Taxidermy

2009-12-29T17:29:00.001+08:00

2009-12-27T00:45:00.001+08:00

2009-12-25T09:33:00.001+08:00

2009-01-17T18:52:00.001+08:00

2009-01-17T18:51:00.001+08:00

2008-12-21T15:04:00.003+08:00

NEW PLACE FOR SHEENA

2008-10-11T12:34:00.000+08:00

http://taxidermylullaby.blogspot.com/

somnolence

2008-08-30T14:39:00.002+08:00

the effect of a life on a life on a life. were he not to exist would it make a difference. needing to believe theres something better, beyond the animal cravings hormonally induced. i can be anything you want. the limited personality, stunted by the cloning god with scalpel in hand. a fragile ego shattered by the beginnings not of clay but of a microscopic particle, a bacterium. i will not repeat the same musings for we go no where, like walking into a wall, over and over. i knock my head against the vibrating particles of cement and brick, particles that vibrate within me too. it is numbing. where does it end? when will the game end. i am too much of a narcissist to believe in a higher power. but something controls this madness, or has lost control of it. what have you unleashed? what does the universe want with this pawn? i see patterns, in cloud formations and in the glow in his eyes. in the way his touch makes it hard to breathe. in the way she whispered "every living creature on this earth dies alone". we will never find true answers, and perhaps that was the plan after all, we were just never supposed to understand the extent of our limitations, and then live with that knowledge.

2008-08-27T22:00:00.001+08:00

dont know how this is relevant, but cannot stop.

2008-08-09T13:23:00.002+08:00

http://www.quizbox.com/personality/test69.aspx

The Bus

Here is the analysis:You are more concerned with yourself rather than with others. Superficially, you are a quiet and imaginative person. As you choose to sit at the back, you can converse with your friends although you do not talk a lot.

2008-08-09T13:07:00.001+08:00

Jealousy Level: 60%
You are a jealous person but you try not to let it show

You often get very jealous of others but you are successful at controlling your emotions publicly. When you feel that other people are winning things that you deserve, you get very upset, but you won't hurt anybody else by making a scene. Your jealousy is private. You might, for example, cry yourself to sleep at night when you get really jealous of someone.

2008-08-09T12:57:00.001+08:00

Here is the analysis:You are interested in the opposite sex. Though you have already got a guy you like, you still date with other guys. Is that right?

aiyo im hooked on this.

stolen from vic

2008-08-09T12:54:00.000+08:00

http://www.quizbox.com/personality/test82.aspx

Your view on yourself:

Other people find you very interesting, but you are really hiding your true self. Your friends love you because you are a good listener. They'll probably still love you if you learn to be yourself with them.

The type of girlfriend/boyfriend you are looking for:

You are a true romantic. When you are in love, you will do anything and everything to keep your love true.

Your readiness to commit to a relationship:

You are ready to commit as soon as you meet the right person. And you believe you will pretty much know as soon as you might that person.
The seriousness of your love:You are very serious about relationships and aren't interested in wasting time with people you don't really like. If you meet the right person, you will fall deeply and beautifully in love.

Your views on education

Education is very important in life. You want to study hard and learn as much as you can.

The right job for you:

You have plenty of dream jobs but have little chance of doing any of them if you don't focus on something in particular. You need to choose something and go for it to be happy and achieve success.

How do you view success:

You are confident that you will be successful in your chosen career and nothing will stop you from trying.

What are you most afraid of:

You are afraid of things that you cannot control. Sometimes you show your anger to cover up how you feel.

Who is your true self:

You are full of energy and confidence. You are unpredictable, with moods changing as quickly as an ocean. You might occasionally be calm and still, but never for long.

2008-08-09T12:35:00.004+08:00

sub conscience speaks wonders. intoxicated, i think i regret some of the things ive said, the people ive called, ive definitely spoken too much. i would feel embarrassed if i were the type for shame, but no, im not. i walk around with a teddy bear sometimes, and dress in long guy shirts. i lie on the floor, stare at the sky and laugh too loud. im not for caring what others think of me. but i definitely spoke too much this time.

someone pushed me into the pool, six feet under, in desperation for one more breath, i knew i didn't wanna die. but im not sure this is the life i wanna lead.

and then i dont care again, when time has no meaning, and the night stretches on forever. im never growing up. my infantile but aging body knows no age. peter pan has stolen my soul. one more drink for the lady

