|
|
|
Well, I thought adding a new journal entry would be easier then PMing anyone, seeing as I've been off this SN for a LONG time. Some of you might've been wondering where I went. Nowhere. I'm just using a different account.
.Written.Scars. if any of you dont already know.
Mmk? Mmk.
 V0.0d0.0 Girl · Thu Jul 21, 2005 @ 08:51pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Hollow by A Perfect Circle
Run, desire, run
A sexual being
Run him like a blade
To and through the heart, no conscience
One motive: cater to the hollow
Screaming feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacify this hunger that's so cruel
Libido throw
Dominoes of indiscretions down
Falling all around in cycles, in circles
Constantly consuming, conquering, devour.
'Cause its time to bring the fire down
Throttle all this indiscretion
Long enough to edify
And permanently fill this hollow
Screaming feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacifying
Feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacifying
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Sun Mar 20, 2005 @ 08:07pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hey all, guess what? My brother's in Iraq. Yay. Whoo-hoo. Let's have a party. Or not. I'd rather not. I'd rather rave, throw something, break something, and just die. You know, I even made a journal that I write in every night so that I could keep all the depressed s**t out of this journal. Not working, because I seem to need to rant RIGHT NOW. So deal with it. Whores.
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Sun Mar 20, 2005 @ 01:47am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
"Where'd My p***s Go?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mar wanted me to put the lyrics of the song here, so..yea. They play it on the radio all the time.
Detatchable p***s, by King Missile
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover
And my p***s was missing again.
This happens all the time.
It's detachable.
[background singing begins: "detachable p***s" over and over]
This comes in handy a lot of the time.
I can leave it home, when I think it's gonna get me in trouble,
or I can rent it out, when I don't need it.
But now and then I go to a party, get drunk,
and the next morning I can't for the life of me
remember what I did with it.
First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn't find it.
So I called up the place where the party was,
they hadn't seen it either.
I asked them to check the medicine cabinet
'cause for some reason I leave it there sometimes
But not this time.
So I told them if it pops up to let me know.
I called a few people who were at the party,
but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate.
I really don't like being without my p***s for too long.
It makes me feel like less of a man,
and I really hate having to sit down every time I take a leak.
After a few hours of searching the house,
and calling everyone I could think of,
I was starting to get very depressed,
so I went to the Kiev, and ate breakfast.
Then, as I walked down Second Avenue towards St. Mark's Place,
where all those people sell used books and other junk on the street,
I saw my p***s lying on a blanket
next to a broken toaster oven.
Some guy was selling it.
I had to buy it off him.
He wanted twenty-two bucks, but I talked him down to seventeen.
I took it home, washed it off,
and put it back on. I was happy again. Complete.
People sometimes tell me I should get it permanently attached,
but I don't know.
Even though sometimes it's a pain in the a**,
I like having a detachable p***s.
[background voices continue to sing "detachable p***s" for
a while, then out]
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Wed Mar 16, 2005 @ 10:11pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oh joy, I'm getting depressed already. I swear, there's just a certain time every night that I get depressed until morning. I'll sit here in front of my no-life computer and frown. For the rest of the night I'll be moody and bitchy, then try not to cry myself to sleep. Then, in the morning, I'm perfectly fine. Until I sit my a** down in front of this thing for a few hours. I'm so seriously thinking of just quiting. Not just Gaia, but the internet itself.
And I feel bad for being depressed. There are so many people I know that have lives that I would never want to live. And yet, I still have that urge to draw out a blade. I think it's been almost 4 months since I last made a permanent scar on myself. And how my fingers itch, how my veins call for the release of all the poison that runs through them, how my body aches for the physical pain that'll take away the emotions and mental disbelief. And yet I don't want to die. I want to live. But I don't want to deal with this little bubble of pretend anymore. This little fake, make-believe world that I use.
