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Monday, October 26th, 2037
1:03 am - Drawings
I was just wondering if anyone could help me out. I am slowly teaching myself how to draw anime like characters, so if you could give me one really in detail physical description of a female, I will draw it for you, take a picture and put it in my journal. I can't draw men, and I would rather you not go into clothing, because it is sort of hard to draw clothing someone is imagining. Just stuff like height, weight, cup size, eye and hair color, the skin tone. Whatever else you can think of. Pick a defining feature, and go around it.

(8 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Sunday, April 12th, 2037
2:27 pm - .....
I can't believe how long it has been.
I'm a damn procrastinating fool.
so.. yeah.
I wanted to say hi to all my lovelies.
I'm living. Sleeplessly healthy.
I have no free time, yet, all the time in the world.
I am going to go outside, in the windy chill of spring, and take random pictures of natures fucking beauty.
hear the sarcasm children, hear it.
But, I may go to the old, old, cemetery and take pictures there, its kind of creepy, but mostly melecholy and sad. And practically ancient, jesus.
so... yeah, again.
I hope you didnt miss me too much.

mmmm raspberry tea.

current mood: awake

(13 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Thursday, February 26th, 2037
7:26 pm - I love myself.
Jen and Herself
  • Will never adopt one malevolent child.
  • Resent having to watch television for the good of the free world.
  • Couldn't be happier.
Orchestrated by ianiceboy

Hehe, Talk about being egocentric.

(1 Shooting Star | Fly With Me)

7:00 pm - daytime riot
I've had one of those days.
Those days that make you want to... to...
scream, cry, laugh, sleep, jump, dance, faint, kill, abuse, lick, run, twirl.
One of those days, yeah, those days.
I don't know whether to smile or frown, to laugh or cry, it seems sometimes, I do it all at once.
turning my face into a twisted, slightly hideous version of pain. Maybe not physical pain. But true, lonely, completely mental pain.
My brain is betraying me. I feel like I am falling apart, like I've turned into sand and I'm blowing away in the wind.
Unfeeling, Unhealing.
Religiously abused.
And it hits me in a moment, a single moment. In that moment, I realize how alone I am in this world, this world that is overflowing, bursting with life.
I am lifeless. I am dead.
Yet, it seems as if everything is okay, will be okay, everything will be okay.
I guess that is always how I saw it in the end. No matter what the forced me to become, everything would be okay. It is all so comfortably okay. Fine. Bland. Okay.
But it isn't. It really really isn't.
I overheard thier voices as they traveled throughout the room. She is so happy, she is so happy, she is so happy. But am I.
Am I really?
So, so, so happy.
The way in which I look at the world has been tainted. Tainted with sobriety, tainting with a lack, a lack of everything. A lack of sleep, a lack of love, a lack of emotion. A mass of lacks so thick it could sufocate you. Take your breath away.
And yet, I still manage to retain enough qualities to exist. How can this be. It can't. It does.
I love you all.
Good night.

current mood: scared

(17 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Sunday, February 22nd, 2037
1:14 pm - Promote yourself.
I thought maybe I should try to get some of you to join some communities, because I love you so much. And I think they are based on pretty great ideas.
1000_journals is a community in which people send random journals/sketchbooks around for other to write/draw in. I am starting a journal, so if you join, I think you'd get mine, and I get to keep it in the end, so I thought it would be cool if I got some of my friends to sketch in it.
we_own_it is a community, sort of a rating/debate community. I know I have some smart friends, and I'd like to see how you respond to the questions, your views on certain subjects. So, if you think you got the intelligence, and the gift of debate, join, I promise I wont be biased.
artconnection This is my community... The last one I had, using this name, just flopped, but I got a few members in this one, and it's staying pretty active, and its a mixture of the first two communities, but based on creative expression. We rate you on how you answer our... I think there are 7 or 8 questions, if we like you, you get accepted, you can use it as a place to show your art, plus, I'm doing a side project with a sketch book, that I am going to send to all the members... so, yeah.

