as it goes, i suppose, so here we go.

i've enjoyed meeting, if only quietly in the land of livejournal, everyone i have on my list. i'll honestly miss reading all of your posts. because i do, and have, read them all.

again, if you want to keep in touch, let me know, because i take it seriously.

this is my last entry, here. it'll be up until tomorrow, when i delete this as planned.

it's been a week since i wrote this. i've been fighting with the idea of letting this stay just a little longer, because i feel as if i'm waiting for some so that i don't lose touch with them forever. but i've decided against it. too many reasons.

i've left more updates here since.
three days; it feels strange.

i've had it with the bullshit here.
in this place, this is the most you'll ever get to know.
i can't take my own judgment in deciding who does and does not want to know me, because that was proved wrong today, and yesterday, and the day before.

so please, while this is not a publicity stunt, or a cry for attention, i know some of you have expressed worry that i might leave. so if you'd like to keep up with me, please, let me know, in whatever way you want.

( confessions; revelations. these are not even the things i hide. )

the morning leading into the evening, three sunsets and two sunrises free of these constraints.
my chest is still rebellious, sore and uncomfortable beneath my ribcage, breath catching on a slowly weakening invasion, but it's always worse when i first open my eyes.

i am hoping to finally touch the champagne in the fridge and the joint in the cabinet, finally get around to remembering what it should have been like 10 days ago. jeremy is really the only person i can drink or consume any other sort of substance around. although tom appears to put up with my stoned babble quite well, and we've had some extremely intellectual (but very, very bizarre) conversations with him high. nick i've never done anything around, he's another i could definitely see watching old movies and smoking weed with me, and i've even told him i'd trip with him, and i don't say things i don't mean. i don't like awkward silence. any drug use is an intent at expansion of the mind, and has almost always results in bright epiphanies, deeper understandings, and heavy but good connections.

lately i've been feeling completely defeated in some areas. i've staked out my territory at home, and have decided its best if i stay in and everyone else stays out. while there are a few exceptions to this, for now they can be counted on a hand with more than one amputated finger. my outsides are of the same material as mirrors are made, and they reflect not myself, but my detachments. it takes a long time for the reflection to fade, to let myself out, to let others see inside. indeed, it takes a long time, and it has been years since someone has been patient and interested enough to find out who i am. years. these people are the sort that are still around, and will always be around. it is my own fault, because i am difficult, stubborn and mysterious in all the ways that are anything but enchanting, although i must admit my own attempts at extroversion are often brushed aside.

i'm tired of playing social games, because i'm not built for them. so what do i do, take my ball and go home? i'm starting to wonder whether i even brought a ball at all, because that would, in itself, incur some form of interest. no, i merely don't come out at all, and instead watch from windows while picks for teams are made based upon surface trivialities. in school, i was always chosen first, somehow. but it was never because of me, it was always because i excelled at sports, and in the classroom i was the coveted science or maths partner not for my company, but for my brain.

now i'm completely overlooked, and i feel as though any time i mention the way my insides churn while i watch the world go by with only a brief allowance at participation in the places i'd most like to be, all that comes across is the sound of a child whining. it's never seen as what it really is. i am lonely. and the only people i trust live hundreds or thousands of miles away.

and i've been writing this since 8am, so the words are work torn and duty mixed, and half have been lost from the tip of my tongue in my cursing beneath desks and the breaking of my nails on network cables.

i fell asleep during my lunch hour at home, so now the rest of the afternoon is going to drag by beneath a bleary eyed stare.

Kaji was nice enough to let me use him as a pillow.
it's a good thing he doesn't smell like most dogs.
shibas are self cleaning.

i just discovered my grandfather was a Mason, something i already knew, and a mortician, who also once did facial reconstructions of the deceased.

i recently dreamt he was dead;

today was a consultation with someone to see about getting my hair done properly. it might take six hours to get the colour i want. i better figure out how to occupy myself for that long sitting in a salon. rather, day spa; little upscale place that insisted on taking my bag and coat and made me coffee.

on the way there, waiting at a stop light, there was a car accident right in front of me. stupid teenage kids flew threw trying to beat traffic off the light and make a left turn, without even checking to see that one lane was open, and people were approaching at regular speed rather than starting off the line. metro got nailed by volvo about three feet in front of me; i guess that means i'm lucky? since i was just in an accident two weeks ago today.

i'm in a fog, really, my hands are shaking and i'm not even sure what time it is, though i keep glancing at the clock ever minute or less. there is nothing to do, today, not really, and while i am near panicking because things are slow for me and gods howdoilooktothem?, i am grateful there are no rings of fire through which my brains need to be thrown. i just couldn't deal with it, not today.

i'm scribbling on post it notes, and i swear that is when i do my best work. of course, when i try to enlarge it into an actual piece of work, it's never right, and hardly resembles the five minutes scratching i did while staring at the monitor. i need a desk, a table, a place notinthesameplaceaseverythingelse to work on more of this sort of thing. a place that doesn't drive me crazy.

the hours, as palpable as static, a blur of contracting passageways and salt floods. they leave me, standing on one tree hilltops in greyscale winters, on late autumn sunset porches surrounded by wheat fields; sitting beneath sun haloed icons on too green grass. they leave me watching, unaccompanied.

insomnia sits just inside the temples, on the undersides of eyelids and untouchable on the surface of skin; it moves in like a grown child coming back home, just for a while, just until things are sorted, just until, just. it sits a dull ache in the side and leaves its dirty laundry everywhere.

two hours a night, maybe, beneath the sound of drumming and the scream of white noise tinnitus that makes silence deadly loud, the sound of blood rushing past my ear from a source no one has yet been able to discern, steady beating. fitful couch naps on open evenings, tossing and turning into twisted neck and back and sweating and shivering beneath too much or too little blanketskin. this is all that refills the last dregs, running on memories of fumes and stinging eyes too painful to leave closed.

my stomach turns, but i am creating.

swimming in insomnia.

