace, I am no longer really paying attention to the phone call. But sometimes I see things on myspace I know I shouldn't. And I find out things I really didn't want to know.
The horrible thing about this myspace thing is that you can stalk the people you hate. Back in the day when you decided you no longer wanted to associate with some degenerate, you would simply eliminate them from your life. You would go on living your life, and better yet, said degenerate would go on living their's with you completely oblivious. You could really disconnect. Then, there was myspace. Myspace allows secretly vindictive people, like myself I suppose, to keep track of how retched the lives of their "enemies" have become. Usually, it's absolutely fabulous! But sometimes things don't go the way we planned. And sometimes, our enemies lives' get better instead of worse. So while we may go looking for vindication in the world wide web, we may only find the bitter truth that life is unfair.
I found out he is married now. Happily. And his new wife just thinks the world of him! It makes me wonder how much she really knows about him.
Oh dear. My myspace obsession has created an utter shit storm in her mind. She will not be pleased. Perhaps it is time to disable my account. Se can't very well move on from her past if I am always checking up on it.
Lacey says...
It's game time. I will rip that shit-eating grin right off his fat fucking face. What makes him think he gets to live happily ever after?
I really need to stop looking at myspace while I'm working. Honestly, my near obessession with it has just become ridiculous. I somehow justify looking at in that it can be somewhat effective in drowning out whatever horrible things the low-life I happen to be speaking with on the phone is saying. If I am paying attention to myspace, I am no longer really paying attention to the phone call. But sometimes I see things on myspace I know I shouldn't. And I find out things I really didn't want to know.
The horrible thing about this myspace thing is that you can stalk the people you hate. Back in the day when you decided you no longer wanted to associate with some degenerate, you would simply eliminate them from your life. You would go on living your life, and better yet, said degenerate would go on living their's with you completely oblivious. You could really disconnect. Then, there was myspace. Myspace allows secretly vindictive people, like myself I suppose, to keep track of how retched the lives of their "enemies" have become. Usually, it's absolutely fabulous! But sometimes things don't go the way we planned. And sometimes, our enemies lives' get better instead of worse. So while we may go looking for vindication in the world wide web, we may only find the bitter truth that life is unfair.
I found out he is married now. Happily. And his new wife just thinks the world of him! It makes me wonder how much she really knows about him.
Oh dear. My myspace obsession has created an utter shit storm in her mind. She will not be pleased. Perhaps it is time to disable my account. Se can't very well move on from her past if I am always checking up on it.
Lacey says...
It's game time. I will rip that shit-eating grin right off his fat fucking face. What makes him think he gets to live happily ever after?
Sunday, May 3, 2009
To the Viking.
Lacey says...
What am I suppose to do when you stare at me with those big eyes of your's. You are so kind. And it fucking kills me even more inside. Especially since it is not you I hate. It is him.
There is a wall between you two. And only I know why. All I have ever wanted is to tell you what happened. Everything. Let you decide for yourself how much you really want to be his friend. I could give a fuck less if you lose your best friend. But I'm not the one in charge of this one.
Do you have any idea what he has done to her? How much he has taken from her? That he is responsible for the mess she has become. In one night, he broke it all. She can't even have a meaningful friendship with you, who has done nothing to hurt her and never would. Because all she sees is him when she looks at you. Ha. It appears he has even taken things from you and you don't even know it. Some fucking friend you've got there.
I imagine one day I will tell you the story. Every horrible, graphic detail. I will break down that wall and you will see everything for what it really is. You will see what she has really become and you will know he is the one that made her that way. And you will see your best friend for the Devil he really is.
You probably won't be her friend after that. Most people who know the truth about that night never stick around. Fucking cowards who can't handle knowing that things that shitty really do happen to girls like her. No matter how much Jesus is suppose to love them. But then again, you probably won't be his friend either. And that is worth it to me. More than worth it. Because he deserves to lose everything. Sooner rather than later.