(Fly With Me)

Thursday, February 12th, 2037
9:20 pm - I hate.
i hate the tv. i hate the tv...
i also hate school.
but, regardless, life will fly on.
shine on, you crazy diamond
i feel restless.
relentlessly immobile.
i'm being held back by my own intellect.
i hate.
its crazy, when you realize, that the only thing holding you back from excessive greatness.
is yourself.
your bullshit version of common sense.
that eats away at your dreams, and makes you feel unattached.
to your brain.
you aren't attached to your brain. how sad.
i've been stripped of reality.
the reality covering my body.
with skin.
and now, i'm covered.
covered with sin, sin, wickedness, naked hatred.
restless, anxious, explosive.
like every other person with a slight chemical imbalance in thier brain.
i'm fucked.
i hate.
clenching teeth tell me.
you're strained from lack of sleep.
lack of feeling, lack of knowledge, lack of any excitement possible, lack of any stimulation that exists in your silly little world with its silly little needs.
you are a lack.
you are lacking personality.
i have no personality.
random thoughts, by the stupid whore down the street.
also, i'm not a neo-liberal poet, i'm too lazy to seperate things into paragraphs, or use proper sentence structure, so instead, i just pushed enter for every new train of thought, and this, explaining my anti-concentration act, is the longest yet.
good night.
i hate you.

current mood: restless

(4 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Thursday, January 29th, 2037
7:55 pm - sign over your soul.
I feel it losing grip, not on the colors attaching themselves to the objects this time, but to the objects themselves. I feel it falling apart. I feel myself falling apart. I feel my strands of dna floating through the neo-realism that I find myself trapped within. The reactions of it all bombarding my brain with questions. How, why, why.....why The feelings. My feelings.
My paradox of self construction leaves me breathless. I've always been breathless. I'm reaching, I'm stretching the tendons in my arms, tearing the skin, reaching, grabbing, aimlessly begging for something to ressurect my barely beating heart, begging for something to fill my dying lungs, to breath life into my soul. I watch the dimming sky in an impatient anticipation.
waiting, and waiting, and waiting
My eyes open to the expanse of the sky, I breathlessly take in every insignificant detail of the star studded heavens, knowing, believing, that it will be my last glimpse at beauty. I watch for what seems like an eternity, I watch the sparkle of the vigorously alive light as it dances in the darkness. Have I died already? Time seems to have stopped. Ended. Its ended. The ominous fear of my end's begining has faded into a dellusional comfort, a dying serenity. I open my tightly clenched eyes again, not fearing my last look at the world, not fearing the threat of dying, not fearing no longer existing. As my eyes adjust to the change in lighting, I feel strangly numb, slightly confused. I take in the nonsensical sights with a burst of terror. I am in the stars, they are shooting around me, the voices, the brightness. I'm Dead. I quickly clench my eyes, as if to close off my mind from the insanely painful realization. I'm dead? I chance a second look, opening my eyes slowly, the stars blur by in a rhythmatic pattern.
Almost.. like? The confusion hits again like a blow to the face, I feel myself trying to thrust myself around, I feel myself trying to escape. Escape, Escape what? I feel trapped, I'm trapped.
The lids of my eyes are fluttering again, the brightness of the stars (lights) forces them closed instantly. I feel myself moving.. but I'm not moving myself. I feel myself flying. I'm flying. I died.
I feel uncontrolled. I feel detached. I've felt this before. I've felt dead before?! The complete incoherency of the entire situation attacks my brain for logical reasoning. why, why, why..... I continue to rationalize my astounding trip into the afterlife. I try to convince myself that it is incomprehendable. I can't, I can't believe it, I wont believe it.
Again, I open my eyes, the brightness isn't so tremendously intense, the complete whiteness is fading into colors, the voices becoming more distinct. injuries, needs to be sur... My mind is searching, its expanding and extracting old vaulted files, its trying to find a plausible explainat... drunk, hit a tree... it grasps the reason, I'm not de....
Blackness. I feel nothing. I must be dead. Nothing exists anymore. This is how it feels to be dead? There has to be something more. I try so hard to remember, to have a mental glimpse at the dancing stars, the beautiful designs they made in the sky.. the beaut....Suddenly I'm awake. Faces, faces staring at me. Tons of faces. Bright blurring colors floating in the sterile white, expressions, changing, am I in heaven? No, you're in the hospital.
Good Night, my loveless.

