LiveJournal for :[diatribe]:..
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Tuesday, July 10th, 2001 |
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as of midnight, this journal will no longer be updated. questions may be asked via email. |
Thursday, July 5th, 2001 |
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Wednesday, July 4th, 2001 |
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meh. another fourth of july. i keep having dreams about f.; three days this week, in fact. he's going to laugh when i tell him about them. they're...so, so weird. i'm going to go watch "batman beyond" - for some reason i'm addicted to that show. nothing much else to say, i guess. i miss you, r. |
Tuesday, July 3rd, 2001 |
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i'm really, really tired of living here. and i don't understand why people bitch about not having any friends or people that care about them, then when others make an effort to get in contact with them they don't reply. i haven't heard from ^batty^ since the attrition show, and she promised that she would write to me. apparently she felt "so awful" about not keeping in touch. i can understand that she has a Busy Life (tm) but is it that hard to type five lines, and send it off? i wrote her a note at the show, and told her to read it later. she lit a cigarette, and read it two seconds after i'd given it to her. she smiled (i noticed that it reached up to her eyes - which is something that i hadn't seen at all that night), thanked me, and apologised again for not writing / calling. i consider her one of my closest friends, but fuck. i can only take so much of this "i meant to write you! really i did!" before i begin to wonder if she honestly did at all. i'd like to give her credit for actually meaning that, and i do (most of the time). it's just funny how she has time to keep up on her mailing lists, yet can't take four seconds to send me something. i'm not asking for a Life Update email every fucking day, but i feel like i'm giving a lot more than i'm getting here. i don't know. i sent her an email a few days ago. hopefully i'll get something back this time. i miss her so much, and i just wish people would stop constantly giving her so much shit. of course if i were her, i'd tell me to fuck off. i mean, ninety-two percent of the general populace already has. spite - always the epitome of maturity and grace. |
Monday, July 2nd, 2001 |
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last night, i dreamt that shaun, r., and i were ninjas. we had to fight our supreme enemy m (who coincedentally, was making an appearance as a soul-sucking vampire). it was gvn and drogg's responsibility to provide the dream's soundtrack, as well. as we were fighting, i noticed a large majority of my friends list dressed as cheerleaders. if you're asking, "is she talking about me?", i am. lj is eating my brain, i think. it's worse than |
Sunday, July 1st, 2001 |
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two more nightmares, and no one's around. fuck. you know, i think that i've figured out why i sleep better during the day. the dreams don't show up as frequently / intensely, then. |
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everyone's a jaded fucker, just like me. i can't help it that i'm still thinking about you, even after it's been so long? why do i have to put myself through this, over and over? i put on the facade of "yeah, i really don't give a shit" to everyone else, but inside i'm hoping to hear something, anything from you. just to know that you still think about me. hahah. you. thinking about me. go on, make that face that you always used to make whenever you'd hear something that was completely fucking asinine. it's funny, though. everything that you've ever said to me, i believed. i know, i used to always laugh it off. either that, or my response would be something disgustingly full of low self-esteem. secretly, i always believed you. despite everything, i still believe. am i crazy? gosh, i'm really beginning to think so! most people would say so, anyway. and you? you probably agree with them, now. although i remember when there was a point that you'd have never dreamed of saying / thinking something like that. you just..god. you live your life so...so quick. hard. and i was in deeper, harder, faster, and stronger than anyone you'd ever met. the same goes for you. i guess i've just realised how exposed i feel without you to be my armour. i know what i tell people. i know, i know. i know how i say that i don't think about you, how i hope that you're "doing okay" and how i'm "so happy" that you'll find someone new. it's all bullshit, and you know it. i keep dreaming about you; they're horrible, terrifying spools of film that keep spinning over and over in my head. i can't escape from you. i can't, i can't. i can't. you told me once that i couldn't, and i laughed it off because "no one gets the best of me". but you did, didn't you? you know that you have, in fact, and you fucking left me here to rot alone. no one. i have no one, and you're left with all of the smiling, adoring fans. people who talk about you behind your back, but gee! won't they be so happy to hear from you? yeah, i used to think the same thing. everyone's a jaded fucker, just like me. no one gives a fuck about anyone else, unless it benefits them. but you know what? i do give a fuck, regardless of what you think, and they say. it's too bad that no one took / takes the time to believe me. last night, i found several of your letters to me. i touched the words with my fingertips, and they burned straight into my soul. the ink began to waver, and blur. in a burst of anger, i ripped them to shreds. this was also the night that i destroyed everything that you'd ever given me, mentally and physically. i wanted to cry, but i couldn't. it hurt too much to force the tears out. besides, you never know what to do when i cry, anyway. you just know that i cry when i see you hurting, i cry when you do, and sometimes i think that you use that against me. i think that you'd use everything against me, if you could. you used to say that we'd wind up together in the end, no matter what happened. funny, i used to believe every word of that sentence - so much more than you knew; so much more than i ever let on. i want to be out of here. i'm sick of rotting in the same fucking carcass. i'm tired of friends that are around when it's convenient for them. i'm tired of constantly being a tense angerball. you were always the one that i fell apart around, and you know that. i'm not good at keeping up this "yes, everything's fine [smile + nod] facade" without you to restitch me back together every night. do you remember any of it? you used to be so careful with that needle; now it's dragging and ripping so deeply into my flesh that i can't get away from it. i need to forget you. this is insanity at its finest, i think. i'm shaking, and i can't see what i'm typing because tears are pouring out of me as i write this. this, the letter that you'll never see. coming from me, the girl that you can't see. i'm really fucking losing it, i think. everyone's a jaded fucker, just like me. but they're not all jaded crazy fuckers, you see. |
