I'm having a book signing at the Honolulu Public Library on April 6th from 12:00pm to 3:00pm. The library is on King St. near downtown Honolulu.
Hey, why don't all you people questioning where I live, and if I lost weight come to the book signing, buy a book and then move on with your life.
I'm no longer blogging on blogger. Too many crazy people. Don't bother trying to find me. Just know that I'm out there, and will find a new fan base. People are addicted to me like I'm addicted to opiates.
Bye to those few of you who I like. I'm not going to delete my blog. It'll be here for all the world to read forever.
You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because your all the same. ~Kurt Cobain~
You have your sheep, your black sheep, and me...a unicorn ~Anna Young~
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Friday, March 16, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Oink, oink
Its sunny. Finally I can go to the beach and soak up the sun. Finish reading Mrs. Hollaway, and start Catch 22. I got Kevin to read Wurthering Heights. He's taking his time reading it. He's had it for four days, and normally he finishes a book in two days at most. We've made plans to go scuba diving next week. Its a 120 dollars per person, which is a fair amount. I justify it by saying I would spend that much on heroin in Green bay in a day. Instead of getting high on a drug, I'm going to get low under the water. Woot woot.
I'm gonna tell Kevin about my addiction, and give him my book today. We already spent the money for scuba diving so if he decides he doesn't want to be with me after he reads my book, we will still have to go scuba diving together. Wait, he could always get his money back. I'm sure they would charge a fee though. He's pretty cheap so he would probably still go scuba diving.
My UA came back positive for opiates at the clinic, so after over 90 days waiting to get my take home dose, I got it taken away. Now I have to do another 90 days just to get my take home back.
Gledwood doesn't understand how I can get off Methadone and a few month later go screaming back begging for a dose. The key to being on Methadone for me is not having too high a dose. I'm at 85 mgs. It takes two bags of black tar heroin to break through my dose. I don't get the same high I got when I was off methadone, but there is still a glow. Also if I don't want to use heroin I can always take a bunch of benzos and get a glow off my Methadone. If I just want to be straight I just take Methadone and not abuse benzos. I understand methadone is not for everyone. I find Methadone the perfect fix for my addiction. When I was just using heroin and other street opiates I was depressed when I wasn't high, and was always anxiety ridden when not high worrying about getting high. With Methadone there is no depression. At least not a terrible depression like it was on heroin. When I was on heroin there was never enough. Now there is always enough. I know this doesn't clear it up at all, but I tried.
Hmm, nothing else to really write about. If Kevin and I have sex tonight or today I will write about it in detail. I might write some erotica and send it into pent house and see if I can't get paid for it. I can only write about sex if I'm aroused. Sometimes I'll start out not aroused, but I'll get myself aroused by writing about it. So it starts slow, but then gets dirty.
I wasnt' going to mention the comments, but I have to. Why anon's are so fucking mean to me? I guess I'm not pretty. I know I'm not fat though. I know that. You guys are trying to hurt my feelings, and whoever it was that said that about my sister, that was sick. You said something to the tune that anyone who reads my blog is stupid, well you must have read every word I ever wrote, because I haven't written about my sister in years. So your stupid too. Plus I never said I was a good writer, I've always made a point of saying I'm not a good writer. I suck at it. I know that. Just like I know I'm not fat. My BMI is in normal range for my height and age. I may not be rail thin, but I'm not fat. No matter how much or how many people tell me I am, I will not believe it, because I've been fat and know how it looks and feels. I don't look or feel fat anymore.
I'm not going to tell Kevin about my blog because I don't want him to read the comments. I could always delete them. Hmm I just might do that. Take away your voice. Ha ha.
I'm gonna tell Kevin about my addiction, and give him my book today. We already spent the money for scuba diving so if he decides he doesn't want to be with me after he reads my book, we will still have to go scuba diving together. Wait, he could always get his money back. I'm sure they would charge a fee though. He's pretty cheap so he would probably still go scuba diving.
My UA came back positive for opiates at the clinic, so after over 90 days waiting to get my take home dose, I got it taken away. Now I have to do another 90 days just to get my take home back.
Gledwood doesn't understand how I can get off Methadone and a few month later go screaming back begging for a dose. The key to being on Methadone for me is not having too high a dose. I'm at 85 mgs. It takes two bags of black tar heroin to break through my dose. I don't get the same high I got when I was off methadone, but there is still a glow. Also if I don't want to use heroin I can always take a bunch of benzos and get a glow off my Methadone. If I just want to be straight I just take Methadone and not abuse benzos. I understand methadone is not for everyone. I find Methadone the perfect fix for my addiction. When I was just using heroin and other street opiates I was depressed when I wasn't high, and was always anxiety ridden when not high worrying about getting high. With Methadone there is no depression. At least not a terrible depression like it was on heroin. When I was on heroin there was never enough. Now there is always enough. I know this doesn't clear it up at all, but I tried.
Hmm, nothing else to really write about. If Kevin and I have sex tonight or today I will write about it in detail. I might write some erotica and send it into pent house and see if I can't get paid for it. I can only write about sex if I'm aroused. Sometimes I'll start out not aroused, but I'll get myself aroused by writing about it. So it starts slow, but then gets dirty.
I wasnt' going to mention the comments, but I have to. Why anon's are so fucking mean to me? I guess I'm not pretty. I know I'm not fat though. I know that. You guys are trying to hurt my feelings, and whoever it was that said that about my sister, that was sick. You said something to the tune that anyone who reads my blog is stupid, well you must have read every word I ever wrote, because I haven't written about my sister in years. So your stupid too. Plus I never said I was a good writer, I've always made a point of saying I'm not a good writer. I suck at it. I know that. Just like I know I'm not fat. My BMI is in normal range for my height and age. I may not be rail thin, but I'm not fat. No matter how much or how many people tell me I am, I will not believe it, because I've been fat and know how it looks and feels. I don't look or feel fat anymore.