current mood: exhausted

(Fly With Me)

Wednesday, January 28th, 2037
6:47 pm - Ringing Membranes.
The most obnoxious part of school is its constant need for organized thought.
They make me feel like I my head is going to explode. My brain waves are radioactive. Maybe I could stick my head in the tolite and flush the flustered thoughts to the surface.
So, this ever dreaded essay happens to be about ...none other than Macbeth. I dislike shakespeare, I should just make this very clear, not because I dont understand, I do, I just hate the corny fucked up tragic characters and their lack of common sense. And Macbeth's dumb ass was the worst of the dumbasses. Lets kill the king, freak out and kill everyone and assume no one will find out. Mwahaha. Fucking schizophrenic.
Its a character analysis of Macbeth. My mom is a fucking hooker.

current mood: bitchy

(14 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Wednesday, January 21st, 2037
5:59 pm - Organized Insanity
This journal bullshit pisses me off. I keep the world pent up inside my eternally shrinking heart and I cant seem to expose it, my weakness, my existance in a whole. I hint around, and if you read the right words in the right pattern you will recieve a key that unlocks the uncertainty, but it would take an entire existance to achieve such a mind blowing capability.
What I am trying so desperately to say, is that these things show a tiny molecule, maybe even just a few choosen atoms in this tiny molecule, of what a person really is, who they really are, but when you use this tiny molecule, these few atoms inside this tiny molecule, and you base your conclusion upon what you know of the properties of such a thing, you will find the person, scared and hiding behind thier creative expressions, yet, no one takes the time to do such a thing, because..
I'm such a rambler. I wish I could take half the knowledge I bullshit myself into knowing and make something of myself, but this is the exact thing that makes me want to die every morning when I open my eyes to the darkness that is my bedroom. Not that I literally want to die, and even if I do, I'd never do it, its sort of a metaphorical suggestion at the fact that I feel existance isnt worth anymore than a mexican crack whore.
The entire philosophical basis of life bores me into an oblivion of reoccuring denials. I deny myself the capability to understand the knowledge that comes with such things. I dont want to believe that my life is going to be a redundant repeatition of things I've already learned. I want new and exciting and vigorous feelings. I'm already starting to fear that I am completely apathedic to anything that might invigorate my life. My brain is sinking into the stench of boredom, and I'm becoming comfortable in it.
I try to resist letting my mind sit idly all day, reinacting bland events, day dreaming hallucinations. I just cant seem to snap out of dream land. I have nothing to stimulate my mind long enough to keep my happy. Content. I feel I'd be happier if I fell into a pit of darkeness, post-reality. A constant burning need envelopes my soul, an acidic distinigration of my thought process. I see myself floating down the drain. Into pain. Why cant I explain any of it? I will try.
Daily Self Abuse - Dumbass.

