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Develop & Delight & Decay
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[24 Jan 2009|03:17am] |
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I'm boring. Fuck off.
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| Facebook. |
[06 Mar 2008|06:48pm] |
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mood |
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 sad |
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music |
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Leonard Cohen |
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If you have a facebook, search the name "Ani Weiswasser" & send me a friends request.
Facebook is definitely where I tend to digitally dwell these days... =P
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[10 Feb 2008|07:48pm] |
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mood |
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Mallory |
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music |
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Leonard fuckin' Cohen |
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"Last updated 80 weeks ago"
That's a lot of weeks. 80 of 'em.
Oh well.
So yesterday morning I was woken up by dogs. I'm actually a morning person when I'm woken up by dogs as long as they do not respond to Eric. So everything's chill for maybe 20 seconds. Then I realize "oh... Darlene's dogs... I guess... Darlene's here. Uh. Alright." 30 seconds later: "oh shit, I passed out on the couch in the basement again... & it's almost 1:00am.... okay". Then suddenly Darlene is sitting on a pillow against the wall with the TV. Then I realize: "shit. She knows something I did wrong". Then she asks me why on earth there's marijuana all over the basement. Then I realize she has found the Lion King DVD case I was using to roll joints on the previous night. & somehow I managed to be dumb enough to leave that shit like that laying in such plain view I'm suprised she didn't trip over it.
I didn't quite know what to say; only a few people alive could possibly understand the pretty terrible oddness yet wicked, screwed over humor of the whole scenero.
She tells me that I have to start talking or else she's kicking me out in 20 minutes.
What I talked about, I don't know.
This morning, I again wake up on the sofa, & Darlene is sitting in the same exact place as the morning before.
"Are you sexually active?"
I'm sleeping in my bed tonight.
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[30 Jul 2006|02:19am] |
Okay so like, if a person is on an at least moddderatley fancy cruise ship around Europe for two weeks, how difficult (or easy) would it be for them to a) Make phone calls to people in the US b) Send & recieve e-mail. Naturally I don't know shit about the accessibility, costs, etc. of various forms of communication avaliable on these fancy cruise ship things that float around the world places very far from home. AND I NEED TO BECAUSE SUDDENLY IT'S, IN A LESS-DIRECT, MORE-BROAD WAY, KIND OF RUNNING MY LIFE.
I mean, I seriously need to talk to him. & since I have no way of reaching him, he REALLY needs to call or e-mail me. I mean... I just need to talk to HIM, hear HIM say, not his Grandfather or Grandmother, exactly what went down & why he would DO something that cruel, irresponsible, childish, & just... ahh, everything's so confusing. I am so angry at him... but I feel so empty and alone without him.
It's not that I'm ridiculously in love with him & an obsessed stalker. It's so much more just that he was my friend and the stars just don't look the same without him here. He was my friend. So many memorys, & they all surround me now playing themselves out on the same scenery as was there the past 7 months... but it all looks different now. I look at the world and it looks like it's suffering & lonely & shaking & overblown with the same sort of toxic emptiness that's rattling my bones, rewiring my cardiovascular system, chewing apart my soul. He kept me safe. He "loved" me. Then he deserted me at a time when he knew I was really falling apart & how much it meant that he be there. He lied to me. Now suddenly I can't talk to him for god knows how long. I don't like that. I'd rather people say the meanest things to me in the world than avoid talking to me or leave me guessing as to what they have to say.
I'm trying really hard to hold myself together. But the same ugly apparently yet unbelievable inevitability always sinks back into my awareness & overshadows all else.
How am I going to make it? What am I supposed to do?
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| Worst bribe ever. |
[02 Jul 2006|03:00pm] |
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mood |
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dichotomy |
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music |
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The Gun Club |
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I'll write in this thing more if somebody would find me a nice simple pretty layout that wasn't such a goddamn mess, or a nice place to steal things from.
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| A+B=AB. How could it not? |
[31 May 2006|01:08am] |
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music |
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"The Ballad of the Skeletons"...MOTHERFUCKER |
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Do not--I repeat--do not type in the words "Andrew Eldritch" on Google Images & press the "Search" button.
