:: 2003 3 December :: 1.55 am

Was hunting around on the hard drive and found this. I was planning on compiling a complete history of F14/Neverland/The Underground/whateverthefuckIcallit, but of course lost my motivation. This covers a lot, though.

Read more..

Hr. Any questions, feel free to ask. I like rambling about my headpeoples.

5 in | myxomatosis

:: 2003 3 December :: 1.18 am

"But instead of helping me to see I look around and it's like I'm blinded. I'm spinning out of control, out of control!"

Nobody gets to see this. Blind for a reason. Blind them all instead. Blind them blind them blind them kill them all. They are all fools. Remember Dog. {but remembering kills it, I know the Truth now and it burns harder than acid, I can't stop throwing this lump up} Nobody gets to see Deadog. Nobody gets to see me. I am the wind I am the hand of God I am {useless. stupid. shut up.} {idiot. keeping it locked up doesn't make it better. you're just a poser. idiotidiotidiotidiot. you think this makes it any better? can't change what can't change. can't change yourself. can't change the god. can't change the lack of relation. fool, fool, fool, fool, fool.

But wait, on the other hand . . . Wunderland. Right? Right? {i don't know anymore i feel like i'm crashing falling without falling it's too cold too cold too cold the boy who cried wolf godwhatisthis.}

But. Well. I suppose effigy stands as a testement to herself. And a face for the others. Or not. I can't understand anything anymore. Falling falling aaagh. Aaagh. Aaagh. I had a point but I can't make it anymore. Wonder if I'm catching cold. Wonder if I can stand up. Falling falling falling falling {I'll hate this in an hour, I'll hate everything foreve, remember yourself as a fool, remember november hahahahahahaha fool}

27 is three times three times three. Divine. The sign for a gun is destruction. Turn it ninety degrees and it is peace, rapture, divinity, more than you can ever comphrehend. More than I can comphrehend. I am such a small, small child. I'll never have wings and it wouldn't bother me except that I can see you all who can already fly and it tears my insides outside onesideout.

And if you think you see something in me. Then you are the biggest fool of all. {but on the other hand, no one does, it's all mirrors and smoke, the fool the fool the fool does it to itself. force of habit bad habit idiot.}

No, wait. Seethe. hrrrr. Oh, well.

4 in | myxomatosis

:: 2003 3 December :: 1.27 am

NO. NO. NO. SHUTUPGETDOWN. SHUTITSHUTIT. DIE.

Onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne . . . break her neck again, boil the fool alive, push it away take its eyes hang it forever and blow apart the tree but it never goes away you bastard, stop whining, stop whining at me, you can't have it you can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it, you can't have it . . .

Hatred of the stupid little girl. Shut up. Die, bitch. Shut up. Die, idiot. Shut up. Die, cuntlicker. Die. Die. Die.

But NO. You're still here. You don't ever leave. You just. Hsssssssss. Bastardbastardbastard. Traitor. Traitor to the cause. You can't remember the Oath, your brain is mush, I can't stop you, I can kill you and kill you and kill you and you won't fucking die, please?¿please?¿stupidchild. please I'm BEGGING you stop it.

Hsss. She never goes away. She's the monkey on my back, not the other way around. Oh, I suffer moments of revelation too, bitch. That doesn't mean anything.

://Let me stop shivering for a moment and.

Neverneverland is Deadog and Wunderland and Deadog and Wunderland are Neverneverland. The City is gone, subsumed again, now by Deadog, where it rains. effigy is as king. She has destroyed herself and made a perfect mask that no one will ever get the better of, but she hates it. You would too. She destroyed the crown and ate the wire that held its power and now she is more than god itself. She can do anything for any reason in there. It's only limited by her mind. Which is. Very limited indeed. The blindfold signifies this and a million other things.

Massacre was in hibernation, I'd thought it dead, but it came back and. Um. Something about Rapture. It can fly again. It and effigy are like the good old days in the Underground. Fighting and fucking and screaming and grinning and avoiding each other and being unable to avoid each other. Mostly Massacre lives in the shadows, between the folds of reality, near the time-space whirlpool that hides the dog's original memories.

She's thrown up mountians. Gigantic mushrooms. Oceans, rivers, cathedrals, everything and nothing. The clouds are wierdly colored, but you wouldn't expect anything else, would you? She lobotomized Cat-thing& Bat-thing, replaced their brains with meese {pure rage} and set them loose. Since Bat's a wuss next to Cat's tendrils she gave him metal teeth and drove spikes into his paws for new claws. The two of them ravage the countryside like good little nightmare denizens are supposed to.

She killed all the golf balls, old myrmidons {even the grey, she lured it into her home and snapped it in half and ate its wings}, a lot of the foliage, hid the swamp so no one can find it unless they already know the way . . . basically cut everything that was good {gangrenous} from the heart of the place. Not that it will really help anything. A true nightmareland would still eat us in a second and spit out the bones. But never{never}mind.

She took the last Red Coat and disassembled it to learn how to make more. There's a great big vat sitting in the middle of the forest {you need architecture, fool} churning out these things. She wants to make an army. So far, success is marginal. They exist, and they're robotic and evil, but nowhere near as powerful as the originals. It's in the masks, and the coats, and the shadowstuff, but she doesn't have any of that and thinks it's all about metal anyway. Still, at least they look interesting. She walks among them and kicks them to death in order to get a toothpick. She'll figure it out eventually.

