Tuesday, January 18, 2005


over and over and over i restart typing whatever it is i want to say to the anonymous many in Glore-phoria. who knows why i even try to communicate; whenever i go there, all that comes out of my mouth is sobbing rancid complaints. perhaps i seek their sympathy for some perverse reason. i have no idea why i'd want that either. being that that location was my first ever blog-like situation, it was the first time i ever got the opportunity to notice, that the things i write about online are different from the things i write about on paper... completelly different stories about the exact same experience. you'd never know they were from the same person.. or at least that's what i told myself. really, i can't stand this grody feeling that's bleeding outwards from my stomach-- it really feels like my body is being taken over by some strange sort of alien acid... perhaps it is sadness... or whatever else is causing an endless, endless strand of sick and disheartening things to come pouring out, whenever i am on the stage in Glore, and in many other places.


I'm so exhausted of limetown-- it exhausts me even before i'm there. The thought of going back to the place in a few days is exhasperating. I don't want to be a part of that place right now-- memories of it make my stomach ill... even foxtown seems kindly by comparison; i'd really rather stay here longer... thing about limetown is, they seem to think that once i'm there, i'm going to be there for good... that is, that i'm just *there* now.... the same way they are... just THERE... going to be there... always been there... always'll be there... i grow sick, sick, sick just thinking about going there, and being stuck there, where i hear the rain has been keeping them wedged indoors. every indoors place i can think of there is just a trap of greater or lesser size... Then again, my 2 houses in foxtown are also grimly mirroring each other, playing tag.. now that my brother is out of the picture, i am the lone offspring to toss back and forth; all the weight of both families on me alone. i wish i had something i was *doing*, that counted as *doing* something in the eyes of anyone else but me. all i do is earn piddling for tasks others count as worthless or demeaning, or inconsequential at best. my psych said i needed an "activity" or something... something to get me "connected"-- i told her the internet makes me feel connected, but she said no, no-- that doesn't connect one to others, not in any deep meaningful spiritual way. all the people i have that "connection" with in limetown are just people i want to run away from. i don't even want to be awake at the same time as other people right now; limetown is such a cold dead shelterless place, like you're a moss clinging to a rock... i just cant stand living so pointlessly... like just surviving another day, just waiting for the day when that survivial is useless... it makes me so angry i can barely contain myself...

Sunday, January 16, 2005


Last night, in a dream, i got shot and died. Someone had told me, that the person coming in the room was going to kill someone, that he always killed someone, when he comes into that room. I asked if I was the one who was shot, every time he comes in that room. The person who was telling me this, said that there were always survivors, when the madman left the room. Then the madman comes in the room, and in the dream i am pregnant or I had just told everyone i was pregnant just to make them do or not do something, either way i think that influences his decision, or insane non-decision, for he shoots me and i die, and he and everyone else in the room walk away. Also in my dream, long before that, my two elvish friends are riding horses in a parking lot somewhere and I am watching; a short white one and a tall brown one. And they use the parking lot to ride around in for a while, but we are forced to leave by the police. Then we are in a long tunnel, running down it to get somewhere, and we land at a waterslide at an amusement park, a place i have been to in my dreams many times before, recently, and we wait in a line which trails up stairs, through plastic tubes, around waterfalls, all over. And the two of them eat a strawberry cake, and I am able to get a strawberry cake from someone else in line, who doesn't want the rest of theirs. The two of them then leave me there, for they have other business to take care of.

