It's because I'm a masochist that I can say this.

"I'd rather the adventure of trouble through truth than the silent guilt of lies."

You'd at least think that, throughout the years, I'd have acquired some tact.

Nope. Just lost what little I had.

My Diplomacy only has points in it because, somehow, I have an outrageously high Charisma. I love Synchronizing my skills.

If that made any sense to you, know that I love you. <3

This post is Unoriginal. Lyrical.

I love music. I absolutely Adore music. I cannot get enough of it.

So, I'll just have to admit to myself right now that, sometimes, this blog won't be originally mine. That, every once in a blue moon I'll drop someone's lyrics in here.

Because they're pretty. Because the song is beautiful, because the message hit home, etc.

Whatever the reasons may be, I'll be dropping some lyrics here every now and again. And I'll just have to accept that.

Fiona Apple - 'A Mistake'

I'm gonna make a mistake
I'm gonna do it on purpose
I'm gonna waste my time
'Cause I'm full as a tick
And I'm scratching at the surface
And what I find is mine
And when the day is done, and I look back
And the fact is I had fun, fumbling around
All the advice I shunned, and I ran
Where they told me not to run, but I sure
Had fun, so
I'm gonna f*** it up again
I'm gonna do another detour
Unpave my path
And if you wanna make sense
Whatcha looking at me for
I'm no good at math
And when I find my way back,
The fact is I just may stay, or I may not
I've acquired quite a taste
For a wellmade mistake
I wanna mistake why can't I make a mistake?
I'm always doing what I think I should
Almost always doing everybody good
Why
Do I wanna do right, of course but
Do I really wanna feel I'm forced to
Answer you, hell no
I've acquired quite a taste
For a wellmade mistake, I wanna
Make a mistake, why can't I make a mistake
I'm always doing what I think I should
Almost always doing everybody good
Why

Writing Projects

So, I've told myself that I don't write enough anymore.

And that, quite frankly, I've only gotten worse rather than better.

So, in order to solve this problem I started a project with two of my friends.

It's a writing project, a little blog where we make characters and write short stories with them. We each make one character, all exchange characters, and write a short story.

Accidental Voodoo Shenanigans

Great Idea, great fun! Can't wait till it's rolling.

But, also, on the side, I've decided I will take random characters I've doodled or drawn before and write a short story for them. Or, at least, a background.

I have a LOT of random 'original' characters. So, I'll be dropping a few in here, all followed by a short story.

Flirtatious Vehicle Escapades

Have you ever flirted with a car?

And I don't mean as in, used the car to flirt. Or actually flirt with the car. Or even flirt within or around the car. I meant flirt while driving your car. Flirt with other cars. Not the drivers, just the cars.

Maybe it's part of my road rage. Maybe I'm a person with some sort of bizarre out look on life. But I love flirting with my car. It's adrenaline pumping. It's mysterious.

Some people race random strangers at stop lights for the victory. For the contest. Because we are all born and raised to want that winning spot at the top. Or, at least we're taught this at some point in life. Told it if even just with a bit of subtlety.

I race them for the car. For the feeling of speed and wanting to impress this other car, if the car is up to my standards. It needs to be a car I love, a car I admire, a car I want. Or else I'll be completely uninterested.

Of course it's been a year or two now since I've raced another car. Since I've 'flirted' with another car.

It's such a disconnection of feeling, of body. It isn't a human being. It's not really flirting, because it's a dangerous thing to do. A lot of people do it out of competition, which raises stress and sometimes can cause anger and frustration. But to me, it felt exhilarating. I loved it. I loved swerving through traffic after another car. Just because the car was beautiful and moving so smoothly and so swiftly through lines of traffic.

The other days, I was put in a position where it felt like me and the car before me were involved in a game of 'Chicken' my lane was closed off and I couldn't see oncoming traffic from over the hill. So I went for it, and as it happens, this other car come down.

It was a beautiful racer. Bright blue, the colour I want my Subaru Impreza wrx. And, although unintentionally, it gave me that adrenaline rush as I swerved out of the way to safety (and safely, of course). It was such an odd moment, such an odd realization, what I had just unwillingly felt and foregone. And how it's such an odd thing to think. I don't need to see a driver. Or think of one. The cars are always just cars. They don't have drivers. They're beautiful and fast and strong and they purr when they race through the streets. Speeds that cut through air.

I'm in love with speed that can cut air....

Red as the Devil's Dick

She was wearing her shades as the doors slid open slowly for her.
It was always almost kind of scary, walking into a closed door without having to push or pull. It still felt like something out of a science fiction movie to her. Even though she had grown up with these automatic doors all her life, the imagery in her head grew.

The glass doors turned the rest of the scene in her head. Twisted it up in a knot and took it to fantasy land. The girl is told she lives there a lot by a person she knows she can trust. Living in Fantasy Land is nice, she thinks as the knot unties in her head.

The once droll supermarket has become a dome, a dome within a dome, within a glass dome. The future, it starts eating up the scene like a slow painting. The trees are strategically placed, rather than aesthetically. That's because, in Fantasy Future Land -the one she thinks up right now- trees are Oxygen vents. Where oxygen sifts softly from small slits and holes placed around what looks to be a tree but is only a replica.