I'm not going to tell Kevin about my blog because I don't want him to read the comments. I could always delete them. Hmm I just might do that. Take away your voice. Ha ha.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
It rained and rained
I've been staying home reading. I liked Anna Karenina so much that I thought I'd read War and Peace. So since it started raining two weeks ago, I have just been reading. I finished War and Peace and am now reading Mrs. Hollaway. Here in Hawaii it was soaking wet, we got 19 inches of rain in a week. Everything was flooded. It smelled like shit everywhere. The sewage treatment plant went out of control because of the flooding.
Its stopped raining two days ago, but its been cloudy ever since. I miss the sun here in Hawaii. I haven't been to the beach in weeks. My tan is fading. I got take home doses aka phase two at the Methadone clinic. Then I had a really bad toothache, and went to the ER for some pain relief, and all they gave me was Aleve. I had already been taking A shit ton of Advil, so I knew the Aleve wasn't going to do anything for the pain. So in a move of pure stupidity I bought two bags of Heroin, here it only cost 40 dollars, compared to the 100 dollars it would have cost in Green Bay. So I shot up the heroin, and it did nothing to curb the pain in my tooth. It did get me high, and I nodded out all day. Then the next four days after getting a root canal I slept. I only was awake for about five hours a day, and I spent that time reading. I didn't even write in my journal.
I decided against writing on here, because I watched my stats when I blogged three days in a row, and my stats didn't change, so I thought fuck it. The same amount of people are reading weather I update or not.
I started seeing a guy. His name is Kevin. He's only 27, but he looks a lot like Kurt Cobain. He's even stuck in the 90's like me. Even though he was even younger than I was when grunge took over. I met him at the Barns and Noble in the Mall. He was reading On The Road by Kerouac. I always fall for boys who read beat nik writers. He is not a addict. Which is new for me. He has no idea what I go through. I haven't told him that I had a relapse. I don't even consider it a relapse because of the extenuating circumstances. I go over to his place which is two streets down from mine. I'm on Nahua St. and he's on Kuhia st. By the Food Pantry. He has been coming over to my place more since my toothache. He just read, and watched TV while I slept. We had sex in between there, but mostly I slept and read.
We both love watching the Office. He got me watching the British version of The Office. Funny stuff. I still haven't told him I wrote a book, and he knows nothing about this blog. I'm afraid I'll scare him off. Oh well. Who cares, its not like I'm in love. I'll give him a copy of my book sooner or later. I got to go I'm feeling sick to my stomach. Plus Kevin is coming over soon.
Its stopped raining two days ago, but its been cloudy ever since. I miss the sun here in Hawaii. I haven't been to the beach in weeks. My tan is fading. I got take home doses aka phase two at the Methadone clinic. Then I had a really bad toothache, and went to the ER for some pain relief, and all they gave me was Aleve. I had already been taking A shit ton of Advil, so I knew the Aleve wasn't going to do anything for the pain. So in a move of pure stupidity I bought two bags of Heroin, here it only cost 40 dollars, compared to the 100 dollars it would have cost in Green Bay. So I shot up the heroin, and it did nothing to curb the pain in my tooth. It did get me high, and I nodded out all day. Then the next four days after getting a root canal I slept. I only was awake for about five hours a day, and I spent that time reading. I didn't even write in my journal.
I decided against writing on here, because I watched my stats when I blogged three days in a row, and my stats didn't change, so I thought fuck it. The same amount of people are reading weather I update or not.
I started seeing a guy. His name is Kevin. He's only 27, but he looks a lot like Kurt Cobain. He's even stuck in the 90's like me. Even though he was even younger than I was when grunge took over. I met him at the Barns and Noble in the Mall. He was reading On The Road by Kerouac. I always fall for boys who read beat nik writers. He is not a addict. Which is new for me. He has no idea what I go through. I haven't told him that I had a relapse. I don't even consider it a relapse because of the extenuating circumstances. I go over to his place which is two streets down from mine. I'm on Nahua St. and he's on Kuhia st. By the Food Pantry. He has been coming over to my place more since my toothache. He just read, and watched TV while I slept. We had sex in between there, but mostly I slept and read.
We both love watching the Office. He got me watching the British version of The Office. Funny stuff. I still haven't told him I wrote a book, and he knows nothing about this blog. I'm afraid I'll scare him off. Oh well. Who cares, its not like I'm in love. I'll give him a copy of my book sooner or later. I got to go I'm feeling sick to my stomach. Plus Kevin is coming over soon.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Ring around the rosey, pocket full of poseies, and we all fall down.
I've decided against using heroin when I get paid. I have to pay my parents 300$ in rent, and that leaves me 400 and some dollars. I'll put 200 of that in savings, and the 200 and some dollars I will use to buy cigarettes, snacks, books, music, and I really can't wait for the film adaption of The Hunger Games which is in theaters March 23rd.
I've gotten a request from a reader to write about my thoughts on suicide and what I believe the afterlife (if there is one) would be like.
I often mention suicide in my blog posts. I sometimes write out my plan, even once faked my suicide on my blog. Almost all of my idols committed suicide, and my grandfather offed himself in our garage when I was 7 years old. A year after that my babysitter blew his brains out in front of me and my sister after his girlfriend broke up with him.
As much as write about suicide I never talk about it to anyone. Almost every attempt I've made was on a lark. Two of them were planned. Two of them I came very close to death. Every time I've woken up from an attempt I am angry. I feel like a failure. I can't even kill myself properly. I've hurt my parents and scared them. I've always ended up in a mental institution for at least a week after an attempt.
