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scarylullabiezI had an emotive outburst. (It was a free-write do not judge my poorly constructed sentences and lacking vocabulary.) Here there be zombies and violent pornography. I just wanna be inspired. I want to have more than history with someone. I have no passion, I’m just like a fuckin junkie: the boys aren’t providing, and girls terrify me, so I have to fill their place with Jedi battles and Numénor royalty until they aren’t enough either, quit smoking and start snorting; it has to be boys kissing, then touching and fucking until I look down and see track marks up and down my arms and behind my knees and I realize I’m not satisfied unless there’s blood on the sheets. And I sure as hell can’t bleed anymore. The cigarettes are a gag, they make me feel inspired when I’m not. It must be the contraction of the blood vessels making my brain smaller and therefore more easily filled. I have so little in me and what little there is can’t find verbal or visual expression anymore. (maybe that’s really positive, maybe it’s all going into the dancing) But take now for example. This is the angriest I’ve felt in quite some time, and my heart is still thudding melodically, slowly, my blood flows sluggishly molasses-like, my breathing is mellow. My gods, I’m so self absorbed. I got out the paper and ink vehicle intending to write about Ewan McGregor and how beautiful he is, so much that he turns me into a shallow bottle blond nympho bitch who takes no pleasure in the sex act, and deep down is really just a spoiled petulant six year old, pointing at a dolly screaming MAKE THAT ONE LOVE ME!!
Was this all brought on my Jessica telling me she might move in with Matéo? No lovely desert apartment for me then. And no wife. A disarming ogre is robbing me of my OTP, my one spouse. The fingers holding the gold and tan cig are trembling. In the beginning there was a flaw. There was an over-heated and wet mouth salivating and sucking on a hard and pretty cock, whimpering whenever hands pulled his hair. All he is is a mouth; another vehicle to spill semen into. And I’d kill to be him. I’d kill to be anything other than the stagnant zombie I am. Zombie who used to lurch about, open arms outstretched in front, moaning “cohoooohckssss . . . . COHOOOOOCKS!” only to be smacked and told to “fix me first! fix my mommy issues!” and afterwards got some mostly flaccid pencil sized worm slapped against my belly. At first I thought they just didn’t understand, and I tried to teach them; pulled at their hips and pushed at their heads, told them “no, no, mouth on tummy, penis up here,” and I sucked on my own fingers trying to show them. But they wouldn’t have it. I am possessed of every feature desired in the Renaissance, what the hell am I doing here? My temples are throbbing. I want some one to pour the waters of Notre Dame on them; I want lips there. I want that dichotomy, how come I can’t find it anywhere, Mother? It is supposed to be inherent.I don't mean to blaspheme, Mother. They are only mean and spiteful; they think their kindness in oil counts for something. it wouldn't even if I could forget the raped little girls. BAHSTAHDS!
Was this all brought on my Jessica telling me she might move in with Matéo? No lovely desert apartment for me then. And no wife. A disarming ogre is robbing me of my OTP, my one spouse. The fingers holding the gold and tan cig are trembling. In the beginning there was a flaw. There was an over-heated and wet mouth salivating and sucking on a hard and pretty cock, whimpering whenever hands pulled his hair. All he is is a mouth; another vehicle to spill semen into. And I’d kill to be him. I’d kill to be anything other than the stagnant zombie I am. Zombie who used to lurch about, open arms outstretched in front, moaning “cohoooohckssss . . . . COHOOOOOCKS!” only to be smacked and told to “fix me first! fix my mommy issues!” and afterwards got some mostly flaccid pencil sized worm slapped against my belly. At first I thought they just didn’t understand, and I tried to teach them; pulled at their hips and pushed at their heads, told them “no, no, mouth on tummy, penis up here,” and I sucked on my own fingers trying to show them. But they wouldn’t have it. I am possessed of every feature desired in the Renaissance, what the hell am I doing here? My temples are throbbing. I want some one to pour the waters of Notre Dame on them; I want lips there. I want that dichotomy, how come I can’t find it anywhere, Mother? It is supposed to be inherent.
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Date: 2005-08-03 02:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 02:58 am (UTC)