For comfort.... like how amputees sometimes get those prosthetic legs that look like real human legs. Why? We could make them different. We could bend them backwards. We could make them beautifully lavish with elaborate metal in-lays.

Her friend moves over to the desired drink. It's something green, pulpy, liquid and nectarine all at the same time, with chunks of what they say is 'aloe' thrown in. It looks like a Nes Ice Tea in fancy green. Like a Japanese version of Nes Ice Tea in a plastic bottle. But it's this Aloe Vera drink.

It says it's healthy for you. But then again, so do a lot of other things in here. The girl sniffs impolitely. Her nose is runny, her throat dry, her tongue following suit.

The drink is delicious, and it tastes of money. She can taste the five dollars she'd have to pay if they were to buy it.

But she knows that they won't. Those five dollars don't exist and they never need to. She watches her friend and follows, sunglasses still over her blood shot eyes as they stroll the super market.

It's back to being the regular, present time. It's boring, it's cold, full of odd smells that shift from sweet to meaty in a second flat. The supermarket isn't her favorite place. Especially because a lot of people roam it. She likes to go shopping at midnight. But that isn't an option. They aren't shopping, the two girls are browsing.

Now they're slowly making their way to the wine section. They love wine, the two girls. Wine, cheese, cured ham, and ridiculousness. The wine all looks wonderful. Red wines, lambruscos, Sangrias; all of it delicious. They've chosen a proper brand after discussing and comparing alcohol content of other brands.

The bottle, much like the last bottle, makes a show of itself. With a disapearing act. The bottle is out of sight. And, as the girls walk away, out of mind.

Behind shades and within any structure, colors are different. It's the wonderful part about wearing shades. The girl loves wearing shades after driving with her friend. She's free to watch people, to sneak peeks and make up little stories. Sometimes the two friends will whisper about strangers. Making up little stories about their life. Sometimes they giggle, most of the time they truly wonder about the husks of life surrounding them...

Mostly though, by now at least, they've reached the line. Sometimes it's long. Sometimes it's really long.

But, today, there is no line for them.

The Girl can see the portal coming closer. They're walking to the exit, to those magic doors that slide open and make The Girl wonder what else could we do to make things look futuristic?

But before going into Fantasy Land again, a bright colour catches her attention.

The Girl is a fool for bright colours. Rainbows especially. She removes her sunglasses, approaching the item and forgetting about their exit plan. She is now cooing over the item, an innocent admiration. It was cute and looked to be useful.

The Girl's friend approaches her, admiring it also for a second before reminding The Girl that they should be going.

The two friends exit the dull supermarket.

The lady next to the cute item, a worker at the market, watches as the two girls leave. Her expression of dissapointment edging on anger very apparent.

"Everything ok? Did those girls steal something?"

The lady sniffs at the question as she shakes her head.

"Naw, but that girl's eyes were as red as the devil's dick!"

The Molecular Syndrome of a Religion

It is....

It will be about reincarnation.

It is about molecules.

It is about the cycle of all things.

It is about the universal link of unity between all things animate and inanimate.

All things that share the same spark of life.

It is about molecules.

But it'll also be about religions.

About reincarnation.

About spirits.

It is about the knowledge of the ancients and not their ignorance. The knowledge of all living creatures, sentient or not.

That need to find a connection to us all.

If just one.

That is why it is about Molecules.

And why it is about Religion.

And about Reincarnation.

Morpheus, Morpheus, where art thou my Morpheus?

Sometimes I wonder if I want to say Hypno.
I want to sleep....I think....

You see, I'm a lucid dreamer. Hi, it happens. I know I'm asleep most of the time I dream. Sometimes I don't know but regardless my dreams feel like they go on and on for hours, ages, years. I can sleep while asleep and wake up in my dreams the next day.

Sometimes, between intervals, I wake up, look around me, find that the day will be dull and monotone. So I head back to sleep. Finding that you have the ability to continue living in a fantasy is dangerous.

Since that episode I had in San Fran where I wouldn't go to school, wouldn't get out of bed, would really do nothing but sleep for almost a whole week, sleep is something kinda funny to me.

I can go on for days without sleeping only to realize I'm waking up from passing out of exhaustion.

And then, sometimes, I sleep. I sleep for hours, I can sleep for days and continue a strang of one dream, elongate it as much as I please. Liv ein my little fantasy world and tighten or loosen my control over my surroundings as I please.

Only when I loosen my hold for too long do I find myself fully awake, fully rested, and completely unsatisfied. But mostly frustrated. And long hours spent spinning up a wonderful or dreadful story turns to nothing but mush and blended blurred imges in my head.

But sometimes, most of the time, I tend to remember things in perfect vivid colour details.

So, point being, there's a chance I can't sleep because I'm afraid of it. Of getting...stuck. Getting stuck for that week was hell. Good hell. The kind of hell where you get to do anything you want and have no cares or worries.

The kind of hell this 'god' thing describes is NOTHING like true hell.

True hell is lovely, beautifulm tantalising and teasing. It can be sexual, but mostly it's based on ego. And my ego screams swords and fights, dragons, battles, cavalry, ho!


Aaaaaand sometimes I have odd dreams that I know are prophetic, that are answers to questions I've already forgotten I've asked. Or foretellings in images of what is to come in my life or a close one's life.

Maybe, though....I have a serious problem. Sleeping just is not easy. I find myself tired a lot, but unable to sleep. Or tired and sleepy but trying desperately to stay awake.

