I gotta write about this
OK, right now is Saturday, but this should count as a Friday night
Guilt. Why do I feel such guilt?
This weekend I must...
-read Passetti
-read Pitta
-write carta do editor and globalização report
-2a via do CPF
4 things.
PUC. Jesus. What to do.
I was here with Phil. We snorted. Enough. I think I like him. I wish it hadn't dawned so he could've stayed here more and we could've talked more.
I think he likes me. Either way... I certainly hope so.
Because I like him as a person.
He's been so consistent and that alone is pretty amazing to me.
He's nice. Sweet. Lovely.
Lovely.
I could like him very much if I liked him.
It's really early in the morning and I should try to sleep. Hopefully I will succeed.
Even though I feel like writing now.
PUC.
Jornlalismo?
I don't know what I want, I wish I did
Maybe I should quit Escola before and study for PUC.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
It's hard being me
We were everything to each other. Why am I not everything to you anymore?
I thought I was going to be all right. And it was for one night. One night when I was drunk and there were many other people around. Maybe a few phone calls afterwards. It could have been anyone though, really, perhaps. I just like talking to people. Had the subjects followed the same course with someone else, I probably would have said all the same things.
I don't know why people do these things. And a few years ago, you told me that you didn't either. Don't you see that this makes me feel used? Or betrayed? I know I could and probably should just proceed without further questions, realize that any assumption I could make right now would be accurate. But I wanted to, I really did, I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. I wanted to hear you say "I don't love you anymore." "You did stop meaning everything to me." And then you should definitely tell me why. In ten words. Just give me the truth. Even if there was no particular reason. "I don't know, I just stopped loving you." Do you even want friends? I mean, really? I mean, not because we're all sort of supposed to have friends, it's the normal thing to do, and he has friends, so you might as well have some too. I mean, do YOU really even want friends? Please don't tell me I have you figured out. For the love of god, let me be horribly wrong. I would much prefer being wrong than all this being true. I'm sure you want your friends and family around, but I'm positive that you want them around like the things you keep on your shelves. I'm sure that the only person you want to interact and be with is him. It's fine to me. However... all I want is to know why. Don't break my heart and not tell me why and then continue to think of yourself as a decent person.
I want so badly to not care anymore. To not want to go through the embarrassment of exposing myself and all my clinginess, asking sappy questions, showing that I still care even though you have hurt me so much, swallowing all of my pride to tell you, of all people, who always hurts my feelings... how I feel. Is it possible that you don't know that you hurt me? That is absolutely not a rhetorical question. I genuinely do not know and must ask. Because I just realized that that's a question whose answer is absolutely defining. I MUST ask you. I must find out.
I'm tired. But that doesn't mean anything. I contradict myself. I say I'm tired but if I were really tired, I would have shut up by now. Closed this case. I hope you didn't know that you were hurting me. It would be very stupid of you. Very insensitive.
I can't just be friends with you. I can't just start talking to you again. I thought I could. You didn't even try to fix it. You must have known you had hurt me. How thick could you be? I may have been drunk, but I told you that I felt that I cared about you and you didn't care about me. That I loved you and you didn't love me. And I gave you reasons why I thought so. How could you not agree and then not try to talk me out of it, help me see why you thought I was wrong for feeling that way? How could my saying those things not translate as "YOU HURT ME"? If you hurt me, whether you realize it or not, should I even continue pursuing a direct confrontation where we get it all out in words in order to recognize the state of things? Shouldn't I just drop it exaclty the way it is right now?
Do people we love hurt us this way? They proabably hurt us, but probably not this way.
I guess we'll see each othe now and then. Once a year or so.
We just have to like each other. I mean, that what it takes. That's what it takes to make friends, two people liking each other. And if we can't even do that, then that's that.
I musn't fret. Right now, all I have to do is ask you if you are aware that you hurt me. Everything else I know or can readily assume the answer, with very little possibility of not getting it exaclty right, as those answers are rather obvious. I won't call you. Or will I? It seems that I should. I will ask you if you know why "I stopped meaning everything to you". You will probably tell me that you don't know. I will ask this not because I want to go back to that. We couldn't ever do that again, I should think. I will ask you so I can put the lingering uncomfortable doubt to rest. I will tell you this before I ask you why. Maybe I won't even say this part and just skip it. Then I will ask you if you were at the time and still are now aware that you hurt me. I will ask you this in order to find out if you're worth trying to work something out with or not. My guess is no, though.
I hate you so much. It's easy to start throwing around "never"s and very hard to swallow such sour facts. I have to stay realistic. What matters is if you care in the least bout me. I feel so stupid because it's so obvious to me that you don't. Why do I keep investing in people who treat me badly? I fall in love with, seek, chase, invest in people who treat me badly.
FUCK IT. Already, it's stupid and useless, but I will ask you if there was a reason your feelings changed and if you were and are aware that you hurt me. If you say yes... I don't even want to think about if you say yes. Well, if you do, I will tell you that... I'll say all right. And I'll hang up. And from then on, I will stop caring about you. I will have confirmed my convictions and will finally be free to make an adequate decision and live by it peacefully. I just dread these finger-in-the-wound talks. I'll do it soon. And quickly. We'll talk for ten minutes. I won't let you beat around the bush. I can't wait to have the certainty whether I should stop caring about you or not.
I still feel like there are many loose ends. I'm not comfortable or convinced that any of this will give me quick relief. I feel like a chew toy. I feel chewed up and I sort of can't stand myself for being so attatched, clingy, dependent. But it's not me to just swallow a piece of shit like this and try to move on afterwards. I need things to be clear. Obviously, you shouldn't ever have mattered to me so much. A touch less. I will ask you those questions. And then, whatever happens afterwards, I will swallow this piece of shit and then try to move on afterwards. That I will. I look forward to doing so. I want to swallow this turd, gag, shake it off, and move the fuck on. Move ahead. I want to acknowledge this shit, embrace it, and move forwards.
I'm really impatient. All right. Either way, I'm going to swallow it and I will move on. Godspeed to me. This feels incomplete, like I feel now. It's just the impatience. It's okay.
I thought I was going to be all right. And it was for one night. One night when I was drunk and there were many other people around. Maybe a few phone calls afterwards. It could have been anyone though, really, perhaps. I just like talking to people. Had the subjects followed the same course with someone else, I probably would have said all the same things.
I don't know why people do these things. And a few years ago, you told me that you didn't either. Don't you see that this makes me feel used? Or betrayed? I know I could and probably should just proceed without further questions, realize that any assumption I could make right now would be accurate. But I wanted to, I really did, I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. I wanted to hear you say "I don't love you anymore." "You did stop meaning everything to me." And then you should definitely tell me why. In ten words. Just give me the truth. Even if there was no particular reason. "I don't know, I just stopped loving you." Do you even want friends? I mean, really? I mean, not because we're all sort of supposed to have friends, it's the normal thing to do, and he has friends, so you might as well have some too. I mean, do YOU really even want friends? Please don't tell me I have you figured out. For the love of god, let me be horribly wrong. I would much prefer being wrong than all this being true. I'm sure you want your friends and family around, but I'm positive that you want them around like the things you keep on your shelves. I'm sure that the only person you want to interact and be with is him. It's fine to me. However... all I want is to know why. Don't break my heart and not tell me why and then continue to think of yourself as a decent person.
