Ten Spalis of Twenty Eleven

I got caught up in some LGBTQ videos for Coming Out Week (which is this week) and I found this song, ""I'm Da Best". It's not my favorite by Shunda K, but it's still pretty fucking good.

Oh, and for whoever may ever read my blog, I like girls and boys. Bisexual is still LGBTQ. Fuck off, haters.

I've got this little light that smiles on me all the time. Makes me warm when I should be cold and makes me feel together when I'm lonely. That is love. I used to hate it. I despised how it was thrown around and tossed away. I knew it was abused to get sex and get abused lovers to stay. It's be trashed, tarnished, and spit on. Even though I hated it, I believed.

I always used to tell her that when I met my soul mate, I would cut his dick off. Well, I think I found him and I'm not going to cut it off.

Now, my love is manifesting itself into a physical being. It's starting to form plans instead of just dreams and "wouldn't that be amazing"s. It's starting to become dialogue and blessings. "I'm going to marry her." It's becoming questions about whether the rings should be silver or gold and what kind of stone we might pick. It's about moving in and how we'll afford it and where we'd live. It's about this love that's made plans. It's made plans.

I still can't really wrap my head around the fact that this man wants to be with me forever. Out of every girl he's ever liked, ever fucked, ever seen on the internet...He wants to be with me. He picked me out of millions of opportunities (over Gaga!).

Honey Dick and Knockers sittin' in a tree.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes love,
then comes marriage,
then comes the baby in the baby carriage, Fuck that shit.

Our babies will look like this:

AND THEY'LL BE MOTHERFUCKING ADORABLE

'Restless nights without rocks,
calming flow to falter.
She cries goodbye and cries hello,
joy and sorrow in every push.
Shadow covered in darkness,
forgiveness in her palm.
A bed is on the horizon,
and she climbs in with him.'

Seven Spalis of Twenty Eleven

I don't think I've ever been able to drink hot chocolate without eating the little marshmallows first. And then letting it sit because it's always too hot to start.






Anyways...I present a quite sad scenario that I was pondering today as I ate alone. A girl and a boy meet. They fall in love. But, by fate, he lives far away from her (in England, to be precise). And they jack up the phone bill calling each other, and they talk everyday for hours, longing for the other's touch. Sometimes, they cry anguished tears of loneliness, knowing that the only thing they have is each other (even thought there are people around them). Eventually, she leaves him for another man, but texts him occasionally and they chat. But never more. She still misses him. He still misses her. One day, he tells her this:
I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me. I still feel your touch in my dreams. Forgive me, my weakness, but I don't know why...Without you it's hard to survive.

'Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling; and every time we kiss, I swear I could fly. Can't you feel my heart beat fast? I want this to last, need you by my side.
Suddenly, it's the saddest song I've ever heard. I actually cried.

I think I've been needing a cry recently. Everything is just tearing me apart. It feels like an eternity since he's been here, but it's only been two days. It's weird because even though I'm no where near anything dealing with PMS I've been super emotional lately. Like today, I skyped my friend who recently had their room repainted. It looked exactly like his. I literally tripped out. All I could say was, "Where are you? Tell me where you are. Where the hell are you?!" I felt like I was choking with regret and anger. Or how about poetry? I read a poem titled "How to Watch Your Brother Die." I sobbed like a child at the reality that it could be me. Even his cousin makes me cry. I think about how I always tried to impress him, to leave him with a positive impression of me, and how now I might not see him again. He goes to my rival school and all...

Recently, I've just felt sad. I know I have all these amazing things to look forward to, but sometimes I just want to curl up into his arms and wish all my troubles away.

But, for now, I must sleep.

"Je faire dormir maintenant, je vais regarder tu ttu, mais non assez ttu, mon amor"

To my sweet:

'Shadow blends with darkness,
a smile spreads across her lips.
Jane couldn't stop her,
from taking down the
yellow wallpaper.
"I'm his lover. Thanks for coming."
Never did Paris stand,
but Aphrodite loves her apple.'

(Morning of) Twenty-Seven Rugsėjis of Twenty Eleven

I hate the days when you lie in your bed and tears fall into your hair. Or when you cry so hard you fall to your knee and pray for mercy. Or curling into the fetal position and wishing away the world. I hate those sorts of days.

Suddenly, I remember this.