2008-07-21T22:00:00.000+08:00

And ill put my arms around you. Around you, and drag you into the bowels of darkness plaguing my shadows. And we’ll fall in raging desperation, my broken limbs strung around your neck to suffocate your pallid face. I drown you in the stench of my bleeding necessity, and dig nails into your taut back, marking my descent down your body. You hold on, you never let go. Frustration racking through shivering arms I pull at your hair. I scream in agony. Then I let go for a second. But your arms are still there. Around me. I press my face against yours, as we cry. And you lean your weight on me. And I’ll fix your bleeding wrists, I’ll pull the nails out of your crucifixion wounds, and lift us off this cross. Close your eyes and I’ll whisper our dirty secrets. Suspended in bare filth, strung out against harsh air, we wrap our arms around us.

the anatomy of Lolita

2008-07-19T22:50:00.001+08:00

she reveals sexuality in the most perverse, subtle ways. in her slight disinterested slouch, in the way she looks off into the distance, eyes locked on the predicament of her life you'd never understand. in the way she could never look at you... directly... in the way she'd let you go as far as you want, because she doesnt particularly care. because eventually you know you mean as little to her as she does to you.

[unfinished]

2008-07-19T13:35:00.003+08:00

i bruise easy, but thats ok. im the kind of girl you can whack. dont worry, i can take a hit. haha, it may not seem like it, but truly i dont hate my life. i dont hate life, it just befuddles me. i dont like not being able to decipher the meaning of everything. i like to know. the origin of everything. to solve every mathematical equation leading to the nuclear fission that engulfs this universe in a logical beginning and end. a start and finish that involves my being, in an ethereal co-existence that gives our presence a purpose.
i do feel emotions intensely. when i hurt the ground breaks before my feet. i fall into the sky. but the stars are pretty too, and the milky way rushes like a flowing river.
you dont know, until you have had your heart broken, until youve been abused, when youve seen death, when youve been dead, and then reborn, when youve seen children fight for scraps of food, or an insect burned by a cigarette lighter for fun, its delicate wings twitching in agony. when you see life end and start in a cataclysmic unending cycle of anarchy and violence, and destruction, rot and beauty. then come tell me im wrong. or tell me you understand.
until then, i'll be sitting here. by the pavement. experiencing every agonising, orgasmic second of my wasted existence.
hope to hear from you soon.

down with unsavoury boys!

2008-07-16T22:04:00.005+08:00

sometimes i wonder why the fuck i do the things i do. i must be that bored.but its time to change the locks again. people need to realise they can never get close. not close enough anyway; for breaking limbs and flailing desperation.
there is only place for the gears to lock in the combination for sirius. of green luminosity to a darkened sky. nothing else fuels the furious pulsating shaking my entire being, you uselessly register through my uninterested fingertips.
ive had enough, this charade is over for now. guess it was going to take more than that to sustain my interest.

baby here you pay for what you take.

2008-07-12T03:28:00.002+08:00

beyond broken skin and beyond the serotonin rush, can there exist a personal connection to bind till bones are broken and lungs asphyxiated

2008-07-12T02:25:00.003+08:00

eyeliner poetry and tattered tissue paper medium..

2008-07-05T00:47:00.006+08:00

i sound silly. the moon man whispers to me. cold vapour clouds escape dry lips. i stare into an almost vacant sky.and the trees bow, dripping confetti leaves at the parting of another soul. i feel your heartbeat next to me. beneath the skin, is the caustic red river, that rushes and sloshes. filling empty capillaries. lost in the dizzy darkness behind eyelids, i sink beneath the earth skin, to fall into oceanic depths, of roaring water pressure against my ears. suspended in blue nothingness, im all alone, with nothing solid to hold on to.
dilated pupils reveal the universe in motion. expanding until the fabric of its existence tears itself apart. im connected to the stars and to venus in ways logic can never define.
at the cemetery. we are so drunk. lying on grass, suspended 6 feet over our deceased counterparts. dead arms, spread eagle, ready to embrace warm bodies.i feel your fingers with dead senses. dirt under my finger nails. just get through the night this time.

