08.Mar.2001

more:updates::joe:pie::this:uneasiness:

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rock over javascript, rock on css

All Wesley Willis quotes aside, I have just updated. It doesn't look like much. Since I am tired, I am enthralled with making lists -- an activity I most frequent when I am, in fact, very, very tired.

minor changes:

[1] -- the css hover has been changed; cursor:crosshair has now been adopted by me. Yes, goths everywhere love the cross hover, including me, now.
[2] -- links from the bottom have now been placed on a table and added to the side; it's easier this way. It seems so much more professional.
[3] -- Following true to my minimalistic nature, I have decided not to fuck with a background image. I think the sophisticated contrast of white/black should blind my viewers at least gracefully.
[4] -- tearspurple.jpg is now removed, having been replaced with ...
[5] --Raven.JPG has been expanded and now covers both tables, not just the first one.
[6] -- I want to put a purple border around them both.
[7] -- the beautiful javascript/css geeks list now has one member. Won't you help expand that?
[8] -- Text size is now a blinding small. It looks best on 800 x 600 resolutions.
[9] -- That is all on update-age. Salute!


2:31PM

Sometimes I don't know what to do with myself when Joe heads off to work. The morning seemed to go quite quickly; in a strange kind of way, however. I have yet to surrender to dreaming. Not when there are blankets in the dryer waiting for me.

I suffer from bad house-wife syndrome.

It's not to say that I'm naughty, just that I'm a really shitty house-wife.

Sometimes, I wish Joe were artsy and broody. Sometimes, I wish he were lethal passion instead of FratBoy late-night pawing.
Sometimes I wish he could write, so that we would be in constant competition yet completion; otherwise, he makes me feel trivial, and he pads around like a child.

But his smile is all-encompassing.

And his laugh is gorgeous.

He has a vast amount of maturing, but don't we all these days.

His eyes are narrow, and yet they manage to swallow me whole.

Good God.

I'm starting to scare myself.


4:05PM

This not-sleeping ordeal really needs to fuck itself.

On the other hand, I just stumbled upon a diary that disgusted me. I am not articulate enough to explain how or why it disgusted me, I just know this boy's flow of words were like bees buzzing acidically in my cerebrum, and that this buzz was starting to piss me off; it went straight through my skeletal structure as electric currents, and I was made primarily of metal. It hissed as it shocked my vertebrae. It pissed me off.

Normally, I would be a sucker for romantics, but there was something eerily creepy in his diatribe that reminded me far too much of past lovers -- of the lover, who raped every core inch of my being with his salty, brutal cock of insecurity.

There's something about the brutal desperation surrounding his words that make me wish to take something shiny and blunt to his face. His melancholy seems forced. His stories too much like fantasy, his words peppered with words of something ... altogether familiar and mad. It pisses me off.

I'll get over it. His deliverance sounds like something gutteral to me, and it reminds me far too much of past sexual atrocities.

5:12PM

It is almost dark. I can sleep. I am reverse-a-goth. I shame my kin. Oh well, they smear their make-up, anyway.

NOTE TO SELF: Buying cherry bagels does not make one adventurous.

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time & machine