I ask myself why I don't have the guts to just put a gun in my mouth or to my heart. Am I really just crying for attention? I'm not crying for attention unpurpose, but subconsciously I must be. I don't feel I'm crying for help. When I have attempted suicide I have always meant to die. When I faked my suicide here on blogger I did it to end my blog. Then I realized I can't end my blog, I love the attention I get from the readers. Be it bad or positive attention.
I do plan on ending my own life after I've failed at everything I've done to be remembered for. Not just remembered by my family, but by the public. As if by some miracle I'll do something of importance in my life bettering society in some way. If I die before I've failed at everything, I've tried, then so be it. I do not fear death, nor the unknown.
Right now I would not say I'm depressed, but I do hate myself. I have self no esteem. I get my self esteem from you guys and gals. Usually the comments left on my blog are full of hatred. I'll admit I do get some positive comments. As we all know we believe the negative said about us rather than the good. It takes something like ten compliments to make up for one negative comment.
The fact is that I'm a realist and realize that in reality I will never accomplish any achievement worth while. Nobody will remember me 50 years after I'm dead. Most people can live with this. I just have feelings of grandeur as if what I write is something special. Then again I am self loathing. I hate myself and want to die by my own hand, but not until I'm satisfied I've done something to be remembered by. Contradictions. I know I'm going to be forgotten, I feel I shouldn't be, I know I have nothing of any conscience to leave behind for futer generations. I'm not Hunter S. Thomson, I'm not Virgina Wolf, and I'm definitely not Kurt Cobain the one person I look up to most in this world. I was not born with any special talents. I am in no way extraordinary. I'm just a piece of mold on cheese, scraped off before the real celebrity (the cheese) is eaten.
Two people in this world would be affected if I were to die right now. My parents. In thirty years my parents will be gone. Hopefully they have more than thirty years to live. I don't intend on dying young so much anymore. I'll be thirty next year at this time. Hunter S. Thomson lived a long time, and ended up killing himself. Same with my grandfather. Well he was only 55 years old, but he wasn't young. His last name was Young, so in a way he did die young. I'm getting off track.
That's as well as I can explain my self hatred, and my death wish. In conclusion I hate myself and want to die.
As for the after life I have no idea what will happen. The one thing I do know is that energy cannot be created nor destroyed and we are made of energy so in a way we are never really destroyed. If string theory is correct there are more dimensions, who knows what exists in those dimensions. We do know that we decompose and our matter becomes apart of the universe, just not in the form we are composed of now. Dust to dust and we all fall down.
I've gotten a request from a reader to write about my thoughts on suicide and what I believe the afterlife (if there is one) would be like.
I often mention suicide in my blog posts. I sometimes write out my plan, even once faked my suicide on my blog. Almost all of my idols committed suicide, and my grandfather offed himself in our garage when I was 7 years old. A year after that my babysitter blew his brains out in front of me and my sister after his girlfriend broke up with him.
As much as write about suicide I never talk about it to anyone. Almost every attempt I've made was on a lark. Two of them were planned. Two of them I came very close to death. Every time I've woken up from an attempt I am angry. I feel like a failure. I can't even kill myself properly. I've hurt my parents and scared them. I've always ended up in a mental institution for at least a week after an attempt.
I ask myself why I don't have the guts to just put a gun in my mouth or to my heart. Am I really just crying for attention? I'm not crying for attention unpurpose, but subconsciously I must be. I don't feel I'm crying for help. When I have attempted suicide I have always meant to die. When I faked my suicide here on blogger I did it to end my blog. Then I realized I can't end my blog, I love the attention I get from the readers. Be it bad or positive attention.
I do plan on ending my own life after I've failed at everything I've done to be remembered for. Not just remembered by my family, but by the public. As if by some miracle I'll do something of importance in my life bettering society in some way. If I die before I've failed at everything, I've tried, then so be it. I do not fear death, nor the unknown.
Right now I would not say I'm depressed, but I do hate myself. I have self no esteem. I get my self esteem from you guys and gals. Usually the comments left on my blog are full of hatred. I'll admit I do get some positive comments. As we all know we believe the negative said about us rather than the good. It takes something like ten compliments to make up for one negative comment.
The fact is that I'm a realist and realize that in reality I will never accomplish any achievement worth while. Nobody will remember me 50 years after I'm dead. Most people can live with this. I just have feelings of grandeur as if what I write is something special. Then again I am self loathing. I hate myself and want to die by my own hand, but not until I'm satisfied I've done something to be remembered by. Contradictions. I know I'm going to be forgotten, I feel I shouldn't be, I know I have nothing of any conscience to leave behind for futer generations. I'm not Hunter S. Thomson, I'm not Virgina Wolf, and I'm definitely not Kurt Cobain the one person I look up to most in this world. I was not born with any special talents. I am in no way extraordinary. I'm just a piece of mold on cheese, scraped off before the real celebrity (the cheese) is eaten.
Two people in this world would be affected if I were to die right now. My parents. In thirty years my parents will be gone. Hopefully they have more than thirty years to live. I don't intend on dying young so much anymore. I'll be thirty next year at this time. Hunter S. Thomson lived a long time, and ended up killing himself. Same with my grandfather. Well he was only 55 years old, but he wasn't young. His last name was Young, so in a way he did die young. I'm getting off track.
That's as well as I can explain my self hatred, and my death wish. In conclusion I hate myself and want to die.
