08.Jan.2004
VANISH. EXPECTATION.
--
now playing: project pitchfork's "carnival"
Dance longing, commence!
--
As I told Jubal, it's really quite imperative the next person I thrash against and crash into have an element of respect for my artistic endeavors. I want someone to tell me my music is incredible to them as they bash my face into a mirror from behind.
--
Sex is simply not sex unless I am bruised, bleeding, whimpering, and shaking afterwards. Shouldst it unfortunately be otherwise, it was simply a waste of my time. I still have bruises from New Years. I forced the fuck-beast to smack me until he was in pain. I evidently appear to be making up for all the times I was sexed into a state of tear-induced boredom. I've come to the conclusion quite loudly that I don't have time to harbor any amount of timorousness during the brutal act of murdering someone with your skin.
Jason, my musical darling, said, "You know, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm just under the impression you really love abusive sex."
I have a horrible amount of unleashed, physical animosity. At six in the AM, New Years morning, Dustin flicked on his ceiling light and pointed to his neck.
"You see that? Yeah. That's you," he proclaimed.
I scraped my fingernails against the lacerations and mumbled, "That's two years in the making."
I think should I ever encounter him sexually again, I'll just punch him repeatedly in the face and scream obscenities in German.
Quoth Jason, "Well, you did want him to apologize to you, and what better way than to fuck you into oblivion."
Hear, hear.
I discuss music/sex|sex/music every moment I have.
--
There is morphine in the orange juice. I know this because I immediately felt like swimming through an opiate vortex of my vomit after downing a huge swig of this shit. It's going to be an interesting morning.
"I'd love to do spread sheets for you, Mr. Howard, but I appear to have just rubbed them all over my body subsequently following unleashing a gallon of my stomach contents all over the computer."
--
I'm in love with the effervescent dwindling of my insecurities. I'm not so much in love with the fact my vinyl pants slide off of me. It's a tad embarrassing in public. Why, here! Take a gander at my imperfectly dented ass. Note the purple underwear. Here, take it back to the office with you. Sell my derriere on Ebay. Combine it with your other auction selling my breasts for super saver shipping!
--
It's really unstoppable.
--
"Love hurts. But only if you do it right."
-Jubal
I purr at the very mention of this boy's name.
--
time & machine