"From the Bottom of My Broken Heart"

Every time he gets like this I either comfort him or can't speak. I respond and he knows I'm upset, but I'm too stubborn to admit it. I love him, I think he's perfect. But GOD DAMN. He makes me cry all the time. And not because I'm weak, but because he tears me down. He makes me feel awful about myself. The worst part is that I can't fight. "You're just upset because you know I'm right." And so I just pretend like nothing makes me mad and drop it. Honestly, he said I "lack the brains for critical thinking." Seriously, call me fat, it upsets me for like two minutes; insult my intelligence and I'll cry for hours. Do you understand how much stress I'm under for college? From knowing my work's not as good as I want it to be, but not having the time to do it? Do you know how little sleep I get every night and how awful life is a cup of freaking coffee makes my day? No, apparently not. "I would put up with all your crazy business..." Wow. Add insult to injury. "Love transcends all kinds of boundaries including you being a rude girl."

'Half-blood tears crawl out,
biting the words, "I love you."
Stinging the cracks in the half-blood heart.
Hair pushes together,
falling, falling, falling
___________ fell out of the world.'

LATER ON: (but still morning)

I need to get home so I can watch the Human Centipede 2 [Full Sequence] trailer. October seventh is going to be the best day of my life. Gotta buy tickets and figure out transportation. I wonder if my mom would let me borrow the car for the weekend...

I read "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Gilman this morning.
(If you want to listen to the story, like I did, here are the links: 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5).

Anyways, the story is kind of unsettling to read, especially when you're all alone in the silence. The author uses incredible diction and tone to convey the narrator's insanity. As a questing psychologist, I loved it. However, the end seems all the more sketchy to me.

She begins by saying that there is a woman in the wallpaper. She thinks that the woman shakes the "bars" of the wallpaper at night and is free during the day, and that she "creeps."

As the story comes to a close, I watched the narrator digress, suddenly biting off bits of the bed and saying that "I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did?" Quite out of character, but fitting with insanity. (Here I note that the room was quite torn; the bedposts had been clawed and scratched, the floor scraped, and the wallpaper torn). Does this mean that, if I go with the theory that there really was a woman in the wall, that she escaped and the narrator is trapped until the next woman comes?

In the end, it is written that all the wallpaper was torn off and that she couldn't be put back. Originally, I thought of the narrator as being simply psychotic, that there was no woman in the wall. I thought, as I looked back, that the yellow wallpaper was her skin, and a metaphor for her entrapment and desire for freedom. That she was trapped by her own body, her own femininity, and her own disease (whatever that was; I didn't really take the time to find out, maybe later). So, when she says "And I've pulled off most of the paper, so you can't put me back" I thought it to mean that she had literally pulled away her skin. In her mind, it didn't hurt because she was crazy and peeling away the wallpaper, trying to let some woman, shaking the bar free.

Maybe the woman who creeps is really how she pictures herself free-and outside.

I mean, psychotic people peel their skin off, right?

But, let's look at this the other way, I mean, there's a lot of evidence (shallow/obvious evidence, but still evidence). She says at the end ""in spite of you and Jane." However, THERE WAS NEVER A CHARACTER NAMED JANE. There was a John (the narrator's husband) and a Jennie (the narrator's sister-in-law). Who is Jane? Many theorize it as a typo, but think of it this way: JOHN AND JANE DOE. I don't think that a coincidence.

Twenty-Two Rugsėjis of Twenty Eleven

I wonder if I have any right to be hurt...

I knew from the start he wasn't going to be able to make it. I could just tell. Maybe it was the way he kept putting off or didn't talk about, but I knew. That's not what bothers me. I want him to take a break and do what he wants. I just miss him like crazy.

I just feel like it came out of nowhere. All of a sudden, we've got these issues again. What changed? I thought he said we could be together again because he trusted me. Because he believed me when I said I wasn't interested in the guys at college and that I don't want anyone but him. He said that it didn't bother him anymore...

And then this. It blows up in my face before I even know what's happening. I like to take my time and suddenly I'm cheating? He can stroll in whenever he likes, but I'd prefer a notice before. I like to have time to prepare and look beautiful for him. If he doesn't want me to, I guess I don't need to.

'Me maquillo
y me cepillo mi pelo.
Me pongo ropa,
y me pongo mis zapatos.
Mi novio va a llegar.
Estoy bien.'

(Morning Of) Nineteen Rugsėjis of Twenty Eleven

I'm sitting there, holding him in my arms and pondering how he would take off my garter. For some reason, I can picture him pulling it off with his teeth and smiling up and me while I blushed. It's weird because the next instant, he was asking me what it would be like if we actually got married.

I stood, for a split second, completely shocked.