I want so badly to not care anymore. To not want to go through the embarrassment of exposing myself and all my clinginess, asking sappy questions, showing that I still care even though you have hurt me so much, swallowing all of my pride to tell you, of all people, who always hurts my feelings... how I feel. Is it possible that you don't know that you hurt me? That is absolutely not a rhetorical question. I genuinely do not know and must ask. Because I just realized that that's a question whose answer is absolutely defining. I MUST ask you. I must find out.
I'm tired. But that doesn't mean anything. I contradict myself. I say I'm tired but if I were really tired, I would have shut up by now. Closed this case. I hope you didn't know that you were hurting me. It would be very stupid of you. Very insensitive.
I can't just be friends with you. I can't just start talking to you again. I thought I could. You didn't even try to fix it. You must have known you had hurt me. How thick could you be? I may have been drunk, but I told you that I felt that I cared about you and you didn't care about me. That I loved you and you didn't love me. And I gave you reasons why I thought so. How could you not agree and then not try to talk me out of it, help me see why you thought I was wrong for feeling that way? How could my saying those things not translate as "YOU HURT ME"? If you hurt me, whether you realize it or not, should I even continue pursuing a direct confrontation where we get it all out in words in order to recognize the state of things? Shouldn't I just drop it exaclty the way it is right now?
Do people we love hurt us this way? They proabably hurt us, but probably not this way.
I guess we'll see each othe now and then. Once a year or so.
We just have to like each other. I mean, that what it takes. That's what it takes to make friends, two people liking each other. And if we can't even do that, then that's that.
I musn't fret. Right now, all I have to do is ask you if you are aware that you hurt me. Everything else I know or can readily assume the answer, with very little possibility of not getting it exaclty right, as those answers are rather obvious. I won't call you. Or will I? It seems that I should. I will ask you if you know why "I stopped meaning everything to you". You will probably tell me that you don't know. I will ask this not because I want to go back to that. We couldn't ever do that again, I should think. I will ask you so I can put the lingering uncomfortable doubt to rest. I will tell you this before I ask you why. Maybe I won't even say this part and just skip it. Then I will ask you if you were at the time and still are now aware that you hurt me. I will ask you this in order to find out if you're worth trying to work something out with or not. My guess is no, though.
I hate you so much. It's easy to start throwing around "never"s and very hard to swallow such sour facts. I have to stay realistic. What matters is if you care in the least bout me. I feel so stupid because it's so obvious to me that you don't. Why do I keep investing in people who treat me badly? I fall in love with, seek, chase, invest in people who treat me badly.
FUCK IT. Already, it's stupid and useless, but I will ask you if there was a reason your feelings changed and if you were and are aware that you hurt me. If you say yes... I don't even want to think about if you say yes. Well, if you do, I will tell you that... I'll say all right. And I'll hang up. And from then on, I will stop caring about you. I will have confirmed my convictions and will finally be free to make an adequate decision and live by it peacefully. I just dread these finger-in-the-wound talks. I'll do it soon. And quickly. We'll talk for ten minutes. I won't let you beat around the bush. I can't wait to have the certainty whether I should stop caring about you or not.
I still feel like there are many loose ends. I'm not comfortable or convinced that any of this will give me quick relief. I feel like a chew toy. I feel chewed up and I sort of can't stand myself for being so attatched, clingy, dependent. But it's not me to just swallow a piece of shit like this and try to move on afterwards. I need things to be clear. Obviously, you shouldn't ever have mattered to me so much. A touch less. I will ask you those questions. And then, whatever happens afterwards, I will swallow this piece of shit and then try to move on afterwards. That I will. I look forward to doing so. I want to swallow this turd, gag, shake it off, and move the fuck on. Move ahead. I want to acknowledge this shit, embrace it, and move forwards.
I'm really impatient. All right. Either way, I'm going to swallow it and I will move on. Godspeed to me. This feels incomplete, like I feel now. It's just the impatience. It's okay.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
I did something weird these days
I did something weird these days.
Why weird? 'Cause it used to be not weird but customary, I'm not sure if I regret it, it awoke some old doubts and questions in me that had long been put to rest... And it was good and bad and awkward all at the same time and I thought one thing before and another after and I realized some things and was reminded of some other things and it was a bit painful, always confusing, a little against my will, a little for it and I think it all made about 0% of sense, which is what pains me a bit now.
In other words just
really
plain
big-ass
WEIRD.
I think I do regret it. I guess what After Alexia thinks is more important than what Before Alexia thinks. Pff chyeah.
You know, something must've happened. I must've hit my head. Actually, I did: against three shots of tequila.
But what's the deal with my still caring?
WHO CARES if that's all that happens when we see each other?
Pfff... Please... of course I do.
In that case it was a big ol' mistake.
What the fuck is my problem? I was so excited. What was I so excited about.
OF COURSE, once again, I expected a change. OF COURSE. So much so that I didn't expect it to go the way it did. I thought it was going to be a blast, probably like the old days.
I feel kinda stupid.
I hope it's mutual.
After all, that's all he has to offer and the only thing that minimally binds us; and I don't even like it anymore.
I can't believe I even have to tell myself all these things all over again.
I mean, I KNOW it already and it's so OLD!
He's a liar!
He's a fake!
He's deceitful!
He doesn't care for me!
I know! I know! I know!
Bla bla bla!
Okay, all right! So I fucked up.
It's all right. The more I fuck up the more I learn.
GOD, did I learn NOTHING at George School?!?!
It's like I forget things.
Well... I mean, I'm looking at it like I'm a complete retard, and thought I may be, you must understand that I had a whole perfect guy based on him. And through him, he - the perfect guy - was real. Not just through him, BTW, but through my instated blindness to his non-perfect guy parts, which happen to be about 99,99% of him.
So... I mean, I loved the perfect guy intensely... and I just miss him a lot sometimes. And I guess, since I don't know where else to look when I miss him most, I sometimes look for him or wish for him through... him.
Okay.
Mistake.
It's okay.
At least I got laid.
Why weird? 'Cause it used to be not weird but customary, I'm not sure if I regret it, it awoke some old doubts and questions in me that had long been put to rest... And it was good and bad and awkward all at the same time and I thought one thing before and another after and I realized some things and was reminded of some other things and it was a bit painful, always confusing, a little against my will, a little for it and I think it all made about 0% of sense, which is what pains me a bit now.
In other words just
really
plain
big-ass
WEIRD.
I think I do regret it. I guess what After Alexia thinks is more important than what Before Alexia thinks. Pff chyeah.
You know, something must've happened. I must've hit my head. Actually, I did: against three shots of tequila.
But what's the deal with my still caring?
WHO CARES if that's all that happens when we see each other?
Pfff... Please... of course I do.
In that case it was a big ol' mistake.
What the fuck is my problem? I was so excited. What was I so excited about.
OF COURSE, once again, I expected a change. OF COURSE. So much so that I didn't expect it to go the way it did. I thought it was going to be a blast, probably like the old days.
I feel kinda stupid.
I hope it's mutual.
After all, that's all he has to offer and the only thing that minimally binds us; and I don't even like it anymore.
I can't believe I even have to tell myself all these things all over again.
