:: 2004 14 November :: 8.37 am

OK. Let's pretend like everything didn't shit itself to death five minutes from the start.

1. NaNoWriMo. I got maybe 3,000 words in before it all imploded, but somehow, I'm more satisfied with this than I would have been if I'd proceeded with the orginal plan. Ressurecting Glitter&Achmed for even so short of a while, and realizing exactly what it was about them that gets to me . . . good thing. I'm done with it now, though. Let the chips fall where they may, I'm [sort of] through pining over the idea. Reality isn't a damn thing like that . . .

2. Concert called on account of, I dunno, pneumonia or something. Seriously, I don't know what the fuck I caught, except that it was obviously psychosomatic and probably nothing more than stress and lack of sleep. Still, I felt like ass.

3. Hapkido. Went once, enjoyed the hell out of myself, and haven't been back since. Excuse me, self, what the fuck??? I really need to remedy that, and fuck the night shift. It was never scheduling that was the problem, I just feel like a retard with no coordination. Which I am, but for fuck's sake, nobody holds it against me. [Except, of course, me.]

4. Phone line, website, AIM. Actually succeeded beyond all of my own expectations on this one. Congraduration, a winner is you.

5. Comic. Yeah, I'm supposed to be drawing one for Shillowe, like now, but you know me . . . it's not just that I'm lazy so much as crippled by fear of producing the utter shit that I know I will produce. So I don't do anything at all, which is ridiculous, but whatever.

6. No Blockbuster within reach, but the shoppette does have a small collection for rent and I watch a movie about a porn king. Haven't played DDR in weeks, though.

7. Ability to concentrate has returned, for the most part, except that I've run out of special features on the Clerks dvd. Sadface.

So, uh. Two and a half out of seven isn't too bad . . . oh wait, wait. Yes it is.

Crap.

myxomatosis

:: 2004 14 November :: 8.14 am

Names. I've never ever ever found a decent name for myself. And I've lingered long and uselessly over why, which I don't wish to re-enact now. But:

To Zenith, Ayrn, Deph, and maybe others I am still LT. Zenith is just Zenith to me, Ayrn has been Corwin for a while, Deph switches between that and Wes. All for different reasons. I never really knew Zenith that well, but at one point she offered her house to me. God, think about that. Never met the girl, and through the strength of AIM conversations she decided that if I needed it, I could have a room in her house. Isn't that awesome? She was, for a while, my wings. And then she kind of fell of the face of the internet, and now that she's back I'm not sure what to do with her. It's wierd and awkward, she hasn't changed at all and I have so much.

Ayrn . . . still a thorn in my side. There was never any decent resolution about him. Probably never will be. I did get to see him once, though, long after it had ceased to matter. Sort of. Thorn thorn thorn.

Deph/Wes . . . well, he's Wes. I mean. That alone should describe it, if you know him. He's cool.

Psyche was the only one who ever picked up the habit of calling me Torpor, one of the many millions of perceptions to which I am eternally grateful to her for. She singlehandedly destroyed my mindless argh at the christian nation by being so wonderful and accepting. I know her given name, but don't use it out of respect.

Alicia calls me Maggie, or Magpie, or Marmalade, or whatever the fuck she feels like calling me . . . it's brilliant. Only she and my grandmother have ever been allowed to bastardize my given name. It's an insult when anyone else does it, with her, it feels right. It'd be wierd if she called me Margaret, or Torpor, or whatever. She has a handle on me. [somethingsopmething, god, i'm so too tired to do this]

Jim calls me Chesh. Short for Cheshire, because, [and I misquote] ". . . you seem to be fond of the creatures." [Referring to my art.] The first time he suggested it I laughed, thinking there was no way he'd ever know how hideously accurate it was, and mentally dismissed it, figuring he'd find something better in a couple of days. He didn't.

I've lost track of my point . . . very tired. Blzz blzz blzz. No handle ever seems to fit me. No name is ever adequate. It's frustrating, after years of trying. I feel faceless and mute and wierd.

1 in | myxomatosis

:: 2004 11 November :: 11.20 am

too much emo . . . . aghaghagh. i know without a doubt now why i've been in such a good mood for the past three days, 'cuz today it all went away . . .

anyway. you know i'm right, she says. mutterings of Truth and Truth and Truth.

and i don't know. look at her. look "how the mighty have fallen." and she never would have if i hadn't. if i had stuck to my guns and.

a keening wail as i consider what could have been.

but if i had never known dan like that, i probably never would have met jim. so it's a fucking catch 22.

but i mean. it could have meant something.

but i mean. this burning in your gut. that's why it should never. ever. mean anything.

why. i thought it wasn't in me to understand the concept of "making love." [too much emo, child.] the endless calm that i float upon when [i wake up to.]

but there's another kind of calm, and it's probably what i need more right now. in this world there are and always have been things you can never have. beautiful objects made to look, not touch. you're one of them, boy. so was alice. am i going to look back at this later and laugh? and is it going to be in a year when you think everything's gotten better? and is it going to be in a year when i prove myself right, sickeningly saddeningly again and again? is it going to be in five years when i remember how . . . stupidly optimistic i was. and blablablablalbalbal. ptth.

no my point is . . . actually. no. my point is, and always has been. you know, people make mistakes. fucking deal with it. you know, some things, some stories are too great to pass by. you meet this guy on a chance in a million and you're giving up just like that?

