suspensionrings
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2004 18 February :: 5.54pm
shit. {FRAMERATE} haha. haha.
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suspensionrings
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2004 18 February :: 5.33pm
i hate it when she does that. hyperventilates. shakes her head just so. screams without screaming. curls up in a little ball while standing up straight.
can't STAND IT little bitch can't FATHOM all overwhelmed and crap stupid stupid stupid {aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape!omg}
YOU NEVER HAD ONE. wonderland is dead deadog is dead neverland is bullshit and we know it. shut up.
and. quit trying to bring {it} back. it's useless. you are not never have been never will be one of three three of one the end the end go away. shut up sit down and leave.
putafingertoyourlips and blow the world away. hushhhhhhhhhhhhh.
{andshelaughs. forwhatweallknow is true.}
ONEONEONEONEZERO. haha. haha. {seewhatyoumademedo}
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suspensionrings
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2004 18 February :: 5.15pm
...patterns in chaos. the static in a television set suddenly comes together to form a picture of a starlit cathedral, looking up at the great stained glass window, there's no light but it's like it's glowing inside. and it's. the most beautiful thing.
{remembernovemberremembernovember}
brain is racing whenever it catches the hint of it on the wind {you know what i'm talking about} and. and and and.
the only dream i've had the pleasure of remembering lately, i was a dragon / snake plisskin. i was so goddamn cool it was ridiculous. had me about three different guns, one of them shot grenades or plasma or something, a big black trench coat, sunglasses, and a scythe. i rmember the weight of the scythe on my shoulder. and firing the weapons at zombies.
but there's really no point to it is there . . .
when the wind catches and i smell it there she wakes up and she screams. screams for the mask screams for her stripes screams screams screams and she makes not a sound. because we're just. just. lost here. voices sucked away by the wind, meaning sucked away by the silence, sight sucked away by the siren call and distant glare of something a thousand, a million, uncountably more powerful, more attractive. a giant magnet. that bastard. i love it like they all do but i hate what it makes me. meaningless. worthless beyond the fact of my existence. {sour words, sour words, whisper whisper}
AND YOU NEVER GET ANYTHING DONE. {hisshiss!hisshiss!} YOU CAN'T. {whatwhatwhatwhatwhat'stheworrrrrrrrd}
can't make it good. can't make it glow. {wail, curlup}
{shake it like a poloroid picture}
putting the mask. back. fucking. on.
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suspensionrings
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2004 14 February :: 12.41pm
+...quiet...+
I have to run. I always have to run. Because {she whispers, the mask is off, this is her purpose, this was the reason for her birth, so so so not/long ago [and it's not purple and it's not green and it's not any color at all, I'm blind and it's all her voice]} I am not the 1. I have never been the 1. I will never be the 1. {Perhaps it's because you never tried.} {One's name made so much sense then -- it was irony. Clear, perfect, stupid irony. Or sarcasm, if you prefer.} She is soft but she is true and there is nothing for me but to listen to her {in a wooden box with the dripping of rain and the taste of it on the back of my tongue, iron as well. Not black iron. Just chains. Claustrophobia, my friend.} &I'm not even sure if this will go through now, but the point is, remember November. And why.
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suspensionrings
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2004 5 February :: 6.09pm
+{codebreaker}+
So that's what it is. The whatareyou/whereareyou/whyareyou. The reason for {her} voice being what it is. The reason for her being at all. She was silent and calm until this. And then she began again. Mouth running like a hose, the words don't mean shit, just that she's saying them. She attaches so much meaning to nothing. Calls it fever dreams. Calls herself a seeker of screamingdreamers. Calls herself a god. Calls neverland what it isn't, never could be {real}
And so. Perhaps it is better that I am gone. Or at least, at a remove.
+::slightchangeofsubject::+
I'm making a comic in my spare time . . . about effigy, neverland, etc. Meaningless. But so many symbols. I wish I could write like Alice. Wish I could make it drip with dreams and intensity. Alas alas. I'll be lucky if I ever get anything published. {weep}
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suspensionrings
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2004 4 February :: 6.32pm
I speak in code even in private entries. That's stupid. So I made them public. +uhhh. I'm back? Sort of? Something.