Friday, January 07, 2005


i am in foxtown. from here i can hear internet broadcast from london, a name which i have decided for the time being not to encode. i took time, earlier this afternoon, to view a website to which i have paid little attention in the last several months, though i remain a subscriber. the name is glore-phoria, and the people who inhabit it are not un-similar to myself in many ways, although these days those ways turn out to be slightly less than visible. among the people who convene at this site, are a number of girls, many of whom i have known as internet personalities, some whom i have only known in the way we know celebrities, and a few who i have met in person, in the physical world, either before or after i knew them as fellow identities on this site. i took a moment to read the words of one of those latter persons today, whose virtual personality was part of what initially drew me into glore-phoria's kingdom, now turning empire, and who i later met in person, and who suprised me at the smallness of her size. she spoke of troubles with her life, and she told of a general depression, and a sadness of such apparent depth that someone asked her in a coffeeshop "what's wrong?" upon simply seeing her, and recognizing something unseen. to this question she simply replied, "i'm tired," which is all anyone should expect, when asking such a question of someone in such a state. however, she claimed this statement was not untrue; and went on to explain that she is tired of this thing and that thing about her life, and tired of trying to fix it. i cannot say whether this was theraputic or surprising, or a strange mixture of the two, but it caught my eye, somewhere out there on the infinite landscape of stimuli, as it reflected somewhat my own situation, though it was more clearly and simply stated, and the point more punctually arrived at. and also what attracted me about this story, was that it was being told by a member of a group of people in which i had once desperately craved membership, the effects of whose denied inclusion still may hold murkilly some lingering effects upon me. the memory of such desire, still fresh enough to hardly be considered clearly something past, combined with this declaration of misery, held onto me as a curious and sudden suspension of all sense between desire and disgust.


nothing makes me more red inside these days than the search for work--- and the criticism from everyone around me, for still being unsuccessful. Red, or brown inside, that i still have nothing with which to prove myself-- nothing with which to defend myself from accusations, which are approaching and often-times exceeding every day, that i am doing nothing at all; that i am *being* nothing at all-- indeed that i *am* nothing at all... it is making me half insane, this battle from inside and outside at the same time, which makes me a half-inorganic shell, a hollow battered tube... i can't seem to make the accusations stop, no matter what i do either in truth or in theory, or in plan... i can't seem to make anyone actuallly look at me and see other than nothing there... it is hard enough to live alone with me, who attacks me every day on waking for still being nowhere and still being no-one, but now i have the whole of foxtown on her side, all against me, all trying to see how long it will take, how many beatings per day it will require, before i finally give in and at last become the person they actually wanted to give birth to.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005


i'm having trouble these days thinking about careers, or my current lack of one. my dad is currently giving me no peace, and repeats the same bantering jibe over and over and over again and it's a painful confrontation every time we meet. and now this thing about cooking school, because, he says, "i can't think of any other way you're going to cash in on that art talent." the whole thing, life, the future, and living itself, is making me sick. i've completelly lost my apetite but i'm going to pretend to think about food for a while.


i'm in foxtown. the sky is nothing but cloud. the city only looks good this time of year, when the corners and edges of things are actually green, instead of brownish grey.
i am surrounded by people who would have been little children when i was living here. they are blatantly high-school people now, and as lousy and noisy as we were.... or at least i must suppose we were that loud.
my friends from those days, when i was in high school here, i've seen a few of them since being here. "A" has only five or so months to go before the navy lets him out. he doesn't know what he's doing after that, but i don't know anyone who knows what they'll be doing in 5 months; only those who believe they do. it's the belief that counts. it's the belief that i lack; that i simply can't grasp anymore. the faith has forsaken me, has forsaken many of the people around me. it's easy to forget it; what the point was in coming here, in doing any of these things. i used to know, or i thought i knew. i used to think things would be obvious, when they got to where i've come to. instead they are like a cement wall. impenetrable. pointless. purposeless but for obscuring.
My dad has printed out countless pages for me about culinary school. this dawned on him just yesterday: that I should go to culinary school. he's been on this trip about it ever since. i've been nodding and feigning excitement, just to calm him down. i haven't told him that i have my own concepts, my own school in my head. i have accepted that my dreams are only damaged when i let others see them, and so i have opted for the moment to remain silent. but let me tell you that i have figured the price of this program to be about $2500, an amount of money which i do not have, but have been fantasizing donating an egg or two in order to aquire. i fantasize too much. all over each step of this scheme i've covered with fantasies about what may happen. nothing i fantasize ever comes to pass, not even close. when i fantasize about making friends, i meet absolutelly no one. when i fantasize about killing myself, it never winds up happening. when i fantasize about a new job, i find myself still unemployed. it kills me in every way, the way i manage repeatedly to fail to get employed by anyone. by even fucking taco bell. it makes me really insane, actually, to think about it. another reason why i need to stop fantasizing; it just makes me crazier and makes things seem so pointless and meaningless.