As for the after life I have no idea what will happen. The one thing I do know is that energy cannot be created nor destroyed and we are made of energy so in a way we are never really destroyed. If string theory is correct there are more dimensions, who knows what exists in those dimensions. We do know that we decompose and our matter becomes apart of the universe, just not in the form we are composed of now. Dust to dust and we all fall down.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Do it, and do it again
I just re read my post entitled Obituary Birthday, and wow! Its all over the place. I remember when I wrote the post I had been inspired by a documentary called "Beautiful Loser". It was about street artists, "taggers" aka spray painting buildings, and really anything they can. The world is their canvas.
They all had this punk attitude towards life. They were from NYC, and started a movement back in the 90's. They were skaters, who tagged, and just lived. They admitted they were lazy. Not really lazy but board. Not enough money to really do anything. So they hung out, made art, and music. Now they are adults, and they are still living the lifestyle of a loser. I felt as though I would fit right into that crowed.
In truth I fit in nowhere. I am a loner loser. I am lazy. I am vain. I am an addict. I have no will power. I have no talent. I look up to drug addicts and or drunks. I fantasise about suicide, glamorizes suicide, and heroin use.
If there is one thing heroin addicts like to do more than use heroin, its to talk and write about it endlessly. Romanticizing everything about it, even the ugly things that come with it. Aids, prostitution, stealing. Glamorizing the fact that heroin always comes in first, no matter how much you love your family and significant other, heroin will always come in fist, and everything else a distant second. Heroin addicts will read and watch anything that has to do with heroin. I'm willing to bet that almost every junkie's favorite movie is Trainspotting. Even though in the end Ewan chooses life not heroin.
As for myself I am always looking for a good heroin novel, memoir, non fiction. All my favorite movies or almost all have something to do with heroin. Drug Store Cowboys, Jesus's Son, Trainspotting, Requiem of a Dream (which I'm not sure is about heroin as they never say what drug it is they are using, and when they show the eye's pupil expanding instead of constricting leads me to believe it's Meth) My favorite blogs have to do with heroin. Every aspect and perspective there is on the subject. I love songs that are about opiates, directly or indirectly. I look up to famous heroin addicts. Not coke addicts, not meth amphetamine addicts, not alcholics, not sex addicts, not huffers, just opiates. Not to say I don't like almost all shows about drugs, but when I watch Intervention I'm always hoping its about a heroin addict. If not a heroin addict then an opiate addict.
I wonder what non heroin addicts like to read, watch, think, talk, write about. I've noticed that people with kids like to take pictures of their kids, and post them on their blogs, and they write about parenthood. They read books and magazines about parenting. Watch family movies. Talk about their children every chance they get. Hmm, I wonder if what I feel about heroin is what parents feel about children? I wonder if I were to have a child if I would become one of "them"? Would heroin come first or would the child? I'm not about to test it. Children are way off in my future. Most my readers would rather I not reproduce.
I maybe on methadone, but I still find myself day dreaming about getting high. There was a few months were I was dead set against using heroin ever again. I thought the methadone would hold me. I was in a good mood, felt adequate, was at peace with my lot in life. Now...not so much. What changed? The chemicals in my brain.
How can I complain? I live in paradise, I get to lay on the beach and swim in crystal clear warm blue water. I get to spend my days reading, and from now on blogging a thousand words a day. I can watch anything I want at the touch of a button, btw the show New Girl is seriously funny. Nothing to do with heroin. I wish I was like the main character, Jess on New Girl. Tuesdays on Fox at 8pm Hawaii time. Or you can watch all the episodes you missed on Prime time on demand if you have Time Warner Cable. Off subject, but had to get it in there
I know I wrote about HeroinHead yesterday, but I have more to say about his blog. His blog is perfect or in my eyes perfect. He has over 400 readers. 90% of his comments are praising him. How he is not a published author yet?I don't know. How is he not a famous artist? I'm sure he'll be sooner or later. Someday I will be able to say HeroinHead (Shane) follows my pitiful blog. Right now I'm amazed that he's a follower. I'm not sure he reads my blog any more. After I admitted that I had lied about a relapse, and then faked my own suicide. Now even though what I write is true my readers can never really be sure. I always admit when I lie because its hard for me to keep up the lie. I feel guilty and as though I wasted the readers time. Of course my lies were always peppered with some truths.
Moving on. Suicide, its always on my mind. Right now I can't kill myself. I HAVE to become a better writer. I do plan on abandoning this blog in the future and moving to wordpress.com. Start over, find a new audience. Maybe an audience who's comments are 90% praising my writing. I might even post my second book, Beautiful Words, on my new blog. After I feel I've achieved all I possibly can literary wise then I will waste myself.
They all had this punk attitude towards life. They were from NYC, and started a movement back in the 90's. They were skaters, who tagged, and just lived. They admitted they were lazy. Not really lazy but board. Not enough money to really do anything. So they hung out, made art, and music. Now they are adults, and they are still living the lifestyle of a loser. I felt as though I would fit right into that crowed.
In truth I fit in nowhere. I am a loner loser. I am lazy. I am vain. I am an addict. I have no will power. I have no talent. I look up to drug addicts and or drunks. I fantasise about suicide, glamorizes suicide, and heroin use.
If there is one thing heroin addicts like to do more than use heroin, its to talk and write about it endlessly. Romanticizing everything about it, even the ugly things that come with it. Aids, prostitution, stealing. Glamorizing the fact that heroin always comes in first, no matter how much you love your family and significant other, heroin will always come in fist, and everything else a distant second. Heroin addicts will read and watch anything that has to do with heroin. I'm willing to bet that almost every junkie's favorite movie is Trainspotting. Even though in the end Ewan chooses life not heroin.
