| let me live without this |
[25 Nov 2007|04:12am] |
the time is 2:37am.
"want a drink?" she says with a stout glass half-filled with whiskey sitting between all her fingers from above. her elongated fingers looking like a carnival claw holding that precious prize and moves her way toward the couch with me conveniently plopped onto it.
she is the perfect caricature of what i hate.
i divert my attention from the dormant television and carry her from my periphery to the center and give her a blank stare. i've got my left leg propped up onto my right knee, making a perfect "four" shape if looked down on from above. i simultaneously prop my head up and intertwine my fingers with my hair of my right hand with my entire body leaning towards the right.
"i'm trying my best to not scream at you right now," i really want to do this right now.
my eyes trace on how well she looks with minimalist clothing. blue jeans, white socks, and a white baby-tee with the volcom logo pasted all over it in black ink. her hair hangs over her shoulders and ends at her breasts.
"you're free to do so," she says this with a subtle smirk on her face. she stands at an angle towards me with her thumb through her belt loop with her toes slightly pointed towards each other.
it's this little cutesy shit that i like.
"god damn you," i say this whilst slightly rolling my eyes with a neutral facial expression.
"is there a specific reason why you don't talk much?" she makes a reference for my obvious lack of words at any given moment. the lack of emotion and expression.
the lack of life.
"first off, what do you think?" i say this while my left hand mimics a gun pointed at my head.
"well, for starts: you're exceedingly disinterested in everything. you don't care for yourself, but you care for other despite not showing it. you fail to comment on anything because you believe that you lack social efficacy. you're simplistic and minimalist not only in possessions, but in your lifestyle and interaction skills. your 'i don't give a fuck' attitude applies to everything. you're informative and have a large variance of words, but you never speak them. there, satisfied?" she says this without pausing using only slight halts after her periods for immaculate grammatical syntax.
"that sounds just about right. i'm not interesting, so i don't like to be spoken to. i never have any input because i feel that a lack of words is not directly proportional to what i feel or the quality of my ideas. i don't need to talk to communicate feelings. look at art. that inanimate grouping and amalgamation of various colors that words could not possibly explain. i operate in ways that could never fucking fully imagine. by the way, it's good having you as a social science major ms. "social efficacy," i say this with an equally impressive tone and syntactical precision that sounds as if it was extracted from a business document.
"i understand," she keeps her words to a minimum.
"by the way, i say 'fuck' for emphasis, not as a superfluous expletive," i knew i had pushed her buttons when she heard the word 'fuck,' as her eyes made a slight movement.
"i didn't really expect those words from an engineer," her fingers are painted black, which contrasts really well with her tanned body.that smooth, velvety skin that i would kill to touch, but i just can't.
an aesthetically pleasing example of what makes me melt.
"with a minor in music," i start to gently chew my left knuckle to keep myself amused.
"you know this is the first time i've seen you in 2 months, i missed you," her sincerity is showing through the tone of her voice.
"you shouldn't miss me, i don't have presence, remember?" i say this while standing up and cracking my back.
she gets up and gives me a hug, with her arms grappling me over my shoulders and i bury my nose in the slight waves of her hair. we pull our heads back and look at each other, and i give her a kiss on her forehead and she squeezes again, i can tell she's closing her eyes because i can feel her facial muscles move.
"nouvelle."
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| enlightenment |
[18 Oct 2007|06:59pm] |
| [ |
music |
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radiohead - jigsaw falling into place |
] |
i'm rolling around under my blanket with the windows shut. i attempt to create the maximum amount of friction around my appendages, and place my forehead against the wall for support.
my body is sporadically convulsing, settling into the state known as "survival mode."
for the record, i haven't eaten anything or had any water for 3 days now.
i can't feel my hands or my feet. every time i try to walk, the nerves in my ankles are shot and i can only wobble using my hands for support. my fingers rub the inside of my rib cage, my teeth clatter as the voluntary becomes opposite.
the human body can sustain itself for weeks without food, but without water, survival is cut down to 3 days.
survival.
my body is fighting for something that i can easily reach out introduce it into my system, but i'm holding out. holding out for another way to suffer, another way to make life unbearable and to confuse the people i know.
for the record, it's 80 degrees Fahrenheit and the sun is beating down on me and my limbs are still ice cold.
if i relax my eyes enough, i start to feel delusional. hallucinations. feelings of depersonalization and the ultimate manifestation of the id. i have to remember breathing, i have to massage my abdomen to further delay stomach churning, the gastro-intestinal acids bouncing off the mucus-lined walls.
for the record, i did this all under my own will. a new "challenge" for myself. it's like anorexia nervosa, but much, much more acceptable in society when you tell others that you're "just fasting." simply exploring the limits of the human body, the limits of the mind and how far i can push myself to self-destruction.