I mean, I KNOW it already and it's so OLD!
He's a liar!
He's a fake!
He's deceitful!
He doesn't care for me!
I know! I know! I know!
Bla bla bla!
Okay, all right! So I fucked up.
It's all right. The more I fuck up the more I learn.
GOD, did I learn NOTHING at George School?!?!
It's like I forget things.
Well... I mean, I'm looking at it like I'm a complete retard, and thought I may be, you must understand that I had a whole perfect guy based on him. And through him, he - the perfect guy - was real. Not just through him, BTW, but through my instated blindness to his non-perfect guy parts, which happen to be about 99,99% of him.
So... I mean, I loved the perfect guy intensely... and I just miss him a lot sometimes. And I guess, since I don't know where else to look when I miss him most, I sometimes look for him or wish for him through... him.
Okay.
Mistake.
It's okay.
At least I got laid.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Nothing Means Anything if Nothing is Forever
I smoked through my whole adolescence.
It's going to be weird to start living without smoking.
I thought I wanted to be reckless my whole life.
Taking drugs, sending money to hell, living outside the system. Just all-around not being another brick in the wall.
I think maybe, either way, we are.
Man, I'm serious - I don't wanna get old.
Shit.
Kicking and screaming, times heaves you over its shoulder and takes you away.
I can't be old.
I've never been old.
I wish people didn't live as long as they do.
All I've ever known is being young.
What is forever?
Does anything last forever?
How can I be getting old if I still haven't got so many deep-seated things figured out yet? I haven't even really totally gotten myself figured out yet.
A year ago, I was in high school!
I thought that was forever.
I thought that me, the way I was as a child was forever.
What am I really?
What is anything if nothing stays the same?
Change is forever.
I guess.
In the pictures I have in front of me, I am 2, 9, 14, and 18.
So I am a metamorphosis.
I was a baby, a child, a teenager... and now, I guess, an adult... even though I don't feel like it.
Why can't things stay the same??
Because everything is meaningless?
Why is there a past?
Why do I have to accept?
The only way I can be happy and at peace is if I accept.
Accept that time is an inevitable undertoe that everybody is stuck in.
In the long run, nothing means anything if nothing is forever. In the long run, I mean nothing if I am not forever.
How I'd like to leave this dimension where we are all nothing but little ants.
Change may be forever... but where am I in the context?
Part of a greater progression to something greater that might happen a long while from now.
I am not God.
I am not the center of anything.
I am just the means.
Me and everybody else in the whole world. Life now seems like a scary ride. Why do we have so much feeling and consciousness if we're not really all that meaningful?
I would have preferred to have never felt that way in the first place.
So I could accept.
I can be meaningful in society.
I guess that's it though. Good-bye is every moment.
I want to stay positive.
I may be another brick in the wall.
But what I will do for and leave in society won't be.
And within the limits of our own small, possibly meaningless, human reality.
I have to go to sleep. But does anyone know the answers to all these questions?
I agree with Woody Allen: Enjoy life.
And here's what else:
LIFE IS NOT MEANINGLESS TO ME.
It may objectively be meaningless. But my life, my experiences, the people, the world ---
IT'S NOT MEANINGLESS to me. I'm not forever. But this is my life - my gift. And it means everything to me.
It's going to be weird to start living without smoking.
I thought I wanted to be reckless my whole life.
Taking drugs, sending money to hell, living outside the system. Just all-around not being another brick in the wall.
I think maybe, either way, we are.
Man, I'm serious - I don't wanna get old.
Shit.
Kicking and screaming, times heaves you over its shoulder and takes you away.
I can't be old.
I've never been old.
I wish people didn't live as long as they do.
All I've ever known is being young.
What is forever?
Does anything last forever?
How can I be getting old if I still haven't got so many deep-seated things figured out yet? I haven't even really totally gotten myself figured out yet.
A year ago, I was in high school!
I thought that was forever.
I thought that me, the way I was as a child was forever.
What am I really?
What is anything if nothing stays the same?
Change is forever.
I guess.
In the pictures I have in front of me, I am 2, 9, 14, and 18.
So I am a metamorphosis.
I was a baby, a child, a teenager... and now, I guess, an adult... even though I don't feel like it.
Why can't things stay the same??
Because everything is meaningless?
Why is there a past?
Why do I have to accept?
The only way I can be happy and at peace is if I accept.
Accept that time is an inevitable undertoe that everybody is stuck in.
In the long run, nothing means anything if nothing is forever. In the long run, I mean nothing if I am not forever.
How I'd like to leave this dimension where we are all nothing but little ants.
Change may be forever... but where am I in the context?
Part of a greater progression to something greater that might happen a long while from now.
I am not God.
I am not the center of anything.
I am just the means.
Me and everybody else in the whole world. Life now seems like a scary ride. Why do we have so much feeling and consciousness if we're not really all that meaningful?
I would have preferred to have never felt that way in the first place.
So I could accept.
I can be meaningful in society.
I guess that's it though. Good-bye is every moment.
I want to stay positive.
I may be another brick in the wall.
But what I will do for and leave in society won't be.
And within the limits of our own small, possibly meaningless, human reality.
I have to go to sleep. But does anyone know the answers to all these questions?
I agree with Woody Allen: Enjoy life.
And here's what else:
LIFE IS NOT MEANINGLESS TO ME.
It may objectively be meaningless. But my life, my experiences, the people, the world ---
IT'S NOT MEANINGLESS to me. I'm not forever. But this is my life - my gift. And it means everything to me.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
On Love (and Ganja)
I hate you but you are gorgeous
you're
my
vitamin
dee
and I
love you.
I really
really do.
I'm not happy, I'm dumb.
ele é lindo
ele é lindo, ele é maravilhoso
ele tem cachinhos lindos
I can't believe how much I want you.
I am very fixated, not actually in love.
grande céu
de estrelas
dollars
este é o meu mundo
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
tudo é um motivo para rir!!
AhAhAhAhAha
Que dó!
Nobody wants me
Ninguém me care
gkhAHA
beauty é a coisa mais "uou" que tem no planeta.
UOU!
eu te amo, e quero dizer que te amo todo dia.
Soon.
I got som'm betta dan LUV!
haHAha
que dó! pela 3a vez
you're
my
vitamin
dee
and I
love you.
I really
really do.
I'm not happy, I'm dumb.
ele é lindo
ele é lindo, ele é maravilhoso
ele tem cachinhos lindos
I can't believe how much I want you.
I am very fixated, not actually in love.
grande céu
de estrelas
dollars
este é o meu mundo
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
tudo é um motivo para rir!!
AhAhAhAhAha
Que dó!
Nobody wants me
Ninguém me care
gkhAHA
beauty é a coisa mais "uou" que tem no planeta.
UOU!
eu te amo, e quero dizer que te amo todo dia.
Soon.