As for myself I am always looking for a good heroin novel, memoir, non fiction. All my favorite movies or almost all have something to do with heroin. Drug Store Cowboys, Jesus's Son, Trainspotting, Requiem of a Dream (which I'm not sure is about heroin as they never say what drug it is they are using, and when they show the eye's pupil expanding instead of constricting leads me to believe it's Meth) My favorite blogs have to do with heroin. Every aspect and perspective there is on the subject. I love songs that are about opiates, directly or indirectly. I look up to famous heroin addicts. Not coke addicts, not meth amphetamine addicts, not alcholics, not sex addicts, not huffers, just opiates. Not to say I don't like almost all shows about drugs, but when I watch Intervention I'm always hoping its about a heroin addict. If not a heroin addict then an opiate addict.
I wonder what non heroin addicts like to read, watch, think, talk, write about. I've noticed that people with kids like to take pictures of their kids, and post them on their blogs, and they write about parenthood. They read books and magazines about parenting. Watch family movies. Talk about their children every chance they get. Hmm, I wonder if what I feel about heroin is what parents feel about children? I wonder if I were to have a child if I would become one of "them"? Would heroin come first or would the child? I'm not about to test it. Children are way off in my future. Most my readers would rather I not reproduce.
I maybe on methadone, but I still find myself day dreaming about getting high. There was a few months were I was dead set against using heroin ever again. I thought the methadone would hold me. I was in a good mood, felt adequate, was at peace with my lot in life. Now...not so much. What changed? The chemicals in my brain.
How can I complain? I live in paradise, I get to lay on the beach and swim in crystal clear warm blue water. I get to spend my days reading, and from now on blogging a thousand words a day. I can watch anything I want at the touch of a button, btw the show New Girl is seriously funny. Nothing to do with heroin. I wish I was like the main character, Jess on New Girl. Tuesdays on Fox at 8pm Hawaii time. Or you can watch all the episodes you missed on Prime time on demand if you have Time Warner Cable. Off subject, but had to get it in there
I know I wrote about HeroinHead yesterday, but I have more to say about his blog. His blog is perfect or in my eyes perfect. He has over 400 readers. 90% of his comments are praising him. How he is not a published author yet?I don't know. How is he not a famous artist? I'm sure he'll be sooner or later. Someday I will be able to say HeroinHead (Shane) follows my pitiful blog. Right now I'm amazed that he's a follower. I'm not sure he reads my blog any more. After I admitted that I had lied about a relapse, and then faked my own suicide. Now even though what I write is true my readers can never really be sure. I always admit when I lie because its hard for me to keep up the lie. I feel guilty and as though I wasted the readers time. Of course my lies were always peppered with some truths.
Moving on. Suicide, its always on my mind. Right now I can't kill myself. I HAVE to become a better writer. I do plan on abandoning this blog in the future and moving to wordpress.com. Start over, find a new audience. Maybe an audience who's comments are 90% praising my writing. I might even post my second book, Beautiful Words, on my new blog. After I feel I've achieved all I possibly can literary wise then I will waste myself.
Monday, February 27, 2012
My shit is her milk. Her milk is my shit.
I'm lying on my bed. Wearing a button up, white starched collar shit, my plaid skirt is laying in a heap on the floor of my bathroom. I've been wearing the same underpants for days. I haven't showered in weeks. I have swam in the ocean almost everyday this week. My hair has that salt water curl to it. Its getting too long, and I want to cut it off and go bald. I know that I'm too vain to do it.
I have a copy of my book lying next to me. I look at it and am instantly ashamed. I wish I had put everything I had to offer literary into it. I didn't. I'm ashamed. That's all I can think of. I want to open up Microsoft Word, and begin another story. I'm scared. So I just lay here. The sun is shining in my window and landing on the wall to my left. Hitting my painting of poppy plants just right making it look like a dream.
I imagine myself in the movie Wizard of Oz, as the four of them run through the poppy field, and find themselves dozing off to dreamland. I then begin to think about the process of turning the poppy into black tar heroin. I feel my heart begin to beat faster. The beginning of the month is coming up. I will have money to spend. I had planned on buy five books at least with this months checks. I am working my way through a list of one hundred books everyone must read (according to the person who made the list) now I have naughty thoughts racing through my mind.
I'm convincing myself...really what is so wrong with my wanting to escape reality for a while? Everyone has a vice. Right? Some people go to church and fall in love with their pastors. Some have sex with anonymous people. Some look at small children in pornographic photos. I myself prefer to inject myself with heroin. Its better than getting turned on by small children. Then again who am I to judge another person. I won't lie I do look down and am disgusted by pedophiles. I wish I could castrate all rapist. I want to show the racists that they are wrong to look down on a group of people because of their color, or religion. There are people out there that think all addicts should be shot.
I've convinced myself, on the first I will go downtown and buy four bags of heroin. I turn on my side and sigh, the beginning of the month is days away. What am I going to do till then. Can I get some on credit? Unlikely.
Fuck my father just walked past my room, I just want to be left alone. I want to sink into my thoughts and get lost. I want to become the ocean, and just follow the tides. I start to think of Virgina Wolf and suicide by drowning. I've herd that drowning is a comfortable way to die. Once you take in a lung full of water your brain begins to help you relax and die peacefully. I don't know who knows this, that is alive, or if its even true, but it is something to be hopeful for.
My parents haven't taken to my whole uniform yet. Its like a catholic school uniform. The skirt is just above the knees. The white starched collar oxford shirt, with a tie. I kept my converse shoes. I look anything, but sexy in this outfit. I want to buy an identical outfit so I can have something to wear while washing my uniform. I almost positive I'm going to cut my hair into a bob, and dye it blue. Katy Perry blue. I will just use blue Kool aid as the dye.
My mind is starting to think about me again. I think about me too much. I know I'm a narcassit. I hate naracssict people. They say what you hate most in other people is what you hate most about yourself. I hate HeroinHead for being an amazing writer. I hate reading his posts, because I realize just how untalented I truly am. When I read Shane's posts I think of writers like Burroughs, Burkouski. When I think about myself and my writing I think of Judy Blume on drugs. Pitiful. I don't really hate Shane, I'm just jealous of him. I love Shane, look up to him.
