I'm fucking angry. I'm fucking angry at the shit that this fucking world has decided to put me through. I'm fucking angry that I have to listen to this fucking screaming all my fucking life and it hurts and it sucks and I need it to stop but the more stressed I get the louder they are and it's not exactly like they calm my nerves is it? I'm fucking angry that some fucker decided to rape me and not just once no somebody had to do it again years later and you know what fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I HATE YOU!
He. Is. Beautiful.
Wonderfully, gloriously, fantastically beautiful; yes indeed! Gorgeous.
His skin is soft, brown, and pleasant to the eye as well as the hand. His eyes are deep and thoughtful- but only at some times. At others, they are guarded, mistrustful. I cannot blame him, our pasts are not so dissimilar; his of poverty, yes, and mine of mild wealth. Our past has been traumatic; we are brothers in fear and brothers in hate and brothers in hell. I have no doubt that we shall follow each other to hell as it is, once we die.
So weird writing a journal entry right now. Its been well over a year since I posted my last entry. I can't believe the website is going to be gone this November! I've been posting on here since my Freshman year of high school.. its kind of amazing having an actual place to look back on the mindset of my fifteen-sixteen year old self. A lot has changed ( thank god)
I've been disappointed all day after looking forward to it for a month. Thanks again, I really loved feeling detached from another chance to join such a wonderful social gathering of people whom I can relate to, thanks. I really love this feeling, it's been awhile since genuine disappointment has paid me a visit.
I climb Olympus, taking care to
watch my step for fear of Death,
I seek the pastures still to come
as freezing air does chill my breath.
I search for comfort, calm, or quiet,
wish those pastures might appear
For my knees are bent and broken,
and nightfall follows, all too near.
And as I stand here, strange and fearful,
beholding heaven at the peak,
I know that to complete my journey
still stranger pastures must I seek.
do you think it is a place of peace that place i must retreat to when i close my eyes and think of nights of yore when i was young and foolish?
do you think i wish to sleep when all i know is darker dreams of stinking breath and bloodstained underwear?
hateful black and endless nights of dying days and frightened child i dream as
sleep oh little girl and dream for once of things unlikely, dream of flowers growing ever, dream of children singing sweetly, dream of childhood, not of fear and blood
So I had to go out shopping this morning. Went for groceries with Yaya. And while we were at Publix I started feeling really dysphoric, and felt like I really needed to get out of there, but I knew I had to stay and help so I did for a while, because we had a fairly short list and we should be out soon and whatnot.
I've had a set of emotions that run through me like mustangs in my current age. The many nights of thought which lulled me to sleep. How I came to the point in which romantic love became something important to myself, that may never have an answer. It's given me many thoughts and analysis on the matter.
The angular expressions of your faceless form flicker in the frame of my periphery
I fantasize of glistening gems gifted warmly from your wistful hand
My lamely limping eyes litter your fragile facade as history hesitates to heal my precious illness
Thank you for this accidental window
Thank you for your unwary wonder
I had a nice dream last night about finding someone else who made me feel better. We had some fun and I almost got over Yk. Then they both started ignoring me and just started a relationship between each other. All he Nick Cave in the world couldn't make me feel better. I'd write more, but I'm in New York and don't have much time to myself.
I do not like to acknowledge my mortality. I want to live forever, and if it's at all possible in the future, I mean to do so. But I know that I will die. I know that someday I will cease to be. And I'm afraid of that. I'm so very afraid of that. I can only hope that I will be remembered. I want to be remembered. Because in the end, that is the only way to honor one who has died. And so I also wish to remember those who are already dead. I don't want to be forgotten, and I don't want the ones I love to be forgotten. So... Yes. Please remember the lost.
Seventeen years ago, in what now seems like a lifetime ago, my debut column appeared here on Oasis. Back then this site was a 'zine updated monthly, and I wrote a column in thirty consecutive issues over two-and-a-half years, the January 2000 issue being my last.
In short, writing on here changed my life.
my father changed his mind and decided not to take me to his house. i think i'm going to kill myself.
So. We don't mean a goddamn thing, the universe doesn't give a shit, Eris isn't paying that close attention and probably doesn't give a shit either; why should we? Lets go eat a bagel or something. Stop worrying. It'll give you ulcers. Start praying. It won't accomplish anything, but sometimes it's fun, esp. in public in a loud and hammy manner. Or a loud and manny hammer. Who gives a shit.