| To One I Hold Dear |
[Nov. 21st, 2005|02:44 am] |
I could make love to you all day. I wish we weren't bound by constraints of time and of responsibility and of physical exhaustion. Today--well, technically yesterday morning, I felt like our souls were playing together when we made love. It's almost always primal when we start--we just get the urge to FUCK, because my body's there or your body's there and it's beautiful in the morning sunlight streaming through the blinds. But then sometimes I want to know you're mine, and still alive and well and that my nightmares weren't true. I want to hold you, feel the fullness of your skin and your muscle in my hands just to know you're alive. You're still here and something cruel didn't take you away from me.
I love your eyes, ancient Neptune pools guarding many secrets. You are more beautiful than you can imagine and I can never have enough of you. I live for that calm that relaxes your face when you sleep. I live for those hands that squeeze me back to reality when I go crazy.
I wish that we were in heaven now, and that we could study at our leisure. Make love for a week, and then take notes. And swim.
I love the peace you bring into my tormented heart. I love you so. |
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| want |
[Aug. 17th, 2005|01:17 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  horny | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Mezzanine | ] |
Remember that scene in Mulholland Drive where Naomi Watts' character is on the couch, masturbating and crying at the same time? The room fades in and out, and it's the perfect translation of simultaneous despair and sexual frustration. I almost cried myself, knowing how that felt. I remember being hurt by a man that I really wanted to have sex with. Lying in bed, wanting him, hating him, and feeling ashamed that I was masturbating, but too horny to stop. Trying to tame the beast when it cried out. Someone else has to have felt this, and I'm sure they have. But you don't see a lot of people who admit to this sort of thing.
But I'm with a man I love and want even more right now. I want him so badly. I want to suck on his skin and kiss his lightly freckled nose. I want to take him as far as I can in my mouth and hear his soft panting as I move up and down. Last night, we made love and I was in ecstasy hearing him moan loudly next to my ear as he grabbed my body and fucked me hard. I feel as though my insides are caving in thinking about it, I want him so. I love how he bent me over in the shower, all covered in soap, and slipped his cock in and out of me.
I love sitting outside on his car, smoking cigarettes and messing around with each other--babytalking, talking about serious things, and then getting lost in each other's eyes.
Poetry. Don't ask me to explain--it just feels good, it feels like poetry. |
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| You know what. |
[Jul. 29th, 2005|02:06 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  happy | ] |
Sex on the beach really is all that.
All the cliched images--the pounding surf, the moonlight, the cool breeze. They were perfect and new again. |
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| "All you know about me is what I sold you." |
[Feb. 25th, 2005|02:10 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  apathetic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | "Jimmy"--Tool | ] |
So many people on Myspace are a joke. Okay, let's write a bunch of untrue shit about ourselves, put a bunch of weirdly angled, blurry photos doctored in Photoshop/Paint/Corel/Jasc/whathaveyou and then go on an adding spree! I use it to keep in touch with my buddies. I'm not really interested in meeting people I don't already know. There are exceptions, of course, but I'm perfectly ok with not having to juggle my personal life with the good favor of complete strangers.
Fuck, I need a smoke really bad. |
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| Stupid "Christian" hypocrite of the day. |
[Feb. 18th, 2005|03:01 pm] |
This prestigious award goes to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) id0ntkn0w.
Which brings me to my disdain for the Christians who treat others badly, and yet yell at others for not believing/following the Bible. As someone who used to be extremely religious, I have this to say: The ones that are going to make it to heaven are the ones that are kind, humble, and forgiving to others.
Jesus hung out with sinners...since they were more open and honest than the pharisees and the publicans. He wouldn't flip out because some lady had an abortion and be all up in her face and scream "YOU DIRTY WHORE YOU KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GONNA GO WHEN YOU DIE?! HELL! SATAN'S GONNA WHIP YOU GOOD FOR BEING A HARLOT."
NO. Jesus would probably take her hand and let her cry on his shoulder. He would probably be the only person who could help her remove that sadness.
However, he did not have the same respect for hypocrites--the ones who preached and made people tremble with their accusations and then went home and did "un-Christlike" things themselves. The Bible has a whole BUNCH of punishments that are going to be specifically given to the hypocrites in the afterlife.
There are a bunch of things in the Bible I am not sure I can accept, though. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 14th, 2005|11:42 pm] |
Let him come take
you home
Such a simple line, sung so hard and so beautiful and passionate like syrup on the dark maria of the moon.
I feel like closing my eyes and letting oxygen overwhelm me.
"Disappear"--Dream Theater |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 12th, 2004|12:30 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  listless | ] |
It's not a choice I make easily
Nor a thought I take lightly
But when stillness snaps
shattered into a star spider-
climbing onto already fractured lens,
a gurgled voice reaches to the surface
to remind me of who I am
and that I was not meant
to drown in the wake
of your subtle asphyxiation
first soft, and then loud,
someone's voice ululating against a
three-quarters cold moon to
(remind me of you)
ripple on a sullen lake where the circles grow
to fight inertia.
The cow is in pasture, clover thickens
where bare feet have danced and stopped
in confusion or agony.
both, maybe
More things hang on high,
some at higher stakes.
I was not meant
to drown in your wake |
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| PEEVES. |
[Jul. 13th, 2004|04:58 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  angry | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Fucking Wagner trumpeting in my head. | ] |
I really hate when people leave the near-empty toilet paper roll for me to change. It really bugs me when I see a millimeter of Softsoap left next to the sink and I try to pump the last dying breath of its soap to wash my hands and I get only a thick mucouslike burp bubble that dies with a pathetic *pop*. Not even enough for a proper lather.