current mood: groggy

(10 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Thursday, January 15th, 2037
4:35 pm - Pull my strings.
I'm feeling my psychological strings being pulled on, I'm being led. You take me into the dark caverns of your mind, the damp, dense existance that you are unable to hide. I feel myself being pulled, being thrown into the mass of illusions that is your soul. I feel myself disintigrating into the misty air around my body. But is it my body? Is it my mind? Is it some drawn out hallucination I can't describe? You've rendered me powerless, I lay panting on the ground. My strength failed me, I collapsed in defeat. The the sweet air I'm sucking in briskly doesnt feel like defeat, it feels like an overwhelming part of my existance, it feels like a victory. I float above the wastes of what you've shown me, I float into the memories, I fly between the lines. I analyze your entire existance, I tear apart your lies, I see the beauty in your rainy, sleeting life. I feel a sudden slant, a heavy load upon my heart. I want to stay in this hidden abyss of memories, I want to float down the rivers of your pain. I embrace to myself a heart aching knowledge, I feel myself escaping, I feel myself pushing, I know I'm running. I'm breaking free of the chains, your captivating beauty. I am running from the systematic duties. I've let myself go too far, and there is no other way... I don't want there to be another way. This is safety. Is safety worth your aching heart, is safety worth the instability that comes with running, running with all of your hatred, hatred that had long ago died, hatred decaying in the pit of your stomach. Will you ressurect this old, decaying feeling? Will you bring about your own ending? Will you do this all in vain, all because you are too frightened to remain, remain, remain. With everything around me fluttering in your lungs light breeze, with a whirlwind of escaping thoughts stuttering within, I tied myself to your beating heart, I stopped myself from falling, I ressurected my blackened heart, I took a chance again. I knew someday I would fall, as I have already. I knew someday I'd be in this very spot, letting my mind wander onto the screen. I knew everything, every consequence, every mistake, I knew the outcome and I believed, with all of the broken faith I had, that we would overcome. But of course, We didnt, and it doesnt hurt so bad. Its becoming an aching memory, buried under glands, I've found my heart numb of pain. I've found my soul a coward. For the one time I thought I had taken a chance, was the only time I hadn't. Until the day, until this moment, I didnt realize anything. I am too scared to do it again, to broken to continue. I am sitting in a puddle of pity, I'm rocking myself to sleep, I've become a thoughtless, useless being, a tramp on a corner street. I've become the insignificance I feared, I've become an eyeless, soulless child. I take no chance and fall no falls, I'm nothing to me anymore.

current mood: exhausted

(3 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Friday, January 9th, 2037
1:56 pm
The exchange of emotions was so abrupt, so dangerously sudden that I didnt even realize it had happened until it was already over. A sudden change of heart, a responsive change of mind, changes that blur by so quickly all I see is a burst of color, and then I fall into a state of comforting wellness. The events complications, the subtle indications, the defensive walls, all in my imagination. A surge of fear blows by with the wind, making me want to roll myself in caution tape and run far away. But it only lasts a minuscule second, a tiny breath of relief escapes me. Comfort is my own. I retrack my steps, roughing up my mind until it tells me what I want to hear, even though it brings me an insecure comfort, the hideous facts weigh it down. I'm lying to myself. I'm preserving myself. My skies are harshly lines with the once divine red of the sunset, but anxiety has crept up on me, I'm diving in the deep end. I threaten myself with blunt objects of my past, I reason that its useless, I cover up my tracks. I'm attacking myself with dreams, frightening omens of defeat, I'm ravaging my sanity, but still, the voice makes my heart leap. Leap and dance in a mixture of exhileration and horror. The brightness of the moon drops insinuations into my head, I try to escape the raging flames, I try to fight the blaming faces. I insult myself with incapabilities, and the weakness of my bones. I fly away on a lonely cloud, fading in the afterglow. I'd rather be up here than down, down where the people go around and around in useless mistakes, faking love, lust, happy days. I'd rather be morose than false, I rather liked my apathy.
://Quote of the day\\: "Quoth the raven, nevermore."

current mood: touched

(1 Shooting Star | Fly With Me)