[click image for full size]

i miss old late nights with friends.
even if they were hidden behind text.

late nights alone aren't worth it anymore.

my entire repertoire of communication revolves around the fact that i have nothing to say; more accurately, that i have a million things to say, but no way to say them. and so i pour words into the problem, filling up the shell with dense lettering and articles worthy of incineration, hoping somehow its own weight will crack it open and let the frigid air out in an explosion. i'd rather not whip up batch after batch of word pies if they're all soggy crust and no filling, which is why this place has been devoid of much of anything meaningful. trace back to the first days here, read my words then, compared to the things about which i post these days. i found myself, for a while, without intent, without a map. raw and honest, even if topics did get repetitive at some points; i wasn't going to hide the fact that when i am haunted by something, it transforms my world beyond my control. and yet i never expect people to understand i am the sort of person that lets go in every way possible and has the world glue the things i would leave behind back onto me, like gum in my hair: as impossible to remove and as appearance marring.

don't know where this is going, or where it's coming from, aside from frustration, and a penchant for my mind to toss up pictures from forgotten photo albums at the strangest times.

i have been ordered to get an MRI and an EEG and consult a neurologist; i have not made the appointments yet, because they seems single-mindedly geared toward excuses for me to be on medication. i leave therapy sessions wanting to scream, because i have been offered no alternatives, only the words, "I think medication will really help." i am too weak, too quiet, and too gentle to go on the offensive here, and accuse her of deliberately ignoring the fact that doctors and medication go very strongly against my beliefs, and that the fact that i am there, seeing her, is enough for now. she keeps asking me when i am getting the tests, and i keep telling her they are scheduled, and she keeps reinforming me it's important so we can see how medication can help me. it can't help me, and neither can she. but i'm too yellow to walk away from it.

the only benefit i've reaped thus far is that j and i have probably talked more about things in front of her than we have alone in a very long time. i am not any better at it, but the idea of looking foolishly silent in front of this woman at the very least drives me to babbles and stumble over my words like a child with untied shoes, hoping someone would grasp my meaning, the ideas i have so deep down it feels as if they're a part of my bones.

there is no language that suits me, not in this form, at least, because my methods of basic communication are too far off the scale for people to understand. my dog and i converse much better. the other day he got that challenging, uppity look and started climbing on the couch while i was trying to take a nap, so i bit him on the nose. immediate resolution. but damned if that works when i do it to humans. all these ideas swimming so deeply, and i do a terrible job of getting them across. i finally attempted to explain my revelations from watching from hell, and failed miserably, feeling a fool, and thinking i should just not attempt to disclose the things that evade words so well. art comes close, but i'm a poor artist, and most people never understand the piece as it came from the artist anyway, as they are often not meant to.

all of this.
i need a language.

> 2. Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't
> mean they don't love you with all they have.

insomnia. liars.

[click image for full size]

can't sleep, clown will eat me.

[update]
from here of course!
[/update]

in a search for information on antler carving, i stumbled over the web site of someone i was very close with six years ago. i lost touch with him and his email no longer works, but on the "dedicated to" page is a section that reads:

"The greater thy trial, the greater thy triumph", quoted for the name of Dark Wolf, which was one of my online aliases, always a derivation of Wolf since i was first online in 1990.

his site only briefly mentions antler as a medium for rune carving, and has remained unchanged since i last saw it around 1998. another facet of the past's fascination with me, rather than the other way around. no matter the things i try to forget, nor the effort i apply, i live in spirals, matching tangents. he was the one who taught me of the different types of love, eros and agapi, and helped me find paths i might have stumbled past blindly without his guidance. no, not guidance, just friendship.

i sent an email to that address, to see what it would do.

[update]
Your message cannot be delivered to the following recipients:

Recipient address: b*********@usa.net
Reason: Remote SMTP server has rejected address
Diagnostic code: smtp;550 <black_rose@usa.net>... User not known
[/update]

sweet clementine

hint: when trying out the macro function in bad lighting, use a tripod, or a more firm resting place than your hand and a pillow. but i'm too lazy to do it all over again, because that would mean going to get, and peeling another tiny orange.

bed.

the bottle of Veuve Cliequot Ponsardin remains unopened in the dark of the refrigerator. the food remains mostly uneaten, the joint unsmoked, and the tv on the same channel it was when it was left.

last night pointed out quite bluntly that everything is falling apart, if not around me, then crashing down within. memories of last year, too caught up our embraces to watch the clock move or the calendar turn. remembrances of what hid beneath that for so many months, turning that from black and white to white and black in ways that scar the heart and bury themselves in the mind.

what was to what could have been to what is.

the tarnish is the only thing that shines, anymore.

sick.
swollen throat and dizziness. drinking ginger tea and preparing to curl up for the night.
this came on like a freight train, i never get ill this quickly. unless i was already sick and stress was keeping it at bay until my body realised it had a day and a half in which to fall over unconscious.

was going to make new user pics, but now i just feel too shitty, so all i did was update this, and i've already run out of steam.

collapse.

the clouds are moving in &
they're booked to perform on the morrow.

christmas antidote