cutlip
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2003 17 November :: 6.28pm
Lifeissoangstriddenlifeissoangstriddenblahblahblahi'llbesadandcrynow. Emoshitemoshitemoshit.
.//Emomotherfuckers.
Anyway, just popping in to let the people on my friendslist know that I envy the way they write and will be there to eventually eat their brains and absorb their talent. FUCKyeah.
Don'tbetriflin'. Yaw.
6 in |
myxomatosis
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cutlip
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2003 13 November :: 11.25pm
I hear whispers. Sirens. Sirens sound like a screaming girl.
WeeeOOOOooo, weeeeOOoooo...
I'm so fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking hot. I know you're hot, babe. No, it's quite hot in here.
I don't KNOW what it is inside me. I hear these things. Voices. They all sound like me. Different. Butme.
They keep leaning. Why are they leaning? They tilt my head and narrow my eyes and I look at things like I never have before. But at the same time. They'renotme.
WeeeooOOOooo, weeeOOOOoooo..
Who are they? I want to slam my chair into a table, gritting my teeth. Spittle bubbling on my lips and splashing out and my face red and my neck tense. With all the veins standing out.
There was a [5150] at work today. And we had to give her sedatives. As they were pushing her into the van, she screamed at me like that. With teeth grit and splattering spittle. And she screamed.
YOU HEAR THEM TOO. DON'T YOU.
And I just stood there and watched the lights to the paddywagon go blaring off.
WeeeOOOooo... weeeeooOOOooo..
7 in |
myxomatosis
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cutlip
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2003 13 November :: 6.18pm
:: Music: Fuck Her Gently.x.Tenacious D
For a moment there, I had almost convinced myself to find some sort of poetic irony in the fact that I picked a rose for the girl I liked. Got cut by the thorns. Bleeding, presented it, to have her sigh and shake her head.
And I held it until the red turned black.
There's more poetic irony in the fact that flowers must eventually wither, fade, and die. Die. Die.
Why.oh.why.can't.i.?
Because. Irefuseto.
Didyouwantangst?
myxomatosis
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cutlip
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2003 8 November :: 5.07pm
Good morning. Have a popup, won't you?
Somehow, it doesn't remind me of a thumb. Nono, much more personal.
4 in |
myxomatosis
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cutlip
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2003 7 November :: 10.01pm
I wish. I wish. I wish. I were a fish.
Watching the pihrana, I understand their grimfacefrowns. They wish they were human. Poorunfortunatesouls. Sosad. Buttrue.
I wish. I understood what things are bubbling inside me. Like metal in the pot, I'm changing. But I don't know into what.
There are things whispering. All the time. I'm a veritable wreck at the moment. Turning corners with wide eyes. Wondering when the next fit of whispers will assault.
I'm going crazy. Ignoreme.
2 in |
myxomatosis
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