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[19 Nov 2004|01:59pm] |
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music |
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le tigre-eau de bedroom dancing |
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ahhh yes well my disguise plan was foiled. i went from motley blonde, to motley red/pink (looked like i was auditioning for a van halen tribute show, very amusing) to dark brown/black.
now my hair is falling out in clumps.
next time i decide to attempt anything like this, please slap me and tell me to buy a wig.
xoxo
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[18 Nov 2004|05:00pm] |
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mood |
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dizzy (from the peroxide fumes |
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music |
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bikini kill-strawberry julius |
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with a moderate amount of luck, i'm about to have blonde hair. (or miranda red, whichever one i can be bothered to do first...)
xoxo
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[31 Oct 2004|08:59pm] |
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think i'll go eat worms...
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[24 Sep 2004|12:14pm] |
it was early, he was buying. sucking down shots and cigarettes trying to see how much i could fit in. he said he didn't drink to remember, he drank to forget. i thought, i remember. i don't want to, but i have to. these memories must be bought and paid for with pain. i drank to sleep. not to forget. thirteen and digging through my drawers through nail polish and jewelery. the juxtaposition struck me even then. i kept it a secret. one, two, three, four. stacked on top of each other, how high would they reach? i don't like to remember, but i need to. five, six, seven, eight. half gone now. i wonder how much sleep i'll get in. is this even worth what i spend on it? nine, ten, eleven, twelve. yes, i can go to bed now...
god, every label i see on the road, in a bar, i must remember. because i need it as a milestone. realising i have ten empty ones in my closet. a peak of lows, not to remember, but to remind me. i saw what people must have seen in me. and quite frankly, it's not even the slightest bit romantic. not creative, not even destructive, just nothing. it's fucking pathetic. i don't drink to forget. i drink to remember.
xoxo
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[23 Sep 2004|02:04pm] |
a motel shower in the middle of nowhere. it came out of nowhere. crouching on the cold tiles "i love my life i love my life i love my life, like a fucking disease". its so filthy and abrasive and let's face it, in the scheme of things, pretty much useless. but that doesn't stop you from holding it next to you when you are cold. i just want it NOW. i know what i want and i want it NOW! i don't care how i just want it NOW! i don't want to live in order to recieve. because i don't have to.
culitvating sweet farms of useless shit, but hey, i like it. because there is no point, but i'm going to do it anyway. and i'm going to love it, to the point where it makes me sick. to the point where i use myself up. it's dirty, it's tawdry and cheap. "i love my life i love my life i love my life".
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[07 Sep 2004|12:35pm] |
I read the piece of paper you gave me and I folded it neatly and put it in my pocket. Because maybe I want to believe in it. Maybe I don't deserve the opinion I hold of myself. Maybe I should believe that yr just doing the best thing for me, and I should cherish yr advice and hold it close to my heart on a cold night. Maybe I should think about seeing myself as ugly stupid and worthless again. Maybe I should keep slapping an open palm against my forehead until something useful comes out. Because there's really not much here to prove my current convictions. At least nothing I can find in you.
I think it's really swell of you to give me this scrap of handwriting to hold on to and read when I start to find myself interesting again. I think its real sweet of you to cut out magazine pictures and paste them to my body while I am sleeping, and when I woke up they had stuck there tightly.
And I remember that night I had a dream of wheelchairs and amputees. People who were missing something. There was a large circle of them, facing inwards. They all fell out and started to drag themselves away digging into the earth with dirty fingernail, legs and stumps dragging behind them useless as kites on a still day.
And I believe you want me like that. I believe you like to watch me claw at the ground inching away. And at least I know that for a fact. At least I know something. At least I know what you want and at least I know what I’ll never give you.
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| yr way past saving anyhow... |
[03 Sep 2004|03:26pm] |
yesterday i saw you in the street, you asked me for a dollar and you looked down at yr feet, it doesn't hurt anymore for me to see you this way, you made yr choice now live it, day by boring day.
i hope you like yr habit now.
i hope you like yr habit now.
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[14 Aug 2004|07:15pm] |
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music |
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hell on high heels-motley crue |
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i love the BC sluts. each and every one.
heading to woolongong tomorrow and i'm actually looking forward to the long car trip hahah.
xoxo
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[14 Aug 2004|05:34pm] |
it was 4:30 am. we were standing on a city street corner. half the world was waking up and the other half was falling asleep. he asked when i was leaving town and i said much too soon. he was a pretty enough boy i'd known him for 3 hours of accidental fingertips meeting in every bar on the street. he asked me if i was going home with him i laughed and said i didn't do people with worse self esteem than me...
he reached in through my mouth and grabbed everything that i ever used to hate about myself and shoved them into the hole on the left side of his chest and said 'do you like me now? do YOU want me NOW? WILL YOU FUCK ME NOW?'
i reached back into the visceral cavity, took back what was mine. i gave him a kiss for good luck, sqeezed his side and slid into the waiting taxi without looking back.
baby, yr always gonna get left behind...
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[04 Aug 2004|09:58am] |
2 hours sleep in the past 48. drove all of last night. the road truly did rise up to meet me. i crawled into bed next to my mother and realised how much i had missed the smell of home.
xoxo
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[30 Jul 2004|02:10pm] |
last night i had a dream. a sort-of dream. where you might be dreaming, awake or just remembering. but i was younger then, stuck in static and unable to do a thing about it. my mother she sent me to see her friend. in a cold office and there was a doll house there and inside the room were gender appropriate and gnawed on toys of all sorts of descriptions, apparently there for the younger children to enact their personal interpretation of domestic bliss and for my mother's friend to ask questions and take notes and make little monosyllabic sounds at the back of her throat. and she rephrased those questions as to try and not patronise me even though i could tell she thought i was a lot more stupid than i actually was as i sat there trying, instead to figure HER out. the fake leather vinyl armchair was as cold as her hands and her breath as she called in the doctor and they examined my feet, my legs my hips my chest my hands my arms my head and said we have counted yr imperfections the lumps the sores the scars while i lay on my back pretending to count the stars. they wrote out a prescription on some flimsy see-through paper and handed it to me and said they would give this to me because there was really nothing wrong i only had guilt, but that was good, because they said. every. nice. girl. should.
xoxo
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selfishgrrrl's journal