. . . yes. think about it. really. really.

i suppose you're right. but i am too, or something? please, don't let this fire in me be always wrong. there's got to . . . . something something.

fuck the future. look at what i am right now. this is what all things are made of.

& i still say he's blind if he can't see this. but let him be. it's all built on lies now anyway. [you've closed yourself off too much for it not to be.] & you've got to take whatever you can get. you dumb. shit.

myxomatosis

:: 2004 10 November :: 8.00 pm

You'll never see this, dear girl. I have no idea why I still bother with you.

. . . Never. Nevernevernever. Tell yourself it's inappropriate to feel what you do. I've been down that road. Worn deep ruts in it, I know it like the back of my hand. I've been feeling guilty for having any emotions that were not joy since I was a small child.

Yes, I love my dad.

[that was a low blow. i don't care. i am free here to say whatever.]

Trying to surpress it just makes it a thousand times worse. Maybe, maybe I'm wrong and you can handle it better than I can. Maybe there is something within you that I lack, or something in me that you lack, but I doubt it. I first became fascinated with you because you remind me so much of myself. A younger, purer, infinitely more focused version of myself.

I mean, think about this for a second.

[i don't care what their "real" names are, i'll call them whatever the fuck i feel like calling them]

Jyiis was so much a better version of me. Artistically, creatively, humorously. I looked up to her, and I guess. My little crush on her came from that and from the small amount of attention she paid to me. Keep this in mind, it's a recurring pattern. Anyone, anyone that I look up to for any reason whatsoever, if they pay me just a slight amount of attention I will enslave myself to their shadow. I can't help it. Wish I could.

[wish i could a lot of things]

Corwin, he could write. Really, really well. And . . .
[i don't like remembering this. how easy it was. to break it down.]
. . . he sang. Flying Pickles In The Sky, I think, will never leave my memory. How could you forget a song like that? He made me laugh. Often. He wrote for me, a couple times, I think. Something. It's hard to recollect exactly what went on, then or five minutes ago [my memory is such shit.]
No, it's . . . pretty much what I just said, I guess. He paid attention to me. And so much of him was like me, in certain regards. Of course, I also realize that when I find someone to look up to, I mold myself after them. So how could I help loving him and Mel? They were both sort of versions of myself.

I want that time back. Or rather, I want memories of it. I want something to look back on. I wish I hadn't freaked out and destroyed everything. I'm not sure if it would help if I had found his old diary, though. I fucking damn near memorized a few of those entries . . . that's not good, if you can't already tell. I get obsessive so easily.

Tie-dye. Motherfucking tie dye, poofy hair, Doctor Who. God. I miss it.

Emoticons. -.^ Bastard.

I should really learn to trust people more. Where was I.

Alicia, with Le Rouge of course, and the John Smith fixation . . . she understands more about that side/s of me than I think anyone ever will . . . & I am so grateful for that. For knowing I'm not completely alone, not a total freak. For knowing that someone out there will know what I mean when I say that skinning a corpse can be beautiful. And why I want to break mirrors.

Jim, who feels that raw intensity of emotion. The less said about him at the moment, the better.

Eli, the amateur philosopher, eternally curious at the nature of the human animal. Always managing to find beauty in life, even and especially in the worst moments.

I'm a fucking narcissist, but I doubt anyone will ever believe me because they don't have all the information at hand. They don't have the reactions, the thoughts, the reasons. They only have the surface of it. They only have what it looks like from the outside.

But you know, maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Maybe I've spent too long convincing myself that I am Filth. Maybe something something something. You know?

Maybe . . .
[long, bitter laughter. the only one who'll never leave, who will ever be that dedicated, is my greatest ally and worst enemy.
i am such a fucking narcissist.]

myxomatosis

:: 2004 7 November :: 1.08 pm

Really fuckin' lonely right now . . . I should have gone somewhere, done something today. Something not involving sitting around on my ass watching movies about porn stars and angsting on the internet.

It's just a simple matter of not having anybody to trust. I refuse to angst all over Jim anymore . . . for one thing he doesn't need it, and quite simply the less involved I am emotionally, the better . . . it's unpleasant, though. I can never trust anybody completely. But I felt safe in his arms . . . but given half a reason he'll ditch me without a second thought. He's got no reason to hang on, he simply hasn't found anything better at the moment . . . and I keep thinking somewhere in the back of my mind that if I'm perfect enough, somehow he'll fall in love all over again . . . but. I mean, he can still never trust me. And without that, what is there?

I know. I know that there is no hope for the future as far as he and i are concerned. There is no future as far as he and i are concerned. Trying to hang on for over a year, ha, good luck with that . . . he'll get bored of me. Grow tired of me. Finally grok what I'm trying to say and be repulsed at it. Or find somebody who's less trouble, less maintainence, not so fucking far away . . .

. . . i just. wish i could be. [worthwhile].

myxomatosis