Sunday, January 4th, 2037
4:47 pm
The signal blasts away.
The red lights are blazing in my eyes, screaming for me to stop, stop, stop. The force of life itself is flying me forward, into territory that is so unknown its insanely frightening. But the horror is the attraction, its like wanting to go on a carnival ride, even when you know it will make you vomit, the rush is worth losing your corn dog on your dates lap. I feel a rush of overwhelming power, a continuous raging feeling in my soul, telling me to run while I still can. But I know I've already given up my ability to run. I threw it away with a shrill nervous laugh I couldnt remember to supress. I danced with a fever, knowing the danger, I kept going. Overruled fate. I've tied my heart inside a plastic bag, and threw it over the bluff. But sometimes I dream about it, sometimes I mourn for it. I think I've gone past missing it. The insects crawl through my intestines as I hear the vocal cords vibrations ringing in my ear. I want to scream but nothing will come out, nothing but a muffled answer to a question I wasnt asked. I try to fake like the tears arent coming, I pretend as long as I lie to myself it will be the truth. The truth is spun in a web of masterful lies, its standing out like a florescent sign on the highway, yet, everyone is still oblivious to it. I hope for something else.. but I find the same reaction based on the same question and get the same conclusion, repeatedly.
I dont have time to finish. I never have time to finish.
Daily Self Abuse - Do you even know what you are falling into?

current mood: morose

(5 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Saturday, January 3rd, 2037
5:25 pm
The simplicity of living doesnt sink into my complex pores. Is there a rational explaination for someone who seems to thrive on complications? I don't see myself standing in a feild of golden color, alone, with a serene look of self doubt plastered on my face. I see myself wrapped in a combination of rusty metal and dying vines. I could escape if I was brought the right tools, or so I believe. TRhe reflection that radiates off the glass of life shows me everything there is I need to know. I can escape the facade, but I refuse to release myself from its brightly colored pain. I want to exist in a way that can't been resisted. Or at leat by myself. I find myself covered in black thoughts, staring at the sky in a childish wonder. The rain that proves to my I am still existing, the life that is poured onto me from the heavens I disregard, falls into my recycleable thoughts randomly. The knowledge that makes such a life worth living seems to be flowing down a stream that I will never reach. Things are getting bland here. The worlds I spin with my web of words crash into themselves and destruct in defense. I walk through the forests of thoughts with a vague indifference to what I will become, but becoming is all I have to look forward to. What I am now is as insignificant as what I will be next year will seem, next year. The moment I continue to live in disintigrates easily, the molecules of the tears I try not to cry cause them to explode on contact. I can see myself through a window of futuristic ability, walking, still, endlessly, wrinkled with age and anxiety. The world in which I was raised has never been nearly as interesting as I could have made it. Instead I built mountains of fairy tales and lived in a box with my mind painting pictures of what I wanted life to be. The interaction always made me cringe with dissatisfaction, for anothers mind will be sure to crumble my mountains of anti-pain, the story that plays constantly in the back of my mind, forcing me forward when I want to slip backwards. Into the nonchalant emotions of a child. The springs of resisting after effects bounce me back to reality and my demons giggle while I get trampled with memories. I find myself recycled again.
I run from point a to point b, and fly from point b to point c, and I fantasize about point d, but halfway there I always drown in a self constructed river and end up on the shores of point a again. The cycle I call life repeats itself everywhere. History is a tale of destruction. self explained reconstruction. Everytime we grow stronger, but so does the river's currents, and everytime I drown with apathy, knowing I couldnt exist any other way.
today's random thought - edward norton is lovely.