And then the first wind kicks in. Then the second. And third.

I usually sleep with a razopan or two. Pills put me right into dreamless slumber. But relying on pills sucks.

Yeah...so I haven't slept in two days. Maybe 3-4 hours at some point... But I can't remember anymore.

Memory lapses are part of not sleeping. Your brain feels heavier, you get slower. It's like being tipsy or high, but it's just your body feeling completely unhealthy.

It's what machines must feel like right before they run out of battery.

It's weird but...I feel more...awake when I don't sleep for days. I can't really TALK to people, or interact well with others. But when it comes to writting and talking to people on IM or some such while I'm under the influence of no sleep gettings for daysssssss, I feel like I can take over the world.


Yeah. It's all a lie. I can't really do that. And I'm no cleverer than I was 42 hours ago when I was semi well rested. In fact, I might be a bit clumsier with everything.

But that's why I compare it to being tipsy.


......I started writing in hopes I'd bore myself to sleep at the very least. Or find some conclussion that would make me nod at the screen, smile my half hearted smile, and head to bed in peace.

Obviously, when very sleepy, you tend to day dream more.

Lost....

We'd been lost for a couple of hours now. Not many...I don't think. Well, it was a while till we noticed we were truly lost, and quite a while longer before either of us admitted we might need directions.

Of course on this island, we're in the middle of the rain forest. And although you can find civilization anywhere, sometimes it could be an hour or so before you actually find the houses of family members bundled together in some sort of odd clan like setting.

We asked directions a few times. But even the citizens seemed to know little of how far we came and how to get us out of the knot we'd tied ourselves into. Mirky for giving me bogus directions, and me for following them knowing they were bogus and about to enjoy an adventure.

It all started as a quest to find a river. We wanted to bathe in fresh water and enjoy the peace of true, deep nature. Well, it seems true deep nature likes to hide from us. Or perhaps we're a bit daft and would constantly space out and not read signs....or bring directions.... or someone who'd actually BEEN to the location.

At first we had stopped to look for 'Rio Ca~a'. Now, we're complete idiots when it comes to most of our culture. Mostly the towns around us. So asking for directions and being lead into a small town and then, once more, asking for directions at a Subway....

Where I was hit on by a butch sounding, yet actually quite attractive, lady.

She told us we WERE in fact in Ca~a. That the only 'River' (Rio in spanish) is a small creek that snakes through the middle of the small town.

Well, we're two very bright apples.

Anyways. At one point, far away from Rio Ca~a now, we've been lost for a good few hours. We've asked for directions once and been lead astray, tried making the best of it and taken the Panoramic view.

Now we are at the top of this mountain we have scaled. Amazed at its vastness. In awe that we had not noticed just how beautiful and awesome this mountain we had been scaling for hours was.

We took some pictures there, watched some clouds float by a few feet above from us. We watched cows munch on grass and looked down the rolling plains that abruptly, with no symmetry at all, would lead into deep jungle.

We dance on the path we've taken. Or at least Mirky does while I look around us and wonder 'how much longer before we can find directions again....'

Taking a break, Mirky turns the camera to me, recording.

"So, what are you doing?"

She asks, smiling wide. I take my time, I'm tired of being lost. My bumm hurts, We're low on cigarettes....

I'm done preparing, I finaly take my hit.

"I am finding our way home."

Laughter ensues. We actually consult someone not too long after that. They give us directions that....got us OUT of the jungle, but we still had to ask again to get us out of the city we had somehow reached.

All in all, it was a great day. Getting lost in new parts of the island is always fun. Good music, good company, laughter and mystery most of the way. New sights. Fresh air, and that always troubling worry 'are we going to make it?'

It was nice.

We came home to watch the VMA's and realize that Mirky has some irrational fear of Lady Gaga (and her wardrobe)

We mentioned and later discussed the possibility that she might be trying to be some sort of 'Neo Bjork'.

I see it. Kinda sorta.

Why am I not sleepy?

Excerpts from Visual interactions.

You know, I think I know why I've been so depressed lately.

I mean, other than missing CA, all my friends and family there. But also, I like getting nober a lot. And I like doing art, writing, painting, making shit, adventures, etc.

When I was in CA I had a job. Two jobs, actually. And I'd spend a lot of time working.

Part of my off time was spent with friends at home doing all of the above or playing video games.

Back then, with having two jobs, I didn't quite have a lot of it. So when it happened, it was special. Off days were some sort of magical.

But now, everyday is an off day. Nothing to do. No 'special' about it. And much less magic when I'm getting prodded half the time at Dr's appointment.

It's no longer my gift from being at work. It wasn't a prize I deserved.

It's just another day, same old shit. Nothing to do but watch TV or do Art.


Everyday is exactly the same.


It's so boring it's depressing.

I'm gonna go do some art now. And smoke a cig. Maybe Txt someone.

And, tomorrow, from around ten am to 3am will be exactly the same.

(Unless Maria calls.)

----------------------------------------

I watch him play guitar while I smoke, write, and paint. I multi-task well.

His back is turned to the room. He's facing the dresser. It's been a while since he's picked up his guitar.

Today, while cleaning the bedroom, I put it away. After a while he noticed I had moved it.

