15.Apr.2003
all you touch and all you see
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is all your life will ever be
My quandaries are simple, therefore I feel no need to discuss them. I'm awake at three in the morning because I have a gigantic mass of predisposed unwants, however I see no point wringing my fists around them. I have more color in text.
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Nevermind.
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I link every psychological displeasure to my fucked endocrine system, coupled with my lack of serotonin. My hormones are screaming obscenities at the top of their hormonal lungs.
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I feel physically broken, and have decided to make an appointment with another doctor. The reproductive endocrinologist appointment still stands, however I require something sooner. It fucks with my central nervous system periodically, and I chain-smoke to cover the fact I can gain five pounds in two days with no logical explanation behind it.
This, in some perverse fashion, led my brain-patterns to ejaculate my theories on what I want in a mate.
My friend Jane put it wonderfully, some 5 months ago. To paraphrase:
I want to rip someone apart verbally, merely to expose their weaknesses and jab my tongue into them in this horrendously complex and antipathy-filled altercation and know for a fact they would still pick me up from the airport the same day.
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I want to tell everyone what I finally think about them. I want the requisite, mental freedom to proclaim, "I sincerely detest you." I want the option to say nothing when someone familial professes they love me. I want to obliterate this manner-imbued shell of mine and watch my spine blossom.
I've had a certain level of animosity bubbling beneath the surface for transpired events which shouldn't shock me. I give everyone the benefit of the doubt to an acute point before I retaliate, based on the circumstances. I'm usually a forgiving individual, to the chagrin of the great stoics whom I know and love. As I'm very aware my moods are transient, at best, I feel the need to eviscerate someone in particular.
I don't want to hear how completely unworthy this individual is for my unfolding wrath; I want confirmation. I want to hear, "Tear him a new asshole, kitten."
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When Jane Wyman accepted her Oscar for Johnny Belinda at the end of the 1940s, she proclaimed, "I won this award for keeping my mouth shut, so I think I'll do it again now."
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I have a crush on the looping chord-stagnancy of The Smashing Pumpkins' "Blue Skies Bring Tears"; I do not hold the lyrical content in high regard, although "Take me inside your body." arouses certain beautiful bits in me.
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I was informed by my essentially-biased father today that I have "one hell of a voice" when I "let go and belt it". I spend long periods in his bathroom with Chino Moreno, ignoring cell-phone bombardments from the ex-boyfriend, vocally wired to Moreno's somnolent fuck-timber on White Pony.
Tonight, I feel like more.
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time & machine