current mood: listless

(2 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Tuesday, December 30th, 2036
3:28 pm - Slipping.
Its heavenly to have frostbite on your feet because you've adapted to that helpless little girl attitude.
Self proclaimed crack whores.
I haven't much to say, its a diary in which I will not record my daily happenings, that is quite simply boring and almost pathedic.
Its almost New Years and I need to get drunk, I dont mean lady like drunk, that slightly flushed face and loud laughter, I mean, vomiting my supper drunk. I wish it would snow, that would pull the whole thing together, snow and vomit are my two favorite things in the world. Jesus I hope no one reads this.
I can't say what is expected of me. I'm in a state of refusal, I wont admit they have me by the feet, naked and dangling, the knowledge I was trying to hard to make a grave of sprinkling little by little out of my self defeating pockets. I can't help it that I want to run but the concrete poured on my feet has hardened and I cant move my limbs. I must just sit in silence and wait for them to throw me off some bridge into the polluted water with mutant fish that will slowly eat my decomposing flesh. And why would someome alow this to happen? Because its inevitability has struck me like lightening and I've concluded that it would be much safer to stand and wait than to chance running straight into thier traps. Without my growing existance there would be much more to smile about. I don't think I enjoy the fruitless state of being I cant escape. Sometimes I close my eyes and drift away to a place with a train that is going no where, and that is why I'm on it. No where is better than here. I can sit relaxed swaying slightly back and forth, humming to myself the death song I'd forgotten. And the past comes flying back as if I willed it to do so, bombarding me with what ifs and could have beens, stabbing me with whys. I try to swim underneath the ocean of pain, but I only suceed in drowning in the rain of insanity I could run away from. I would take everything back if I could.

current mood: lethargic

(6 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

Monday, December 29th, 2036
6:08 am - For Christs Sweet Sake.
Its six in the morning and instead of going to bed and sleeping the slumber of the ignorant, I choose to sit her with clenched teeth staring at something I'm completely oblivious of. I can't be reserved. The contagious state my mind goes in when put under intense stress and sleeplessness makes me want to vomit my thoughts through a hole in my cave. I can't quite escape the mounds of sand I've piled around me, afraid of the flood of anxiety that comes with everything that still exists. I tried to kill it all away, the faceless pains and the cloudy skies. The day has yet to dawn and I am feeling insecure. About what? About my mind and my soul and my ability to stay in an existance I don't want to stay in.
I keep things even from myself. For this is my only light, my only way to achieve complete knowledge of self. I tell myself everything using something so easily disturbed as an online diary, and it feels good to tell myself everything, until I realize how much I keep from myself. While I lay awake at night staring at the placid little ceiling in my vulgar little room I discover things I wont remember minutes later.
The sky falls slowly.
Does innocence even exist anymore or is it some sort of false hope given to us by written history of such things.
My mind is baring down on me, quit thinking my dear, quit thinking or you'll die, die of hatred and wonder and lack of rest. Everythings spinning, as it usually does in inebriation, I can't see the floor swimming to my knees. Without my thoughts I wouldnt be anything but a bland little girl with a bland little face. And what does it matter if no other 17 year old girl feels the way I feel? Should I search for the faith I've never had? I dont want to thrive on something fake, whether it be an emotion or some obscure belief in some abstract little god. You look around and wonder why, and when the question remains unanswered, you grow weary of wondering and become apathedic, just live life because you have to, not because there is a hidden meaning in existance. How do you find the meaning of anything? You grow, and you experience, and you gain knowledge. With this knowledge, you feel you have found a meaning, but that meaning is plagued by more growth and more experience and more knowledge, until you realize it was never really a meaning in the first place, just a stopping point, just a false hope. Maybe I am wrong to say that such things don't exist, maybe in my disbelief of everything that I can not touch, or choose not to touch is proof that I am a coward who is running from things she doesnt understand. Maybe my wall of defense has been built too high and I need to let it crumble, or I will have no way to continue growing. My breath will stop short and I will fall. I'm too young to understand the things I think I should understand, I only wish to understand them because I have an unsatisfiable curiousity. I recoil at the thought of affection, yet, my position as a human leads me to believe I could barely exist without it. I have a deep psychological need for emotion, for love, for belonging, a natural urge to hold steady to things that give me such, and I have an immeasurable hatred for this need. I have a contradictory defense mechanism that pushes as hard as it can against the orgins of such affection, it searches violently for things to hold against the affectionate, emotionally satisfying events. I search my mind for defects in the most perfect of situations, I drive myself insane just to be able to say, honestly, I dont want to be a part of it.
Its better to be alone and sane, then to be driven to insanity by love.
Daily self abuse - you will never let your walls crumble, will you, my coward?

current mood: awake

(2 Shooting Stars | Fly With Me)

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