I got som'm betta dan LUV!
haHAha
que dó! pela 3a vez
Thursday, May 6, 2010
This Louse Don't Want to Bite Your Head No More
fkkkgk
where is myself
i am nothing
i love focusing on the flea that is myself
the little louse that i am
on the head of hair that is the world
in the confusing nothingness that i know nothing about that is the universe
i am a louse without a name
scratch me out
poor little louse
that doesn't matter
poor meaningless little louse
smush it before it bites your head
stupid and careless
meaningless language
that us lice use to communicate
and think it's art
art - a lice concept
so very silly and stupid
i am a louse that wants to kill another louse
and do the head a favor
in doing so
a broken watch
how i'd like to be gone
where is gone?
take me to gone
take this poor silly little louse to gone
'cause it don't want to bite your head no more
gone - the happiest place in the world.
happy - another louse concept.
i am a louse that doesn't want to be a louse
i am a louse that wants to be a grain of sand.
I am meaningless. So I want to be meaningless.
Ya dig?
I want to feel meaningless.
To my louse self.
i'd be more meaningful if i was a ridge in tree bark.
if i was a ripple in water.
if i was a vein in a leaf.
if i was cigarette smoke.
if i was a parachute-seed on a dandelion.
if i was a sunbeam.
if i was the sound of a wave.
if i was
where is myself
i am nothing
i love focusing on the flea that is myself
the little louse that i am
on the head of hair that is the world
in the confusing nothingness that i know nothing about that is the universe
i am a louse without a name
scratch me out
poor little louse
that doesn't matter
poor meaningless little louse
smush it before it bites your head
stupid and careless
meaningless language
that us lice use to communicate
and think it's art
art - a lice concept
so very silly and stupid
i am a louse that wants to kill another louse
and do the head a favor
in doing so
a broken watch
how i'd like to be gone
where is gone?
take me to gone
take this poor silly little louse to gone
'cause it don't want to bite your head no more
gone - the happiest place in the world.
happy - another louse concept.
i am a louse that doesn't want to be a louse
i am a louse that wants to be a grain of sand.
I am meaningless. So I want to be meaningless.
Ya dig?
I want to feel meaningless.
To my louse self.
i'd be more meaningful if i was a ridge in tree bark.
if i was a ripple in water.
if i was a vein in a leaf.
if i was cigarette smoke.
if i was a parachute-seed on a dandelion.
if i was a sunbeam.
if i was the sound of a wave.
if i was
Saturday, April 24, 2010
CFC, Freud, and a Fiancé
Noor
You don't have to read this, I'm just PMSing and need to vent a little bit... I feel like writing a mountain of things and letting it all out. In case I do that, once again, know that you don't have to read it. I'm just feeling bad today. Not too sure why. I mean, I think the thing is it's not one BIG thing, it's like 12 little things. These circumstances, I guess, can lead one to being confused about what the actual source of the problem is. And in the end, it's prolly just PMS.
I'm gonna be random in my form of telling you the stuff going on in my mind... I guess so I can give a more genuine conveyance - I don't feel like this should be told in story form, with an intro, a body, and a conclusion -, and also because I don't feel like using story form. Two slightly different reasons.
Noor... I dunno, I feel kind a scared. I always feel kinda scared. Like I'm going to fall apart. Like I need to control every little thing, for example, on my body, or else I will slowly become a monster, in terms of ugliness. That leads me to picking myself, picking my skin, picking my face, picking everything I can pick on me... And consequently I have all these scabs and scars on me, on my face and on my body. My mom saw them today and she thinks I should go to a therapist, because I told her I want to stop, but I can't stop doing it. I want to help myself be able to STOP with this stupidity, so I agreed with her therapist idea, in theory. The thing is, I've had a total of one year of therapy in my life, with two different professionals... And both experiences were annoying and frustrating, and must have been genuinely helpful like two sessions. But I want help!, and I feel that help CAN be obtained through psychology. I was reading this book on Freud, and I feel like he could have helped me. Because he was the real thing. I feel like, according to the experiences I've had, modern-day therapy is like GOSSIP, like "Oh, wow, then what did your mom reply?" Like FUCK YOU, who cares, what matters is the meaning behind. Freud used this method called free word association, where the patient with a neurosis would answer with whatever words that came to their minds to specific relevant questions he would ask. AND, he would use their dreams, too. Anyway, the bottom line is... I'm tired of hurting myself. My mom said I look like I've been punched in the face. And I, sort of mindlessly, said "Well, in a way, I did punch myself in the face." I'm scared because I think that I keep pulling, scratching, ripping things I consider imperfections off myself to find some kind of RELIEF. And to feel like I'm CLEANSING or RIDDING myself of something. I don't know what! I don't know why I have to be so anxious... I don't even consider myself too anxious anymore, but when I see myself, I just want to change everything, I want trim this, lift that, pull in this, take out that... I just want to be beautiful. I just want to like myself. And the worst part is that I would probably be a lot more beautiful and like myself better if I just left myself alone. Hell, if I stopped HURTING myself! Not even the PAIN I endure in maiming myself stops me from doing what I do!
I feel a little sorry for me now. I want me to be happy... and really like myself. I feel like crying, I wish I could cry. Maybe I will soon. It's hard to, though. But maybe it will bring me some relief. You must be wondering why I'm saying that it's hard to cry, ME, who's always been such a crybaby, hehe. I don't know. I tried to cry today. It didn't really work. I guess it's because I think about the future: if I cry, my nose will be stuffy and start running all over my face... I will make the weird crying sounds that I make that always sound so stupid to me, and then I question myself, thinking that I'm fake-crying, I'm only crying because I want some empathy, or I want to be dramatic. Fuck.
I wanna move on with the subject. I wanna say that I'm also scared of sex. In some religion, I cannot recall which, maybe Buddhism, it is believed that one should refrain from having any or too much sex because... when you have sex... you are GIVING a part of yourself AWAY to the other person. I don't remember if it was your "soul" you were giving away a bit of, or just "yourself", but I always think "yourself". I actually heard this junior year in ToK at GS. It's not even one of those phrases that "stayed" with me. I'd forgotten all about it; in fact, at the time I heard it, I'm almost sure I even thought it was a little ridiculous. The thing is, ever since I got back to Brazil and started having a LITTLE sex again... the way that I've been feeling in reaction to these occasions reminded me of this line. I would feel like I was emptier... like I'd given something of myself... then this line would come into my mind. I want to know if it's true. IS IT TRUE that when you have sex with someone, you're GIVING a part of yourself to this person forever? It doesn't seem to make sense - it's just a form of touch. Different forms of touch can mean different things, of course... but at the end of the day, it's all touch. Well, maybe not, actually. Our bodies mean a lot to us. The are/can be very symbolic. And they change the way we feel about ourselves and the world and the kind of people we grow up to be.
Man... Man...
I'm quite frightened. That's just how I feel, it's the feeling I have... fright. Even if I don't quite know of what.
I was having sex ("was having sex", PUH, I HAD sex twice with this guy I think I told you about) who's going to get married. The 1st time we went out, whatever, I didn't know. The second time, I did. I had chosen not to go out w/ him anymore after the 1st because of this, but I ended up changing my mind telling myself that we would both be just "using" each other. So the 2nd time we went, it was within a few days of his marriage - so we both knew this was the last time we were gonna see each other. It was the best sex I've ever had in my life, by the way.