a starbucks day

2008-07-03T21:38:00.003+08:00

"what are you laughing at? are you fucking laughing at me?" the belligerent drunk speaks. he is walking towards us, alcohol reeking from his pores, grasping a bottle of gin. "the time of Satan has arrived"
i cant help but laugh. even in fear, the laughter like little children rolling downhill. i bite on my finger.
he walks heavily now, leather boots against the pavement. the thump, thump. and im afraid to look up. he addresses me. "will you be invited to my ritual?" i look up, directly into the eyes of insanity. "no." im scared he'll hit me. or smash his bottle against my head. Jo goes to call security. i think i want someone's arms around me. but i remind myself this is my tragedy. this is my pain and my physical limitations to tolerate. my shortcomings.
"you fucking bitch. you cunt!"
it disturbs me that i enjoy being called a cunt. i fear my self-destructive nature will take me into situations i will have no control over. not that it hasnt tried. i recall the escapades with the faceless stranger i trusted with my body, or the lonely nights walking alone down dark alleys. in my delusions, i fray the stitching of everything good for me. i gnaw at threads and destroy my skin and my relationships. the vacant excitement of scars and the sick bloated satisfaction of lying in filthy catharsis.
i dont want the association of trauma. the rag doll, with the missing eyes and broken legs; i want to put her behind me. the real horrors must never be mistaken for the stupidity of my own. the frightened child escapes the dark closet into the world of buzzing white noise and harpooned whales bleeding grape purple blood. i dont want them to know of my history. of the violence and disease permeating most of my growing up years. and yet i refuse to lie. my bruised cheek and lesioned skull tell my dark stories.
but sometimes i hurt. and the doctor says you cant live your life harping on the past. his stethoscope picks up a dying pulse. an irregular heartbeat fading with apathy and racing with the agony of burning rage. he clucks his tongue. he tells me to move on. my sadness like vapour can be gone if i let it.
let my past disappear. a meaningless swirl of events, like linear time, passing without fail, through a passage of history that renders itself obsolete in the turning of pages in a book that never ends. mass produced, like the bible, fought over, analysed, stripped down to the bone and going nowhere.
"pages of the bible fly away with the wind, but my god is the wind" the pretty gypsy whispers her prayer.
"this is the rise of Satan" you dont deserve to wear the pentagram you drunk piece of shit. we walk away and resume the blur of passing imagery.

2008-07-03T21:13:00.001+08:00

(fill in the blanks) + the nice boy

2008-06-22T03:18:00.006+08:00

i seem to detest the materialism of mundane everyday life but the hedonist in me craves for desires of the flesh. the ultimate of pleasures cannot be denied this daughter of eve. i bite ravenously into the poison apple and fall from grace. blood trickles down starved lips. give me what i want. now! make me feel good. almost hysterically she pleads. MAKE ME FEEL GOOD! i clung to you for selfish reasons, but you used me for yours. a logical co-dependant food chain. but you devour into me and soon your saliva is parasitic and cannibalistic. the perpetrating tongue, running down my neck and into my slutty mouth. you eat me whole and i am the victim again. the hurt and betrayed. i never have control. but i can control your pleasure cant i? kneel before me now. bury your face in my lap. no. no room for intimacy. ignore damp eyes. let me shackle you. dont touch me. no love me. please. no. im better than this. a laughable statement. she tilts her head back, dark locks fanning out before her pale back, her lips stretch into a sickening disturbing smile and she giggles dangerously.
do i want this? havent i already been shamed. born with the mark of a concubine. do i want you? you fraud in sirius clothing. will you touch me again?

2008-06-15T01:40:00.001+08:00

2008-06-11T22:38:00.001+08:00

2008-06-06T22:45:00.001+08:00

2008-06-04T00:34:00.002+08:00

face to name?

flesh trancends nothing,

2008-06-04T00:33:00.001+08:00

Sirius

2008-05-25T21:41:00.003+08:00

the piano in the background and i remember everything. when the silence beckons. i must be losing whatever is left of my sanity. when the love dies in your eyes, only then will i realise what you mean to me. is this my second chance? deja vu of a past life haunts the empty bullet hole in my chest. a resounding heartbeat. i think ive found you and im so fucking lonely. i want to carve sirius, sirius, sirius into pale skin. i must be schizophrenic. but i remember everything. and it feels so futile. put fingers to the keys, i play that familiar tune over and over in the dark.
im not leaving. he isnt you. ill always be waiting. for no one and you.