in my case, this is self-improvement. this is the pinnacle of self-realization, the sovereign state of the body from the mind.
it's only when you totally fuck up when you realize the summation of what you've lost.
what you've tried to achieve, but failed in every miniscule aspect.
i start wondering about how much weight i've lost. my body mass index eventually spiraling down to shit, my stamina destroyed, my nerves and muscles being cannibalized just so that my heart continues to beat. so that my brain continues receiving electrical signals from my spinal column.
for the record, i'm smiling as all of this happens.
during the entire duration of the past triad of days, my body cannot stop shaking. shivering for the sole purpose to create heat from energy while using minimal amount of bodily resources. the combined trinity of the absence of food and water, and the ultimate lack of self-worth. the levels of self-efficacy flatlining to infinity.
this is personal enlightenment.
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| high you can't sustain |
[23 Sep 2007|12:01pm] |
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i get back to my place at around 1:30 and i already know that i'll be at least an hour late.
i wash up and put some clothes on and jet to her house. melissa walks out with a white halter top and matching white skirt. her skin is perfectly tanned and her slim legs connect to her sandals. as for me, i'm wearing a black button-down made from calvin klein and tie by ralph lauren. i'm also wearing a perfectly-fitted pair of dockers and the same shoes that i wore earlier in the day.
i grab her off-white/cream clutch and pull her by the arm to my car.
we speed away as my car attempts to pull into second gear as i smash the accelerator into the ground.
i pump my car full of Ladytron. all i feel that i can possibly do in this mindset is to listen to pulsating beats and soothing vocals. she calmly nods her head in unison with the low-profile sullen sound of Ladytron, and i do the same.
we're on the 67, in the fast lane, and i've got my left hand at two o'clock. at any time, i could pull my arm to the left, smashing my car into the concrete median. unconsciously, i realize that i'm thinking out loud to her as she passively gives me eye gestures from the passenger seat.
"go ahead, do it. you don't have me stopping you. i know that if you choose to do something like this, that it's for some fucking good reason." her head is propped up by her right hand and her left hand is on her lap holding her clutch.
i pull out a nickel from my change drawer and roll my window down. i steady the car down a downhill straightaway as i close into the median, just so that i have enough clearance in between my driver-side mirror and the median. i'm going about 70, and i press the nickel into the median for a good 5 seconds. with the coin still warm from the friction, i then toss it over to melissa, trying my best to land the coin into her left hand.
"looks like about an eighth or so of the coin is gone, think a vending machine will still take it?" she then places the coin into one of my empty cup holders.
"right now, i'm thinking about putting my teeth on that median. just to grind away at my mouth and eventually shred my head to pieces. you know, go out with a bang and possibly have you witness it all." i say this in the most casual of vocal tones.
right now i seem like a fucking borderline nutcase and/or psychopath.
we pull into viejas, and as we go up the main stairs, she slips me a tab of mescaline in my hand before she wraps her arm around mine to keep warm.
as soon as we lay foot upon the casino floor, i get carded while she walks to the vast array of video poker machines.
"you don't do slots?"
"for a second, i thought you said 'sluts,' but no, slot machines have the worst payout ever. you can't fuck with the payout scheme of a slot machine, but you can win at video poker on a regular basis."
"good logic ms. brains." i take a seat to her left.
"give me your wallet." she says this after searching her clutch for no less than 10 seconds, not even pulling out her own purse.
"what? don't you have your own money?"
"we're going to split whatever cash you have in your wallet." her face is plastered with a mask of seriousness, and i give in nonetheless.
"fine, take what you want." and i toss my wallet at her lap, giving it a slight spin that is supposed to signify that 'i don't give a shit' without explicitly stating it.
she picks out $60 in twenty-dollar bills. she then looks under one of my high-school prom pictures and finds another twenty-dollar bill. my emergency money in case i ever needed that extra twenty bucks, that bitch.
we end up playing off our initial $40 each for about 2 hours. passing along casual lines of conversation between us during that duration of time.
"how's the new school and area?" she delivers this question while choosing to hold a pair of kings, without even diverting a slightest bit of attention towards me.
"the school is nice, the area is a shithole though. i would much rather have san diego." my reply is just as oblivious as hers, but i'm holding three jacks instead.
"any new friends?" she lets out a subtle grin after winning with a three-of-a-kind of kings.
"no, fuck friends. fuck the people that interrupt my life. fuck the phone calls, text messages, and voices that somehow route their way towards me to annoy the fuck out of me. fuck people, fuck humanity, fuck whatever 'destiny' is supposed to be." i tilt my head a little to the right, there is no sarcasm and she knows it. i end up winning with a full house of jacks and a pair of aces.
halfway through this conversation, the mescaline is slowly coursing through both our veins, blowing our minds apart. i can already feel the heat emanating from my forehead and obvious hand-jitters as i let my eyes scan melissa's body.