I mean, I just don't know if I want to be him when I grow up anymore...
I will not sleep until I have a Statistics project (which is our final exam) to present tomorrow.
I am incapable of producing such a project.
AND HENCE, A PROBLEM IS CREATED.
(Or forced into my minds eye via the great magnifying lense of time.)
My history teacher of the past two years cryptic & sole words of advice in reference to his decision to leave the school: "you will get out of this place what you put into it... perhaps moreso than anywhere else..."
If this is true, I am getting out of there with nada; not from them. Anything that means anything to me has not gone through that sort of scholastic refinery. I think the machine broke down and crushed my skull into pieces.
Not that there's anything wrong with pieces. There's diversity, there's mystery, there's a challenge. Where's the fun in a whole?
Anything that's not somewhat enigmatic tends to be pretty dull.
Oh, yeah, that Statistics finals project... and that history essay due in April and that history term paper due in May (or April, or March for all I know)... and that history final exam on Friday... and all those other final exams that tend to follow the first one...
Fuck this shit. Russian Roulette... not my style.
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| "I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway" |
[21 May 2006|01:01am] |
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mood |
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motherfucker |
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music |
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"Thunderhead" The Gun Club |
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I think I'm going insane.
GODDAMMIT CAN I NOT WRITE A SINGLE WORD WITHOUT THE OVERWHELMING TEMPTATION TO QUOTE ALLEN GINSBERG?
"I can't stand my own mind
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
I'm sick of your insane demands
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
I'M TRYING TO COME TO THE POINT"
(I don't have one.)
The poem "America" by Allen Ginsberg has been stuck in my head; playing itself over & over & over again; it won't get out.
Wendy said people were "shocked & offended". "AMERICA THIS IS QUITE SERIOUS. AMERICA IS THIS CORRECT?"
I'm really not a person fan.
Wendy wants me to teach Ginsberg and "Howl"--the fucking most important poem of the 20th century--to my English class at school.
Oh shit.
"My mind's made up, there's going to be trouble"
...
"I am talking to myself again"
(No, Allen, you are talking to me. I open a book and see my soul & the world it sees in print written for me 40 or 50 years ago.
You far better than I, of course... but that's what makes it the great escape; the great feeling.
I don't want to butcher you.)
"I am talking to myself again"
"I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I DON'T FEEL GOOD DON'T BOTHER ME.
I WON'T WRITE MY POEM TIL I'M IN MY RIGHT MIND.
I'M SICK OF YOUR INSANE DEMANDS"
I think I'm going insane.
I've been trying viciously to fight The Urge for an hour. Tossing & turning the issue around in my head. FUCK THESE CRAVINGS THAT--AFTER A YEAR--STILL EAT MY SOUL. Still own it. I WANT IT BACK. I think it's still in Baltimore. I think it's still in Ben's old basement. I think...
yes, I'm still talking about my soul... I think...
Goddammit, I'm going to SLEEP
"... 'til I'm in my right mind..."
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[15 May 2006|07:18am] |
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I ♥ ANDREW ELDRITCH
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| Aye |
[08 May 2006|12:10am] |
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I'm sick of all this shit.
I'm giving in.
I don't care. Fuck it all. Face it all; faceless-to-faceless.
These Lortabs are way too big. All they make me do is stumble around and cry anyway. Oh jesus I think they actually might have just kicked in. Or something else might have just kicked out.
Face the world; faceless-to-faceless.
God damn this shit.
Someone tell me where to find happiness so I'll know how to further avoid it.
Someone tell me that SOME QUESTIONS JUST HAVE NO ANSWERS.
Out & in.
What?
I want the answers I was promised. I want the "okay" that you promised me. WHEN EXACTLY WILL IT BE ALRIGHT?
I want to jump off a bridge.
I don't want to stumble around and cry.
I don't really know what I'm writing.
I don't really care.
Let the fingers do the talking; my brain is turning OFF.