I feel the only way I can have anything in common with him is if I use heroin again. So as I said before my mind is made up, I will buy heroin at the beginning of next month. I wish then forget about how I can't write for shit, and how Shane can conjure up the most brilliant posts. You should read his comments. People want to wash his feet. They eat up his words like opiate laced candy. His readers truly admire him. Mine truly hate me. Now I'm crying. I must stop.
I really do Hate myself and want to die. That is my ultimate truth.
I have a copy of my book lying next to me. I look at it and am instantly ashamed. I wish I had put everything I had to offer literary into it. I didn't. I'm ashamed. That's all I can think of. I want to open up Microsoft Word, and begin another story. I'm scared. So I just lay here. The sun is shining in my window and landing on the wall to my left. Hitting my painting of poppy plants just right making it look like a dream.
I imagine myself in the movie Wizard of Oz, as the four of them run through the poppy field, and find themselves dozing off to dreamland. I then begin to think about the process of turning the poppy into black tar heroin. I feel my heart begin to beat faster. The beginning of the month is coming up. I will have money to spend. I had planned on buy five books at least with this months checks. I am working my way through a list of one hundred books everyone must read (according to the person who made the list) now I have naughty thoughts racing through my mind.
I'm convincing myself...really what is so wrong with my wanting to escape reality for a while? Everyone has a vice. Right? Some people go to church and fall in love with their pastors. Some have sex with anonymous people. Some look at small children in pornographic photos. I myself prefer to inject myself with heroin. Its better than getting turned on by small children. Then again who am I to judge another person. I won't lie I do look down and am disgusted by pedophiles. I wish I could castrate all rapist. I want to show the racists that they are wrong to look down on a group of people because of their color, or religion. There are people out there that think all addicts should be shot.
I've convinced myself, on the first I will go downtown and buy four bags of heroin. I turn on my side and sigh, the beginning of the month is days away. What am I going to do till then. Can I get some on credit? Unlikely.
Fuck my father just walked past my room, I just want to be left alone. I want to sink into my thoughts and get lost. I want to become the ocean, and just follow the tides. I start to think of Virgina Wolf and suicide by drowning. I've herd that drowning is a comfortable way to die. Once you take in a lung full of water your brain begins to help you relax and die peacefully. I don't know who knows this, that is alive, or if its even true, but it is something to be hopeful for.
My parents haven't taken to my whole uniform yet. Its like a catholic school uniform. The skirt is just above the knees. The white starched collar oxford shirt, with a tie. I kept my converse shoes. I look anything, but sexy in this outfit. I want to buy an identical outfit so I can have something to wear while washing my uniform. I almost positive I'm going to cut my hair into a bob, and dye it blue. Katy Perry blue. I will just use blue Kool aid as the dye.
My mind is starting to think about me again. I think about me too much. I know I'm a narcassit. I hate naracssict people. They say what you hate most in other people is what you hate most about yourself. I hate HeroinHead for being an amazing writer. I hate reading his posts, because I realize just how untalented I truly am. When I read Shane's posts I think of writers like Burroughs, Burkouski. When I think about myself and my writing I think of Judy Blume on drugs. Pitiful. I don't really hate Shane, I'm just jealous of him. I love Shane, look up to him.
I feel the only way I can have anything in common with him is if I use heroin again. So as I said before my mind is made up, I will buy heroin at the beginning of next month. I wish then forget about how I can't write for shit, and how Shane can conjure up the most brilliant posts. You should read his comments. People want to wash his feet. They eat up his words like opiate laced candy. His readers truly admire him. Mine truly hate me. Now I'm crying. I must stop.
I really do Hate myself and want to die. That is my ultimate truth.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Obituary birthday
I've been inspired. Its been a long time since I've read or seen something that has inspired me to be an individual, to make my art, and to write again. I've realized that my book is unimportant. All I am is dust. I'm energy and as we all know energy cannot be created nor destroyed. Life its self is not important.
I've bought a catholic school uniform, and I now wear that everyday. I am making a statement about society, how I'm confined by consumerism, and corporations. How I feel when people look down on me because in society's eyes I am a loser. I am an outcast. Not even the majority of people who read my blog like me, much less find me interesting.
Those of you have read I Hate Myself and Want to Die know the book ends very abruptly. That book was written when I was 26, and dealt with matters that had happened in my early 20's. Now I'm 29, and think I can see the importance of words. Words can destroy as well as give hope. Words can hurt. Bottom line. I've written three books, I Hate Myself and Want to Die, was my first. Beautiful words is the title of my second book. Part memoir and part ficiton. The third book is called Wasted Beauty. As close to full fiction as I've come to. I'm not the main character.
Being a female in the world is unfair. Life is unfair. Men, sex, the weaker sex... women. My next book will touch on this subject. I am in the middle of reshersing why women are rarely considered great authors. All the authors I look up to are male, aside from two. Lydia Lunch, and Sylvia Plath. I will throw Anne Sexton in there too. Sylvia and Anne are poets. I'm not a poet. I'm a contraction. I let men take advantage of me. I look up to Gloria Steinem. Her raw sexual magnetism that she put to use as a feminist. I look up to Courtney Love, she's crazy, but very intelligent. She might be a bit narcassitc but so am I. Virgina Wolf is the female writer I feel a great connection to as well.
