--

:: 2004 24 November :: 7.42 pm

lazeyka vs. reason. krystalis might be assuming another place/peice. rekandsubiraand.......

fnnh. it's all connect and disconnect. the angry trivial. the reacceptance of it. constance + reason vs rek + emotionaldisreason coupled with beatrice's stubbornness...... odd combination there. i think i need to realign this inner chemistry, the elements aren't reacting properly.
but back to lazeyka. reasons for living and reasons for dying.... or lack thereof. broken circle, with circles at the half-ends. continuation within continuation...? dreamcatcher + strings leading half-through... jumping from one place to another. but the thing about it is, you can't see one side when you're on a specific place... you stand on this side [b] and look back at [a]. you can't, however, stand at [a] and look forward to [b]. the closes you can get is the equilibrium where they overlap at [c].
repetition and shit people's already realized. what the hell, never anything new...... oh �. shutuppp. for once. comeon.

:: 2004 20 November :: 2.35 am

i
close my eyes
ignore the smoke
ignore the smoke
ignore the smoke
and smile

:: 2004 20 November :: 2.12 am
:: Music: a perfect circle . over

hum. a humming. on the other side. i hum on the other side.

first-body constance; her eyes are pulled open. the fire within is waiting to burn this and relenquish life, to burn this and be reborn the first again. she is so very mortal in this moment. escape by death; she knows no other way. scars and stitches. examinations and hypotheses. the watching. she has no anger, only, sometimes, a slight confusion. why are my grandchildren trying to destroy me? no. why are my grandchildren trying to see my insides? is it not the whole instead of the parts? if they pull me apart, how will they figure themselves out? even i am just one peice in a puzzle. don't they know this? did they forget? it is so hard to understand what has happened.

and. we have lost count now of how many generations she has been born in; meaning itself has been lost. the body, after losing constance, folds in on itself. she is still here as well. two. there is a stirring and a few stars fall; a stirring, lepidoptera shed their wings; a stirring, and this string is spinning threads around. metamorphosis. and here we have the essence of the meaning behind words. here we have something new, yet something old again. krystalis; facets and strings. lost her wings. [but most everyone has.] i am double-sighted, she says. i am anything but blind.

:: 2004 20 November :: 2.05 am

she is plagued by worry; there is, here, the effect and the affected. the fears metus pushes into her skull. she starts whimpering. she submits and her spine melts. it is hard not to; mica watches with a concerned look on her face. if metus is right.... mica will be a time bomb. if metus is right... one by one, they'll fall out of this; if metus is right, this whole world will collapse in on itself. and maybe mica herself, the cause of its collapse, will be able to prop it up again.
but it's a terrible thought and it's suzy that's thinking it as metus hovers over her shoulder. she doesn't want the world to end she closes her eyes and sings to herself. hum. things will be okay. things will be okay. things will be okay.
things ended up okay. this time, at least.

:: 2004 18 November :: 10.24 pm

sick/pathetic

liberation or condemnation, back then?

and i don't know where horace's mind is. he's off in amber with broken wings and blind, closed eyes glazed over. realized he's left behind and he's been wrong this whole time. can't seem to bring himself to care who's at the gate anymore.

blue spark.

:: 2004 17 November :: 12.47 am

so it just HAPPENS that the color i hate the most is the color of my goddamn eyes.
simpler:
seeing myself and how i see myself. and a bit of disgust.

a whimpercry. suzy: this is too hard. let's just sleep. but arron and regret....

:: 2004 15 November :: 9.54 pm

gates are abandoned.
horace is too bogged under the coming of his armageddons.

