OMFG

My mother is insane. I swear. I bring up the topic of New York, of the possibility of me going there next year - not necessarily forever, just a chance to breathe, a chance to be myself at long last - and what does she say? She says - and this is a direct quote, no lie - "Well, honey, why don't you meet some nice boy there and you can get married when your exams are finished and you can get citizenship? You can always get divorced after the two years."
There is no emoticon created in heaven or hell that can even remotely describe the expression my face is still wearing.
But it means she'll let me go to NY. For two years. On my own.
Faced with the prospect of not only absolute freedom but potential happiness, what am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to feel?

Roses are red and carnations are pink.
I want to get married...
What do you think?

Nightmares

Nightmares. Bodies. Thirty, forty bodies, piled one on top the other in a clearing. Thrown carelessly over logs, half-covered by broken branches...dressed in funeral suits and fine satin dresses but their flesh decaying, fluids seeping from liquefying tissue in a putrid soup. Petechial haemorrhages, ligature marks, rigor mortis. Decomposition. Blood. Corpses rotting into each other. Walking through these killing fields and seeing death all around...what the hell is happening to me?

Random insanity

Fuck. This is what happens when you drink too much and let yourself loose on the Internet. Christ, there oughta be a law against blogging while intoxicated. Thank God I only saved it as a draft and didn't actually publish it. So, edited, spell-checked and grammatically corrected, below is a draft post I typed while mad. I tried to reconstitute it as best I could. Large proportions of it make no sense and much of it is inane blathering, but hey.
Yes, I'm insane. Enjoy.

I feel like minus a hundred and fucking twenty, but I think I'm allowed negative numbers and obscene language after consuming twice my body weight in alcohol. Yeah, I drank too much. Family came over, and I realized rum, Scotch and vodka go down fine with creme de menthe on the side, la de fucking da. Wow. Heheh, I see my wow and raise myself a holy shit.
Adam is so infuriating. I'm making an effort to be angry with him, but Ashley's making eye contact while eating a banana and I think all in all nobody knows what the fuck I'm on about. Including me. So just shut up, Mr. Foot of the Bed. And great, I can't think of an insult, so I just describe where you're fucking lying. Shit.
No. I'm not drunk. If I was drunk I wouldn't be able to spell my phone number. But I was sick so I took Nyqil, then realized I was having people over and took some Dayqil...I kinda hoped they'd balance out to like Afternoonqil, but next thing you know I'm lying on the driveway contemplating the meaning of asphalt. Well, I guess you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it fuck.
Don't you think I'm beautiful? I think I'm addictive. And you do too. I'm made of sugar and spice and crack cocaine, baby. You can't resist. You know you want to be tangent to these curves. Shit, math. Math was always Mickey Mouse x squared bullshit to me.
How do we know reality's real? Maybe Adam's the only real thing in this universe because the rest of us are all wasted and disillusioned by life and the material. And speaking of real, was anyone there to witness the miracle when Jesus rose from the dead like a pop tart from a toaster? We can't convict on circumstantial evidence. I give you not guilty, but only because I don't think you merit being fucked up the ass when you drop the soap. But the people shall be merry and rejoice for the Lord is miscalculating every time a child is raped or a rapist born...'cause, see, God's too busy gettin' his drunk on to pay attention to stuff like creation.
This is my coffee. Dig it? Mine. Touch and I'll tear out your intestines, tie 'em around your legs, sink you into the nearest lake and make sure swordfish rape your bloated corpse. You may now resume conversation, but I'm pleading the fifth. Hell, ain't the fifth amendment like thou shalt not steal or something? Heheh, look at that...Bible, meet Constitution.
Want a drink, Adam? I got Jack in the fridge. What do you mean, like cranking a handle and a shot pops out? No, I mean Jack Daniels. But green's the new pink and pink is the new black and I am the worst possible result of an orgasm. But at least I know for sure the chicken came first 'cause if God made the egg first he'd have had to sit on the friggin' egg for it to hatch and, you know, God's got shit to do. Important shit.
But none of that matters because I am fashionably brilliant. And I can churn out bullshit and have my way with your body and your brain and you will love it. You will want to fuck it.
Because I'm the best acid trip ever.

Good God. I'm seeing brief glimmers of depth and sense lurking within the monstrous collection of bilge, but right now I'm too tired to give a shit. I will say one thing, though: in vino veritas.
In wine there is truth.