2008-05-14T13:01:00.002+08:00

ive been asleep for more than 14 hours, i could fall back into my restless slumber in an instant. im so exhausted from nothing.

"i see hell in your eyes.
taken in by surprise,
touching you makes me feel alive,
touching you makes me die inside.

i've slept so long without you."

remind me again why i need to get up.

deep breathing and dirty hair.
cold air, bruised skin. not the best incentives.

2008-05-10T17:03:00.003+08:00

no political agenda, i just want to live. LSD trip me please. particles of matter vibrating to the cosmic OM. as matter vibrates through me. a corpse in the drain with a painted face. a star spangled bandanna. shrivelled fingers and red seeds bleeding from dying elms. a small horror in a world of horrors. a love affair with the moon ends in heartbreak. fish speared by the dozen, in coffins of ice. adrenaline induced pupil contraction, a sharper world with rough edges. be careful, dont touch youll cut your finger. smeared lipstick kisses. champagne baths and brandy on your breath. dressed in ribbon and cloth. a fragile child. youve seen too much. i feel your pulse and register the generations of pain in your blood line. hers was a sad race. caressing eyelashes. dried up petals. cold skin. dearly beloved, we gather today to bid farewell. a magical garden, of golden pears and tinkling bells from arching branches. my love ive forgotten how to cry.

2008-05-07T21:43:00.002+08:00

maybe the prozac's working. i wont be paranoid about this miniscule foreign object entering my boodstream to control the chemical imbalance in my brain. maybe im smiling about the his checkered t-shirt i smuggled out of his closet earlier today. i feel safe in it. i dont need a daddy. but i like sinking into layers of soft cloth.
Its like RAIN ON YOUR wedding day! its like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife, its meeting the man of your dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife. its the good advice that you just didnt take.

2008-05-04T17:50:00.002+08:00

my name is escapist. i look for every possible moment not to pay attention. i chew on my pencil, looking out the window. i fall into a different world of nothing. the tv screen speaks to me, i take another swig from the bottle. they cut to an advertisement and my legs move restlessly. the blur around me comes into focus. i close my eyes and reach for the ear phones, sinking into the thick black liquid of Maynard's voice. i dont want to register. My disequilibrium, the wind could knock me off balance. but ill just sit under my polka dot umbrella, and watch the sun set.
i am a taker, a vulture.
feed me feed me in excelsusis, its all for me, poured into my empty cavernous chest, and i check surreptitiously for scraps under the table. how can i reroute the brain. ive been waiting forever, just waiting, stock still in the humid, pink, pillowing air, for the explosion from the depths of the earth.
the sun burns my eyes. animals in the zoo need love too. she chooses her own incarceration and a violent lover. the message sent out in the bottle returns with the current. im afraid of drowning.

devil has my ear today

2008-05-02T17:18:00.002+08:00

eyes meet across the babble. lights dimmed, images flash, projected onto an empty screen. images of war and destruction. a voice cuts in.. the Cuban missile crisis.. victims, a rising death toll, a martyr's name immortalised in stone. they laugh at something i dont quite hear. i smile anyway and look up, straight at you. a moment, too long for comfort. i blink and look away. go away. i need solitude. never leave, lie across my lap. the voice again, Martyr had fallen between the border, no side would help for fear of an attack. he bled to death. then silence. the lights come on. a flurry of papers hurriedly packed away. i turn your way, but you had left.

a boy.

2008-05-01T22:49:00.006+08:00

i guess i have always known there is so much behind that face. it is the grief reeking from your pores i can sense a mile off. something in your anti-material struggle that reminds me of the old sheena, like a weed, so beaten in the dreaded sun, but still out there growing, bent and hunched against the glare.
and your hair, falling into your eyes, like sirius.
i dont want to think youre him, i dont even know him. i look for him, but i have no specific aim. i know his name but not why he haunts me. i want to know you.
i think of stroking your hair. of making your bed. of lying in a catatonic state of despair beside your warm body.

"His bloodied soul lusting"
you laugh.
i shiver with masochistic pleasure.

you speak, mouth in motion
the crowds gravitate to every word.
hooded strangers bearing candles in the dark.

i could crawl, through the mud and grime, to kneel by your feet, look up into your face and give you anything you want.

"you had better run. "
im not going anywhere.

