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Archive for June, 2002


Never underestimate the word No.


She cringes, her stomach threatening to squeeze and implode within itself, all the while squirting out undigested pieces of food from her mouth. The stress is really getting to her. She doesn’t smile like she used to. She doesn’t feel good like she used to. No matter how hard she tries she just can’t feel the way she used to feel — normal. What happened to her smiles — they’re no longer full and carefree… What happened to her good luck?

Wanting to be responsible, she tries her hardest to do the things she promises. She can’t handle them, but she keeps trying anyway. She’s in over her head but she keeps trying. She smiles in front of people but cries when she’s alone or supposed to be sleeping.

She feels like her world is caving in on her.

a short hiatus

I needed a short hiatus. I needed to get away from this non-world world in which I live where everything is perfect and perfectly fucked up.

I’ll be back soon. I promise.


How come? Why?


Pure Silk.

Paisly. Gingham. Calico. Simple complex and everything in between. The men of her life have been like a crazy quilt of random fabrics. Each different, the course, the soft, the complicated and the torn. At the center of this crazy quilt world lies the most beautiful of all fabrics. First glances don’t reveal much, but upon closer inspection one realizes that he is the strongest of strong, the softest of soft — pure silk. He shimmers with an understated glow, attractive and overflowing with hidden strength. Placing her hand on his cheek as he slumbers peacefully she realizes she would be lost without his strength, worth, and softness.


Tired and weeping she stares up into nothingness wondering where the time went and why she isn’t with it. Tears flow freely inside of her as she leans heavily onto a wall, barely able to keep herself from slumping over onto the floor and turning herself into the riffraff piece of thrown away trash that she feels like. She weeps.


Fuck idealisms and those pretty dreams of yellow daisies in a happy field. Fuck the movies for making things seem so great. I’m allergic to grass. I hate bugs. Flowers have thorns and when they don’t they have sharp branches and bees all around them.


Spoken word. A picture. He speaks, I cower. He yells, I cry. There is an exchange. The price you pay for what you thought would be alright. Fucked up? Yes. But not just any kind of fucked up. Perfectly fucked up. That’s how it is. So it goes.


The ostentatious will of the masses seethes of projected smiles and false remarks. What ifs fill the thick air and the pretentious fucks always get their way. What does it mean? It’s a means of self expression.


Choked. So close at one point but now the dream seems so far. All because of one mistake. Others always say things like that happen but no one ever believes it’s going to happen to them. Never. But now it has, and there’s nothing that can be done. One mistake. One bad decision. Forever.

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