+:////effigy. I need to speak of her. Afraid to before. Fuck it. I'm too disconnected now for it to matter.
effigy is. Push. Physically. Mentally. She's trying to be everything Push is. Neon purple masked cat screaming drooling slashing at doors {whatever} etc. Whenever I read St. Push's writing I can see it coming out of Sab's teeth. {Sab is effigy. effigy is Sab's mask. hard to explain, or not.} The cadence, the language, it's all her. I don't know if I stole it or if it was just convergant evolution, at this point it fails to matter. It is her now. Who she what she is.
But at the same time it's all false. Her mask, it's exactly like Push's, but reversed, and clawed up with frustration. effigy wants that magnetism. Wants that power. Wants neverland to be everything Deadog should have been and wasn't, wants herself to be a household name. Rich and famous. All that jazz. You probably know this, it's so obvious. And it's so obvious that she's a poser by everything she does, but oh well. I'm through apologizing for it. Through hiding. Sick of it all. She is what she is. My own symbology. Or lack thereof.
Longstoryshort. effigy steals Pushitude and I don't care {to the tune of jimmy crack corn}. etc. etc. I totally have to go now, this entry was useless, I lack a scanner, weep weep whatever. If anyone wants to e-mail me their {physical} adress I'll draw some crap {probably effigy, I can't stop drawing her, or request something} and send it to you. No color, I only have a black pen, but eh. Art is art. {epilepticsquid@comcast.net} my address is: 140 Phantom St., Box # 15483
Keesler AFB, MS 39534 if you desire to write me things. I liek teh letters, j3s. bye now.
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suspensionrings
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2003 13 December :: 10.42am
I feel more free and at peace than I have in a very long time. I had no idea something so simple [something so destructive] could be so [falling is floating in heaven for hours]. It's like suicide, without all that annoying death. It's what I've dreamed of for years and never had the tools to put into effect. It is abandoning everything, and it is good.
I can see him, dancing, shrouded in golden light. Neither of us are saying anything, there's nothing to be said. I'd missed him so much. Something very important in me was lost when he died. Now he's more beautiful than I have words for.
You fail to realize exactly how much desperation you're carrying around until you're rid of it. This is beyond lifting a weight from my shoulders. This is growing into a new skin. Look ma, I'm a lobster.
I really can't explain it. I grew into myself. I have tendrils, long ones, that curl in fascinating ways. I have nothing left to live for [towards, in pursuit of] and that frees me to just be. When one lacks direction, one goes nowhere, but when one has nowhere to go, any place can be reached. And I'm going.
I'll miss you guys.
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suspensionrings
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2003 11 December :: 8.26pm
You've got to embrace your inner monster. Even as it destroys everything you've ever loved. --{ I can see her with tendrils, mechanical tendrils. Huge like Silence. It's not even a grin anymore. &I still can't see her eyes, it's like the entire upper half of her head is gone. Just her teeth and lips. Red lights play along her stripes, pulsating with a heartbeat. And her?¿is not even the right pronoun anymore, but it works just as well. We all are the same. --}
[Cerberus. The one-eyed cow.]
Edit: Neverfuckingmind. The [lackswordslackswords, let's call it fear, let's call it unoriginality, let's call it stealing, just don't call it late to dinner] will never cease to have a hold on me, now that I see what it has done, and what it can do. Maybe it's too early to make decisions like this, but I still think [the blindness] is the only way to go. If I even have to go that far at all. Still seems as if it would be best to just let it all rot, but so much of me is tied up in this, and I feel unpleasant at the thought of leaving it all behind. Because that which feeds causes the most pain. Like a tasty dessert that turns to acid as it is swallowed. Like holy water. It is beautiful. But it doesn't belong in me. I have no right to it. I should stop watching it like I have a chance. Stop this tomfoolery. Just stop.stop.stop. Make it all go away.
Only those who have the gift, who are truly creators and worldmakers, who breathe brilliance and know the [Truth] deserve this. I need to stop chipping away at their success. It is not mine it will never be mine I have no right to it, I do not breathe ambrosia. I do not breathe at all.