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| "... Far enough to cut our heart to pieces." |
[02 Apr 2006|03:39am] |
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mood |
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music |
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"I Go Crazy" Flesh For Lulu |
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The sun does not rise. It just leaps up one moment from the grave, shrieking wild-eyed; burning dreams out of eyes. Morning light peers into wombs and windows after timeless hours folded inside darkness void of time, rhyme, or reason. There is nothing worse than that moment when the birds start chirping.
It is not suffering if it is not silent. It is not sorrow if it is anywhere outside the walls of flesh.
I wonder what disasterous thing will become of me. I wonder what disasterous thing I already am.
And how I got to this point.
And how I get out.
... Nothing to do but blanket myself with the comfort of something, anything impending...
The closest I ever get to happiness is a murky glimpse of the possibility of a second-rate repleca of it; seen faintly in the horizon through eyes armed with lies. The closest I ever get to happiness is the quasi-tranquility and ghost-like fullfillment of waiting for something that might pull me a little bit out of my skin for a while; intervals of 30 second ignorance of all the chaos inside.
... Naked, torn, and tattered with the knowledge of nothing impending...
Retreat to dreams; fall from dreams.
Dreams... hopes and dreams... that's what it all comes down to. Hopes and dreams... our soul's fuel; what keeps us alive. They are the derivation of all our strengh. They are what sends us into motion. They are fundamental unit of life that slips through our fingers as we are too busy searching for it; that is drained out of our eyes, all staring at the wrong stars.
And what are you left with, when you've been locked outside of all your dreams and your hope has been turned on its head, but the inability to escape from the knowledge that there is no escape?
There's no way out. There's no reason to bother.
Yet we all do, anyway.
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[01 Apr 2006|08:42pm] |
RIP Rozz Williams: November 6, 1963 -- April 1, 1998
♥
"I can die a thousand times but I will always be here
with the powder skull secrets of forgotten years
the hangman's noose is drenched with bloodstained tears
my hands are the killers that concern my fears..."
("Spiritual Cramp" from Only Theatre of Pain)
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| & will burn again. |
[24 Mar 2006|01:07am] |
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music |
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"Giddy Giddy Carousel" Death In June |
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Forwards & backwards & forwards & backwards… fold & re-gather… dissolve into the mind… dissolve into dawn…
Everything is and is not as it should be. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, and there is no tunnel. There is balance. There is necessity. There are moments when all the pieces come together, and when all the pieces scatter apart. There are moments when we fall together and fall apart, and fall back into place again, and glimpse the sun again, and fall apart again, and crawl out of the darkness again, and feel our hearts love again, and feel our hearts break again, and fail again and succeed again and fail again and succeed again, and grow and change and move onwards and upwards and forwards and backwards…
Just believe in the mystery and illogical logic of the universe. It knows more than you. It's older and wiser than you. It's all you have.
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| What liver? |
[14 Mar 2006|11:32pm] |
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mood |
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Klonopin & Ativan & Whiskey |
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Klonopin and Ativan and Whiskey, oh my.
I'm a motherfucker whose life revolves around a motherfucker.
But I'm feeling better and more nauseous now.
(IT'S OKAY, GUYS, IT'S FDA APPROVED!!)
(Are you gullible?)
I need my fucking nail clippers back Edward, I need to cut my fucking nails.
(IT'S OKAY, GUYS, I'M GOING TO AN NA MEETING ON FRIDAY OR SATURDAY, AND THEIR SMOKEFILLED JUNKIE MUTTERS WILL BANDAGE ME UP AND SPIT ME OUT ALL NICE AND SPARKLY PC)
(Are you gullible?)
(My liver's a tough motherfucker. Then again, it should be, says the hospital bills from some time back in the day.)
WHY AM I STILL AWAKE?!?
I wondered that last night, too, before apparently passing out in the middle of a phone conversation.
(The entry before this was written on quite a bit of Ambien, the most fucked up sleep medication you'll ever find.) (Although Rohypnol could put up quite a fight.)
WHAT?!?!?