Lyrics

Seether - Love Her

I met a girl who hated the world - she used her body to sell her soul
Everytime they'd break her and pay - tear out her heart, and leave her in pain
I never found out how she survived all of the sadness she kept inside
I never found out how she could lie with a smile on her face, and the scratches she'd hide

You could love her if you paid, you could have her everyday
You could love her if you prayed, you could have her every way

Down on her knees, she wept on the floor - this hopeless life she wanted no more
Dead in her mind and cold to the bone - she opened her eyes and saw she was alone
She never found out how much I tried - all of the sadness she kept made me blind
She never found out how much I cried - the rope so tight on the night that she died

You could love her if you paid, you could have her everyday
You could love her if you prayed, you could have her every way

I never found out how she survived - a life lived in lies is a life of denial
I never found out how she could lie - with a smile on her face and the darkness inside...

Frustrated

I'm fed up. Just fucking pissed off. And I guess it's understandable, given the circumstances and what I've been through with guys. If I was as cynical as I sometimes seem to be I'd denounce the entire gender and turn lesbian, but I guess there's hope for me yet.
Nothing happened to set me off - I guess it's the fact that nothing ever happens that's getting to me. I'm sick of stagnating, frustrated by the lack of progress in my life. In any sphere of it.
My brother's out on bail, having been charged with attempted murder for a self-defense shooting. The shot guy has ten witnesses saying my brother attacked him without provocation. My brother has nobody to support his claim - which I believe - that he was hit over the head with a beer bottle prior to his shooting of the man. Attempted murder carries a life sentence. My brother is a white guy in a black country. Enough said.
I'm becoming increasingly schizophrenic. I might be able to function normally in society if I didn't have the stresses of upcoming Cambridge and my brother's trial to deal with in addition to all the drama that comes with being me.
No time to type. Sigh. I'm outta here.

School blues

Yes, I went to school with a broken rib and a torn muscle - definitely not the most brilliant thing I've ever done. And I sat in an auditorium full of shrieking girls and watched boys in baggy clothes and too much jewelry breakdance on stage. Christ, you'd swear the ninnies had never seen males before.
Okay, so it is a single-sex school and we have no male teachers. But for the love of God, there's a single-sex school - of the opposite sex, mind you - right next door.
Yet still...boys enter the compound and miraculously shirts start unbuttoning, skirts start hiking up and socks sink down into sneakers to expose bony ankles. Presbyterian schoolgirl uniforms suddenly being transformed into every guy's erotic fantasy at the faintest whiff of testosterone...no wonder they won't bring a man on staff.
We're isolated, shut away on a hill, trapped behind barbed-wire fences and iron gates. And teachers kick up a hell of a fuss if they catch you in the mall with a guy - on a Saturday, just sitting, talking, drinking coffee. I guess we're supposed to be lesbians, hmm? Far less if they catch you smoking (anywhere, even on a weekend): well, they'll call in your parents and offer to transfer you somewhere else if you don't want to abide by their rules.
Been there, done that. Thank God this shit is going to be over in June.
I cannot wait to get out of this place.

Wounds

I broke a rib on Sunday, coughing. I didn't think it was possible, but then again, the weirdest things happen to me. I'm living proof that nothing is what it seems.
So yes, it is possible to crack a rib by coughing too hard.
Since then I've been in intense pain. And to add to that, I pulled/strained/tore a muscle in the upper left side of my back yesterday. Isn't it fucking beautiful? Aren't I just fucking amazing?
So now I'm high on codeine cough syrup to stop me from breaking any more bones and Tylenol to try to kill the pain of my current injuries. And the half-finished cup of peppermint tea that sits next to me here as I type with my left hand; my right hand is propping up my chin. My shirt lies discarded on the bed not far away, my back glistening with the muscle relaxant gel I have just awkwardly and painfully spread on it.
There is pain. Much pain. Great pain.
Inspiration always comes to me when I'm in agony. So the ideas flow into my aching brain in a swift-flowing river of muddled thought, and Adam awakens. I gaze into those deceptively sleepy-looking eyes and I know my pain is subordinate to my will to write.
What else can I do? I write.

Fuck you

Fuck you, asshole. Doubly for telling me you heard I told everyone about us and how you're hearing stories about us from my personal friends. Fuck you triply for telling me I screwed everything up and now we can never be together.
Where the fuck do you get off judging me? What gives you the right to accuse me of "weaving a tangled web of betrayal"? You're the one doling out your phone number, the one who wants to fall into Kristi's enormous eyes. Who the hell died and made you ruler of all?
Fuck you, Avalon. I'm glad you'll never be in my life now.
Dipshit.