"if you were asked to be a part of something. to be with someone, would you accept?" she's got a 3 and a 4, off-suit.
"what would i do? i would purposely ignore them. to let them know that i don't want their little god damn fucking association. none of that recycled fake bullshit. " i go all-in when i see the river nets me a four-of-a-kind in aces.
"you're the type of person that practice what he preaches, and i like that. i think it's cute." she wins with a 7-high straight and pulls in $20 from the machine. she leans a little bit out of her chair, supporting herself with a hand on my shoulder and she kisses me lightly on the cheek.
not a sympathy kiss, but the kind of kiss that's slow on the release and screams 'i like being with you' with none of that superfluous romance bullshit.
as she releases, she slips me another tab of mescaline that she carefully palmed out of view of the security cameras. i chew on this powder-blue and wash it down with my own saliva.
this makes me grin, and we end our gambling with me winning with a pair of 8's with a queen kicker.
after all of this, she ends up winning $135 and i end up with $120 in winnings.
i get up and start walking out to the car. she loops her arm around mine and closely pulls herself to my arm to keep warm.
once we pull up to her place, i let her get out of the car so that i wouldn't have to search for a parking spot. i roll my window down and she bends over with her arms resting on the window.
"here, take these. you're free to use them whenever you see the situation fit." she drops a plastic ziploc bag of powder-white mescaline tabs, around 10 of them sit in that plastic vessel.
"you are a fucking godsend." i hide these in a spare case for my glasses.
"you luhhh me?" she purposely fucks up the word "love" and lays the incorrect wording with the speech slurring of an obese lady.
"don't you ever fucking say that again. and no, i don't love you, but you get the point." at this point, i sound like a misogynic chauvinist asshole.
"cute." she smiles and waves her little hand at me.
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| underneath a web of satellites |
[13 Jul 2007|12:20am] |
| [ |
music |
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bright eyes - down a rabbit hole |
] |
it's midnight when i finally decide that i should take a shower.
i sit on the edge of my bed while combing my hair, taking advantage of the fan cooling me off while my hair still drips of water over my back.
with my hair still wet, i reverse into the parking spot labeled "visitors only."
i straighten the collar of my shirt, crack my neck, and politely ring her doorbell.
melissa comes out, she's got a pint of ice cream in her left hand and the metal spoon in her mouth. the last time i had a metal utensil in my mouth, i tripped and hit a wall, ripping the roof of my mouth into bloody shards. i had one hell of a fucking time tonguing my wounds back then.
"hold on, i'll grab a change of clothes," she releases the grip on the door handle and it swings to a closed position by default, stopping inches away from my nose. i don't even flinch, a broken nose would only mean a nosebleed where i can drink on my own type A.
she comes back, with a little black dress and a little red bow tie in her hair. her hair's wavy and dangles past her shoulder, resting on her right breast. she's got on black ballet flats and her even complexion is the cornerstone of adorable.
she's the cutest fucking thing right now, and i'm in no mood for sex.
we sit on top of each of our cars, mine on the left and hers on the right. we each sit on the side, facing towards each other, our legs dangling in front of our passenger-side windows.
we've rolled all our windows down and unlocked our cars. i have a mixture of my stereo and the radio. midori with her big sonic chill, with my cd changer on random and playing a mix of danse macabre, digital ash in a digital urn, and twilo. i've got the treble on 4 and bass at 3, treble is what makes music shine, not booming bass.
anything to calm us down, anything to calm me down.
"so, did you drop her yet?" this has got to be the vaguest question if asked to a complete stranger, but i know exactly who she's referring to at any given moment.
"yeah, thing's are only considered to be over when you choose to forget, and i'm well past that stage," i've got my hands clasped together resting on my thighs as i hunch over, trying to make a sincere effort to make eye contact.
"it's about time. move on, get a new job, move out. start something new for yourself, and ONLY yourself," she says this as she takes another drag of her cigarette, carefully seated between her index and middle finger, while simultaneously holding a corona between her thumb and index. the bottle is half empty, with a slice of squeezed lime floating on top of the gold liquid.
she exhales, and i take an elongated inhalation through my nose. i'm inhaling every trace of her second-hand smoke just to feel alive. i don't smoke, but i let her continue to blow her smoke into my face, and my eyes never blink when it hits me in the face, gets absorbed into my hair, and down into my lungs.
i look down for a split second, and i see a pack of newport's sitting on her drivers seat, with cream leather trim.
we've got matching volcom stone stickers on our rear windows. her's looks better in the end, since her windows are tinted. it's our version of what people call "secret handshakes," things that people use to correlate with one another, something that the outside public would have no understanding of.