*Insert meaning of life here*
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| Am I there? |
[14 Mar 2006|01:16am] |
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I have so many things I want to say (need to say), but cannot say. Confidentiality is becoming more and more of an issue... that is--it's not becoming more of an issue at all; I'm just increasingly recognizing it as one. Self-expression is also becoming more and more of an issue, due to a simple (read: complex) decrease in ability to translate thoughts/feelings/souls into words. (Maybe that's because I know my words can never be truth; the default neccessity of censorship snaps me away by default [read: fixed disgust])
All these thoughts and words and feelings and thoughts and words and feelings and thoughts and words and feelings trying to burst though my skull... they need air to breathe; a place to die; (why do you think people go to therapy?)
I want to scream hieroglyphic sounds into the wind and watch the whole world come crashing down. Cryptic tongues the loudest silence shake my skeleton out of its skin (it's not safe there) shake the skeleton out of the world termites on the framework of shit piled upon gilded shit disaster apocolypse why will our souls never speak? Burn the world; burn my world.
Once he leaves me everything else alive inside me will have left with him. (Yes, there is some life burrowed inside all these ashes.)
"I am nobody. I have nothing to do with explosions."
I am nobody. I will explode in nothingness. (Torn apart limb by limb in the softest screams you've ever heard.)
What motherfucker pushed the "mute" button on all my tragedy?
(That must be the cloves talking.)
I'd probably be suicidal if I hadn't had so much experience with near-meth I mean near-death experiences (both first and second hand)... and if I was a bit more stupid and a bit less educated on the whole goddamn thing. Overdosing to death is a silly thing to attempt, unless our friendly neighborhood drug dealers start selling Cyanide and Arsenic style "real poisonous poisons" on street corners ("How much an' you charge for an 8-ball of Arsenic"--Think of it!), or unless Barbituates go back in style and avalibility. Opiate overdoses are totally a no-can-do (memory of Matt like it was taken yesterday; leaves a sting; visiting it burns and paralyzses). No other drugs you can OD on that have a sufficient chance of success and limited scope of pain. Could never shoot myself; such a mess, so fucking repulsive. (Can you please die without leaving your brains dripping down from the ceiling fan?) Have been shot at; held up at gunpoint... don't even know how to work a gun, anyhow... don't even like them, anyhow... I could never do it; would never want to; and am very glad of that. Carbon Monoxide poisoning too fancy; too professional; too ritual. Hanging too much of a drag (pun may be intended... I'm not sure); too much work to assure that I don't end up brain dead forever surrounded by stories of how they saved my death. Hard pressed to find a 200 story window wide open. Hard pressed to get hypothermia in spring. Slashing wrists; only 2% success rate;... just come out looking like a fool. Slashing my throat; the carotoid arteries are pretty well protected... other throat-y things to slash, of course, but I don't think I am mentally able to *swish clack* snap my trachea open.
I have to wake up in less than five hours.
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| The Sisters |
[10 Mar 2006|01:08am] |
Andrew Eldritch = Michael Stipe
Although he still refuses to show his eyes.
I love that man. He never ceases to amaze me.
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[05 Mar 2006|02:07pm] |
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music |
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The Fragile - Nine Inch Nails |
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Things are really getting quite quite bad.
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| Fuck. |
[14 Feb 2006|03:53pm] |
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mood |
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 angry |
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music |
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"Tragedy (For You)" Front 242 |
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Valentines Day. We celebrate love, which is made out to be the most divine, mystic, glorious, powerful emotion that a person can experience, by indulging in purchases of the most corporate, synthetic, meaningless nonsense that factors can create. Nothing says "I love you" like a $7.99 box of chocolate or a stuffed bear holding a heart that sings when you squeeze it. It's disguisting that love needs a day. "Gee, good thing Valentines day came around and CVS started stuffing their shelves with red and pink crap; I had almost forgotten I love so-and-so!" This is love? This is love? This is a day of love? What trash.
This rant would be much longer and better thought out if I didn't feel like absolute shit right now.
I give up, I just fucking give up.
... Well no, I don't, I can't, I'm not capable of it...
But at the same time, I really just fucking give up.
No matter what I do, it's apparently always wrong.
They fired me from my work internship at WARL.