Saturday, June 30th, 2001 |
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help, the kitten needs a name. on an unrelated note, i am in the worst possible mood. |
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i wish that i could stop dreaming, just for a night. actually, i wonder if i can make "nightmaring" a word. if that's the case, then i wish that i could stop nightmaring for a night. naps count in this, too. |
Wednesday, June 27th, 2001 |
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you hold my head, i cannot hurt you touch my heart, i cannot bleed you close my eyes and i can see caress my skin my sickness sleeps my dreams are golden my dreams are golden (s)he said "the leper sleeps tonight" (s)he said. (s)he strokes and tumbles into my vein (s)he gently turns the tide of shame steal to the city with no name the scent of darkness smothers pain my dreams are golden my dreams are golden (s)he said "your wounds will heal tonight" (s)he said. |
Monday, June 25th, 2001 |
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(outside, smoking. spite sees a spider crawling next to the front door. upon getting squirmy, she calls upon the efforts of the (now-heroic) lokust.) spite: "make it go away! quick!" lokust picks up said spider, and places it into the grass. spite: "i'm so hardcore." [wry smile] spite exits, stage left |
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r. and i agree on "the scene". insert impatient waving away of hand, here. ------------ "it was amusing, talking to one of those self-titled "rivethead" kids - i used to be one.. but i find it so amusing that there's nothing new in the scene.. they still talk about the same bands.. "oh fuck man, oh dude if nivek ogre met trent reznor, he would kill him. he hates him. oh and vnv nation and blah blah, wumpscut is the best thing ever blah blah blah wank wank wank" i just kinda sat there through this conversation and listened to just about every industrial-esque folk tale that ever exsisted.. then i tried to have a discussion about what was mentioned, and i had to go through the usual formalities to prove in this soon-to-be-pissing-match, that i really knew what i was talking about. since, i, a) didn't really look like a rivethead - a black button down shirt, baggy jeans, a pair of vans, no accessories except for the earnings, and b) i guess i don't look 22, and c) everyone seems to be so defensive about their music these days. it's amazing. tell some "rivethead" that wumpscut is nothing new and they sound like every other mentallo & the fixer darkwave synth-puke band that was so cool about 4 years ago, and prepare to lose a limb. tell someone velvet acid christ is one of the worst and most overrated bands on the scene and people start crying. i don't understand it. mention names like david thrussell, black lung, scorn, even snog?!, everyone seems to know h3llb3nt now, but who's this bryan black guy? jesus christ, do your homework kid. i think this is what pisses me off about american auidences the most, in general. throw them the top 10 popular bands in any music genre and play them out, and thats all anyone ever needs. no room for expansion, new artists, cross-genre experimentation, and god forbid anyone ever change their instrumentation lineup. industrial-metal bands that add a real keyboard player and replace their minidisc player or add a real guitarist, or play a trumpet - oh shit the world is gonna end. close the doors, burn your cd's, and tell your mom you're sorry for all the makeup stains around the house. it's nothing but christina aguilera from now on, cuz apop bezerk just got a haircut, a pair of sketchers, and a kazoo and you just can't live the dark-cliche lifestyle with such "drastic" improvements on your life blood: almost a decade of recycled gary numan/kraftwerk/skinny puppy/velvet underground reguritation with new names and skinnier bodies. go ahead, do yourself a favor. get an album that pushes the envelope. autechre, candiria, refused, merzbow, curse of the golden vampire, godflesh, lull, aphex twin - just something. something that proves the defintion of that shitty genre title and pushes it out into it's own. those are bands. those are artists. those are people that aren't following a format - they're making formats for the next herd of musicians to recycle the sound and possibly make more money. eric powell was right. fuck the record industry." i couldn't have said it better, myself. i've had this conversation with someone else, actually. they wound up getting pissed and storming away. hee! :B |
Sunday, June 24th, 2001 |