But when he dropped me home, I don't know. Literally the minute I left his car and walked to the front gate of my mother's house, as he waited in the car for me to actually get inside, it started to rain hard. I feel crazy because I feel like I liked him SO much, even though I only saw him THREE times, and he's an engineer - not usually my kind of guy. I felt like it was SO unfair that we could NEVER see each other again, even though we'd liked each other so much - it's one thing when there is a conflict between you and your guy... but the obstacle had nothing to do with either of us. Why did I like him so much? Am I incapable of distinguishing sex and (let's just call it) love? And if I am, why are men able to? I shouldn't have liked him. I wish I hadn't liked him. I don't really understand... Why was he even WITH me? Why didn't he just get with a hooker...? Man, he must actually be a big jerk - I mean, outside the obvious reasons for which he might be found to be one. How can someone just come into your life like that, and then leave forever? I NEVER fuck guys I don't know. THAT'S how much I liked him. I don't even like it when people I don't know TOUCH me. NO, I don't even like it when people I don't know TALK to me. In general. So much so that I'd blown him off the first time we talked!
How can he just get married? Wouldn't he remember me at his wedding? Or afterwards? Isn't it weird that like 2 or 3 nights before his marriage, he was fucking some other girl? And getting married won't make anyone LESS attracted to other people - it can only make people TRY harder NOT to be attracted to other people; that's what it sounds like he's going to do. He said that if he'd met me after his wedding, he wouldn't have tried to get with me. But that doesn't seem to make too much sense either... He'd still find me attractive and want to fuck me, whether he did something about it or not. I mean, what?, he would just TRY HARDER to PRETEND that the only person he wants is his WIFE? WHAT THE FUCK! And then I keep thinking about like if I ever plan on getting married - how will I know what I'm getting myself into? No one normal can know where someone else is 24 hrs a day. It just seems so weird to me that he's going to put on a black tuxedo, smile at his bride's parents and other family members, smile at his own family, wait at an altar, smile at his bride, say "I DO", smile and nod, smile and nod, in some big fancy church FULL of expensive decorations and fancy music and tables with weird-colored tablecloth and many, many huge bouquets of FLOWERS in EVERY corner... All that money, all those flowers, all those pastel colors, all that pretending sex doesn't exist, the dishonesty, all the weird cheesiness... And then after the party he'd take her home and fuck her. And probably think about me for at least a split second. 'Cause I was the last crazy experience he had. I was the last girl he fucked - not his wife. And we had very intense and delicious sex, especially for him - it was obvious he couldn't get enough of me. Sexually, he was more into me than I was into him. Noor, it seems so weird, maybe even sick and fucked up too. I don't know WHY this doesn't make sense to me. I mean it should, it's the simplest logic in the world: one man wants to spend the rest of his life with one woman, the woman he loves. But, just to enjoy himself more, sexually, he has a few meaningless and purely sexual affairs on the side. Girls he tosses aside afterwards.
I don't know. It's weird. I wish I hadn't felt tossed aside. I thought I would be okay with never being able to see him again. But I guess it just didn't make sense to me, in the end.
It made me even wonder a lot about what love is. If it's something real. If it really exists. How it's (most likely) SUBJECTIVE (the scariest thought). And actually, even scarier a thought, how I want to FIND it. I want to find something that I'm not even sure what it is?! I yearn for something I don't know!? How fucked up is that! So much for being born into the world and just surviving and being able to be happy with yourself and/or whatever else you already came with!
Noor, I feel so weird, like I don't want to be alone, and at the same time I do.
I feel tired.
Tired of learning. Tired of pursuing. Tired of making wrong turns. Tired of having to go back and start up aaaalll over again from scratch. Tired of waiting, changing, having to TRY SO DAMNED HARD.
Tired of feeling bad. Tired of being condemned. Tired of things not matching up.
Tired.
I think I'll end here...
I need to stop and rest and... well, I wish I could cry.
I would cry long, hard, and beautifully if I could. For all the sorrows of this world, for all the sorrows I've gulped down in attempt to contain myself.
I hope your interview, which obviously went well, went well. You're totally getting into Brown, in my humble opinion. You're from AFGHANISTAN, if nothing else! And you have an adorable voice, if REALLY nothing else! Hehehe.
Thank you, if you did read this whole thing and make it down here to the bottom.
I don't feel better, but I'm glad I put it all down to you. I didn't even say everything, the rest is even more puzzling.
Whatever, I should go.
I love you Noor
You're one of the best people I know in the whole world.
You don't have to read this, I'm just PMSing and need to vent a little bit... I feel like writing a mountain of things and letting it all out. In case I do that, once again, know that you don't have to read it. I'm just feeling bad today. Not too sure why. I mean, I think the thing is it's not one BIG thing, it's like 12 little things. These circumstances, I guess, can lead one to being confused about what the actual source of the problem is. And in the end, it's prolly just PMS.
I'm gonna be random in my form of telling you the stuff going on in my mind... I guess so I can give a more genuine conveyance - I don't feel like this should be told in story form, with an intro, a body, and a conclusion -, and also because I don't feel like using story form. Two slightly different reasons.
Noor... I dunno, I feel kind a scared. I always feel kinda scared. Like I'm going to fall apart. Like I need to control every little thing, for example, on my body, or else I will slowly become a monster, in terms of ugliness. That leads me to picking myself, picking my skin, picking my face, picking everything I can pick on me... And consequently I have all these scabs and scars on me, on my face and on my body. My mom saw them today and she thinks I should go to a therapist, because I told her I want to stop, but I can't stop doing it. I want to help myself be able to STOP with this stupidity, so I agreed with her therapist idea, in theory. The thing is, I've had a total of one year of therapy in my life, with two different professionals... And both experiences were annoying and frustrating, and must have been genuinely helpful like two sessions. But I want help!, and I feel that help CAN be obtained through psychology. I was reading this book on Freud, and I feel like he could have helped me. Because he was the real thing. I feel like, according to the experiences I've had, modern-day therapy is like GOSSIP, like "Oh, wow, then what did your mom reply?" Like FUCK YOU, who cares, what matters is the meaning behind. Freud used this method called free word association, where the patient with a neurosis would answer with whatever words that came to their minds to specific relevant questions he would ask. AND, he would use their dreams, too. Anyway, the bottom line is... I'm tired of hurting myself. My mom said I look like I've been punched in the face. And I, sort of mindlessly, said "Well, in a way, I did punch myself in the face." I'm scared because I think that I keep pulling, scratching, ripping things I consider imperfections off myself to find some kind of RELIEF. And to feel like I'm CLEANSING or RIDDING myself of something. I don't know what! I don't know why I have to be so anxious... I don't even consider myself too anxious anymore, but when I see myself, I just want to change everything, I want trim this, lift that, pull in this, take out that... I just want to be beautiful. I just want to like myself. And the worst part is that I would probably be a lot more beautiful and like myself better if I just left myself alone. Hell, if I stopped HURTING myself! Not even the PAIN I endure in maiming myself stops me from doing what I do!
I feel a little sorry for me now. I want me to be happy... and really like myself. I feel like crying, I wish I could cry. Maybe I will soon. It's hard to, though. But maybe it will bring me some relief. You must be wondering why I'm saying that it's hard to cry, ME, who's always been such a crybaby, hehe. I don't know. I tried to cry today. It didn't really work. I guess it's because I think about the future: if I cry, my nose will be stuffy and start running all over my face... I will make the weird crying sounds that I make that always sound so stupid to me, and then I question myself, thinking that I'm fake-crying, I'm only crying because I want some empathy, or I want to be dramatic. Fuck.