Whether it was Fate, God, or similar personalities, we were both thinking about that commitment. We both wanted the reality of never missing each other for weeks and waking up every morning to smile at them. We wanted to furnish a house and keep kittens and everything involved.

Of course, this is all too serious for someone at my age to be thinking about. But my half birthday is only a few months away, and before we know it, I'll be the age I've been dreaming of. (Only seven months and eleven days until my next birthday. And only 11 days until his.)

I swear it's society. Convincing me that I want to be married and fall in love. But then, it's society that tells me that I shouldn't rush it and that I should take my time and make sure things are alright. But still, I've got this white dresses floating in my head, the priest and the 'I do's,' the beautiful white dress, the cake, and everything...

We even talked about going to Lithuania for our honeymoon. He considered it.If I could die of love, I think I might.

And now, I introduce the way I'm feeling, in pictures:
















'Tip toes and her heels hit the ground,
soft skin touches the church floor
with teeth bared,
he takes and tosses,
another eager from the pack snatches.
She tosses herself and let's go of the life she once knew,
A life they both lived for themselves.'

Sixteen Rugsėjis of Twenty Eleven

This is where I guess I should figure out where to start. I mean, I've got a couple issues pressing down on my mental capacity and I don't know what should come first. I suppose, a follow-up.

I haven't talked to him or seen him. Sometimes I hear his voice or his laugh and wonder how he is, but I deal with it. I heard that it did not matter if I still wanted to be his friend because, apparently, he didn't want to be mine. Hey, I don't blame him. I guess it's heartbreaking in its own way, but now that I know, I feel like I'm going to have some relief and that I can finally just give up. It's not like I was going to try to change anything anyways. I knew that I shouldn't.

Onto a change!

I feel that my relations with men and women are so different. Although I have interest in both, I'm finally realizing why women don't appeal to me anatomically. See, the thing with men is they're fast-paced. They like to be tough and play rough and break the rules. With a man, I'd still love to settle down, but I feel like I wouldn't want to sleep through many nights. However, with women, I like to picture a married life where I hold her hand and snuggle her in the night. I would love to settle in with a woman, not be sexual with her. I don't think I have any sexual attraction to a woman (okay, maybe a little), but I'm more interested in her as a being. I think I'd kiss her and caress her, but really my interest in a woman extends not far beyond just wanting to be married, fall in love, and kiss her.

It explains a lot, though. It's why I hate seeing girls on the internet. I could care less about her being sexy (but she can't be ugly-I want her to take care of herself). There's never been anything special about the nude female body to me (maybe it's because I am a female).

This doesn't mean I am any less attracted to women; it simply expresses my type of attraction.

'The smell of flowers flows through her hair,
her dress pushes against her in the wind.
A smile pushes her lips against her teeth,
and melody sings through her mouth.
Suddenly, she collapses.
The wheat in her hair,
tears fall onto the soft Earth,
and she curls.
Ball.'

Twelve Rugsėjis of Twenty Eleven

I just realized my last post was my hundredth one, and I don't remember what it's about.

I wonder if she ever cried for me. I wonder if there was guilt in her emotions, not just anger. I wonder if she ever missed me...

I wonder if I'll stop crying over him. I wonder why he, out of everyone, has made such an impression on my heart. I wonder why I can't get him out of my head. I want to know why I feel sorrow instead of anger...

I knew that he was stronger. Dreams like a reality. I knew that I could only use gravity and my body weight to hide myself and that I couldn't run forever. I knew that if I tried to hold the door that he would pull it open and see me. Why was I so afraid to see him? I wonder if I thought that I would break. I've had to fight ever want to message him, just to hear from him again. Maybe I knew that if I saw him, I would give in-that in reality I might also break. I want to know why I woke up in tears. I want to know why I want him back in my life. I don't understand.

I remember running into the next room, pressing myself into the wall and wishing that everything would go away. I had to handle it like an adult. I pretended I was invisible. I knew he would catch me. I knew I couldn't run or hide forever. He would catch me.

I don't know what hurts more, the running or who I was running from.

I know what I want, but I know what I can't have. And I know who he is. And it kills me sometimes.

"Wanna sniff my balls?"

'Forgiveness denied,
but heart with open arms.
She looks onto the horizon.
She hates the sea,
the water crashing onto the cliffs,
the sand between her toes,
the smell of the salt water.
She spits off the edge and curses.
But in her heart,
the tiniest flicker of remembrance,
sparks her longing...
Only the ocean can put out the flames.
She's scared of deep water.'