Who's The Artsy Anarchist
Who's The Magic Masochist
Who's The Piggish Postulator
Who's That Anal Agitator
Who's The Heinous Plagiarist
Who's The Sexy Satanist
Who's That Manic Masturbator
Who's The Cryptic Constipator

Who Is Who
Who The Hell Are You

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Four eyes as two in one the forward circular view that never
ends.
An orbital voyage throughout the endless sphere of all.
Where time is lost and everything transcends.
A graceful presence at stolen time.
As ghosts to the world, ghosts to the world.
For ice, outside, are we apart as cold and eerie mist to the
hand.
Ever floating on its course towards the heights of shadowland.
Thus appear the truly sworn.
To be seen, To be feared.
Yet, not to be reached.
Four eyes as two in one.
Thus appear the truly sworn.
As ghosts to the world.

For ice outside, are we apart.
A graceful presence at stolen time.

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He Collects His Lover
He has nail clippings, and photoghraphs he has cut from magazines, and a ticket from the only tram journey they took together, to a late-night Chinese restaurant, where his lover was not recognized. After sex, while his lover sleeps, he takes things, slips them into his bag, a tee shirt that smells like his lover, underpants, a dusty aspirin taken from her toilet kit.

His lover exists for him chiefly as a body in a sequence of hotel rooms.

In his bedroom he has made a small shrine to his lover: his greatest treasure is a knotted condom, retrieved from a waste bin, with the cold remains of his lover's seed congealed inside it.

Sometimes he does not see his lover in the flesh for months at a time. At night he watches his lover on the television.

"if you smile before the commercial break" he whispers to his lover, "it means you are thinking about me. If you blink now it means you love me, you truly love me, and one day you will come out here for always."

He buries his face in a tee shirt that no longer smells like anybody at all, and waits for his lover to blink.

It wasn't the loving each other or the knowing they never could be together.

It wasn't the wind in the eaves of the empty house.
Or the bone-dry rattle of the pills in the brown-glass bottle.

It wasn't the bitter taste, with only a stale box of red wine to wash it away.

It wasn't waking, with her dead and you all too alive.

It was the way your fingers shook. It was a stammer, and the thickness of your tongue as you tried to speak. It was the sound of the sirens, coming closer. It was knowing that you would never get another chance.
"Despair remembers.
It is a peculiar, flat memory, in which things become bleak and bounded by the dark.
There is joy in there,
Of course,
And love,
And touching.
The presence that makes the present absence unbearable. Without triumph, without love, without joy, her work would be for nothing."

Current Mood: Despair

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Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,
And things seem hard or tough,
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,


And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,

Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And reolving at nine thousand miles an hour.
It's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
'Round the sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In the outer spiral arm, at fourteen thousand miles an hour,
Of a galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our galaxy itself contains a hundred million stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy itself is one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.


Our universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whiz;
As fast as it can go, that's the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!

Current Mood: daft

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fucking night
Ashleigh, this night without talking to you

is going worse than I thought. God, I feel fucking sick.

This was planned, I know... I feel so alone, though.

And we didn't talk at all last night.. Not even a little.

The last time I heard you was this morning... And it seems like

tomorrow will be the next time I hear you. A whole day would've passed

since we last spoke. That has not happened with us since

September. But I guess you need a little free time with your friends.

I wish I could hear you, just to know you're alright.

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Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

 

 

Current Mood: float and fade

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ashleigh, I was looking at your pictures tonight. I was lost in what I saw. I kept looking into your eyes in the photos. What's behind that face that I can't get over? Who is this person? What sort of things make you who you are? you are such a mystery, and yet I feel like I know you, and I can't explain it. I wish you could've seen me because I could barely start to see after a while with the salt and the water fogging my eyes. you are the greatest wonder I have ever had the pleasure to wrap my mind around. I hope to god I can continue to keep you interested and make you happy. Anything you've ever seen in me, is yours. I swear on my life I'll never ever part with you.. always a beauty to me. I'm always yours. from the bottom of my heart, with everything that's me: I love you.

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there's really no words to describe exactly what I feel right now. Not necessarily because it's too grand to confine to words, it's just more of a feeling that has no label in our language. It's nothing great, it has no rush. I kind of just want to walk outside and upwards. I feel drawn outside but also to a point in the sky. I kinda feel like walking out through the air and clouds and beyond the bright blue, where it's always night. There's no way to go out there and do it. I want to close my eyes and I feel like fading and breaking apart into dust so I can blow away. I don't want to escape anything, I don't feel mad, or alone, or angry, or betrayed. I just feel like I'm here, but apart from here. Maybe when you get out there as far as the universe could possibly stretch to, there's absolutely nothing. Maybe to go out there is the same as dying, there's nothing. No mystery or secret. No feelings, or pain, or happiness, we just mesh together and whatever else that lies out there continues to exist, and we've made no impact on it. I really wish I'd be concious to experience death, and then to at least know what was behind the the big mystery.

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I saw stars in hazel
just think, we started as two little lonely people with the only thing that understood us out of our sight and touch. Everbody thought it was pathetic, but we knew where we'd end up.. We just knew it.