2008-05-01T17:56:00.005+08:00

you're in for hell if you do this to me again, if you drag me into the false, overbearing spotlight, and make me smile for the people. the audience gives a standing ovation, faces contorted, screaming affection. take a bow and move back into the curtained shadows. i crave the night.

i dont want to compromise. i wont make my presence less disconcerting, i know youre uncomfortable, but im a sociopath. no excuses, im just inept.
i dont know anymore, its despicable their ignorance. i would tell them, while they rave passionately, i would engage in theological debate, id prove the infinity ive formulated in the depths of my rotting soul. a fly sits by my shoulder. by the cliff, i would pull you down with me. but i havent jumped. and you dont deserve to jump. i look upon your faith and unwavering hope with pity, because no one's coming to save your soul. i dont mean to sound condescending. im just being pragmatic, ashes to dust, death is death. i look at you, your hands held up to heaven, i would laugh, i would cry for you, but i dont care.
and i havent jumped.
can i honestly call what im doing living, i want to say ive tried. the umbilical residue was not in vain. wrapped around my neck, should it have killed me as the unborn fetus? snipe away at this connection, im the stranger you agreed to live with.
im connected by this fragile thread to you. i want to wake up from this overwhelming sleep. i want to be part of the illusion. im trying to stay awake. im holding on to this something real. im a hypocrite.
will i ever jump.

2008-04-04T15:37:00.005+08:00

porcelina ballerina,
xxxxxx will never like sheena.
is it any surprise i cannot speak to you.
my eyes are fearful. i will harm you.

some days i make sense with the left brain lobe lighting up like a pinball machine,
self assured, with the lithium-sedated smile on the face of The Madonna.
but the pills are running low.

he walked to the traffic light
while i ran across the busy road that night.

there's the loveless house across the street,
with the "for sale" sign.
she is made of glass,
you can break her face if you hit hard enough.

2008-03-17T17:07:00.002+08:00

he shuddered. as he looked upon my scarred limbs. should i feel humiliated? i guess its good i have a sociopath's ability to ignore society in general, much less the people i meet everyday. its just nothing at the end of the day, the weightlessness of everything in my life is unbearable, and probably the only reason i havent pulled the trigger.
im just surrendering to the gravity. leaning my weight against the meniscus, i push against the opposing pressure, and i fall. and i guess i like it. i dont belong among the living.
he broke his leg in the fields. he could kill me with his arms. he shuddered at the blade. i put against my skin.
i need a reprieve. and i need a distraction from the emptiness of reprieve.
god, i need a drink.

Rainy days

2008-03-11T16:26:00.001+08:00

i need to get this off my chest.

to the guy who used to live opposite..

my pussy is wet for you.

2008-03-11T12:04:00.002+08:00

i'm afraid of the agoraphobic in me. a timid, scared child hides in this body. she wants to sink into a state of despair in the shadowed corner of her room, in the doll dress she had picked out to wear in her coffin, on the familiar wood parquet floor. i dont want to see the cold light of day, and sometimes the thought of walking out the door into cold dewy air sends shivers racking through my body, my arms shake. i tell myself its not normal for it to be this hard. its just a door, and the world beyond it.
i consciously make an effort to leave, i force myself out because i dont want to be a slave to this comfort. because ultimately if i stayed here forever then they would have a hold on me forever. i dont need them. they need to know that. im leaving forever. someday i will.
you could say its defiance i guess, the reason i'd go to the extremes of sneaking out to a corner of deserted beach to let him take advantage of me. touch me, because my body doesnt feel like mine anymore. there's a disconnect between my thought process and the encasing.
they fear for my safety, her voice, shaky with anxiety, warning me of the dark. i leave anyway and she looks like she's about to slap me. the intense anger flaring up in her features, i can never understand. as far as im concerned i could be beaten to death in my very living room so im safer out there. i feel like im taking a giant step away from them.. its the furthest ive been from their clutches to do the very thing they so condemn. when he runs his hands up my thigh, im closing the door on 'home' behind me.
but then its over, im exhausted. and all i want is to go back to the shadows forever.