I wanna move on with the subject. I wanna say that I'm also scared of sex. In some religion, I cannot recall which, maybe Buddhism, it is believed that one should refrain from having any or too much sex because... when you have sex... you are GIVING a part of yourself AWAY to the other person. I don't remember if it was your "soul" you were giving away a bit of, or just "yourself", but I always think "yourself". I actually heard this junior year in ToK at GS. It's not even one of those phrases that "stayed" with me. I'd forgotten all about it; in fact, at the time I heard it, I'm almost sure I even thought it was a little ridiculous. The thing is, ever since I got back to Brazil and started having a LITTLE sex again... the way that I've been feeling in reaction to these occasions reminded me of this line. I would feel like I was emptier... like I'd given something of myself... then this line would come into my mind. I want to know if it's true. IS IT TRUE that when you have sex with someone, you're GIVING a part of yourself to this person forever? It doesn't seem to make sense - it's just a form of touch. Different forms of touch can mean different things, of course... but at the end of the day, it's all touch. Well, maybe not, actually. Our bodies mean a lot to us. The are/can be very symbolic. And they change the way we feel about ourselves and the world and the kind of people we grow up to be.
Man... Man...
I'm quite frightened. That's just how I feel, it's the feeling I have... fright. Even if I don't quite know of what.
I was having sex ("was having sex", PUH, I HAD sex twice with this guy I think I told you about) who's going to get married. The 1st time we went out, whatever, I didn't know. The second time, I did. I had chosen not to go out w/ him anymore after the 1st because of this, but I ended up changing my mind telling myself that we would both be just "using" each other. So the 2nd time we went, it was within a few days of his marriage - so we both knew this was the last time we were gonna see each other. It was the best sex I've ever had in my life, by the way.
But when he dropped me home, I don't know. Literally the minute I left his car and walked to the front gate of my mother's house, as he waited in the car for me to actually get inside, it started to rain hard. I feel crazy because I feel like I liked him SO much, even though I only saw him THREE times, and he's an engineer - not usually my kind of guy. I felt like it was SO unfair that we could NEVER see each other again, even though we'd liked each other so much - it's one thing when there is a conflict between you and your guy... but the obstacle had nothing to do with either of us. Why did I like him so much? Am I incapable of distinguishing sex and (let's just call it) love? And if I am, why are men able to? I shouldn't have liked him. I wish I hadn't liked him. I don't really understand... Why was he even WITH me? Why didn't he just get with a hooker...? Man, he must actually be a big jerk - I mean, outside the obvious reasons for which he might be found to be one. How can someone just come into your life like that, and then leave forever? I NEVER fuck guys I don't know. THAT'S how much I liked him. I don't even like it when people I don't know TOUCH me. NO, I don't even like it when people I don't know TALK to me. In general. So much so that I'd blown him off the first time we talked!
How can he just get married? Wouldn't he remember me at his wedding? Or afterwards? Isn't it weird that like 2 or 3 nights before his marriage, he was fucking some other girl? And getting married won't make anyone LESS attracted to other people - it can only make people TRY harder NOT to be attracted to other people; that's what it sounds like he's going to do. He said that if he'd met me after his wedding, he wouldn't have tried to get with me. But that doesn't seem to make too much sense either... He'd still find me attractive and want to fuck me, whether he did something about it or not. I mean, what?, he would just TRY HARDER to PRETEND that the only person he wants is his WIFE? WHAT THE FUCK! And then I keep thinking about like if I ever plan on getting married - how will I know what I'm getting myself into? No one normal can know where someone else is 24 hrs a day. It just seems so weird to me that he's going to put on a black tuxedo, smile at his bride's parents and other family members, smile at his own family, wait at an altar, smile at his bride, say "I DO", smile and nod, smile and nod, in some big fancy church FULL of expensive decorations and fancy music and tables with weird-colored tablecloth and many, many huge bouquets of FLOWERS in EVERY corner... All that money, all those flowers, all those pastel colors, all that pretending sex doesn't exist, the dishonesty, all the weird cheesiness... And then after the party he'd take her home and fuck her. And probably think about me for at least a split second. 'Cause I was the last crazy experience he had. I was the last girl he fucked - not his wife. And we had very intense and delicious sex, especially for him - it was obvious he couldn't get enough of me. Sexually, he was more into me than I was into him. Noor, it seems so weird, maybe even sick and fucked up too. I don't know WHY this doesn't make sense to me. I mean it should, it's the simplest logic in the world: one man wants to spend the rest of his life with one woman, the woman he loves. But, just to enjoy himself more, sexually, he has a few meaningless and purely sexual affairs on the side. Girls he tosses aside afterwards.
I don't know. It's weird. I wish I hadn't felt tossed aside. I thought I would be okay with never being able to see him again. But I guess it just didn't make sense to me, in the end.
It made me even wonder a lot about what love is. If it's something real. If it really exists. How it's (most likely) SUBJECTIVE (the scariest thought). And actually, even scarier a thought, how I want to FIND it. I want to find something that I'm not even sure what it is?! I yearn for something I don't know!? How fucked up is that! So much for being born into the world and just surviving and being able to be happy with yourself and/or whatever else you already came with!
Noor, I feel so weird, like I don't want to be alone, and at the same time I do.
I feel tired.
Tired of learning. Tired of pursuing. Tired of making wrong turns. Tired of having to go back and start up aaaalll over again from scratch. Tired of waiting, changing, having to TRY SO DAMNED HARD.
Tired of feeling bad. Tired of being condemned. Tired of things not matching up.
Tired.
I think I'll end here...
I need to stop and rest and... well, I wish I could cry.
I would cry long, hard, and beautifully if I could. For all the sorrows of this world, for all the sorrows I've gulped down in attempt to contain myself.
I hope your interview, which obviously went well, went well. You're totally getting into Brown, in my humble opinion. You're from AFGHANISTAN, if nothing else! And you have an adorable voice, if REALLY nothing else! Hehehe.
Thank you, if you did read this whole thing and make it down here to the bottom.
I don't feel better, but I'm glad I put it all down to you. I didn't even say everything, the rest is even more puzzling.
Whatever, I should go.
I love you Noor
You're one of the best people I know in the whole world.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Wanting Something Badly
he'll come tomorrow
I'll talk to him. I'll apologize for having been all over him w/ his boyfriend right next to him. He'll say it's all right. I'll asky why he didn't come today, Monday. He'll say that it's because he and his boyfriend broke up. I'll be like flabbergasted and ask why and say I hope I have nothing to do with it. He'll say that they broke up because he thinks I'm so awesome and cool that he wants me.
I'll talk to him. I'll apologize for having been all over him w/ his boyfriend right next to him. He'll say it's all right. I'll asky why he didn't come today, Monday. He'll say that it's because he and his boyfriend broke up. I'll be like flabbergasted and ask why and say I hope I have nothing to do with it. He'll say that they broke up because he thinks I'm so awesome and cool that he wants me.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Proof of the Efficiency of Cursinho
you're like a song stuck in my head that I don't get to listen to anymore
Funny and slighty sad comparative truths
1) Children aren't always shorter than adults
2) Women aren't always lighter than men
3) Sibling aren't always equally beautiful
4) Older people aren't always smarter than younger people
5) Older people aren't always bigger than younger people
6) Fame causes unpretentious people to look pretentious
7) Beauty is subjective
8) I don't know
9) There's always something you don't sense. Even if you feel like you're thinking of absolutely everything, and you're trying your hardest to do so, there's always something you simply cannot reach.