I told him that, before, he'd leave his guitar out all the time. But he'd play it all the time. The placement of the instrument would change every few hours. Sometimes in a day or two. I saw the practicality of it and I loved watching and listening to him play. We'd sit around and he'd sing and make up songs.

It was nice, so a guitar just lying around the house didn't bother me at all. He'd put it away to take with us if we were going on a drive, on a walk, camping, or adventuring.

Now it just sits at the same spot all the time. For weeks. So I put it in its case today.

His eyes slightly watered. He looked at the guitar.

'That's sad...'

I nodded.

Told him I missed it.

Now he's beating at the strings, his fingers only the slightest of clumsy, stringing different sounds to make a myriad of tunes.

Practice.

In every twang you can feel his sadness. In his reflection in the mirror, where I can only see his face, he looks determined.

I think he's depressed too and he's trying to play his joy back.

Court his muse with a tune and ask her to whisper joy into his ears as he plays once more.

I can't forget I am a sole architect I built the shadows here I built the growl in the voice I fear.

I know that man's going to be my death! But I'm not sick of shadows. I can see the light as it comes through the curtains. I can feel the wind on my face. I've been waiting for the day I die. Besides, I've been told I'll die before I'm old. I watch the stars rain and I laugh. He'll see my face in a different place. And love will still weigh more than the feather my heart should be to gain entrance through the Gates.

Keep me and then leave me to bleed. If looks could kill wouldn't need all the Pills. Swallowed hole and out of reach. Unsafe enough for now.

Sex talk is a secret language. Where your body is a sentence.
Girls who wear their thongs higher than their pants;
'I'm here, I want sex, from anyone.'

Where the act of eating an ice cream cone says;
'Take me, I'll make your dreams come true.'

Brush of the hands;
'I wanna touch you.'

A quiet giggle;
'I like you.'

A longing look;
'I need you.'

The way she looks up at you while she's taking a drink;
'Tonight is the night.'

All contact and aftertaste. It's like I'm still waiting for the wounds to heal. Stopping your heart from Hate

Do you think all the pages removed from the holy text have been forgotten in history? Or are they hidden and kept under hand and key in some temple in Tibet?

What's Going to happen when one of the million messiahs comes down and tells us everything else is a lie? What if he's not your messiah? Will he set the world aflame? Or live amongst us? Will he once again be lost and forgotten in time?

What if they all came down from the heaves and hells. Declaring Men gods for creating them? Would we use them like we used the crusades? Will we ascend in through? Would we suppress them like slaves? Or use them as weapons in Holy Wars against our own kind? Being they of our own creation?

Would they revolt and overthrow us? Would they kill all us greedy and selfish humans? Or would we change places and then fade away as the historians of our creations forgot some of us existed? Would we war with them? Or open them up to see their insides?

I crossed my fingers, but I didn't beg. Cause I knew you knew, I knew you knew I liked you. I knew you knew it.

Post-Puerto Rico
................................................................................................

[Attempt at...] Ramblings of the head.

"He said I'm leaving

I said Love is such a rare thing that people just throw away.

He said How's that make me feel any better about us?

I said Well how do you know what love is without ever having loved before?

He says I've never loved anyone like I love you.

I said Well if you leave, someday you will.

But in my head, I'm looking at his guitar, imagining it not there.

And I hate the thought."

[Fragments of ramblings]

"I remember thinking boys were kind.
Warm like pumpkin pies.""

"Uncomfortable silences are real languages that are felt, not spoken."

"They have us surrounded!
Men with tanks all around us!
Holding us at bay with their guns!"

"You can hear them all dying in your head. And yet there you sit, laughing at the man with all the snarky political jokes. He's telling you the truth, feeding it to your cornea.
And there you sit, laughing at all the people dying behind the kingdom of the U.S motherfucking A."

"Awake! Arise! Or be forever fallen."

"Green painted over by red.
War in the fields of Earth."

[Attempt at Lyrics] Mother never told me boys were evil.

Never told me they put on masks.
Entertain you as if they were actors in some play.

Change who they are, the things they say. Cover up their faces with visions of candy mountains and whipped cream streams.

Never told me they'd be your lapdog for as long as you'd show them a bit of teet.

They'll tell you lies that flow from lips dipped and readied in poisonous fruit.

I'd pick up the pieces every time
Say it was alright.
Boys were alright
I just needed to be a better woman
To do better
Needed to be the perfect girl.

(...Incomplete....)

[Self Given/Written] Speeches...Poetry?

"Now, speaking hypothetically here, if humans had souls, do you think we'd earn them? Or, like genetics, we get little pieces of a soul from whomever it is that made us?

Are we manufactured? Some biotic machine capable of thoughts and logic?

Do things like love and hate come bred into us as part of our mainframe?

Or is it society that slowly creeps these feelings into us? Like some sort of bug, a piece of spyware?

Are souls created from hardships and good times? Maybe our souls are earned through the passage of time.

We can't be one without a two. And certainly can't be a two without a three."

***

"Having a soul is much like learning to fly."

"I felt like I shed my soul somewhere.
I can't seem to find it. So I gave myself up to the Guillotine.
Told the man behind the mask to do as he please.

Looked me up and down and said to me
You're looking in all the wrong places,
I don't think I'm the man who you'd like me to be.