2008-01-15T23:17:00.000+08:00

i want to, i really do, i want to wear flowers in my hair, and sing about making love on the floor. i guess i am happy to turn 6 or 400. [or 17 in human years.] but who's keeping count? im 6 or 400 as far as im concerned.

i dont think 17 is that old.. i mean i havent accomplished much next to the likes of rod ferrell and his 'clan', ive not murdered anyone, yet, or hung out in the undergrounds of Kentucky, leading a group of vampires.

but dont get me started on what i havent achieved, or that sometimes its hard to get out of bed. or my plan to get drunk and knock myself out tomorrow before being faced with having to cut a cake with my family and face the conspicuous lack of interest from certain people.

i won't get into my insane ravings tonight. i think if i keep at it i might end up as one of those crazy homeless people preaching about the end of the world in the streets. but ill wear a long flowing white dress and flowers in my hair to make up for my insufficiency. i dont have the makings of a preacher, i just go round in circles in my head, unsure of anything. what i have managed to accomplish is losing my religion.

i havent moved for the past few years, frozen in a picture frame, capturing my face turning away, looking off towards the precipice, my toes over the ledge. time has meant nothing in particular but the annoying rhythm that is everywhere and in my head, and resounding in my heartbeats.what makes tomorrow any different?

i have this log as witness, and it will one day be obsolete. hanging from a thread in the spiders web that gets increasingly crowded. we all want witnesses to our lives, to fuel purpose.

numbered flaming candles, i'll get lost upon the flame, with flowers in my hair, singing.

2008-01-15T14:58:00.003+08:00

how much of personality is embedded in our DNA. Lorelai gilmore wonders if she likes pop tarts, or if she only likes them because her parents disapproved of them. where does the "I" exist? how much of myself really is me, or am i just the mouldings of everything and everyone around me. fingerprints in the clay. the face in the mirror could belong to you, what does it matter. clone me, share me. (edited)

j***, j***, j***. sometimes im happy, and i dont understand, but i am, and you make me smile. but i know its just a memory.

i am a memory. i am memory, all that i can remember. or ill be nonexistent, like a moment in time on loop, a millisecond that lasts forever, never reaching but prior to the inevitable, terrible fall. tracing steps in a circle that leads nowhere.
where am i going anyway?

therapy

2008-01-09T23:29:00.000+08:00

Dear Mister,

thank you for helping with the anger issues. and yes, note the tidal wave. you have helped and that's more than i can say for the others.
but i think this is as far as we go. i might fall in love with you like i do so very easily. and of course ill get hurt. i might even start getting jealous of your other patients, being the trainwreck that i am.
i hope i haven't bored you while we sat going back and forth, with you trying to convince me otherwise of my not too optimistic perceptions. I'm stubborn you see, its a collapse of synapse perhaps. so cross out my name you'd do best to forget her.

i join the dots and i post date this letter. her breath in the mirror I'll cross out my name.
xoxo

2008-01-01T00:12:00.000+08:00

today, for once, i'm not the last to learn
today the only bridge i have, i burn
walk on water today
today i turn my blood to sweetest wine
a holy sign imbued with the divine
today's the day the gods walk out on me
the great divide is crossed for you by me
today the silent one does have her say
today all contradictions seemed ok
today's the day that i become the sky
a silent understanding

2007-12-28T00:22:00.000+08:00

i want to be marilyn monroe,
wrapped in a towel, by the telephone,

"hello? edward scissorhands?"

2007-12-27T00:56:00.000+08:00

a companion, i make of the black butterfly hovering at my left shoulder. death at bay, bony fingers with rusty scissors, ready to snip at the fraying thread. a beating heart that echoes throughout E. elias Merhige's nightmare masterpiece. realism uncovered. sometimes muffled and pacified i barely think its there, under the cover of flesh on bone. and then sometimes the thunderous knocking, it seems to want escape from the dark and the mechanics of my insides.
what is the value of an ant or fly, swatted with its legs kicking in the air? am i better than you? what of the child born in a poisoned womb, to live the solid age of two.
the self indulgent human species.
lives like little pieces of crystal, strung up in a rosary. the glorious and sorrowful mysteries. will a cross redeem us in the end?
The crickets were merely sound. It came from every direction, always with the suggestion that the insect world felt more than we did.

"language bearers, photographers, diary makers. you with your memory are dead. frozen. lost in a present that never stops passing. Here lives the incantation for matter. a language forever.

Like a flame burning away the darkness, life is flesh on bone convulsing above ground."