But she isn't ready for that. And may never be. Christ, she can be so pathetic sometimes. But I am sure that is why you like her. You nice boys love those girls you think you can save. You just don't know how far beyond your salvation she is.
What am I suppose to do when you stare at me with those big eyes of your's. You are so kind. And it fucking kills me even more inside. Especially since it is not you I hate. It is him.
There is a wall between you two. And only I know why. All I have ever wanted is to tell you what happened. Everything. Let you decide for yourself how much you really want to be his friend. I could give a fuck less if you lose your best friend. But I'm not the one in charge of this one.
Do you have any idea what he has done to her? How much he has taken from her? That he is responsible for the mess she has become. In one night, he broke it all. She can't even have a meaningful friendship with you, who has done nothing to hurt her and never would. Because all she sees is him when she looks at you. Ha. It appears he has even taken things from you and you don't even know it. Some fucking friend you've got there.
I imagine one day I will tell you the story. Every horrible, graphic detail. I will break down that wall and you will see everything for what it really is. You will see what she has really become and you will know he is the one that made her that way. And you will see your best friend for the Devil he really is.
You probably won't be her friend after that. Most people who know the truth about that night never stick around. Fucking cowards who can't handle knowing that things that shitty really do happen to girls like her. No matter how much Jesus is suppose to love them. But then again, you probably won't be his friend either. And that is worth it to me. More than worth it. Because he deserves to lose everything. Sooner rather than later.
But she isn't ready for that. And may never be. Christ, she can be so pathetic sometimes. But I am sure that is why you like her. You nice boys love those girls you think you can save. You just don't know how far beyond your salvation she is.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
A Circus
Amanda says...You know the history of people with disabilities is truly fascinating. A story that offers a little bit of everything... tradgety, triumph, rage, confusion, deception, honesty. Sometimes even beauty. Sometimes even romance. But it's a history I find is not often discussed.
I own the movie Freaks by Todd Browning. Most people have not seen or even heard of it. It is a horror movie that was made in the 30s that featured genuine, side-show freaks with real physical deformities. I can't think of one person I have shown the movie to that wasn't extremely disturbed by it in one way or another. I have never met anyone (aside from my parents) who, like me, have an honest affection for it. The history of "freaks" is my history. They are my people. For that reason I have had an almost obsession with the study of how they have been portrayed over time. Greek mythology, the Holocaust, literature and film (any sort of art, really), etc.--you can find traces of their existance in all of it dating back to the beginning of time. You would think I would find a feeling of companionship in my persuit of knowledge about them. The truth is, it only makes me feel lonely.
"Normal" people do not really like to know this history. The old truth holds strong that people fear what they don't understand. And most people from the disabled community that I have met...well let's just say they don't like to think about the "injustices" of the past. And most of them certainly do not like to entertain the notion of exploitation. But I suppose that is understandable.
So here I am, with this extensive knowledge of something that interests me above almost all things. Here I am with a knowledge of my people. Where we have been. What we have gone through. But I have no one to really talk to about it that enjoys it. Or understands it.
I don't know if I feel discouraged. Or maybe a little defiant. Perhaps both.
Lacey says...
Just face the facts. People don't like freaks. And you are a freak who just happens to be pretty good at parading around like those "normal" people you claim to feel so shunned by. In a way, it's almost like one big fucking joke. I mean, you honestly can't believe you can belong to both worlds, can you?
The way I see it, you can either shine it on, perfect your act, and be a great success in the world of the normies. You will really have to shape up, though, to do that. You can't very well be normal if you don't look it. And at the moment, you don't. Or you can embrace your history. Embrace your flaws. Be the freak that you really are. And live a life of alienation and solitude. It just comes down to what you want more.
Personally, I think you are much better as a freak. I mean why even try to be a part of the normie circus when you probably can't pull it off? You will probably end up completely alone in the end for it. But at least you will have lived a life that no one else defined for you.
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