He dropped his axe and gave me his back.
Left me alive and freezing to death.
World is number and colder once you've shed your soul.

I kicked off my shoes and smashed my eyes with a big sharp stone.

Went for a walk down a muddy road
Decided to let it come to me.

Like a magnet, people came.
Like animals huddling for warmth.
Empty and Empty still's a bunch of nothing.

Had lost my eyes and my feet were numb.
Sat on a curb, trying to figure it out.
Resting my body, licking my wounds.
Letting my soul catch up.
Perhaps it was lost, wherever it was.

Sat for so long, thought I was done.
Maybe my soul had found a better sidekick than I.
A lover who gave more.
A person who was stronger to hold such a brilliant thing such as it.

The sounds came as a surprise,
swept me up and took me for a ride.

Here I sat; eyeless, dirty, and pretty goddamn soulless.

Man says yes, puts my hands on the keys and says
'Play.'

Maybe all humans have the capacity to play.
But none had ever
With words and music alone
woven me a soul to keep."

End
................................................................................................

I think that's all I can find for the night. That was pretty fun. I liked being able to re-read and re-write all those oldies. Archive them and such. Now I'm gonna go ahead and post pictures. Some are of my art, but most will be of the pipes my husband is currently carving.

Voodoo Spunk Art.

There's Beauty in the Breakdown- I like to pretend there's an audience...

So, these are a few things I've written over the last few months. We just recently moved back to Puerto Rico (my husband is a CA native and I had been living there for 4 years.)

I didn't have a PC since UPS kinda broke my monitor. But regardless I'd still write the old way. Paper and pen. Just figured I'd pass it onto my online journal. For archives sakes.

After this I'll be posting some art on my Voodoo Spunk Art blog.


Prologue to Puerto Rico

.............................................................................................

[Attempt at...] Random thought.

We're like ghost trains going into the middle of no where.

[Attempt at] Song lyrics.

"Keep telling me you're lost and fucking confused.

If you ask me for directions, I'd tell prolly tell you to turn left. 'Cause you're never gonna be right.

But in all truth, girl.
All you need is to walk.
Walk a straight line, tie down your life line. And don't worry if you stray. Cause we all do.
We all fucking do.

The Path is a bit winding,
and the forest a bit distracting.
With its lights reflecting off the dew.

All you gotta do is remember
you got you life line toed down, secure.
Nice and firm.

Path's mot going anywhere.
you only have yourself to blame
for venturing into the wolves den,
the lions mouth.

You don't need no directions girl. But if you were to ask,
I'd tell you to go left. Cause, babe, you're never gonna be right.

And a loser like me, girl, sure as hell doesn't have answers
for a beautiful being like you.

Oh babe, all I can tell you is that
the road ahead is full of pot holes
and under construction signs.

A detour here and there.
Maybe a trap or two.

You draw your own map. like some Etrian Odyssey.

There will be vendors as the side of the road,
and people dancing naked 'tween trees.

But don't get distracted
Can't ask for directions.
We're the creators.
We're the architects.
We're the geographers and cartographers of our own winding maze of a road.

'Cause if you were to ask for directions
Oh, if you wanna ask for directions.
Ask a loser like me for directions.
Girl' I'd tell you to go Left.
Us humans are never right."

[An attempt at Poetry] An ode to the Endless - Delight

In a soul so cold I lie in wait
This void, this hole easting, writhing
My breath gone, a sigh escaped
through lips so numb.

Morning has not come in days gone. Reigning darkness in, soul so void, empty, cold.

Before the world was a world
Before breathe was breath
Before even gods were born.

There were the endless.
First of the endless there was death.
For death and life were both things of mortality.

Then there was dream
As humans lived and dies
The, and other creatures, dreamed.

And as they dreamed, they learned of Delight.
Delight was born of dreams and life and joy.
She was beautiful, brilliant.
All that made others so very happy
She was an incarnation of.

At first humans found delight in all things.
Then, humans found destruction, desire, despair.
War, Pain, Suffering, Lust.
All things that are human.
Decadent, apathetic, selfish and uncaring.

Desire began fading.
Her skin became pale.
Her eyes the color of melted lollipops.
For when humans forgot gods,
even the endless would fade.

For a long time, delight wept.
Her golden hair torn from her scalp.
Lips the wet of fish,
toenails soft as paper.

And as the flowers in her hair withered.
Delight becomes delirium.
Delight becomes Delirium.

[Attempt at] Poetry

Walking in the fog,
through the apple trees

Bird came down,
hovered over me for a second
'fore landing on my shoulder.

It had feather like no other
and the eyes of human kind.

Opening its big fleshy beak.
"Woulds you happen to know, sire, which way south might be?"

Looking left.
Looking right.
Fog for days
ripe apples like bleeding hearts.

I've little sense of direction,
my dear phoenix.
I've given myself to the fog.
You and I live in two different dimension

During PR.
................................................................................................

Beach: Pi~ones.

'No matter WHAT you NEVER hit a bitch holding a baby.
Even if she just slapped you across the face in front of a million people at the beach.'

'Never EVER put Kool-Aid in a water dispenser. - GHETTO!'

Myrkle. Defined:

1. Unicorns are man made.
2. I CAN WALK! yelled in front of a man that is visibly and very handicapped.
3. Maria Isabelle

Onions. Defined:

1. 'I hate onions and I hate you!'
2. Chelsie Sisk.
3. 'Hanyanarisa.'