Queen Adreena-Heavenly Surrender

2007-12-27T00:40:00.000+08:00

I'll make you a prayer
a heavenly surrender
to the one somewhere out there the one who can mend her
I pray for the one
who can open my door
let me go through
oh yes, give me more
pray for the lover
the willing intender
to break down the door
of heavenly surrender

i only make love to jesus
i only fuck god

I crave your violent
acted upon me
set me free by your
weighted autonomy
I am so human so small, so debased
jealousy and darkness roll over this place I pray for the lover
a willing intender
to break down the girl
a heavenly surrender

I only make love to jesus I only fuck god

I'm a lover of freedom
but I cling to the dusk
I'm blown by the wind I'm a slaveI am lust
roll my face in the shit that I sleep in
tie and bind me up for your keeping
I'll make you a prayer a heavenly surrender
to the one somewhere out there
the one who can mend her

I only make love to jesus I only fuck god

2007-12-27T00:09:00.000+08:00

a conflict of morality versus the beast that rages inside. is civility a lie, the con of man. a shopping list to define and the mallet to sentence. the thief for feeding his family. and Billy Jack, the murderer, who avenged his girlfriend's rape with forsworn karate.
can brutality be justified.
can humanity breach the extremities of the light spectrum? i have hollow wounds where my wings used to reside but i convince myself im not entirely in the shadow. there seems to only exist the grey area, like static flashing on an empty screen. a calming buzzing to block out all thought, that ultimately terrifies in a noisy silence.
is there the villain with the curlicue moustache and the protagonist on mounted horse? the TV screen tells lie after lie. basic instincts in exchange for a fifties washing powder commercial.
as someone i've loved for a while said, "Killing is a way of life, animals do it, and that's the way humans are, just the worst predators of all actually," Rod ferrell.
the dichotomy that allows for abrasive violence, and the fragility of arms, afraid to bruise skin on the surface. your pretty surface. it is a duality. i am grey area. undefined.
can existence ever be defined?

"i am a world before i am a man, i was a creature before i could stand, i will remember before i forget." slipknot.

frustrated

2007-12-26T23:22:00.000+08:00

i do not like her. the cardboard sheena who walks a few paces ahead of me. with her silly vapid smile and mindless chatter. she isnt me, and i cringe recalling her dismal attempts at existence. clutching with all her life onto the paper bag in her tattered arms she limps bowlegged on shivering thighs; holding up with all their might the overbearing weight of her semi-existence. dont listen to her lies, she knows nothing of my life. she's cold fish to be kept in the refrigerator and then butchered.

i don't understand existence, ive tried and failed. my survival mechanism doesn't work. im the fucked up doll on the assembly line. get me a screwdriver and some glue, i think i can fix her.
and im just hopelessly optimistic.

kreeesmas

2007-12-25T00:59:00.000+08:00

like light through the gossamer wings of a butterfly, i make my imprint against the ground.
i think i am willing to ruin myself entirely just for a tiny piece of your pie.
but as the world would have it, i cut myself against the air.

i feel an outpouring coming, but i don't really have anything to say.

artificial plastic baubles,
distorted reflections decorating the artificial tree,
in the living room
while dolphin meat cooks in the kitchen.

fakefakefakefakefake

2007-12-24T00:43:00.000+08:00

pre-calamity dinners, a tv dinner. an old nineties hollywood flick plays, Hollywood glamour of a time when america was noble. gather round and watch with innocent eyes. had the sadness begun even then?

evening sun slanting in. glinting against slightly blond tresses. a tv screen, the MR lettuce man cartoon is on. then she eggs me to get up off the floor and we walk to phonics class. her hand, eradicates the fear of shadows. but she could never resolve the ultimate fear. or wouldn't. no matter i try my hardest to make nothing of it.
domestic violence.

"suspended in glue, keep the variables at bay, my common place is everyday domestic violence, its what i know and i know what to expect, it keeps the variables at bay otherwise i might have to board a ship or a plane, buy a ticket and risk some fantastic adventure, i would risk death so its better to eke it out in my slow death where the variables are kept at bay" katie jane garside.

what drives a girl to the uttermost abandonment of any form of pleasure? to semi-starvation, to digging her own grave, in the backyard garden where the plants he raised with utmost care continue to grow, while the child grows maggots under her skin. in the chilling rain to hopefully catch her death of cold.

because its easy. easier to live with the maggots, than to have people watch as they writhe beneath the thin sheath, until the itch is unbearable. i wont buy my plane ticket. no fantastic adventure awaits me.