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so, lokust and i are stuck at my grandma's house. when we left this morning to go and drive back to rhode island, we stopped off at my grandparents' house to say hello / visit for a while. they were at church or something, so we left a note and then went to get back on the road. as soon as we tried to start his car, it completely died. after getting one of the redneck neighbours (yay!) to check out his car, we called a towing service. it's going to stay in the shop overnight, be fixed in the morning and hopefully we'll be able to leave tomorrow. it's really weird hanging out with my grandma. i mean, this isn't even according to plan, and it's really beginning to freak me out. i also don't think that he knows how to handle me when i'm stressed out and that worries me a little. i mean, he's really nice and fun to be around, but we're fighting about the lamest shite right now. they're stupid nit-picking fights. when i'm stressed, i shut down and don't say much of anything; e. knows this very well. i guess that i haven't really had much experience with anyone else "dealing with me" in situations like this. i wish that he wouldn't take everything so fucking personally; at least, that's how it seems. it's almost like i can't say anything right, do anything right, and he is over-sensitive about a lot. maybe it's just the fact that he's in a weird situation, and doesn't want to step on any toes; maybe it's just me. heh. i'm wondering if he's thinking that i honestly do suck, because as much as he says he doesn't think that i do, he's definitely acting like it. last night, e., s., d., he, and i went out for a while. he didn't seem to be having fun at all and i didn't want to be flakey and just ignore him the entire time. we saw j., and she was a drunken wench as usual. i tried to include him in things, but i don't know if it werked. everyone seemed to like him, though. e. wanted to go with us this morning of course. i wish that i could have kidnapped him and taken him with us. teehee! anyway, i'm not certain how to proceed in this situation. i just wish i wouldn't have to keep giving reassurance on everything, and that he would just accept what i say as fact and leave it at that. not everything is his fault, and i'm not always pissed off because of him. i also wish he'd stop thinking that he's "imposing" on everyone. i don't know how to make him understand that he's not. that, and the fact that he thinks everyone hates him. insecurity? maybe. for the most part, things are going okay (i think). if he just chills out, we should be okay. i warned him that i was a mood-swingy depressed loser bitch; now i guess he's seeing it in action. :/ that, and he'd better keep that fucking cat out of my face. i want to rip its face off. ubercute things like that make me want to puke. :B heh. tight-lipped. terse. moody. why? i don't know. |
Friday, June 15th, 2001 |
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so, off just like that? [blink] |
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ross is the best. thank you. |
Thursday, June 14th, 2001 |
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Wednesday, June 13th, 2001 |
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because you know, you wake up seven o'clock been out all night; an hour's sleep you walk out into the city you find yourself among strangers what am i to them? and you walk around, feeling you're going to be attacked for every move (and you know, it's all a film) i find myself inside a church deserted by the priests as shadows shift from grey to red i notice there's no floor transparent air suspends my weight as if i had no mass suddenly the moon comes out from the clouded skies wet and cold from shifting daydreams wakeful in the sleep windowpane observing some commotion down below waiting for the noise to come and blur the weary mind watching as a past-time and i'm the fallen star we can all be gods we will all be heroes we are all immortal we will all be safe we are all illusions, and we can never touch i will shine again with burning light when i return in and out from foreign shores, i've gone astray in time born to search for something i have never even seen on an endless quest to hostile ground and unknown lands then the scene go back to where it started and i fall as shadows shift from red to grey i notice there's no floor and gravity awakes me as it throws me to the ground a million tiny grains of dust obscures me from your eyes |
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orange, orange, orange in the mouth again straighten wearing stonewashed denim again straighten carrying something wrapped in plastic, straighten curled on the blue velveteen again, straighten straighten siteless yellow highrise, bethnal green. straighten corner tubeless dark and wet, straighten ten tons slowly then again, straighten (with its glass eyes, a blue formica halo) stainless steel between the fingers, straighten pissed and leaning ponytail licking colonel sanders fingers the naming of killer boy everything's going west, nothing's going east straighten there's no need to be so uptight, straighten make up for all their messes (i could listen to you all day) what a laugh cut me, i bleed like you (ha ha) the naming of killer boy cover your teeth, i love you (don't bite me yet, i believe in you) i found you shopping in europa on wardour street not phoning packwidth guilty as sin, straighten scratches on paper pissed in a tube hole, straighten smelling of deep-fried beans and whispering your name tube hole wind in my face, thunder in gentle distance reactor, reactor (do you mind?) straighten this is a random feature random feature this is a random feature naming of killer boy wired up |
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carelessly passing through pieces of future stored in abundance such a waste i have had visions of bodies split open, exposing the thread of their secretive nature increasing demands of the ones that surround me noted for strength and kindness of heart have weakened me further beyond recognition mind as mist body crumbles to touch carelessly passing through pieces of future stored in abundance what a waste i have opened myself to this notion, absorbing the filth of all that fall in my way carelessly passing through maze, this dementia has built around a thousand thoughts of the one who seduced to reveal my intentions the one who has weakened me; broken me down |
Tuesday, June 12th, 2001 |
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sometimes you're better off dead there's a gun in your hand and it's pointing at your head you think you're mad, too unstable kicking in chairs and knocking down tables in a restaurant in a west end town call the police, there's a mad running down underground to a dive bar in a west end town in a west end town, a dead end world the east end boy(s) and west end girl(s) in a west end town, a dead end world too many shadows, whispering voices faces on posters, too many choices if, when, why, what? how much have you got? have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often and which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (how much do you need?) |
LiveJournal for :[diatribe]:..
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