[Notes on Novel/Comic/Short stories] A'leon & Kirai - The Meeting

A'leon and Kirai meet @ a bar. She's playing music and dancing at a bar.
A'leon is at the bar drinking while she's dancing around the tables. She's pick poketing. He notices. They lock eyes for a second. She smiles and dances over to him even though she knows she has to leave soon.
He's wearing his monacle so he can see through her disguise of a human.

As she dances around him the music stops. She bows to the crowd and sits by him. They talk for a bit (she mentions she loves his hat, makes some slight remarks about it in jest). As the convo is getting interesting a man stands up and calls Kirai a thief. She laughs.

'That's my que, see you 'round commandant.'

She winks at him and runs out.

She runs out hurriedly,a mob of men right after her. A'leon pays for his drink and follows, watching.

She turns into an alley and transforms to herself (Tall. About 6 ft tall. Red in skin colour where there are scales and dark tan skin where there are none. Long whippish tail, small fangs, curved horns like that of a goats, golden eyes that are almond shapped, the iris like that of a cat.)

A man sees the change, startled, she does the first thing that comes into instincts and pulls out her sword. She fights him off quickly, but witht he time lost other men have seen her original form as well. The chase continues.

She's in a building now. With her sword sheathed and a riffle at hand now. In her other hand, a pistol, with her second one at the ready. She shoots at the oncoming horde of angry and drunken men. She's cornered, not enough time to reload any of her weapons. There's a window behind her.

As the men talk about raping her (filthy demon) a grenade flies in through the window behind her. Someone down bellow shouts "JUMP!" in celestial.

She jumps out the window. She flies/falls down as fire and smoke escape through the window, the room exploding witht he men within.

A'leom catches her in his arms.

'I knew you'd come in handy!' She says, smiling as if she had it all under control and was not one bit worried. About the men, about the rape, about the fall. He checkles and sets her down. The authorities chase after them.

They finally manage to escape the authorities (they disguised and hid at an upper class inn).
Here, they talk some more, here, they dance to music. Here, she takes his hat from his head and sets it on hers for the first time. Grinning up at him and winking.

[Attemp at notes comic/novel/short story/ies] A'leon and Kirai - Goodbyes

They make love. (By now they have been lovers and partners in crime for a while. Never actually expressing their love.)

He gets a letter in the middle of the night about leaving on a ship in the morning to join the revolution. The Rebellion to take back their/his country. To return to it as their own once more. She reads it and wants to go. They celebrate the rebellion with wine. He puts sleeping potion in hers.

In the morning she awakens to find him gone, all but his hat left where his head would usually rest. She runs to the docks and arrives as the ship/galleon is just leaving. She can see him on board. (He had been waiting for her, almost. Not conciously, but his eyes searched for her mostly than looking at the port and what he'd be leaving for the months on ahead.

She shouts, shouts his name. He ignored her, although he can hear her. Her voice loud and shrill in anger and desperation. A tinge of cold heartedness and a whole lot of pain. Sadness. He can only imagine her fear. That he might not come back. But it was for the best. She would not be safe. It would not be the logical choice to bring her. Not for him. Not for her.

She sings their song into their message rings. He listens for a moment, hesitating before smashing it into pieces. This way she won't track him. This way she won't find a way to follow. But secretly, this way he won't think about her all the time.

Authorities catch her. She's put into jail where she meets a necromancer and a kobold and a woman. Amazonian looking.

The Necromancer says that as long as they agree to help him he will set them all free.
Eventually, they agree and make a blood pact.

The Kobold is a wizard, the woman is a fighter/seductress.

The necromancer's servant sets them free. They escape the authorities and travel to the necro's homeland.

Adventures including fighting off the authorities, guards, and a band of kobolds happens in between getting to his homeland. Traveling through mines and Kirai acquiring two pets/followers/friends/body guards. Gnolls who think of her as their alpha female (who gives them shinies and is nice to them).

Meeting a dark Celestial within Necro's homeland. A knight whom Kirai grows interested in. More out of curiosity. Adventures continue.

[Attempt at Notes comics/novel/short story/ies] A'leon and Kirai - Reunions

Eventually A'leon finds Kirai and joins them to watch over her. Kirai is pissed and not talking to him. Making snide remarks and pointedly being harsh with him. A'leon takes it all in cool stride, trying to cope and understand her anger and frustration. Gives her space. They are happy and make love only the first night.
Only in battle do they show affection or any sort of true communication. As they've learned how to be excellent partners in battle.

[Secret]
The Necro is trying to build a gollem to conquer his homeland.

[Secret]
The Kobold is trying to revive a black dragon to take back to his country and let the dragon conquer the world.

[Secret]
The woman is a pit gladiator slave runaway like Kirai, trying to find her place in the 'normal' world and not get caught again by slave masters from The Sand Pits.]

[Planing for a Party/Art project] Mask Party where we make masks for all invited. The masks will be of Animals that we think represent that individual.

Virgil- Fox
Hannah- Cat
Logan- Raven
Ryan- Wolf
Laguna- Racoon
Myself- Lion
Doddy- Owl?
Ashley- ?
Steve Sisk - Gorilla
Levi- ?
Katrina- ?
Angie & Mike - Bear
Reyna- Koi fish? Swan?
Andy- Falcon?
Emily- Panda
Marisa- Day of the dead?