this meeting isn't about mindless touching. it's not about mindless fucking, either.
she balances her bottle on the roof of her car and the cigarette in her mouth, making awkward faces as she turns around and lays chest-down and reaches into her glove compartment while her legs are dangling over the edge of her car, her feet are dangerously close to my crotch. i just watch as she fishes a yellow object from her glove compartment and throws it at me.
from a distance, i thought it would be some type of hi-liter.
with it cupped in my hands, it's an EpiPen. short for epinephrine pen.
another prize that she pilfered from the hospital.
i've seen these in use. my aunt's a pharmacist and she taught me of all the uses of life-saving drugs, and epinephrine caught my eye. it's basically a shot of pure adrenaline, a secretion by the adrenal glands that sit on top of the kidney. epinephrine is released by the adrenal glands when the body senses danger. when introduced into the bloodstream, epinephrine boosts the supply of oxygen and glucose to the brain and muscles, while suppressing other bodily functions, namely digestion.
"if you take this, you can basically abuse the hell out of it and trip out and keep that skinny figure of yours," she finishes her corona and takes another drag of her cigarette.
i twirl the pen around my thumb, and without a moment to think, stab the tip of the pen into my left arm. the rubber tip is pierced by a needle when force is directly applied to the tip of the pen, and the 0.3mg of epinephrine is injected into the bloodstream.
"why haven't you been responding to my texts?" she was obviously worried about where the fuck i've been. i always pick up my phone.
"i've taken the battery out of my phone for almost two weeks now. last time i checked, i had 6 voicemails and 32 text messages in my inbox. i want to ignore certain people, and i really wanted to sever that line of communication," my head dips low and my eyes can only see her legs and her hand with the cigarette.
it's been around two minutes and i'm still relatively stable.
"it's almost over, you've only got around a month and a half before you're gone. before your old life is thrown into the past, and you have to build a new one in irvine. i'm sure you can hold off on the over-dramatics and go away silently, without any good-bye's or warnings. just, leave..."
she rubs out her cigarette on the top of my right hand, and i don't even flinch.
by now, sweat starts pouring out from my forehead and runs across my hairline. my hands start shaking and eventually my entire body is consumed in erratic movement. my chest convulses, and the heels of my shoe start bouncing off my passenger-side window.
i start to topple forward, and she catches my head onto her chest and whispers,
"you've got to forget about everything before you can start something new."
she locks up both of our cars and puts her head under one of my shoulders and helps me back into her place.
we end up on opposite sides of the bed, fully clothed, and completely satisfied with one another.
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| trip like i do |
[02 Jul 2007|12:35am] |
| [ |
music |
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say anything - spidersong |
] |
it's saturday, i've gone by with no sleep and end up sleeping at work. i have a nice 2 hour nap from 1pm-3pm, and end up sitting in the walk-in freezer for around another hour just to keep cool.
it's 6pm and i'm ready to hit the freeway, ready to get the fuck away from this place.
i get home and i take a shower, my body gets unnecessarily sweaty when i work.
all i want to do tonight is fuck with people i don't know. i'm a combination of bitter and pissed off, and i just want to piss people off.
i throw my home-made cell phone jammer into my pack pocket. this little device is powered by a single 9v battery, and causes decimates cell phone signals from every carrier within a 30 foot radius. all this can be made with schematics on the internet, $20 worth of electronics equipment, and steady hands to solder the bitch together. this all fits into a tiny black case the size of a deck of cards, with a little antenna, time interval knob, and on/off toggle switch at the top.
with this, i bring a ziploc bag of wireless receievers the size of small refrigerator magnets. these cost roughly $2 a pop and 5 minutes of assembly time. these are all programmed into my jammer and are pre-programmed to let drop cell phone calls within a 20 foot radius every hour.
i stuff all of this into my pockets. for the record, i'm wearing boy pants at this very moment.
i end up at mission gorge road, near the local Best Buy. i reach into my pocket and set the time interval knob to 0, which means a constant signal is being pumped out from the device. i pull out my skateboard from the trunk of my car and make my way down mission gorge, hitting all of the stores and restaurants.
people at Best Buy look at their phones with a stupefied gaze. people sitting in booths and bars at Olive Garden are all fingering their little phones, shaking them as if it were a viable solution to the network being crippled.
there are cars that stop immediately on the street, taking their eyes off traffic to try to redial their previous conversation. trying to connect with that person and alleviate the boredom of driving. for fucks sake, put down the fucking phone and turn on the radio or something. these people are already shitty drivers, and their poor driving skills are furthermore amplified with the usage of a phone in one hand.
these people, relying on communication from far-off distances using a little device, to provide communication. these are the people who are scared to be alone, yet their loneliness is subdued with the voice of another person. loneliness is something that should never, ever be felt, but a non-physical presence except for a voice eliminates it.