:: 2004 14 November :: 12.29 am

'it keeps coming up,' he mutters. 'it sneaks up behind me, as a person, as an object. it grabs me by the stomach, by the heart, and drags me. backwards. and i'm trying to cling to the moment of moving forward, immer vorwaerts,' he's saying, 'but its chains are so heavy, and my legs and my arms are so hard to move, and i just can't help but turn my head and look and remember and feel it all like it used to be.
and then i'm back where i am supposed to be, and it's all gone, again, like it always becomes. it seems as if all that remains from that moment that's tangible is the pain that i will never feel the exactness of being there without having been there before. like this moment.. in moments ahead... i will never be able to get it back. and who knows? i may regret the past more in the future; that i spend so much time on it now, instead of living for the now now.'
he shakes his head. 'it's all so ridiculous, it's all so unbearable, remembering. the persistence of memory, the clinging of it to my mind. and this, these random things, these banners of the past that float by..?' he looks at one, a window, a flashback, a moment in time; it is random, it is placed wrong, it was uncalled for, but still, it is here and remembered. he closes his eyes but it's still on his lids. 'i forget these things, and then they surge back. on their own, pulled by outside forces; either way, it's sucking me back.'
he's sighing. he does not know what to do with himself anymore. the world is moving forward, but he cannot help but be forced into moving backwards, if only so he can stay still and remember the now as now.
constance's pity has overlooked him.

:: 2004 13 November :: 8.50 pm

very many moons for every time.
a sunrise, an epiphany; a change of life.
a moonrise; half-epiphany, within darkness. stealing chances to have a bit of light in the night. of course, the only one to ever see these as they are is constance.

some fragments, some cracks.

:: 2004 11 November :: 3.21 pm

your pettiness, your obnoxious voices, jaeger is muttering; your shreiks of joy, your trite pastimes.
blades, claws, blood; she mutters; i shall kill you all.
petty.
kill you.
trite.
kill you.
trivial.
kill. you.

:: 2004 9 November :: 1.03 am
:: Music: june

and it might turn out just like they said
and it might get even worse in here
why must i assume these things are bad?

:: 2004 8 November :: 9.11 pm

transcription
[i'm just repeating what i already said. again.]

2 -> � +strength?

has 3 always been clarity?

hung over as the queen of maida vale - lack of mirrors - shit.
->any number of things on her must be under five in sum. 5 is just too much balance.

also:
-order vs. chaos
-definition vs. meaninglessness
-lock vs. key
-static vs. change [relates to first]
-symmetric vs. assymetric
-balance vs... what? <-selfdefining

we also have -
balance.. mirror.
krystalis - silatsyrk
self-mirror = balance
need for balance is considered, in SELF innate - subconscious [or also consciously?] relating to Libra, back to Stars/reliance thereupon - light is like seeing the past - here we are with arron...
mirrors [somewhat]= the past?

abstract
detatch
words for
the sake of
words
-meaninglessness
-relation to sand/tan/subira [apathy]
-slate-grey
-clarity with simultaneous incoherency
-backwards as opposed to forwards
-chrystalis - self-evolution as inspired by ~~lepidopteran~~ outside influence - strings of coccoon in echo-repetition; lots of number lack of counting leading back to pure abstract thought and incoherency -> leading into pink (?) or fuschia - dulled - reflection [grey-covered] echo of rebellion - inability to accept this world as it is which crosses the wheel [straight diameter] back to green/beatrice & the ideals of B.

representiation within abstraction vs. pointless abstraction.

numeric satire -
numbers may rule our lives (pi) but our lives do not depend on the awareness of said numbers. therefore, the importantce of them is lessened, a joke, almost.

all colors included in this have a vague layer of silver-grey -- incoherent, soft, subtlety reflection of abstractions. representation - looking through symbolism at symbolism as a symbol.

so there we have it. light blue is stupid, trivial, ignorantly happy in the dumbest kind of way.

:: 2004 7 November :: 9.59 pm

this is not yours.
this is not the same as you.
trashpettydestroy
your reduction seeps
your empty pools vacant heads somehow leak what little you have
the world is dumber now than it ever has been.

thank you.

:: 2004 6 November :: 2.02 pm

and there was much ~~rejoicing~~ yelling.

:: 2004 5 November :: 10.03 pm

and she says she hates being weak, so i say to her...
remember who the fuck you ARE. what you used to beleive in.
no more giving up. no more giving in. you want fucking strength?? KILL THIS. kill it off. there is no reason not to. yes, it's hard. what doesn't kill you makes you STRONGER.

haven't felt this in a long time.