Break
................................................................................................

This is of course not the complete list of people that we will invite. Just the first people we were working on mask ideas for. Others will come in the future. Sadly, we're stuck here for a while so we will have plenty of time (which is a good thing).

There are, of course, more things I've written. But right now I have finished my second cup of coffee and I must go get cigarettes. I am out and it is painful. So when I get back I'll make another blog post with -hopefully- the rest of what I've written since my arrival on the island.

Maybe even some of the before stuff, if I find any that is.

Sounds in the head.

Music that strikes memories/events/fiction/adventure.

Massive Attack - Teardrop

Portishead - Glory Box

Poe- Hey Pretty

Coldplay - Don't Panic

The Shins- Caring is Creepy

She Wants Revenge- Tear Me Apart

She Wants Revenge - Out of Control

Zero 7- In The Waiting Line

Cary Brothers- Blue Eyes

Thievery Corporation - Lebanese Blonde

Murder By Death - "Killbot 2000"

Clor - Dangerzone

Sneaker Pimps - 6 Underground

The Mountain Goats- This Year

The Mountain Goats - No Children

The Postal Service- Nothing Better

Kate Nash- Everything's Just Wonderful



To be continued with songs and what memory is caused by each song.

Sober thoughts

I'm sick and tired of being walked all over by people. I'm done. Finished with being used like a foot stool or a rug. I'm tired of feeling like an object and I'm SICK of holding it all in. Holding all my hate, all my rage, all my anger in.

I say, No longer. I've always prided myself with being a blunt person. Truthful to a fault. Well that's what I'm going to do. All this hate, all this rage MUST end. And I NEED to lash out.

And fuck that whole 'writing letters to people you have ill feelings towards and never sending them in.'

No.

FUCK THAT!

I will NOT be a fake. I will NOT keep it all in. If someone needs to know something, they will know it.

I'm irrational, a bit chaotic, I talk before I think and consequences bypass my logic as my mouth spews out poisonous sentences at people I'm angry at.

But it must be done. I will not censor myself. I will not walk around and shuffle around in silence like some dumb fuck zombie.

Why are people afraid to be heard. And why are people afraid to fucking hear the truth?!

This isn't about vengeance. This is about being true to myself and letting people know. This is about being fair to me. This is about cleansing my soul and letting others know that NO! It was NOT alright.

I don't care if they're deaf to it. I don't care if they try and ignore it. But I must open my mouth and scream.

I need a cleansing, and seeing how spirituality is something I lack, this is as best as it's gonna get.

Beautiful Pangs that turn Ugly unexpectantly

The weed helps when you're trying to asphyxiate yourself with a pillow to truly end your life and crying. Not crying for the reasons why one would try to kill themselves so adamantly. Not because of an event in your life. But crying because you have no idea why you're doing this. Crying just because you're trying. Even though it's your choice. You can chose not to do that. You really can. Your brain controls your motion. To remove the pillow would be so simple. To take in air again would feel so sweet. So reviving. It's only natural to not want to. Or to at least understand WHY'D you want to. But not to know why and yet not be able to remove the pillow. To fight your own mind, your own brain away from the motion is so difficult. Like lifting your own weight and then some off from you and make that very fine attempt at surviving. To tell you're brain that it isn't all right for it to do this to you.


That was possibly the most depressing thing I've ever written. The most dramatic and fucking depressing thing. I look at it and even I laugh at myself. At how terribly immature and naive it sounds out loud. And I don't understand why.

I then went into the bathroom and took a hit. I smoked a cigarette while I sat on the shitter. I wasn't really doing anything. I think I might have wanted to pee but I can't recall. Whilst I sit there I thought about what I wrote above. Almost verbatim to it. And I thought about writing it somewhere to never ever forget.

After I thought about that I wondered about how ironic it is that I want to be a research psychologist. I guess that's what leads a lot of 'crazy' people into it. The rest it must be for the money, I know someone like that. His name is Dimitri, he's Greek. Like, Hella. But yeah, I started thinking about how I wanted to research the human mind. Find out why, how, where, when. Find out what triggers them emotionally and chemically within the human brain. I don't want to help people, I don't want to sit there and listen to all your problems and try and help you fix them. Although, oddly enough, I've done that all my life. For all my friends. Even for people I hate. I've been that shoulder to cry on for so long it's ridiculous. But, as a career I don't want to deal with it. I just want to study it. To watch it. To see stupidity. To study religion, society, philosophy. I want to write books and tell the people who are helping others 'WHY?' I want them to be able to give them reason. I want to write books doctors will have to study for their PHd.

And then I thought about the oh so stereotypical irony of it all. How it almost bled from the sentence. Another looney who wants to be a looney doctor. I then began a conversation with myself. Where I HAD reached my goal. Where my book was famous in the world of medicine and psychology around the world. And a man, a reporter or interviewer would mention my past. How bad my mental history had been throughout my life. How could I call myself a doctor if I was as insane as the people I studied. And if I thought everyone who studied it was just as crazy. More or less.