I love ashleigh, this is never going to change, no one will ever know me like she does. She is above me, and everyone else. She is the meaning of existance. She's what I look into for strength.

I'm so proud to be married to the only person I've ever loved.. I'm lucky.

Current Mood: loved

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bleib hier
Both the broadcast and the print news media strive to develope a strong sense of "we-ness" in their audience. They seek to speak and to and for an audience that is both affluent and like-minded. The media's solidarity with affluence, that is, with the middle and upper class, varies little form one medium to another. Benjamin DeMott points out, for example, that the New York Times understands affluence to be intelligence, taste, public spirit, responsibility, and a readiness to rule and "conceives itself as spokesperson for a readership awash in these qualities." Of course, the flip side to creating a sense of "we," or "us," is establishing a perception of the "other." The other relates back to the faceless, amoral, undeserving, and inferior "underclass." Thus, the world according to the news media is divided between the "underclass" and everyone else. The messages are often contradictory.

Much of the info provided to us by the news media focuses attention on the concerns of a avery wealthy

and privileged class of people. Although, the concerns of a small fraction of the populace, they

are presented as though they were the concerns of everyone else. For example, while relatively

few people actually own stock, the news media devotes an inordinate amount of broadcast time and

print space to business news and stock market quotations.

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Big blue marble


Current Mood: crushed

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na klar!
I was naive.

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Mahogany lamp

well, my pretties and flying monkys, alike, I depart tomorrow.

Ashleigh and I will finally unite again.  I've failed in the past in this journal to mention her as much as

I think about her.  She is really all I've got, and it needs to be known that I love her.

I'm always gonna be sorry for the things I've done to her, and wont forgive myself for them.

I'm lucky to know her.

 

With that being said..

the true innards of my distain are written down on a hardcopy journal, and therefore not public.

but believe me, a deep vein they do run through.

I'm all packed, however, and I'm ready to unload..

Kelvin desperately wants to do something before I leave..  I wish he'd asked me earlier..

 

 

Current Mood: worried

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fall

attention all!  I have just found proof that God doesn't exist!

do you know how I know?

If there was a God, I would be dead by now

I would've died in my sleep long ago

my prayers would've been answered

I would've already closed my eyes never to open them again

amen

Current Mood: ...

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swiftly dance the pickalow tree

Current Mood: gggrr!!!!!

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smile down, little jester

I woke up today and went outside, but the sun was so bright it blinded me, and I had to shield my eyes.

I still feel sticky from the night before.

or maybe I'm just dirty, no bother.  I'm too lazy to clean up my own orgasm.

sure enough the door to the morgue was open when I went to work yesterday.

The cool thing about working in a hospital is you know when somebody's on their death bead because they order a specific meal.

we call the meals "comfort carts".  you can see the body of the person you served the next day in the basement,

just down the hall from cafeteria where I work.  You can swing by it on your way to the bathroom.

the kitchen used to be a morgue 'till they redesigned the basement.

I always wonder which people died in surgery and which ones were given a morphine overdose.

the only happy people in the hospital are the arrogant nurses in the mother-baby wing. 

I call them the surface dwellers.

they seem oblivious to everything.

I like the kitchen, it reminds me of an old sixteenth century dungeon.

Eric always comes back high from his latest opium-venture before serving the patients and their last meals.

I've tried everything!  coping doesn't help!!  what am I ever gonna do?!?

that's a good question.  Let me ask you. have you ever considered suicide?

Why no, no I haven't is that a good idea?

it's a very unusal form of treatment, but I think it just might be the cure to pursue in this case.

 

and the grass so fun to run through!  and who knew, but the mouth of the earth opened up to consume whatever leaping creature it could down to its' bowels.  I never would've thought the very ground I walk on could turn against me for its' own hunger!  what a way to go.

 

 

Current Mood: choking on the past

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down

I miss her..  I'm scared...

 

what would I do?

I don't even want to think about it.

I hope nothing happened.

 

Current Mood: anxious

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Nowhere...

"When All Is Dark

There Are No Points Of Reference

And We No Longer Navigate

By The Stars

We Just End Up Somewhere"

In the wordless chamber

They feared death

desperately

thus they clustered to the fruits of the

earth

craving diversion

as if to avoid knowing why

 

in the wordless chamber

they feared life

desperately

thus they proclaimed any given truth

and swallowed

as if to justify their fear

 

He knew that there had been hordes of seers

before him

who set out to cure

though, the sick wished not to part with

their decease.

as if it made them feel alive

in the wordless chamber he accepted desperation and the unpredictable manifestations of hope.

 

Current Mood: nothing

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bibbly bubbly super jumper

If time could stand still
How long life should seem
For life is but an illusion
A state of concious dream
And when life is all but over
Time will wait no more
Life but just the question
Did you see the things you saw
And when questions can't be answered
Answer is not to gain
Was my concious worth the effort
And time but stopped in vain.

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GREETINGS!!!
from the bowels of the burning prairie highlands riding high on the fog of its' own waste and smog with nothing in sight save the heavens glaring down on the town with its' waste and its' decadent hand

Current Mood: passin' the tyme

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