:: 2004 4 November :: 2.30 pm

she keeps it walled inside, but the cracks from the dim light outside seep in the door, and the blood from inside the wall leak from underneath. an inescapeable exchange.
inside rek's head, the demon remains. it stands, stitched, tried to be forgotten, dulled, in a stagnant pool of blood. always blood; always red. its voice is underneath the normal wavelengths most people can hear, but rek can, rek does hear it, always. such a deep muttering.
rek wants to be feared and wants to be able to remain alone, but not with that. she never asked for that. does not know where it came from.
she does not want to ever see its face.
it grows claws, and so does she. its spine thrusts out lengths of sharpness, and so does hers. the bodice around its torso tightens, and her breath lessens, her chest constricts, her ribcage is stressed; it is hard to breathe.
and the only way to let this not get to her like it wants to, the only way for her to stay alive, sometimes, is to pass this infection on to her own host. so she chants what it chants. through clenched teeth and tears and her own blood, but it does not hurt her as much as if she keeps it in. and in this, it is successful -- still as it might be, immobile from that room, the pool of blood, the darkness, it still spreads. its only goal.
'why
why why why why why
why can't i just collapse the roof on it.'

:: 2004 3 November :: 12.34 am

mica besides lazeyki, a girl and her dog to anyone else, but here. oh, here, how things are odd.

subtle worrythreats eminating from metus; bringing about the devilpossession of rek. sadness. plunging in. she's in the red, working from inside out, and i can feel her when she tries to stop my heart. oh the devil. the fin in the waves. the enemy. the pleading, poor, possessed victim only wishing to be useful, now turned into.. this..? a looming threat; a disgust to myself. i both pity her and despise her. or, rather, does mica. so many have been working so hard for so long to make balance like we are so close to getting. suzy, now, has calmed, and fetches tranquility of the soul like a blanket for the sick. lazeyka's words, lazeyki's words, are a constant stream and rek closes her eyes and does not ignore. this is life, this is what we have to accept. there is so much left to fight and so little to fight, to her, now.
there was a moment there when constance said 'this is enough. this will be enough.' an intake of air; how that calms....
and subira, draped in her cloak, dragging it behind her. it is so hard to notice anything in this fog, lazeyka has just realized. we need lamps, perhaps. he breathes out flame. his eyes dilate and shrink. the fog continues, eminating from under subira's cloak. is her body still there, or is she merely a smoking mass now, letting all of her peices float out as gases, separate as particles can get...? oh, but she still has shoulders.
there is violet everywhere.
the number five is evident.
eight, two; now and again a nine. the clock struck. nine twenty eight.
eight, eight, eight, again and again; can we not leave this numeral alone? still, its rationality is a reminder. or is it a reminder of rationality? or...? no, it is simply a reminder of this revolution. this epiphany.
there is red, brown, dark colors on the floor. there is yellow on the walls and green seeping in, more green but it's so hard to see in the dim light now. beatrice tends to this, any kind of green, begging it to come in. please come in you green you. turquoise is rejected. pale blue is seen sparingly; it is too bright now, perhaps when keesha comes in the room she'll let the blue open up. a pink a smile. come on, mica, with your orange, your salmon. the navy blue. and the blue. so much blue, a blue eight, oh come now, what is this, silence? even lazeyka's talking in riddles now. but no matter. smiles. grins. keesha and mica.
we won
we're winning
come on, come over, the remains of the beginning, the start of the end and the end of the start.

:: 2004 2 November :: 12.01 am

there are two roads i can take.
i'll probably end up down a third.

:: 2004 31 October :: 6.16 pm

so... in cahoots now, eh?
dunno if i can deal with that, but i'll try. aren't we back at the beginning? where's zvekh? why is all this fog here? mica, what am i doing?
did horace kill jaeger...? what's going on....?

arron's chained... there's no running. he'll have to learn. there's partial forcing here.. you think 'who's done this to him?' but really, no one has. it is him who said 'tie me down. i wish to run no longer.' so we obeyed. mica almost cheerfully. she grinned and said. 'one more.'

:: 2004 28 October :: 11.04 pm

don't choke my breath, don't stop my heart, don't crush my chest. don't break me from the inside to the inside to the out.
[don't work like this; please don't be a rek effect.]