Isn't it a good thing that I love difficulties
Funny and slighty sad comparative truths
1) Children aren't always shorter than adults
2) Women aren't always lighter than men
3) Sibling aren't always equally beautiful
4) Older people aren't always smarter than younger people
5) Older people aren't always bigger than younger people
6) Fame causes unpretentious people to look pretentious
7) Beauty is subjective
8) I don't know
9) There's always something you don't sense. Even if you feel like you're thinking of absolutely everything, and you're trying your hardest to do so, there's always something you simply cannot reach.
Isn't it a good thing that I love difficulties
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I almost failed
I almost failed.
If I had any doubt about whether I had a sweet tooth or not, this should definitely clear it up.
There is so much sugar in my chocolate milk, that my cookie isn't even soaking it up. Like there's already sugar equilibrium.
I don't think this ever happened before, but I had no idea it was a different month. I had no idea the months had changed.
MEIA DE COURO É SAPATO!
And you know what? It's GAY to say gaZAYbo. GaZEEbo is the shEEt. KEEck-ass. It's how the cool people say it... BEEtch.
If I had any doubt about whether I had a sweet tooth or not, this should definitely clear it up.
There is so much sugar in my chocolate milk, that my cookie isn't even soaking it up. Like there's already sugar equilibrium.
I don't think this ever happened before, but I had no idea it was a different month. I had no idea the months had changed.
MEIA DE COURO É SAPATO!
And you know what? It's GAY to say gaZAYbo. GaZEEbo is the shEEt. KEEck-ass. It's how the cool people say it... BEEtch.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Damn Stinking Lizard
Lizards eat... insects. Then the lizards shit on our walls. So the shit is dead insects. And we just leave it there.
We don't believe in hygiene.
My mom frets 'cause she thinks the maid will eat my expensive jam... when I'm the one eating the maid's cheap jam. I know, I know, I'm a big-ass commie, right.
So, what other interesting thoughts occurred to me today?
nuna yo beezwacks
We don't believe in hygiene.
My mom frets 'cause she thinks the maid will eat my expensive jam... when I'm the one eating the maid's cheap jam. I know, I know, I'm a big-ass commie, right.
So, what other interesting thoughts occurred to me today?
nuna yo beezwacks
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
This REALLY Ain't No Gazeebo
“Hiii…”
Hiram looked up from the book he was reading and shuddered. Then, he slowly lowered his gaze back to his book, softly shaking his head to himself, mumbling,
“Hello.”
It was one of those young crazy puffs again. And one of the bad ones, too. The image he’d just seen flashed into his mind, distracting him from the page he was reading: ultra-tight magenta pants. Tight white tee (through which his bloody nipples could be seen!). Open-toed designer shoes. Crimson toenails! Long (for a man) blonde hair, with big sunglasses on top of his head. Black eye-liner. Blush. A big red leather purse. With a button on it. That said “I ♥ PENIS”. Dear Lord! He shuddered again.
The fashionable young man sat down across from the reading man.
“I’m Sean,” the young man said, smiling, stretching out his hand.
“Hiram,” the other replied, shaking Sean’s hand quickly.
“Oh my god, Hiram, what an awesome name! I’ve only ever heard it once before! It’s such a pretty name. D’you know what it means?” Sean said, with his elbows on his crossed legs and his chin in his hands.
“Uhh—” Hiram began. He knew it all right – it had just escaped him for a second there. “—uh, it means noble,” he said, and looked back down at his book.
“Wow, that’s so cool. It suits you so well!”
“Why thank you.”
“Sure. Say – what’s you sign?”
“My what?”
“Your sign… You know, as in, your star sign?”
“Oh. Umm…” he hadn’t thought about that in so long, he couldn’t even quite remember. “Uh, it’s the goat or the sheep or something.”
“Oh, you mean like Aries?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Oh,” Sean responded quietly, lowering his eyes.
Hiram expected him to say something. What was his point?
“‘Oh’?” he asked Sean, who still made no motion to answer. So, he continued, somewhat irritably “Why ‘oh’?”
“Oh,” Sean began to say, “it’s just that’s, well, you know… I’m a Capricorn.”
Hiram stared at Sean.
“A-and?” he asked, losing his patience. “What’s the problem? Do you need another cabin then, or something?”
“Oh, nonononononono, it’s fine….
Hiram looked up from the book he was reading and shuddered. Then, he slowly lowered his gaze back to his book, softly shaking his head to himself, mumbling,
“Hello.”
It was one of those young crazy puffs again. And one of the bad ones, too. The image he’d just seen flashed into his mind, distracting him from the page he was reading: ultra-tight magenta pants. Tight white tee (through which his bloody nipples could be seen!). Open-toed designer shoes. Crimson toenails! Long (for a man) blonde hair, with big sunglasses on top of his head. Black eye-liner. Blush. A big red leather purse. With a button on it. That said “I ♥ PENIS”. Dear Lord! He shuddered again.
The fashionable young man sat down across from the reading man.
“I’m Sean,” the young man said, smiling, stretching out his hand.
“Hiram,” the other replied, shaking Sean’s hand quickly.
“Oh my god, Hiram, what an awesome name! I’ve only ever heard it once before! It’s such a pretty name. D’you know what it means?” Sean said, with his elbows on his crossed legs and his chin in his hands.
“Uhh—” Hiram began. He knew it all right – it had just escaped him for a second there. “—uh, it means noble,” he said, and looked back down at his book.
“Wow, that’s so cool. It suits you so well!”
“Why thank you.”
“Sure. Say – what’s you sign?”
“My what?”
“Your sign… You know, as in, your star sign?”
“Oh. Umm…” he hadn’t thought about that in so long, he couldn’t even quite remember. “Uh, it’s the goat or the sheep or something.”
“Oh, you mean like Aries?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Oh,” Sean responded quietly, lowering his eyes.
Hiram expected him to say something. What was his point?
“‘Oh’?” he asked Sean, who still made no motion to answer. So, he continued, somewhat irritably “Why ‘oh’?”
“Oh,” Sean began to say, “it’s just that’s, well, you know… I’m a Capricorn.”
Hiram stared at Sean.
“A-and?” he asked, losing his patience. “What’s the problem? Do you need another cabin then, or something?”
“Oh, nonononononono, it’s fine….
There Was a Man
There was a man
There always was a man.
Listening to the alleged voices inside my head.
One cannot be (too) sparing avec les fruits. C’est vrai. Vraiment vrai. Vraiment véritable. Vraiment véritable vrai. (Very table). You know, sometimes I think there are ghosts poking me. And think about your sleep. Man, do you know what happens whilst you are a-sleeping? ‘Course you don’t. T’es out. Sawing loggies. Loggiwogs. Assuming there are ghosts, don’t you think that that would be a time when they would come out? Don’t you think that while you toss and turn your last few times, trying to make yourself as comfy as possible, right when you’re about to hit unconsciousness, a ghost will come in and poke you ever so softly on your side?
