Like Absinthe

The cat with the crooked nose barked me out of my house before I tripped over elephant shoes. Beyond the driveway I walked between the arching wooden boards and followed the catwalk through to Kansas. Tootoo told me about Georgia (the place, not the person). I touched a petal and it melted into a rainbow, which stuck to my fingernail and edged under my cuticle. I tried to scratch away the happy yellow, green and blue but only managed to wedge it further into my skin. I saw a purple man with one eye that turned into two and turned back into one. He gesticulated for me to follow but his frowning smile discouraged me so I turned around. With the eyes on the back of my head I saw him turn away too his wide eyes on the back of his head stared into mine.

I shut my eyes and ran. I ran the wrong way. I ran into him and he laughed so hard that his appendix exploded. I opened the right eyes and ran. I saw the clouds in the distance framing my house filled with something black. I could hear my mom yelling but I couldn't understand her so I gave a ninety-degree turn and avoided a little boy who was barfing into a bucket. Eight buckets surrounded him. I didn't bother to check what was in the rest of them, even though I could hear someone crying at the bottom of one. Don Quixote de la Mancha was adjusting the brass bowl on his head and demanding that Sancho had to try his elixir. I saw Sancho turn green and I laughed so hard that I felt my appendix twitch. I stopped then, remembering the purple man. I wanted to follow Don Quixote but by the time I could see again they changed into two trees surrounded by a Saskatchewan prairie. The trees, despite being so close together, looked very lonely.

I wanted to cry but I couldn't find my tears. A little girl moved like a slug towards me and gave me hers. I suddenly couldn't stop crying, even though I didn't feel sad anymore. I wanted to go home, but home wasn't the house I've lived in for the past eighteen years. It wasn't the place I had left the barking cat in. I knew it for it's unfamiliarity, and because it was unfamiliar it made me comfortable and I felt accepted by the angry eyes and wide-set mouths. I felt abused, used, tormented, but it felt better than being somewhere where I knew myself.

Music of the moment: Becoming a Parasite by Echolalia

Three-way inspiration

Partially inspired by John's recent post, how Evan can do amazing things in MSPaint, and how I refuse to study for Chemistry anymore today.

Self Obligation

It's difficult to love yourself when you care so little about how your actions affect your life. It's hard to respect yourself when you've lost all semblence of direction and you're too apathetic to find the way back.

Often I find myself walking home with a sour twist in my stomach. I approach my house but all I can think about is continuing to walk so that I'll reach somewhere where I can't find my way home. Too often I slow down. Too often I wish I could leave it all behind. Too often I regret opening the door again and not turning around to face a new street. I'm not trying to be allusive. I honestly hate walking home alone. The closer I get to the steps the more I regret returning to this fucking place full of self-loathing and loneliness. I hate being the one to leave. But I can't see another way around it. I've always been the one to go. You've always been the one to stay. Is that okay?

I have responsibility towards myself. But I always refute it and refuse to acknowledge the fact that I'm worth a damn. I'm not worth it. How can I expect other people to respect or love me if I refuse to accept myself?

Thank you, everyone

I don't wear a mask for you. I smile when I want to. I laugh when I think it's funny. I cry when the mood is appropriate. Everyone inspires something different inside of me, and I've never had a reason to hide it. I may not wear a smile sometimes. I may be more silent than I usually am, but please don't try to fix my problems. If you see a distant look and a glossier reflection to my eye, it doesn't necessarily mean you've driven me to affliction. It may, but don't assume either way.

I love you always. We may be close and talk all the time, or we may simply be on friendly acquaintance. We may even have come to odds because of some unfortunate circumstance, but the fact is I still love you. I respect you for all you are: an individual, a person with valuable opinions and interests. You matter an incredible amount to me because you've built me into the person I am. I don't hate you. I don't begrudge you. I don't expect you to feel the same way. I don't expect you to react, reply to this post or even keep in contact with me. All I want is for you to be happy and continue living a life you can be proud of. If you manage to accomplish this, I'll see it through how you treat other people. And I'll be happier than you can possibly understand.

Thank you... you mean everything to me.

Best sex ever.

I studied all day. I got indigestion from the stress and lack of company. It hurt to be alone.

Then I watched cartoons. Jessi Anne wants coffee with me Thursday. Graham called. I also found my Buffy the Vampire Slayer soundtrack (02), which I lost more than a year ago and used to listen to over and over and over.

Fuck, this is one of the best nights of my life (and one of the worst posts I've ever made, but I don't care at all right now).

Music of the moment: Keep Myself Awake by Black Lab

Stubborn Dependence

I've been tired before. Whether it was from being sick or staying out too late, having an unhealthy diet or overexerting myself... but today I'm tired for a different reason. I'm tired of wanting to please other people more than myself. I'm tired of finding appeasement with myself through other people. I'm exhausted. You could say I'm too dependent. I thrive when I'm in the company of other people and diminish when I spend too much time alone. In fact, ideally, I'd be around people all the time. I get more done when they're around. I'm happier. I smile more. I laugh more. When I'm alone, I have no one to laugh with. No one to grin at with both sets of teeth. I'm weak. I guess I have to accept that.