So it is. For the time being. Until it's all forgotten again, buried in the blood of a bat-worm.
Fool. Fool.
--{:///It is so fucking cold in here??¿¿???¿why --}
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suspensionrings
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2003 10 December :: 8.00pm
This {} is retarded. But that doesn't stop it from being, I guess. I have to find {a niche?} good things about my art . . . things nobody else has . . . everything I think I "come up with" I find ten minutes later in someone else's picture . . . of no originality is me and it's driving me nutz. Arg?
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suspensionrings
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2003 10 December :: 6.01pm
It's better than me in every way. And I keep looking through {}, trying to convince myself that I can rise to the challenge, that I can be as good as this if not better, but . . . I can't. I know I couldn't ever. Already it's got several years and the love of someone I'd kill just to be noticed by. It is more creative, more skilled, more emotive, more attractive, more more more more more.
I still want to shed my identity. Start again. But I know it wouldn't solve anything. I'd still be the same useless, unattractive {physically&mentally} dry-flavored wasteland I always am. People don't change. Self betterment is nothing more than shuffling some surface features around, the basic structure will always remain the same.
Put the {} away, fool. Let yourself be blinded again. Tear away all of this childishness and let life fall into itself. We shall not be. That. Anymore.
Actually. It works if you just distract yourself.
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suspensionrings
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2003 10 December :: 1.53pm
¿whatwasIsaying?
Ohyeah. dream.
Push was with me {notpushpush. just dressed as push. avatar.} and then we went over to Jenna's house & it was all wooden paneling & yellow carpets {saw it somehwere, don't remember where. maybe trailer. built like Krystal's house.} anyway. they got along all fine and stuff & like usual I felt like the odd man out, and i know they didn't bear me any ill will but seriously folks . . . i mean come on. so the anxiety built up & just couldn't take it or whatever & Jenna went into another room for something & like a retard I started running with push like --right there-- so of course she jumped me and pinned me down and demanded to know whatever whatever . . . i woke up or reversed the dream or something. realized it was utter idiocy to bolt when someone else is around, have to sneak out. but too late. sosadsosad.
&its not the dream itself. it's the cause of anxiety. you know what it is. why it drove me batshit. i wish i could make it go away.
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suspensionrings
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2003 9 December :: 7.46pm
I almost want to make another journal just to shunt all this neverland shit onto. So people can forget it &move on with being bored by me. I'm constantly amazed that no one sees the grey in it. The Filth that I smell so strongly doesn't leak past the glass wall. The fact that I know my faceless makes the mask seem useless, transparent, but it's not. I can see out but they can't see in. I've never been able to understand that. Shouldn't this all be terribly obvious to anyone with a hint of perception?
Roleswitching. Hn.
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suspensionrings
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2003 9 December :: 7.01pm
Rammstein says in German that the sun is coming out of my hands¡¡¡So very Massacre.--/ &I shall call her Charity because HAHAHAHA. {how ugly} The grey waste is what is was before the storm came. I wonder if I'll puke up {Her} or if another shadow will stalk me for months on end. &I wonder what will happen if we again touch. ://Not that it really matters. The grey waste signifies its own lack of existence. {whataretardedmetaphor} --/ I don't have a shape I don't have a mind I don't have a name I don't have a purpose I don't have a diety I don't have I don't have I don't have. &I envy those that do. Even though you always want what you do not have. I suppose I should return to my older self. Just sit back and narrate, quit trying to be the hero. {but that was what {hostmind} was all about, and how long have I had her around?¿variations on the same theme} ://^ &Perhaps this time, I am the shadow. I think effigy is dying. This scares the hell out of me. What will I do without my self-loathing? Oh, &the snake. The stupid snake. With its face out. Wormthingy. Batsnakewormrat. He's dead too, but not. Oh, stupid ghosts, I can't remember anything anymore. Maybe they're all dead and I'm simply dreaming. I don't know anything.