what form does pleasure take? the white picket fence, a fifties americana smile. is there introspection in pain? is normality a possibility or the biggest farce?

there is no content to my life. just half-assed attempts at escape and the soap opera of pre-calamity dinners. and then of course the calamities.

sales

2007-12-23T23:15:00.000+08:00

GALORE!

a couple of dresses and a pair of mini shorts later..
VIOLA, a well dressed sheena

a dress

2007-12-23T01:49:00.000+08:00

i wish i knew how to sew, then i could make my tissue paper dress. i have the design in my head. i'll probably go peer into shop windows tomorrow. i hardly ever find what i'm looking for, but ill make do with i get.

2007-12-23T00:30:00.000+08:00

the lovers, intertwined, emancipate into a rush of pale butterflies. stabbing herself, stabbing herself. blood on the door mat. poisoned lips. oh romeo, oh romeo. oh god, oh god. oh nothing.
eyes are weary of looking for Sirius incarnate. hair in his eyes.
i lost my ring and i don't want to believe the prophecies. no longer the widowed bride, i refuse to die of broken heart.
senseless glimpses of a past, present and future. i build a life on truth with no logic.

enter rationale. alcohol induced sobriety. i've seen the patterns, its all so easy. prehistoric and animalistic instructions for 'love'. the typical characteristics. we are penguins, bearing few offspring that are dependant and blind. needing two parents. monogamy.

survival, species continuation. is it all the same but for context?

am i cynical and bitter? but i ask with all honesty of a girl so lost and lost. tell me i'm wrong.

2007-12-21T23:37:00.000+08:00

"Baboons. Baboons. They build their own cages, we could almost hear the Pigman whisper, as he took his children with him. "Paul Zindel.

where has evolution brought us? have we merely made a pathetic attempt at playing god by creating our own world to monkey in. im sorry. i didnt mean to offend you and your intellect.

im afraid of the old lady's lined hands and the stories they tell. of love, loss and life. and death. i look down to see my concluding life line. are we energy forces, that cannot be created and never destroyed, only to be passed on from one state to another. if so, what was i? i see the past life of a romantic, who slit her wrists in the bathtub. or perhaps i am merely a raving lunatic.

will the cycle ever end? i want closure, to return to my common place in the universe, to attain my enlightenment. i crave nirvana.

a conversation

2007-12-21T22:58:00.000+08:00

we are stuck to solid ground by the good grace of gravity, if not we would we'd fall and fall and fall into space.
Luc: what happens then?
sheena: we fall past the atmosphere into the vacuum of space where we suffocate to death and since there'd exist no microorganisms to decay and feed on our corpses we'd float around like little dust particles in the massive universe, drifting further and further apart.
Luc: ok. i need a smoke. want a poptart?
sheena: mmmmmmmm..

2007-12-21T00:13:00.000+08:00

blue, sickening and suffocating, spread and lather over my cracks and crevices. take care to cover the heartagram, etched with the feverish hands of a girl possessed by rockstar worship, and the shaky letters painted by the villainous nine year old like caveman sketches dictating 'sheena's room'. sweep dust from corners she had breathed in with five year old lungs, bad cobwebs and dustbunnies growing like the lines that marked her height over the years. the squish of a roller brush against greying walls. they seek to erase my past and in my slightly paranoid mind they want to vanquish all evidence of my existence. blue paint. sanitary and bright, to repel my satanic heart. i look with eyes used to reveling in decay and comfortable dereliction, and it hurts, like a crucifix brought to a vampire.
memory is the basis of personality and essentially the make up of a person. if i woke up with amnesia I'd be an entirely different person. we are what our mind can hold rendering our bodies merely tools to carry this information. are we nothing without our memories?
as they clean and purge they remove parts of me i might never find again. what if i forget? the flower cut from the box at his funeral, the painting filled with hope of a girl from a time past who still held hope of love. crushed in a dustbin.
i hold on to idealisms that my past is significant. that my life eventually plays a part in the big scheme of things. but in my solitude i am falling and falling. afraid i will lose this fragile link to the chasm in my mind that holds my collective thoughts. or worse still that i will remember and make nothing of it.
im afraid of losing myself and yet am i not here in this chair typing into a glaring screen? do you believe in my existence?