I also hate it when my armpit flab and my inner thighs get sore after I work out. What a pain in the ass.
I also hate not having sex. This is starting to suck. It's been a very, very long time since I have gone a month without having sex. My pussy is aching for cock. Hours of fucking, sucking, licking, and senseless pounding. Maybe to some metal. Or to APC'S "Thirteenth Step" album. I want my nipples sucked until they're numb.
Anyway. I'm out. And I am so not getting laid. Pffft. |
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| Oneword.com exercise |
[May. 18th, 2004|04:18 pm] |
Barely
Barely yellow
Barely pink
Barely sweet at the tip
of my tongue tip of my tongue
Smooth barely there
tip of my tongue tip
of my tongue
I almost had you, spring. |
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| 46:2 |
[May. 18th, 2004|03:57 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | stupid. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | No music. Yet. | ] |
I just about give up listening to the radio. Call it masochism, but I kept the radio on for about 4 hours, and in those four hours do you know how many good songs were played? TWO. I'm guessing that about 48 songs were played in those four hours.
So the ratio for the bad songs to the good is about 46 to 2.
HOLY SHITBOMB! 46 & 2. That's the name of a Tool song. Dude, that is so amazing.
The only thing, I repeat, the ONLY THING that keeps me listening to the lousy excuse that is our FM stations is the slight offchance that MAYBE a good song is going to come on, when I get sick of listening to my CD's. I need new music, man. I need to go explore some shizzat over in the industrial/electronica/nightmare music realm. I really dig Lacuna Coil.
I would like to go shopping. I like the smell of new clothes and how I think they make me look really hot for two days before they become part of the burping undertow of laundry. Ah, capitalism. |
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| A terrible thought has moved into my mind.... |
[May. 1st, 2004|05:33 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | grossed the fuck out | ] |
| [ | music |
| | "Terrible Thought"-poe | ] |
I was walking around today. I was thinking. I was thinking and walking at the same time. It was cool. No, actually it was hot.
Then I had the most disgusting thought in my head. What happens when a guy is about to rape you and he sees you have your period? I mean, I'm on the rag right now. Ew! Would he just take the tampon out like plunk. and then do his thing?
Or would he be like, "Oh. Sorry, m'am, dint know you were bleedin', I'll come back in 'bout a week" and then walk away?
I swear, this great imagination is a CURSE. |
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| Unjudging |
[Apr. 20th, 2004|11:22 pm] |
It really says something about a person when he can still see you for who you really are (Forgive the cliche). I've been tossed around like a garden salad. I've been scraped by the detriment of sleaze-life and bad behavior. I cuss, which would have appalled the 15 year-old me. And still, still he sits there, with eyes blind to my accrued ugliness, the layers of scum and forgotten lies dimpled in the pores of my flesh. Unjudging dark eyes, seeing only light. He is so wonderful that I feel like curling into a fetal ball and starting over again.
When he smiles, I forget about the mean kids who would gently break it to me that I didn't belong in their crowds. I forget about raging dualities in people, their alternate innocence and deceit. I forget about my heartbreak and my love for my dad. I forget about how he smacked me so hard I thought I smelled steel and how he apologized after.
Because when he smiles, it's simple. We're alright. There's still sun, there's still grass, and there's still faded denim jackets. Yes, things aren't so bad. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 17th, 2004|03:13 pm] |
Wow. Ig'nant people amaze me every day with their persistence. Not to mention any names, of course.
What the fuck, dude? Chill out.
Anyway. Gonna go resume my daily life. Adieu. |
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| More angst-ridden than I meant it to be. OH WELL. |
[Apr. 15th, 2004|01:20 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | perfectly aroused | ] |
I'm thinking about getting a tattoo. A nice, big, coloring-book butterfly right above my ass-crack. And maybe a tribal band around my arm.
Haha. Kidding, fuckers. You think I'd tarnish my alabaster body with one of those pansy-ass designs? I feel like laughing everytime I see one of those kinds of kitsch "I got it cuz it looks cool" tattoos. It's permanent, kids. That shit's gonna be on your skin FOREVER. Even if you get it removed, there's gonna be a nice, ugly discoloration reminding you of your stupidity and your need to follow the swine-herd. Oink.
I think I'm going to go masturbate to some breathing music. Sorry y'all can't watch. Sorry you boys at school are too uncool and unsmooth for me to even notice you. I'd rather get myself off than have your grubby little hands all over me. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2004|01:23 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  chipper | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Massive Attack, Mezzanine | ] |
More to do today.
It's ok, I like playing Martha Stewart (that bitch) once in a while. :) I would just love to say that I have a new obsession: http://www.suicidegirls.com
To the assgoblins at work: Fuck you. I'm sorry I don't want to kiss your asses. I'm sorry I don't take the managers out to lunch. I'm sorry for not wearing your company shirts outside of work proudly as if I actually GAVE TWO SHITS about your asinine policies and the fake smiles that, ironically, drive customers away.
I should be the CEO of a company. Operations would run a lot more smoothly. :::cracks whip::: |
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| Something he said. |
[Apr. 3rd, 2004|11:04 pm] |
"You're like a flower in a field. You're too pretty, too fragile to pick. I'd rather just leave you alone so I can come back to look at you."
I cried. |
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