Listening to a song on drugs.
Gosh.
It’s a little traumatic. It’s like déjà vu and fever and insanity and a grinding mix of a lot of the sounds you heard before in your life, and maybe the sound of how you’re feeling right now. Poor paranoid people. They must hear shit. I think I’m paranoid. Sometimes when I listen to it, depending on what I’m on, and I guess on how I was before too, it sounds like grinding. Like a machine. Like an awful truck going by right next to your window in traffic. And a bit like static. And also a bit like a monster. So you’re frightened because you think it might eat you. Maybe this is just a ‘bad trip’.
There always was a man.
Listening to the alleged voices inside my head.
One cannot be (too) sparing avec les fruits. C’est vrai. Vraiment vrai. Vraiment véritable. Vraiment véritable vrai. (Very table). You know, sometimes I think there are ghosts poking me. And think about your sleep. Man, do you know what happens whilst you are a-sleeping? ‘Course you don’t. T’es out. Sawing loggies. Loggiwogs. Assuming there are ghosts, don’t you think that that would be a time when they would come out? Don’t you think that while you toss and turn your last few times, trying to make yourself as comfy as possible, right when you’re about to hit unconsciousness, a ghost will come in and poke you ever so softly on your side?
Listening to a song on drugs.
Gosh.
It’s a little traumatic. It’s like déjà vu and fever and insanity and a grinding mix of a lot of the sounds you heard before in your life, and maybe the sound of how you’re feeling right now. Poor paranoid people. They must hear shit. I think I’m paranoid. Sometimes when I listen to it, depending on what I’m on, and I guess on how I was before too, it sounds like grinding. Like a machine. Like an awful truck going by right next to your window in traffic. And a bit like static. And also a bit like a monster. So you’re frightened because you think it might eat you. Maybe this is just a ‘bad trip’.
bengladeshibeastofburden
The tall dark grass… interspersed with stripes…
…was unusually still.
The dark man in the lead with the sickle slashed the undergrowth like he was whipping it the same way he and his ancestors for many generations back had been whipped all their lives…
indifferently, thoughts someplace else.
Their skin was slick and brown; their massive black eyes rolled in their sockets at every sound until their eyes too seemed to be perspiring.
The world resonated with the crazed yawps of the gibbons – louder; louder – merely echoing the voices in the men’s skulls. But they were used to the devilish cries of the jungle.
Hack slash hack.
The sickle chopped the undergrowth harder.
It was never good when they didn’t find one near or in the water.
Fowl cawed crickets hissed… Claws out… tails swished.
A rumble so deep-seated it rolled from the stomach.
The leader came to a halt, where the other nine men’s eyes grew to the size of white fists and immediately uncovered their arms.
So… the devil is… the flying… orange-coated, black-striped… spirit… of a feline,
was the last thought of one of the men, called Raffa, as he stupidly stared up into the air at his fate.
Most of the men scurried to a safer distance – the leader, his son and whoever else was left tried to hack at the dragonlike feline with their long, thick blades; the leader’s son quickly tried to shoot him with the old rust-colored shotgun, but accidentally shot the canopy instead.
But the war-painted animal had seen these small, emaciated primates and their firearms before and knew that with them, it was a different sort of fight. He’d landed with his mouth on Raffa’s head, and, with an orange trunk-sized forearm, he enveloped him, pulling Raffa’s body and himself away from the other men.
…was unusually still.
The dark man in the lead with the sickle slashed the undergrowth like he was whipping it the same way he and his ancestors for many generations back had been whipped all their lives…
indifferently, thoughts someplace else.
Their skin was slick and brown; their massive black eyes rolled in their sockets at every sound until their eyes too seemed to be perspiring.
The world resonated with the crazed yawps of the gibbons – louder; louder – merely echoing the voices in the men’s skulls. But they were used to the devilish cries of the jungle.
Hack slash hack.
The sickle chopped the undergrowth harder.
It was never good when they didn’t find one near or in the water.
Fowl cawed crickets hissed… Claws out… tails swished.
A rumble so deep-seated it rolled from the stomach.
The leader came to a halt, where the other nine men’s eyes grew to the size of white fists and immediately uncovered their arms.
So… the devil is… the flying… orange-coated, black-striped… spirit… of a feline,
was the last thought of one of the men, called Raffa, as he stupidly stared up into the air at his fate.
Most of the men scurried to a safer distance – the leader, his son and whoever else was left tried to hack at the dragonlike feline with their long, thick blades; the leader’s son quickly tried to shoot him with the old rust-colored shotgun, but accidentally shot the canopy instead.
But the war-painted animal had seen these small, emaciated primates and their firearms before and knew that with them, it was a different sort of fight. He’d landed with his mouth on Raffa’s head, and, with an orange trunk-sized forearm, he enveloped him, pulling Raffa’s body and himself away from the other men.
Growing Up
What have I left here to do?
The ordeal is over.
But was it really an ordeal?
How old am I now… really?
I look behind me and I don’t see a line.
I see a mess, a great choppy mess with sections dislocated, pushed in different directions, so it looks perhaps more like a pattern than a line.
My knees are trembling.
I’m getting way too old way too fast.
I don’t see what all the agitation is about.
Oh, I do.
It’s a wonderful thing, you’ll be free. You’ll be a woman.
But I’m not sure I want to be a woman.
That’s ridiculous.
Think of a full-grown man wearing diapers.
So harsh, just like your mother.
So wait, I don’t have an option?
Do I?
Do you?
Do you want to depend on your daddy forever? That’s just like the man in the diapers. A little girl dependent on her dad is okay, a full-grown woman, not quite so!
Are you just being lazy?
No, it’s not that, I’m just talking about the things that matter to me being driven out.
It’s simple, just live in a way that you preserve what is important to you!
Yes but sometimes, perhaps most of the time, I won’t have that choice. What about the vestibular? Do you have any idea how hard I’m going to have to study for that?
But it’ll all be worth it when you get in.
Yeah. It will be a major accomplishment.
But what about all the dreams I will have to forget to wake up early and study the whole day?
The ordeal is over.
But was it really an ordeal?
How old am I now… really?
I look behind me and I don’t see a line.
I see a mess, a great choppy mess with sections dislocated, pushed in different directions, so it looks perhaps more like a pattern than a line.
My knees are trembling.
I’m getting way too old way too fast.
I don’t see what all the agitation is about.
Oh, I do.
It’s a wonderful thing, you’ll be free. You’ll be a woman.
But I’m not sure I want to be a woman.
That’s ridiculous.
Think of a full-grown man wearing diapers.
So harsh, just like your mother.
So wait, I don’t have an option?
Do I?
Do you?
Do you want to depend on your daddy forever? That’s just like the man in the diapers. A little girl dependent on her dad is okay, a full-grown woman, not quite so!
Are you just being lazy?
No, it’s not that, I’m just talking about the things that matter to me being driven out.
It’s simple, just live in a way that you preserve what is important to you!
Yes but sometimes, perhaps most of the time, I won’t have that choice. What about the vestibular? Do you have any idea how hard I’m going to have to study for that?
But it’ll all be worth it when you get in.
Yeah. It will be a major accomplishment.
But what about all the dreams I will have to forget to wake up early and study the whole day?
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