I put so much effort into that place. I liked working there so much. I was so effective and productive and go so much done. I got on such friendly terms with so many of the volunteers and staff (the actual working staff, not the ones that sit in their fucking offices all day). But Michael Herrera fired me. Why? Because people don't like me.
I don't really get it. I don't get it. I don't get why nobody likes me, and why I can't survive in the corporate fucking world. I don't really want to get it. I don't want to see what they all see in me. I don't care. I'm sick of everyone; everything; all this shit. I'm sick of getting the same amount of shit when I do nothing wrong as I do when I do everything wrong. Nothing I do is right because I'm not right.
Fuck this shit. I'm never going to be anything
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| Walk down this hall of mirrors... |
[12 Feb 2006|04:31pm] |
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mood |
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 complacent |
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music |
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"Deserted" Autumn's Grey Solace |
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You've got your guns, & I've got my drug kit. & we've got a fortress of darkness & candles & pillows & dreams. & kisses that flow through the bone... & love, or the illusion of it, or something glorious & nameless that shines like the stars or the streetlights through the snow...
It has consumed us. It will chew us to pieces. (... wait for it... wait for it...
& see the disaster breaking your childlike eyes)
All that is beautiful breaks. Dreams & reality are not meant to collide.
(In my dreams, I'd save us both. But I am nothing; nobody. We will both fall; we will both fall apart; scattered together & apart...)
Last night was glorious, in its own right. All the snow; all the beauty. For a while I was wrapped up in a different universe; a brave new world. & later that night I was so content & at peace, lying around with him in my bed for hours.
Will I ever get bored of that? It's the most something nothing I've ever experienced. (And we all know I'm one for somethings & nothings).
He is amazing. As a person, he is so wonderful & glorious & unique & great that it's actually bothering, in its own satisfying way. (I wonder how this will end? What will happen? What will happen?)
A cabin out in West Virginnia; nothing & nobody but you & me & eternity if we choose to grab it by the horns (I am not that strong). Falling asleep in a rocking chair, with a shotgun by your side.
What seems too good to come true is.
"Wake from dreams for the glory of nothing..."
I love you. Iloveyou.Iloveyou.
One day we will see through clear eyes
the higher you fly, the more it hurts to fall.
& we will fall, & fall, & fall...
"I move to touch your face & the stars fell down.
I sought to seek your place & the stars fell down.
I move towards your embrace & those walls came down.
I sought to glimpse your fate & those walls came down.
I move by your hands, so kindly entwined. Forever came today.
I move to take your hand & the sun comes out,
though I walk through barren lands still the sun comes out.
I seek to share your grace & the walls come down.
I bask in your embrace as the walls come down.
... They come, they come, they come, crashing down.
Still they are entwined.
Forever came today. (As the stars fall down, & those stars fall down...)"
("Forever Came Today" by Shadow Project)
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[08 Feb 2006|08:33pm] |
Why write when I can post lyrics that say things for me? (Words so much more elegant, that appear so much quicker and easier on this blank box begging for text!)
"And if I wake from Dreams
Shall I fall in Pastures
Will I Wake the Darkness
Shall we Torch the Earth?
And if I wake from Dreams
Shall we find the Emptiness
And break the Silence
That will stop our Hearts?
And if I wake from Dreams
Shall we cry Together
For their Howling echoes
And restart the Night?
And why did you say
That things shall fall
And fall and fall and fall
And fall apart?
And why did you say
That things shall fall
And fall and fall and fall
And fall apart?
And shall I wake from Dreams
For the Glory of Nothing
For the cracking of the Sun
For the crawling down of Lies?
And if We fall from Dreams
Shall we push them into Darkness
And stare into the Howling
And clamber into Night?
And if I fall from Dreams
All my Prayers are Silenced
To Love is to lose
And to lose is to Die...
And why did you say
That things shall fall
And fall and fall and fall
And fall apart?
And why did you say
That we shall fall
And fall and fall and fall
And fall apart?"
"Fall Apart" by Death In June
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[04 Feb 2006|10:49pm] |
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I am dead.
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