Because I know I'll never change.

the encouraging smell

Sugar-sweet lapping rain,
Coiled in a cloud, tapping
from the drain
In my face, touching
aching open eyes.
Saturated roof tiles.
Oh, how I love you.
Oh, how the texture
of your lips
and my palms
and fingertips,
scraping
against
the tiles.

For the first time
I feel the pain and
I hold no satisfaction.
So I pull away, away;

Tap, tap, tap the rain
Filling up, up, up my
face
- No - yours, yes, yours
You look scared. You are
so scared. You love to
hurt
But this time, this time
the pain is unsatisfactory.

I'm sorry.
No, I'm not
Actually...
Down, down in the street
the water accum-accumulates.

I thought you were
tired.
I thought I was too.
I lied to you, but
I lied to myself too.

Along the corridor, past
residents hiding behind
thin, straight, black hair.
Arians. Fake pedestrians.
I wish I could crush the
petty nutmeg from your-

raining, pouring, draining
- the facet is off. Now
it refuses to turn back
on again.

On and on again.
The smell of dirt and worms
clutters nostrils, the rain,
oh God how it lightens
my dampened spirit.

You're gone.
You've left.

I reflected.
It was hard.
Harder than
I thought it
would ever
be.

But you're okay.

So I will be too.
Eventually.
Eventually.
Not now;
but I
anticipate
I will be

(soon) no
later

never.

Undulant Reaction

Watermarked magazines, water stained ceiling tiles, a lazy-eyed dog languidly hovering in the corner, the taste of stale alcohol lingers with the fresh scent of your deodorant. I lick my lips. The lady across the room stares oppressively outward, but her gaze is distant. I can't tell if she's looking at or through me. Did it matter? We likely wouldn't meet again. Even if we did we wouldn't recognize each other. So we're acquainted again and again and again without acknowledgement by either party. The light fixture two panels from the front hallway flickers. The inconsistent tungsten upsets my stomach.

He walks close. His smile is genial. I grin back. He introduces himself. I become annoyed. I play the game anyway. Hi, I'm Arwen. We've never met before, but I've seen you around. You have a very natural and beautiful smile. Are those real? I touch your tooth. You've been smiling long enough that they're dry. I find it hard to pull away. The game is suddenly fun, but because it is I feel that sick feeling in my stomach magnify.

I wish I didn't doubt. I wish I didn't feel. But I love these undulant emotions, because I knew it wouldn't be true if I didn't feel them. I pull my finger aside. The lady across the room is bleak and unaffected. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I leave the room with the poor lighting, pungent smells and sad-eyed dog. I leave the shadow of doubt behind and open the heavyset-doors, expecting sunshine, but find a sheet of opaque cloud. My reaction is impossible to decipher, so I squat to the side and enjoy a metaphorical cigarette in voluntary solitude.

Unbridled Fear

I woke up with a sick, terrified feeling in my stomach after napping tonight. I felt like a child again, revived from a nightmare and ready to kick my covers off and bolt for my parents room. But I'm eighteen. I ran to myself.

...I found no refuge whatsoever. So this sick feeling stays. And this terror multiplies.

I'm all alone. Oh God, I'm so alone.

'Too used to each other

First impression made you believe me enigmatic. Acquaintance knew me to be loyal but less intriguing than in the beginning. Kinship acknowledged me as common knowledge and factual, enigmatic tendencies were lost in familiarity. You're used to my quirks and find them less interesting than they used to be. My smile isn't as big as you thought it was, my gesticulations aren't as erratic and the way I throw my head back when I laugh doesn't possess the charm it did once upon a time. You didn't feel the transition take place, but I see it in the lackluster stare you regularly give me. A while back I saw honesty in your smile, now it's fake... thick, and tired with me.

We were better friends when we barely knew each other's name.

Peaking Tongue

In the passion I've lost my identity. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? I've charged myself with forgery, for copying your charisma and stealing your scent from your body. Romance is my version of down-time, alone time, sentimental reflection, a cigarette hanging from someone else's mouth, and the smell of my aunt and uncle tainting my nostrils and lungs. I'm elated. I'm happy. So I smile so big that I share my teeth with your shirt. You reciprocate affectionately with a smile of your own. I know I'm appreciated; your smile is perfectly symmetrical. We're of the opposite sex, but I have a boyfriend and you're not him. I burp you laugh. You snort I smile. My life doesn't end when we're apart. But I feel a stimulus inside when you're around that cannot be replicated by anyone else.

For all of the men in my life, thank you.

Whether you think you're important or not, you are. The minor things you do; the way you treat me with sincerity and as one of the guys, or how you're able to deteriorate the barrier I've so skillfully woven to protect myself... you've all helped me in more ways than I can possibly communicate. You may believe you're just an acquaintance, or that we don't have a relationship, but simply the fact that you share a sincere smile with me is enough to help bring me out of an oppressive space.

Thanks guys... for everything. You mean the world to me.