Hemingway has his classic moment in "The Sun Also Rises" when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt.
All he can say is, "Gradually, then suddenly."
That's how depression hits. You wake up one morning, afraid that you're gonna live.
- prozac nation

Saturday, September 27, 2008

god loves a liar - a wilhelm scream



Don't forget to waste your blood and mix it with your tears now.
Don't forget to waste your love inside me to crawl out.
I know it's here inside.

Why am I so afraid?
God loves a liar.

It's turning on me now.
Accidents are what follows.
If only you could see her now.
Don't mistake someone's daughter's crying for fuck sounds.
For rainy days you're mine.

Why are we so afraid?
God loves a liar.

Today is the day that I laugh for the fun ot it.
Today is the day that it tears me apart.
Today is the day I defile your saccharine way,
or at least take aim.
Today is the day that I drown for the fun of it.
Today is the day that I laugh in the dark.
Today is the day that I see myself for what I really am...
Dead to the world.

Liar.


The Wilhelm Scream was a recorded 'scream' that was used over and over and over again in Hollywood films...same recording, over and over again...these however, are the lyrics to a song by the band, A Wilhelm Scream

Monday, September 15, 2008

buildings and bridges - ani difranco


buildings and bridges
are made to bend in the wind
to withstand the world,
that's what it takes
all that steel and stone
are no match for the air, my friend
what doesn't bend breaks
what doesn't bend breaks

we are made to bleed
and scab and heal and bleed again
and turn every scar into a joke
we are made to fight
and fuck and talk and fight again
and sit around and laugh until we choke
sit around and laugh until we choke

i don't know who you were expecting
probably some bitch who does not budge
with eyes the size of snow
i may get pissed off sometimes
but you seem like the type to hold a grudge
and in the end, i just let go...

buildings and bridges
are made to bend in the wind
to withstand the world,
that's what it takes
all that steel and stone
is no match for the air, my friend
what doesn't bend breaks
what doesn't bend breaks

Sunday, September 14, 2008

rantings from a misspent youth

It sounds clich├ęd I know, but it feels like you’ve helped to loosen the chains and wake up a monster inside me that is now pissed off and wants to come out. It breathes fire within me so that I burn and scar on the outside and cry out with pain. A new pain, unlike one I’ve felt before. Not worse, just different. But it is pushing me over the edge slowly.
I don’t know if I can hold it in much longer.
What have you done? What have I let you do to me?
I should have just listened to myself.
There was no relief; no burden lifted, no mighty revelation – nothing.
Now all I want is to cut again and let this pain trickle down my arm in swift streams, but this too is against your rules. When will I be free from you and your pushing and your rules? I feel like I’m about to explode unless I let some pain out first, to maintain the balance.
I have come this far, but I’ve had enough now. Can I go back to the shadows where my head hangs low and I have to remind myself to breathe?

It all just seems too much sometimes, too real, too close by, if that makes any sense at all.
I’m so riddled with doubt and I don’t know what to do with my life anymore. I don’t know what to do with my mind and my body knows that and it’s starting to freak out on me.
It does stuff that I can’t control – it jitters and jumps around, unannounced.
It’s really starting to scare the shit out of me. I sound like a freak…one of those complete nutters that belong in a mental institution or a psych ward.
Trust me, they’ve tried to put me there, but I will not be put down, they cannot bring me down – DAMN THE MAN! Ha ha. (empire records rocks my world)
At least I don’t hear voices telling me to do fucked up shit or see things or shit like that, then, fuck, I’d let them put me away - I’d put myself away.
I’d be first in line for the men in white suits with the hug-me jackets and the padded rooms with the indistinguishable foodstuffs.
Anyway, back to the point.
I want to feel again; I mean apart from the parts that are just plain shitty.
I know hurt, pain, and anger. It’s all the same feeling really, just with a different name, because you still end up with the same result.
You feel like someone ran over you with a steamroller and there is absolutely fuck all that you can do about it.
And screw all that psychobabble bullshit about working through the feelings, ‘coz that’s a load of crap as well.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

lost love

A strange sense of safety suddenly thrashed and taken away in an instant.
It’s not fair,
but then again nothing that is true ever is.
I hate it – this bitter taste left lingering in my mouth,
this savage beast that destroys everything in its path,
this thing we call lost love.
Fear catapulted through my body the night he mentioned those four dreaded words
– we need to talk.
It was over before it had even begun.

Alone, condolences are quite harmless

Sometimes it just takes over.
I would say it comes from nowhere,
but at the same time I’m almost convinced it comes from somewhere.
Mostly I’m completely unaware of its presence,
but other times I can feel it seated back there.
Sometimes this sadness grows and twines to fill and capture my girl-body,
to gnaw at my reasoning like an in-grown toenail.

I push my in-grown toenail into the bedpost until I’m aware and it (the pain) devours me.
I’ve crossed the border and no amount of grasping or gasping can turn me back.
(The doctor will tell you to count backward to calm your fighting.
The last thing you will see is his hazy face laughing at your heavy, helpless horror).

My duvet cover has slipped off (but only half way),
somehow catching itself on my clammy pork-sausage feet.
It’s hot. (Consuming, window-closed hot).
My feet begin to get flustered in their straightjacket sheets and, as they’re battling,
their panic passes its message slowly along my body until I’m half awake and stricken.
The mind has no time to reason with itself,
much less to sympathise with the terror of toes.
But I still thrash, as if for survival.

(Alone, condolences are quite harmless, like ants,
but when they’re streamed into your head in the middle if the night they can haunt you,
like a crawling crocheted glove).