:///{you're just doing this because you want the attention. the love you feel for others you want to be reflected upon yourself. but this is impossible, child. you have no face.}--/
As time passes I destroy I destroy I destroy. And can never return. Because it's all like maggots again. Like the Filth is in your blood {dripdripping} like the Filth is in your eyes {dripdripping] like the Filth is in you and you are the Filth and this is so. {theparanoiarunsthick} Nofacenofacenoface. Queen of Spades. Trying to cover it with a stolen mask. But you are facelessfacelessfaceless.
&Let's try to be coherent for a second: Charity {name subject to change, whatever} is what happened to 1 when she was left in a box for a month to rot. She rotted. She heard effigy{sab} ranting and stalking around outside of her box. &She boiled over. effigy used to be filled to the brim with Filth {it's blood mixed with decaying plant&human matter, dead leaves flies skin organs whatever. smells like rot. tastes like tears.} but now she's all empty inside and nothing left to defend against Depp's leftover oil/goo/blood {it never dies. it will always conquer} she hides her facelessness behind a stolen mask {not telling you whose} and curls up in a corner of Deadog as Charity {Charity&effigy, it rhymes, they're sisters, harharhar} rampages around eating and destroying what she's just built. Charity's all stripey. Her lips&arms. Growl like a beast. {howdareyouhowdareyouILOVE{}DAMMITgiveitback} Pierced herself with Sabø†age's black iron. Very ironic/symbolic. &someotherstuffblahblahblah. ://How many times have I tried to purge, I wonder. Just leave it all behind. And it nevernever works. Because of her. She was always there, watching growling whispering. &now she's the one dying and I'm frankly scared. She collapsed before and came back. But. I have no reason to believe that this will ever happen again. I want her back and I don't. She's familiar and I'm attached. But I hate her. But she's better than me. But she reminds me of that constantly. I don't know. Bluhbluhbluh. Cut its tongue off already.
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suspensionrings
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2003 9 December :: 10.45am
I feel as if I have no originality left whatsoever {or rather, there never was any, but I was too dim to notice} like one of those fools who make a dragon species with FUR OMG and think it's the greatest thing that ever was. I don't have any identifying features, nothing to set me apart from the dull masses, nothing to cause anyone to stick around for longer than the few seconds required to see me and click the 'next' button. I am a Cheshire {shapeshifter} because I'm trying to avoid the very thing I most crave, a positive sense of self. Because whatever I can build someone else will destroy. Or worse. I will. {vaguelyrelated} effigy doesn't have a set appearance. She's been a rabbit a shark a cartoon an anthro a fag a neuter etc. etc. But there's still nothing there. She will always be the one screaming into a void. {&} Wierd how one little thing can completely verb up your day. If you dwell on it. If you allow the sickness and the nausea to take over. {likeicouldeverstopit}{&} I shall call them Fear&Loathing, they make a very nice pair. Loathing has risen from the dead and it makes her blood boil. She is what her master used to be. Spitting, hissing, growling, screaming. Blood&Filth dripping from every orifice, from her gouged-out eyes and the holes in her chest&abdomen. Fingers dripping, stained. She's huge now, and runs around eating Denizens {damn it! give cat-thing back!} and curling her lip at the one who dares not meet her eyes. Fear&Loathing. What one builds up, the other shall tear down. It will always be this way. {she ate Dog once, and I know why. same reason now?¿} But it's the rule of threes again. I wonder what that means. {gettingbacktotheoriginalpoint} I miss my Wunderland days.
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suspensionrings
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2003 8 December :: 5.07pm
[&what are you looking for underneath all that false skin?]
://All is going. All will be gone. Where is my[self]--//:In this context nothing seems to matter--//:Larval masses have no sense of self|Two decades?¿But when shall I have my wings{tendrils}--//:Or is it enough that Massacre flies://:[what]TimeCubetherearefourtendrilsinmyhand[what]://:Stupidstupidstupid[animalgodthing]--//:effigy has yellow eyes, that's all that really matters. An Ahzinten feature. They were killers on a massive scale. [!] A new age, a corporate monarchy. Control over everything, everyone, a country ruled by its mob. [¿possible?]
[I want to ascend but I have no concept of what it's like above the ground. Grey is very very accurate. &I still want to hide from everything, can't beat the notion. . .]
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