i cross cuyamaca street and civic center drive, effectively hitting every store north of mission gorge road. a flock of people at the trolley frantically trying to talk about their worthless lives to other people via phone network. people texting their lives to some other person who is only going to say to him or herself, "i'm paying 10 cents a text message to hear this shit?"
every couple of miles, i stick a wireless receiver under the back bumper of a car, on the inside of the bumper where nobody would look. these people, and hopefully their neighbors, will experience dropped calls at every hour as long as this 9v battery has enough energy in it. the wireless connection between the jammer and receiver is automatically reset and randomly generated whenever a new power source is connected.
maybe this constant cell-phone jamming will make our streets safer. make our libraries less annoying when some dipshit has their obnoxious rap ring tone set to High and has the audacity to answer the call while other people are studying, rather than hit Ignore. maybe this will put an end to all those people who don't realize that they are talking on a little device, and that yelling is not necessary to get the point through, take the fucking receiver OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. maybe this will cause a spike in other forms of communication such as internet chat or just simple, traditional casual conversation.
at first glance, all i just wanted to do was the piss off a bunch of people and get away with it.
in the long run, all i wanted was the aid in the resurgence in the lost art of social interaction.
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| something in your heart so cruel |
[27 Jun 2007|01:14am] |
| [ |
music |
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porcupine tree - the start of something beautiful |
] |
i get home at around 12:30am, and i throw my phone, wallet and keys onto the ground. i change shirts and shoes, switch out my glasses. i pick up a small sealed envelope from my desk cabinet.
sometimes i just wish i could change into someone else.
from the pile of disarray on the ground near the open door, i only choose to pick up my car keys as i unhinge them from the keychain.
she's watching television. wasting her life away on fictional pilots. plots that run around in circles until the season finale is called for. it's only at that point where producers give a shit about their content.
"what brings you here, confusion?" she places a cup full of white tea on top of a saucer on my partition of the living room table.
"fuck you and everything you believe in. fuck the control you have over your little minions. sometimes i wish i could just strangle you and leave you rotting," i say this in a casual tone as i take a sip from the cup, the tea still hot that it fogs up my glasses.
"there was never anything worth believing in, in the first place." she crosses her legs.
it's only when we believe in things, that we get hurt the most.
"the more i know, the less i understand," i say this with an open air, waiting for an equally complicated response.
"and eventually, the more you feel like a pawn," she seems to finish my statement for myself.
i pull out the envelope from my pocket, it being folded in half to save space.
she opens it and spills its contents on the glass table while simultaneously reaching into her clutch for her wallet, and eventually a credit card pops out.
she does a full line of cocaine hydrochloride and drops her credit card, leaning over towards me.
i push her away as she's putting her face into my neck, with the obvious intent to come upwards towards my face.
"i've got some sort of infection or cystic zit or something," i tell her this as i point to my crest in my lip, slightly swollen.
she falls back onto her side of the couch, crosses her arms and makes a whimpering noise as a frown quickly enters her face.
"at least you're considerate," she runs her tongue across the front of her top teeth.
"what do you do when something you want, not something you need, is always out of reach?" i say this while gently punching her right arm.
"i destroy them," she answers without hesitation, bringing along with her answer a frightening air of certainty.
"what am i?"
i'm not expecting an answer to this question.
"cold," she turns her head my way and gently tilts it to her left, eyes fixated on mine.
for the first time, she's the one being cryptic, not me
"thanks, i can only be as cynical and morbid as you provoke me to be. every action you put forth in my direction can be hurled back at you tenfold, or put into something constructive. anger is constructive, but hate is destructive." i finish my tea and check my watch, i've only been here for half an hour and i already want to get the fuck out.
"why are you saying this?" i know from her tone of voice that she's asking with utmost curiosity.
"because she's cold." and i end my proposition there, as well as the conversation.
i get up, placing the cup and saucer into the sink and washing them. i dry my hands on a paper towel and kiss Minerva on her forehead as i leave, she's moved onto the couch where i was sitting and props her head up with her elbow.
her lip gloss still shines on my neck.
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| stay with me, safe and ignorant |
[23 Jun 2007|12:04am] |
| [ |
music |
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in flames - trigger |
] |
it's midnight, and i'm sitting on the living room couch with Spiral in my hand, consuming me.
my phone rings and vibrates against the glass table, with the audible "darling, you've grown tired of me" in a serene falsetto with a piano accompaniment.
inbox (1).
"you want to drive?
-M"
in a split second, i'm at her place.
she's making an omelette in her psuedo-nightgown. i only call it a nightgown because it's translucent. eggs at the peak of the night, but i'm not complaining.