Note: I do not blame my parents for my failures. The fact that they refuse to give me back the money I lent them, and won't let me leave. If I dare to leave a guilt trip is just around the corner. I understand why they don't want me to leave the pack, they lost one daughter. They want me to count. Not that my sister Angie didn't count for anything. She counted for a lot. We were very much alike, and at the same time very different. She like CL had the gift of gab. I myself refuse to make small talk. I get straight to the point, and often make people feel uncomfortable because I don't dance around a subject. I ask straight out, why, what, who, how did that make you feel. I want to know. I rarely in real life situations talk about myself. On here, my blog you would never guess this to be true. I go on and on about myself.
Andy Warhol said, art is what you can get away with. I bought myself a hand held camcorder. I have been making family videos, and videos on the streets. Just watching people I admire. I set the camera to make it look like the video was shot in what I think 8mm film looks like.
I have made up a quote. "Heroin is for artist for whom the world is too painful to life without." ~Anna Young~ So many artist get caught up in drugs. I think we feel life on a much more raw level than others. I don't blame my past for my use of drugs. I was just rebelling. Found solice in opiates.
the media trashes Courtney Love. A media whore. She likes attention. Who doesn't, Unfortunately her attention is considered not so flattering. At least she is who she is. Not compromising because the public does not get her. Sure the only good albums she's made, Beautiful on the inside, and Live through this. Live through this may have been helped by Kurt Cobain her dead husband, who may or may not have helped to write this album. It is her poetry in the words, the music was enhanced by KC. We all take from people we admire. I took the name of my book from KC because its how I felt. How I feel.
I may not be an educated writer, I'm a self taught writer, and every day I work on my art. I read. I read contemporary, and not so contemporary books. I'm working my way through 100 books everyone should read. I've only read 7 books on the list. When I get my SSI check which this month I'm keeping half to myself instead of giving it all to my parents as I have been doing for the past four months. I plan on buying 5 books on this 100 books everyone should read.
I've read the book, How to Read like a Writer. What I've gathered from How to Read like a Writer is read the book slowly, taking in its structure, how words are added, and deleted. How each sentence is a string of words that can have too many words, or not enough words. You have to make a choice and study the element of a sentence. Some books, for example The Hunger Games Trilogy I read fast, and didn't take much time to look at the authors sentence structure. The Mocking Jay is a metaphor for the capitols inability to control the people at all times. The Mokinjay represents the chance to overcome the Capitols atrocities. Jabber Jays sent out to spy on the rebels, and ended up being used against the capitol, the capitol leaving the Jabber Jays to die out in the wild when instead of dieing out they mated with mockingbirds, and become a new species. A cross bread if you will.
Only two people in this world don't judge me on my looks. They embarrass my new uniform, and loved me when I was fat. They love me when I'm medium, and when i was so strung out that I looked like I could fall through my asshole and hang myself. My parents. I trust and love my parents. I went through a fase where I thought they were the reason I began using drugs. The infidelity, the denial of my drug problem. I understand now that they just did not want to believe that I would do something so drastic and perhaps even stupid. Risking my life, whoring myself. Sharing needles. Contacting Hep C.
Let me emphasize that you should believe nothing you read, and only half of what you see or hear. I am a lier and a thief. For my family who reads this, I understand that its really the only way you get to know me. Since I refuse to attend any and all family functions. Right now I'm in Hawaii so I have a reason not to interact with family, outside of my immediate family aka my moms and pops.
I intend to write. No matter how well received they are, or how hated they are. I intend to expose myself to random people on the Internet. Tell them my inner most secrets, and my inner most fears. I must begin to write at least 1 thousand words per day. Read a book per day or two depending on the size of the book. Anna Karenina has taken me 4 full days of reading. When I say days, I mean until the sun sets.
We all have creativity, some a bit more than others. We may not all be talented, but its all about what you can get away with. I'm about to get away with whatever I can.
Oh yes, and just because I'm a woman, does not make me less of a human. Just because someone is gay does not make them human. Just because there are people of different races does not make them less human. Poverty is our real enemy. Bigots are our real enemy's, sexism, racism, all the isms, I don't stand for. I might or really probably will write my next book under a pseudonym and leave out pronouns when it comes to the main character. Revealing at the end I am a woman. I will use an unisex name.
Of course I've been sending my new books to agents, and have been accepted by one. Thank you god. I got the local newspaper editor to edit my book, and he did a great job, a better job than the New York editor who edited my first book.
I encourage you to make art today. Release your creativity, Its all beautiful because it comes from an individual. How do you see the world. Put it in a painting, a short story, a poem, tagging, movie making, You are a beautiful human being. Don't let anyone tell you any different. Those of you who hurt children, and animals, well you can cut yourself open and explore yourself. Have sex with women who look young, but are adults and are willing partners. Rape is not creative. Sometimes two evils do make sense. Such as a young defencless woman is raped by a trusted person ment to have her best intrest in mind, well you are the scum of the earth. Casteration is what we should do with you. Not just casteration, but also cutting of the penis, and giving them a hose hooked up to the existing uruthra and let your bladder evacuate into a bag on your ankle.
riddle me this.
I've bought a catholic school uniform, and I now wear that everyday. I am making a statement about society, how I'm confined by consumerism, and corporations. How I feel when people look down on me because in society's eyes I am a loser. I am an outcast. Not even the majority of people who read my blog like me, much less find me interesting.
Those of you have read I Hate Myself and Want to Die know the book ends very abruptly. That book was written when I was 26, and dealt with matters that had happened in my early 20's. Now I'm 29, and think I can see the importance of words. Words can destroy as well as give hope. Words can hurt. Bottom line. I've written three books, I Hate Myself and Want to Die, was my first. Beautiful words is the title of my second book. Part memoir and part ficiton. The third book is called Wasted Beauty. As close to full fiction as I've come to. I'm not the main character.