There's a bone cathedral. It looks like that room in Riven where they made offerings, but all made of bone. She doesn't feel pain at all, almost. Maybe 1/100th the nerve endings of normal people. So she masturbates on the tusks. And tied up Massacre to the throne and screwed it. {Massacre doesn't have any genitals . . . I have no idea how she does this. I get the impression that it's more about the act itself than the results. Power, seduction, superiority. Playing around.}

. . . I'd thought One was dead, too. But I guess she always was, in part. She's not really herself. More zombiefied than usual. She'll lie around being a nicely dead corpse for days, weeks, until something stimulates her {some outside influence, some reason to feel the heart} and then it's. Just back to old habits. effigy's losing the battle and she knows it. She's getting almost depressed over it, which is somewhat unlike her. Circumstances change people, I guess. It's linked to the rain. She'd absorbed some of Depp's blood when she killed him. I guess it shows.

The body twitches. Flails against the ground like it's choking, like a frog's leg given an electric shock, like a landed fish. Flop flop gasp gasp. Like a chest-burster, but it's all around us.

Take that fucking mask off, effigy. It's not yours . . . it won't help.

OhSHIT. The law of threes. You fool. You FOOL. Oh gods, you finally understand for a moment. No wonder. Oh god. No wonder. No wonder.

"You are such a fool to worry like you do, you gotta stand up straight, carry your own weight, these tears are going nowhere . . ."

No. On second thought I'm going to do the only thing I'm good at. Build a voodoo doll. And rip it to shreds. Slow and shuddering. But rip it to shreds. Because I can't stand any more of this. Even though I'm going to. Even though it'll never really end. Rip it to shreds. Because it's meaningless and useless and no one can ever see it anyway.

Cough up your intestines, kid. It'll help nothing. But the taste is to die from. Hssssssss.

myxomatosis

:: 2003 2 December :: 1.26 am

But.x://Chuck said it best, I think. That people delude themselves into thinking that if they ever get enough love, enough money, enough sex, enough praise, all the need and the feeling like shit will suddenly stop. That a human can be filled up for a lifetime with contentment. I keep thinking that if I just get popular enough, that if I have enough fans who worship my very breath, that if all the cool people tell me I'm cool too, then I'll be happy. I won't hate everything I am/do. I'll stop choking the fool and vomiting all over the sidewalk {metaphor}. But of course, it won't, I can't, and the addiction can only end when I do. {I'm hating this paragraph for being too angsty, it's just morbid thoughts from a mind of grey. Really, I feel nothing.[Lie:constantanxiety//butthat'snothingnew?]}

Human is human is human. I can't hate. I can't not hate. Where are my pants of contradiction, oh they're around my ankles.

{was going to use emotiondump [plugplug] but why bother with anonymity when I already have it?¿://I am a dramafiend. I love to watch it. I love to laugh at the destruction. I love to watch little girls cry and little boys break their fists in anger. I watch from a distance and grin in sadistic glee with a mouth full of popcorn. This is entertainment!://It is exhilerating, but only when I have a personal stake in it. Only when a "friend" {see below} is involved. Because then I get to act superior. Because then I get to feel it, the anger and the hurt and the righteous indignation. I get to feel, period. In living color.

"Friend" is in quotes because I really don't have it in me to uphold a friendship {as I'm sure those who've spoken with me can attest} and therefore it feels all shades of eugh to call those people I have affection for "friends" but I lack a better word.

://There's a song called Clubbed To Death {Kurayamino Mix} on the first Matrix soundtrack. It's seven minutes long and by the end of the third minute I just. Can't. Think. Anymore. This music, it's every stupid cliche for joy you've ever heard: It's flight, it's drowning, it's being blinded by the sun, it's standing in the rain and watching the city lights after dark, it's the end of a movie where you get tingles in your fingers because the good guy's winning {even though you always knew he would}, it's just . . . beautiful. If I were as powerful as this music makes me feel I would be unstoppable and the most perfect thing you've ever seen. I would pwn the universe.

Blind to the rapture. I can fly, I can fly.

myxomatosis

:: 2003 1 December :: 1.07 am

Stare at your own deformities, child:///no,anyway. Leather mask, wire wire, breathe hissing&condensing --{they did what?}-- I feel like there should be three again {wait, we just got back to two, back the truck up and shove it up y-} the stupid little girl getting her face torn off and loving every second of it. Tears are her aphrodisiac. Foolfoolfool. She whines but--I mean it's all been done, it's like a shitty cover of a song that was never all that good in the first place--but on the other hand it's brilliant, the way her screams tear at the ears, fucking around with reality or spacetime or something. Reverberations without--or rather, sound without vibration. It's all spiritual {bad word. ethereal?¿dreamlike} butbutbut the fact remain's she's still lying around with her face torn off. She's an addiction, is what. effigy doesn't want her around but can't help messing things up when she is . . . just shove the child in a box and hope it goes away. et cetera cetera. And uh. Alice In Wonderland.

myxomatosis