"i'm taking you to a party," she says as an aside, probing her food with a fork as we sit next to each other on the couch, watching a program i've never seen before, but i couldn't care less since it's in high-definition.
"i don't do parties," i speak out, an odd combination of firmness and meekness.
"you'll do just fine. what's up with the grudge against it?" she asks, knowing full well the answer that she expects me to say.
"fuck you, you know exactly why i don't like them," i retort, viciously.
she gets up, places her plate and utensils into the sink and wavers off to her room. she changes in less than a minute flat.
she's got on some kind of designer jeans, a pair of Etnies, and a black baby-tee with the large Roxy logo embroidered on the front, the logo slightly distorted from the curves of her chest.
the only thing i notice about her is that her thighs don't touch.
...and how her ass sticks out a little when she turns to the side.
i swipe my hand across her living-room table for her keys. her single key with BMW emblazoned on them and a key for her apartment, a key that she never uses.
i have no idea where we're going. she's navigating as if we're rally car racers.
"67 south, 8 east. just keep going east until i say so," her head propped up on her hand, her elbow against the glass.
we end up somewhere in i think alpine, but i'm not entirely sure.
once we get there, i park her beamer in some remote area under a tree, next to a halogen street lamp that makes the paint of her car appear to be the purest of whites. before we get out, she opens her glove box and gets two tabs of Halcion. she divides it between us and we swallow them dry.
she leads, i follow.
i don't know anybody there, and before i know, she's back with a cup in her hand with a Newport between her index and middle finger and sits us down on a couch. as i walk by, i hear someone blaring.
"hey, whoa, didn't know your friend was a dude," he directs at Minerva, half of his words slurred and poorly enunciated.
i could expect that, from my usual attire.
the guy has a large New Era cap of some obscure baseball team with a sweatshirt and jeans two sizes too big. he's attempting to sing along with the rap song that's being played on the stereo system, trying to impress me with his knowledge of the memorization of fucking pitiful lyrics while bouncing his head and making hand gestures.
"you know what? rap is fucking GARBAGE," i enunciate each syllable, slowly, and clearly into his face.
he puts both of his hands in his hoodie pouch and makes a distorted facial gesture and takes a step forward, attempting to intimidate me.
i sit there, unfazed.
"come on, start an argument. initiate a debate that you think that you might be able to win. from your hesitation for taking action, you're thinking of a witty remark in retaliation of my comment, but your mind is fucking blank," i state.
three seconds of silence unrolls.
"...now fuck off," i end my assault and he walks outside, and i can feel M and a couple of other hands tap me on my back and ruffle my hair.
there wasn't much to say about the party, there was the usual assortment of your typical party-goers. we have the piss drunk sluts that would spread pussy at any given moment just to have an orgasm--your easy fucks who won't remember you the day after. your stoners in the corner that attempt to feign stupidity because it's the trend and apparently humorous, failing to notice that they can't differentiate the difference between feigning stupidity or actually possessing it. there's the douchebag jocks who can't shut the fuck up. they loathe about how they consider beer pong a sport and say that they dominate said "sport," just to place emphasis on how large their penis may be, or its possible potential that they wish it had.
Minerva takes a drag of a cigarette and blows it in my face, while she nudges at me to take her back to her place.
i inhale the smoke through my nose and keep it in my lungs.
she's got a a fairly high tolerance to alcohol, from my perspective. i've never been drunk, so i can't be make a fair judgement. she walks, with the same poise and elegance as ever.
the only way i could tell that she drank was either the smell of her breath or the taste of her spit.
i start the car and push the clutch in, and we're back to santee.
scene: the couch.
"well, how'd you like it?" her voice with an innocent air.
"the usual," i answer in a voice so monotone that i might as well be a robot.
i check the time and i see that it's 7am. i've got work in either 3 or 4 hours, i can't recall and i don't really care.
we end up sleeping on the couch with a mix CD of Fugazi and Minor Threat on her sound system. i wake up, only to find that i have one of my hands still running through her hair, the other in between the fingers of her hand.
i kiss the top of her head, knowing that she won't feel it.
her hair smells like citrus.
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| i'm in my head and i'm spinning |
[21 Jun 2007|07:18pm] |
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music |
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30 seconds to mars - fallen |
] |
welcome to the family, vox ad50vt & vfs2 footswitch.
the rat pack, looking to expand it soon.
