Notebook 019

Part I
Journal Entry: Sat Apr 29, 2006, 2:23 PM

i've only had three minutes of sleep.
second time in four years my dear.

you know that you make me heave.
whisper upon my eyes and my mouth turns to spit, and my stomach becomes the floor.
i used to dream of you at one point.
it seems like such a very very long time ago.

dont bother with me.

pleasure exceeded to its peak and has dropped miserably like a childs last breath.
success, as you may say, will no longer run through with whom confine and fess themselves
to the inner most of my life.

it seems I'm relying on acoustic violins,
ocean front views,
black&white film,
and the occasional stagnant converation,
to pull me through.
(no i don't think it'll fucking mend).

true friends are bad friends.
who else can see right through you?
who else can carry your sins in their pocket?
who else can clean up your sick and shit and smile?
theres no one like those people.
not anymore.


the guards eventually get released.
conversation and humour trickle through like water seeping out of a broken fish tank.
this fish knows it's going to die, and it's sick of this space.

don't fix the break.


i am a little girl peering through the elders secrets.
it becomes more useless and stale with age,
those that it actually meant something to wilting faster than flowers,
memories and sentiments becoming sediments in the ground.
but it means more this way,
because no one knows just how unimportant and insignificant it really was.
no one cares that it probably doesn't work anymore.
vintage. antique.

the art of paying for someones life in objects.
i never want to be bought.
to be used.
to be spat out and chewed, seeing that look of filthy disgust spore across your tongue.


cut the flower so you can spend days watching it die.
taste that wine turn cheap and feel everything fall apart.
step back and watch your misery.
embrace it. it happens to everbody darling.