Being a female in the world is unfair. Life is unfair. Men, sex, the weaker sex... women. My next book will touch on this subject. I am in the middle of reshersing why women are rarely considered great authors. All the authors I look up to are male, aside from two. Lydia Lunch, and Sylvia Plath. I will throw Anne Sexton in there too. Sylvia and Anne are poets. I'm not a poet. I'm a contraction. I let men take advantage of me. I look up to Gloria Steinem. Her raw sexual magnetism that she put to use as a feminist. I look up to Courtney Love, she's crazy, but very intelligent. She might be a bit narcassitc but so am I. Virgina Wolf is the female writer I feel a great connection to as well.
Note: I do not blame my parents for my failures. The fact that they refuse to give me back the money I lent them, and won't let me leave. If I dare to leave a guilt trip is just around the corner. I understand why they don't want me to leave the pack, they lost one daughter. They want me to count. Not that my sister Angie didn't count for anything. She counted for a lot. We were very much alike, and at the same time very different. She like CL had the gift of gab. I myself refuse to make small talk. I get straight to the point, and often make people feel uncomfortable because I don't dance around a subject. I ask straight out, why, what, who, how did that make you feel. I want to know. I rarely in real life situations talk about myself. On here, my blog you would never guess this to be true. I go on and on about myself.
Andy Warhol said, art is what you can get away with. I bought myself a hand held camcorder. I have been making family videos, and videos on the streets. Just watching people I admire. I set the camera to make it look like the video was shot in what I think 8mm film looks like.
I have made up a quote. "Heroin is for artist for whom the world is too painful to life without." ~Anna Young~ So many artist get caught up in drugs. I think we feel life on a much more raw level than others. I don't blame my past for my use of drugs. I was just rebelling. Found solice in opiates.
the media trashes Courtney Love. A media whore. She likes attention. Who doesn't, Unfortunately her attention is considered not so flattering. At least she is who she is. Not compromising because the public does not get her. Sure the only good albums she's made, Beautiful on the inside, and Live through this. Live through this may have been helped by Kurt Cobain her dead husband, who may or may not have helped to write this album. It is her poetry in the words, the music was enhanced by KC. We all take from people we admire. I took the name of my book from KC because its how I felt. How I feel.
I may not be an educated writer, I'm a self taught writer, and every day I work on my art. I read. I read contemporary, and not so contemporary books. I'm working my way through 100 books everyone should read. I've only read 7 books on the list. When I get my SSI check which this month I'm keeping half to myself instead of giving it all to my parents as I have been doing for the past four months. I plan on buying 5 books on this 100 books everyone should read.
I've read the book, How to Read like a Writer. What I've gathered from How to Read like a Writer is read the book slowly, taking in its structure, how words are added, and deleted. How each sentence is a string of words that can have too many words, or not enough words. You have to make a choice and study the element of a sentence. Some books, for example The Hunger Games Trilogy I read fast, and didn't take much time to look at the authors sentence structure. The Mocking Jay is a metaphor for the capitols inability to control the people at all times. The Mokinjay represents the chance to overcome the Capitols atrocities. Jabber Jays sent out to spy on the rebels, and ended up being used against the capitol, the capitol leaving the Jabber Jays to die out in the wild when instead of dieing out they mated with mockingbirds, and become a new species. A cross bread if you will.
Only two people in this world don't judge me on my looks. They embarrass my new uniform, and loved me when I was fat. They love me when I'm medium, and when i was so strung out that I looked like I could fall through my asshole and hang myself. My parents. I trust and love my parents. I went through a fase where I thought they were the reason I began using drugs. The infidelity, the denial of my drug problem. I understand now that they just did not want to believe that I would do something so drastic and perhaps even stupid. Risking my life, whoring myself. Sharing needles. Contacting Hep C.
Let me emphasize that you should believe nothing you read, and only half of what you see or hear. I am a lier and a thief. For my family who reads this, I understand that its really the only way you get to know me. Since I refuse to attend any and all family functions. Right now I'm in Hawaii so I have a reason not to interact with family, outside of my immediate family aka my moms and pops.
I intend to write. No matter how well received they are, or how hated they are. I intend to expose myself to random people on the Internet. Tell them my inner most secrets, and my inner most fears. I must begin to write at least 1 thousand words per day. Read a book per day or two depending on the size of the book. Anna Karenina has taken me 4 full days of reading. When I say days, I mean until the sun sets.
We all have creativity, some a bit more than others. We may not all be talented, but its all about what you can get away with. I'm about to get away with whatever I can.
Oh yes, and just because I'm a woman, does not make me less of a human. Just because someone is gay does not make them human. Just because there are people of different races does not make them less human. Poverty is our real enemy. Bigots are our real enemy's, sexism, racism, all the isms, I don't stand for. I might or really probably will write my next book under a pseudonym and leave out pronouns when it comes to the main character. Revealing at the end I am a woman. I will use an unisex name.
Of course I've been sending my new books to agents, and have been accepted by one. Thank you god. I got the local newspaper editor to edit my book, and he did a great job, a better job than the New York editor who edited my first book.
I encourage you to make art today. Release your creativity, Its all beautiful because it comes from an individual. How do you see the world. Put it in a painting, a short story, a poem, tagging, movie making, You are a beautiful human being. Don't let anyone tell you any different. Those of you who hurt children, and animals, well you can cut yourself open and explore yourself. Have sex with women who look young, but are adults and are willing partners. Rape is not creative. Sometimes two evils do make sense. Such as a young defencless woman is raped by a trusted person ment to have her best intrest in mind, well you are the scum of the earth. Casteration is what we should do with you. Not just casteration, but also cutting of the penis, and giving them a hose hooked up to the existing uruthra and let your bladder evacuate into a bag on your ankle.
riddle me this.
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