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| lux |
[18 Jun 2007|09:08pm] |
| [ |
music |
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circa survive - on letting go |
] |
my day starts with an uncanny urge to visit Minerva, as i haven't been to her apartment for almost 2 months. we don't talk on the phone, and we don't exchange text messages, but we're both there at any given moment.
it's 3am, and i'm lying on my bed reading, while the rotating fan blades alter the shadows cast upon me at every second. i decide to throw on some clothes and go to my car, its' engine still warm from coming home at midnight earlier.
i drive up to her place, reversing into the parking spot labeled "visitor," noticing her pearl white BMW, parked at an offset angle of about 10 degrees to the left--at least she points the wheel straight after parking.
i go up to the top of the stairs, and to my amazement, the door is locked. i'm perplexed, but i carefully finger the bottom of the wall-lamp for the key, making sure that my skin doesn't make contact with the bulb, or it would be melting with my flash from the heat.
i can see Minerva from the edges of my peripheral vision, specifically to my left. she's sitting on the counter in the kitchen and leaning against the open window, only a plastic screen holding her weight up as it bulges outwards. she's dressed in a striped women's volcom polo with matching volcom khaki shorts. my eyes are lured by the stone that's stitched into the inner thigh, but no arousal emits. she's got on ankle socks that are surprisingly white on their soles, freshly laundered.
i take a seat on her couch and inspect the already electrified television. she notices my presence, and struggles with the three-foot drop from the kitchen counter, and waddles her way to the couch where i sit. i expect her to sit to my side, but she does a slight combination of collapsing and straddling onto me. her knees buckle, and we're face to face.
i'm breathing in her carbon dioxide.
from this distance, i can tell that she's not wearing a bra. both optical and physical evidence can support this claim. the awkward thing is that i am neither surprised or appalled.
i survey her body as a whole. her eyes are mildly bloodshot and pupils fully dilated. she has lower abdominal convulsions and her arms are a shade paler than the rest of her body from being constantly lifted over her head. her fingertips are cold and her eyes are constantly refocusing after each and every blink. the salty taste of her skin could suggest perspiration from any activity, but i predict it's from hyperventilation or just fucking.
she's high, trashed, strung-out, and a mental molotov-cocktail.
i gently push her off me, lifting her into the air and placing her by my side. she whimpers and closes her eyes, leaning back into the armrest of the couch.
i make my way into her room, where a ziploc bag is full of various pills is open and spilled upon her desk. next to it is a heineken bottle with some sort of residue remaining in the bottom of the bottle. i hold it up to pour some of it out, a slush that leads to the discovery of powder and alcohol. i find her miniature mortar & pestle in her desk drawer with the remains of coarse-grained painkillers.
i take a handful of the pills out of the bag, the same kind of snack bag that's advertised to hold oreo's and other kinds of shit, except in her case, it holds snack pills. i can immediately identify oxycontin, percoden, xanax, restoril, ritalin, and halcion. i backtrack to the mortar & pestle and from the small fragments, see the letter "V" visible.
the letter "V" only brings up two possible options.
i place a chunk of the medical rocks between my front teeth and grind them down. i examine the texture of two more additional samples before i can label the fragments as valium. valium has a more velvety texture, while vicodin has a more gritty, coarse texture.
don't ask me how i know how to differentiate pills.
i walk back to the couch, the tart taste of fragmented valium still lingering in my mouth as i sit on the opposite end of Minerva, her noticing the weight shift in the couch and immediately resumes straddling me.
"i haven't seen you in ages, where the fuck have you been?" she says this while still panting and running her hands over my chest.
"in the same room i've always been rotting in," i say this while i just look at her face, her eyes still fixated on mine.
she starts biting at my neck and runs her mouth all over my upper body. eventually, she gets to my ears and face, slowly chewing at parts of my cheek and eventually my lips and bridge of my nose. i then hear a crunching noise as i taste the flow of blood running down the back of my throat. i tilt my head back, hoping the nosebleed will stop. you can only swallow so much blood before nausea takes over.
the only things my hands are doing are interacting with hers. we're kissing, but our mouths never connect at first. we're only feeling each other up because this is the only way we can connect with one another.
she's my little personal Lux. the Lux i wish i had, but never could meet. that little easy fuck to satisfy personal sexual needs.
personal sexual gratification.
on demand.
this goes on for over an hour, as i notice that the television has changed programs twice during this act.
i could imagine that after getting off the couch, the imprint of my ass and two concave dips on both sides of it (representing her knees) would be left.
"what's going on through your mind?" i sneak this question in between the gasps and heavy breathing that alternates between us, us sharing the air between this hairline gap between us.
"fuck JC, fuck religion, fuck all the brainwashed idiots that have their lives controlled by all that slowly crafted, highly contrived bullshit," she replies, pulling back her head and all while running her hand through her hair.
after she says this, i just want to fuck her even more.
"when was the last time you did this?"
"you should know," she says this while putting on a subtle grin.
we kiss for hours and let out all our secrets.
"would you be doing this if you knew you would die the next day?" i interject.
"on top of my god-damned agenda," she answers.
"melissa, cantare," i reassuringly whisper into her ear as my tongue desecrates it.