And I imagined myself smiling, my legs crossed, wearing spiky heels and a nice suit. And how I'd tell him that the point was that 'crazy' people aren't really loony. They're people who know more, who have more, who ARE more. But they don't know why, they don't understand it and cannot control it. They're people who can see other things, who have the emotion all of us is capable of having but just a malfunction or an evolution made that serum or chemical so much so in his body.

I want to change the 'why'. I want to change the way people think about others they call insane. I want to revolutionize something.

And then I imagine the incredulous look in the man's face. The awkward laughter, as if it were all joke. My book, my words, my theories. And I think of myself smiling at him so assuredly, so non-chalant about what I just said and how calmly and assuredly I said it.

And then I thought about the people who read the interview, or saw it on TV. And I wonder if they think I'm crazy. If they think I'm terribly insane. If maybe they think who better to tell us than someone who knows what it's like to be there? Maybe, just maybe, she's right and she proves her own theory correct. She herself being an example, and many others we've noticed in society. In everyday life.

Then I thought about witting that in here too. I imagined writing and felt so great. I was glad everyone was asleep. I'm glad I'm by myself. I feel very uncomfortable within my own skin ATM and I needed some me time. Some thought time. Time to be ok with the fact my life is a bit abnormal, a bit more shit full with chaos than that of others. I thought of the music I would listen to. How an epic quest for my iPOD must commence once I was done with the cigarette.

Well, there wasn't much left of that cigarette, and I had already decided what important task was next in my agenda for the night. Followed by writing.

So as I sat there for some more time I thought about Steve and Ananda. About how they were the two people who taught me to never let go. To love and always love. To do anything within your power to hold onto someone so strongly and with so much love. To make it work till that rubbed off and dulled like a knife. But treat love violently, harshly, attentively. Nourishing it.

I remembered sitting on that fuzzy white rug in Ananda's families (because all of her family are welcome there. No matter when or how. This was important to mention. They are loving human beings.) home. Ananda's dad playing the drums to the Beetles in the background. I was cross legged and had a permanent smile on my face. I had Ananda's toy, which she had exchanged my phone with. She had called my phone a bad toy. And she loved me so much she gave me her favorite toy and hid mine. I remember looking up at Steve. His eyes were closed, he had head phone on, with his iPOD in his hand. His head beat with the music, his foot stomped in rhythm. He was chewing on gum. He chewed on gum all night. I remember looking down to Ananda and her eyes were on Steve. As if he were the only thing that existed in the world. I felt it so assuredly. Like there was nothing else there. He was her fascination.

I remember feeling such a pang of love, followed directly and almost on top of an ocean of envy. A tsunami of jealousy. I was so very happy for them, don't get me wrong. I did not hate them. I did not look away. It was a beautiful thing and I was glad it was so alive. So FUCKING alive. But behind my joy I felt such a great sadness.

And now it's different. Now I have that. That strength to hold on. To do anything for someone you love as long as they're willing to do the same. And they're not. What I learned and cherished so well that night and from knowing them for all those months didn't work.


That night was so beautiful. It will always be magical to me.

I think that might be a reason why I've been so down lately. And I thought about how selfish that sounds of me. I think about how Steve must feel. And I remember how I felt when Noah did the exact thing to me. I thought about how they were there for me. How shattered and battered and hurt I was. I was in such bad shape and they were there for me. And now I have it, and it's our turn now. To help them. To be there for him. It's my turn to be there sitting next to Steve on that curb outside of Great Escape Games, in front of the trash bins smoking a cigarette in the harsh cold weather. The roles were reversed. This time he would not be telling me not to kill myself. Not to think of it and to move on. To know I was loved, that I wasn't crazy no matter what Noah had told me.

I remember it all so well right now. I miss California so much. A piece of me was left there. A huge chunk. And I need it back.

My cigarette was out, so I threw it in the toilet and flushed, wiped and picked myself up from the john.

The search for my iPod lasted about...I'd say maybe an hour, maybe less. Being stoned makes you lose track of time really well. But I finally found the iPod and here I sat.

I'm really glad I wrote this. That was a lot to get off my chest.

I miss a lot of things. I'm sad a lot, and most of the time I have no idea why. I hate so hard, but I have so much love in my life I'm drowning in it.
I'm just glad all that love is there to balance whatever chemical in my brain is making me topsy turvy. I just wish all the hate and all the violence would go away.

I realized, also while in the John, that I spend a lot of time doing things. keeping occupied. I do a lot of art, a lot of hanging out with people, mostly and especially with Virgil. Which is grand because I love him. But since lately I've been a bit out of it to do art, a bit uninterested and uninspired and Virgil's been terribly obsessed (kinda OCD) on his pipe crafting/widling wood, I've had a lot of me time. To think about myself and stuff I don't usually think about. I guess I should think about me more often than ignore it. Because when I get the time to do so, man, it's like a closet full of shit you've been stuffing into it for months. I guess it's why I e-mailed Noah today. Why I stopped talking to Jacob some days ago...

But yeah, this definitely helped. I'm glad I got to write here. I'm not sure what I'll do now. Maybe some TV, another cigarette to think on it some more. But I feel much better now.


Heh, I think about the song that's on right now [She wants Revenge - 'Tear Me Apart] and I remember the night we danced for the first time. Our first kiss. I remember how we danced. Like we were supposed to be dancing. Like we had fucking practiced something epic, sensual, full of so much emotion and sexuality.

God that memory makes me smile so hard. Hah.