The truth, is almost hurtful, that the only thing I want, is love. Someone to understand me, to share with me, to be with me. But the blood my father passed onto me makes me screw it up...time and time again. Hey, maybe it's even my father that screwed me up. Or maybe I did it to myself. I don't know. But you know that whole thing about how being a tomboy is just a phase? That's what my step-mom always told me. Maybe it was because I hated my step-mother so much, that I decided to make it a permanent thing, rather than a phase a little girl goes through. Not to mention that I'm completely insecure when it comes to my looks and body. So I cover it up. Baggy jeans, big shirts, and large sweatshirts. I don't walk like a girl, I don't act like a girl, I don't talk like a girl, I don't think like a girl. And now, when I want to start to be one, I'm scared. I don't know what that has to do with guys. Possibly, that I know I'm cute, and I don't want to be, because that may mean guys may look more than once at me. I don't know how to handle boys, and I don't think it's a wise thing that I do.
Oh, slap me already. I'm such a ******** retard. I'm just gonna go drown in my ******** pit of teenage despair and hope to make it through another day without breaking down.
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Tue Mar 15, 2005 @ 01:58am · 8 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
When I was younger, I wanted to be a Marine. My Uncle Rock had been in the Air Force, and my mom thought it the greatest thing to be the military. You get to travel, you get to go to college for free, you can retire early. I thought it was great too. Every day I'd work out according to the Marine Boot Camp Workout Book. I wanted to be a Marine the most. The army just wasn't good enough for me, I was scared of heights, so the air force wouldn't do me any good, and I didn't really know if I'd get sea sick or not in the Navy. Besides, in the Marine's, you do all of that.
In 5th grade, that career thought was ruined. I found out I had a bad knee. To put it simply. The bone in my knee, which is meant to be shaped like a moon, was shaped like a plate. So, at the end of 5th grade, I had surgery. Even after I healed, it just didn't work right. So I looked to do something else. I chose writing, since stories came so easy to me.
When I went down to L.A., I would swim in the community pool for hours, doing lap after lap, because swimming was the only thing I could do without hurting my knee. "That girl's going into the Navy," was what all my family would say. They didn't think I could hear them when I was pushing through the water, but I did. When they complimented my swimming form, the way I could stay under water so long, the way I could stay in for hours and never be bothered. Lots of reason. So, I thought, "The Navy's for me."
A few months ago, I had surgery on my knee for the second time. It pangs me sometimes, but I'm working on getting it stronger. If I can get it stronger, and good enough to not bother me so much, maybe I could go into the Navy, though nowadays, after I'd already faced not being able to do it, it's no longer even near my passion to write. Both my brother and my boyfriend are in the army. But I still wonder if serving this country which, in this day and age, I'm not even proud of, is right for me...
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Tue Mar 15, 2005 @ 12:06am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
I've realized that I try to block out a lot of stuff. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I don't. I like to make it seem as if I don't care, but if it's important, I usually do. Things I block out, would have to be my brother, my relationship, my friendships, and myself. The worry of a death of a loved one, makes me grieve and feel large amounts of anger, at the same time. Thinking of hurting someone else I love, hurts me all the more. Thinking of a possible ruined friendship, knaws at me. And thinking of how I treat myself, makes my thoughts only worse. So I block it out. I wonder if it truly helps or not?
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Sun Mar 13, 2005 @ 12:59am · 4 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[******** off. xd
Ok, so I just got home. Sprinkling and s**t. Now, without my glasses on, I can't see NOTHING. So I was walking down First Street on my way home and there was this tall guy walking his dog. I couldn't really see him, but since in this town I'm so often confused with someone else, I try to look pissed off so they won't talk to me. But I didn't today. Turns out to be this really cute high school guy and as he walks by me he just grins and checks me out and does the usual, "Sup?" Except he dragged it out as he checked me out. I just smiled. God, I LOVE being checked out by strange horny teenage boys. Who're cute. xp
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Tue Mar 01, 2005 @ 11:38pm · 4 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mar's been nagging me about updating this thing. So here. Update.
Went to the movies, got my hair cut, talked with my brother, and had nightmares. There. The end. Welcome to my life. Makes you want to know more now doesn't it?
V0.0d0.0 Girl · Mon Feb 28, 2005 @ 12:08am · 1 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