"mmm hmm," she lets out a harmonic melody using only innate and primitive sexual/seductive noises. she squeezes my hands tighter, this is the first time i've called her by her birth name in months.
"what are we?" richard.
"friends that steal kisses," minerva.
this endless conversation of action questioning and reaction answering goes on for hours until the sun enters its domain of the morning. we both end up topless and in our underwear, still in the same position on the couch. her head is turned and her ear presses into my chest, listening for my heartbeat. our hands are still interlaced, and we're both feeding off each others body warmth.
this is the only time revelatory thoughts come to mind. that these encounters fulfill both parties. we're both satisfied and interconnected. we share the air that we breathe, the space that we contain, the saliva that we create--all so that we can feel united, amalgamated, communal, collective, collaborated.
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| do you remember what the music meant? |
[29 May 2007|12:36am] |
| [ |
music |
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blonde redhead - 23 |
] |
iowa porker? i don't know, the words "receive bacon!" just popped into my head when i saw this.
the drive-in, which is roughly a mile from my apartment. it's $7 for 2 movies, not a bad deal. one day, i just want somebody to call me when i'm watching a movie and ask where i'm at so i can reply "i'm at the drive-in!" yeah, lame joke, i know...
washed my car again. low lighting + camera phone w/ no flash = shitty picture. if you look closely, you can see the reflection of the submarina sign in my driver-side window. makes me want a meatball sub.
this stuff is thick, makes my weak girl-arms tired to just stir this all together. unlike cookie dough, i wouldn't dare eat this raw.
they came out great and tasted FUCKING AWESOME! on a scale of 1-10, i would give it a rating of "the shit!"
yes, those are cats with freakishly large eyes on the wall.
the muffins i made beforehand.
i wish i had ice cream to put on top of this, but the brownies themselves satisfy me.
i'm really glad we got along now :]
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| my metabolism is the shit |
[15 May 2007|10:56pm] |
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music |
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marilyn manson - lunchbox |
] |
of course, i LOSE weight after i eat this.
i haven't gained any weight since the 8th grade.
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| crailtap! |
[14 May 2007|07:55pm] |
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i love lakai shoes.
crailtap!
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| Minerva Chen, Party Crasher. |
[06 May 2007|03:44pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 indifferent |
] |
| [ |
music |
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brand new - sowing season (yeah) |
] |
i hate all of my friends except one.
i've never felt so indifferent, so post-moderately disconnected at which i thought i knew. it's the same kind of frustration and anger that flows within all of us, just that some decide to reveal it more than others, and it can swallow anyone whole.
i'm watching the street lamps shine their magnificent luminance, reflected over the velvet perched on the top of my head. i'm deviating from the norm, clockwork-calculating how to grasp the concept of self-control and how to define the phrase "are you satisfied?"
i hate all of my friends except one.
whatever you say, i can be entirely oblivious or equally absorbed and sensitive to it as well. i can hear these thoughts trickle into my satellites as i filter out the superfluous noises of laughter and uncontrolled breathing from the airwaves. there are no proper time signatures from where i come from, and there is no control from what i've experienced.
i let out a subtle grin, a silent acknowledgment to my inner self. a physical representation of how all of my tangent and stringent thoughts are able to conglomerate at my center. you can continue to formulate crass comments towards how i operate, and i will let you do as you please.
i hate all of my friends except one.
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| hairwatch 2007. |
[02 May 2007|01:02pm] |
| [ |
music |
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boys! grab your guns. |
] |
hair!
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| medicine & poison |
[29 Apr 2007|02:05pm] |
| [ |
music |
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circa survive |
] |
"move one inch at a time
don't make shit rhyme
would it be easy to repeat the first line?
my mind's not a well, it won't run dry
just keep drinking water and you'll be alright
this is paralysis, with no time at all to let go
well don't call me by my full name
all this is temporary
it feels much better to know
that you won't feel a thing
well don't talk about it
write it down
but don't ask for help
I can't be honest with even myself
did you ever wish you were somebody else?
accomplishments are transient
they pull me in unremittingly
just lasting this long, I feel relieved
let repetition save me
well don't call me by my full name
all this is temporary
it feels much better to know
that you won't feel a thing
well don't talk about it
write it down
but don't ask for help
I can't be honest with even myself
did you ever wish you were somebody else?
move one inch at a time
and you'll be just fine
move one inch at a time and you'll find
they pull me in but accomplishments are transient
they pull me in but accomplishments are transient
well don't call me by my full name
all this is temporary
it feels much better to know
that you won't feel a thing
well don't talk about it
write it down
but don't ask for help
I can't be honest with even myself
did you ever wish you were
did you ever wish you were
did you ever wish you were somebody else?"
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knifeart's journal
