You're the colour
you're the movement
&& the spin

 

home | profile | guestbook


Delusive Perception

recent entries | past entries


rina

:: 2006 13 September :: 6.40pm
:: Mood: busy
:: Music: wish you were here - rasputina

running over the same old ground
she called us historians once, and i could almost hear myself swelling in pride.

and yesterday while writing an in-class essay on macbeth, i thought the ending result would be terrible because although i love literature, analyzing shakespeare is a different experience all together.
i got an a, however, while the rest of my classmates got d's.
and then i felt selfish and disgusting thinking that i was any good at writing, because the amount of shit i got about it was unbelievable.

i've gained some of my confidence back, though, and i'm going to try and hold onto it the best i can. i have to finish reading the mayor of casterbridge in two days, so i'm going to sit and make myself get through a few chapters tonight.

sweet words


rina

:: 2006 1 September :: 10.40pm
:: Mood: drained

not
i am not here, you think. this is not happening.

hospitals are a shitty way to die, you think, and now the smell of formaldehyde is soaking into your clothes so as not to let you forget, and when you look around everything is busy and everything is motionless.
the only thing you can even reason with at the moment is that the walls are too white, too clinical, and you think they should've added a window or wallpaper or something to just cover up the fucking bleak feeling that's seeping through. and that's when you remember that white means death in eastern cultures, and you wish the synapses in your head would stop popping and sparking, because you really think this is the wrong fucking time for trivia.

the chair you're sitting in is made out of the most uncomfortable carpet-like material you've never had the chance to experience and you think its just another way to be distracted from the real issue.
and the real issue is--

no, you think. i am not here, and this is not happening.

you think you remember a story you heard once when you were young, when your mother fed you tales about magic frogs and kisses of life and happy endings, and your fingers are itching to smash something. they all had morals, you think, and the thought causes your stomach to seize up with red-hot rage.
they were all fucking dreams and you feel like hitting the rewind on your life so you can tell your stupid, idealistic, five-year-old self that no, real life is not ponies and castles and cotton candy. real life is--

you still want to smash something.
there's a storm brewing on the edge of your consciousness now, and you're sure if you continue to reject the current reality of the situation --

i am not here. this is not happening. this is not not not not happening.
its a mantra and you've got it fucking down pat. this, you think, is not. happening.

the doctor slips through the door and then shuts it gently, his eyes are staring resolutely forward and you think you can see his chin lift as if he's about to do something he rather wouldn't do. he pseudo-skims a clipboard in his hands and you think he's trying to readjust the look on his face so it will instead become an impenetrable mask of medicine. this is not fucking happening.

his mouth opens and god god god not not not---
"they're going to make it," and oh.
it is.

sweet words


rina

:: 2006 27 August :: 5.19pm
:: Mood: helpless

i am empty.

this is some sort of catharsis, and i am sick of it. i feel emotionally stunted. i keep drinking water to try and fill the void, but it runs deeper than i originally thought and only succeeds in making me nauseous.

sweet words


rina

:: 2006 21 August :: 12.34am
:: Mood: optimistic
:: Music: on the radio - regina spektor

this is how it works:
you're young until you're not
you love until you don't
you try until you can't
you laugh until you cry
you cry until you laugh
and everyone must breathe
until their dying breath

no, this is how it works:
you peer inside yourself
you take the things you like
and try to love the things you took
and then you take that love you made
and stick it into some
someone else's heart
pumping someone else's blood
and walking arm in arm
you hope it don't get harmed
but even if it does
you'll just do it all again


- regina spektor

i honestly couldn't have said it better myself.
i hope everyone is doing well these days.

sweet words

Woohu.com | Random Journal