God Bless You Dr. Kervorkian- Kurt Vonnegut

He quotes the latter Eugene Victor Debs:

"As long as there is a lower class, I am in it. As long as there is a criminal element, I am of it. As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free."

Fiend

I don't think he wanted me at first. I was a coke-whore queen who still had a metal mouth and a tepid smile. I was never really all there, but my body wanted his warmth. His kisses were odd then. They were solid and made me hold my breath. His body was fire flesh, even on the coldest of nights I could swear I could smell him smoldering. I was simply something for him to have then, a girl who could never refuse being looked at and wanted. I fed on lust. 

When he left me I was cold again and would cry.

The next day, he was forgotten though, it was easy enough when your staring down a twenty-dollar cylinder that turns even the sourest of worlds into a fairy-tale. 

He would come back sometimes. I would let him have me.

He didn't know that I wanted everything from him. I wanted him all in my selfish wonderland. I was a carnivore for his flesh, hungry for his girth. I would play pretend in my head, where he would lead me to his secret land where everything was warm and no one had to leave the comfort of their own flesh for sanctity. A world where people made music, music that would strangle the wild with in me. These people only came out at night, which gave them the pallor of skins. 

When we touched I could feel the movement of his blood within his temple, the rhythm that calmed me. He was different, I knew he had come from another world. 

I was impatient when he kept leaving, he wasn't interested in having me. I was too wild eyed then, too much of a fiend. 

It was o.k though since I was still staring down a cylinder.

I didn't see him for a while and I forgot about the unnatural heat and translucent skin that held me in a grip of awe. It was the night of his birthday when he came back to me. 

I would let him have me one last time. 

But I had changed, I was too cold then not even his heat could warm me. I no longer had cylinders to drown my self in either. And when he left there were no more tears I was an empty half loved girl who had killed the wild inside of her, not realizing it was my only fill. 

He didn't come back, and even if he had wanted to I wouldn't let him. It was to late for him to show me the world he came from. The world I could only play pretend to belong to. 

Reason #1 for why I might be the biggest idiot in the world.

So I am feeling a lot better today. I can breathe from BOTH nostrils! WOOHOOO. Since my day is looking grand I decide to through on my bandeau bikini, grab a book and go to lounge on one of those pool raft things. The book I am reading today is called Blood Roses, its a girlie book I suppose, composed of short stories of women of all ages confronting personified death in their day to day lives, or being cursed by their lovers in some fairy tale way. (I like those sort of things) Anyway, I am reading about this little girl who meets death in her playhouse soon after her father dies and it all sad and horrific..when all of the sudden my worst and admittedly silliest fear approaches me...A BEE! Acting on impulse I jump into the water like a little baby and just as the bee buzzes away I realize..of course..that I was holding the book and it is completely soaked...yeah so I am an idiot:)

Quote:

"Value your summers, cause eventually all they will be is Hot." 

Today's Playlist

1. Drake and Lykke li- Little Bit

2. The XX- Basic Space

3. Sara Lov- Fountain

4. Boyz Noize- JA!

5. The XX- Shelter

6. The XX- Islands

7. Discovery- So Insane

8. No Blood in Bones- Headphones 

9. The Big PInk- Too Young to Love

10. Deerhunter- Neverstops

Listen up peoples--Hypem.com

Forever and ever and ever

Forever and ever and ever and ever. 

I will remember 2 years ago from yesterday.

When Mr. Restless came and saw me.

Tonight he let me read his mind. 

He has so much to say, 

it's a shame I was so into my self

2 years ago from yesterday.

 

I don't know what to say to myself:)

Answers to empty questions:
I'll tell you why, when you realize I've already drown and bled
Never convincing I meerly sympathize with your head.
When sorry means nothing
I've begun breathing again.

Turn around:
I want you to come back
to ease my cring mind
to iron out the crack i've quilted up inside

What does happiness mean to you?

Dancing in Budapest with friends you

made just minutes ago.

Allowing your friends 

to become family. (LA)

Germany's Jewish Museum in Berlin.

Hate can whisper.

I was most seriously in the worst state of mind today that I have been in for a while. 

Sick and surely.

I finished the Twilight series like the loser I am only to remember the incredibly real world I live in that leaves me feeling more and more empty.  

I want there to be a magic in my life, one that I can control and look at and feel and think about. Not the illusive intangibles that scramble around me. 

Then he comes home to me. 

If only for a moment I remember that the stories hold couldn't begin to describe him;

My own personal lover boy.

The self destructive intrusive hatred with in me momentarily feels week. How could she not, when she steals a glance at his baby blue-green eyes that want nothing more to do but to love. "I HATE HIM" the hate screams to the body. But the body needs him, would die for him. A sense that maybe this body was made for something more than to cry, drink and write. But the other doubts it, even in euphoria, she questions the motives of others. "There is no magic here" the hate whispers.."Why are you trying to convince your self?" 

I suppose that may be a good question. One that I am yet to answer. 

I search for his secret angels wings. Part of me wants to cut them off so he can never fly away.

She reminds me, whispering again; "There is no magic here."

I am thirsty for silence in my own house.
Sick as a dog I await peoples departure hoping they will be startled by my upholding grimace.
I hate everyone when I can not breathe, my not breathing is common, and yet people still have yet to learn I want to be left alone.

My friends are leaving constantly as the void with in me grows more furious.
I suppose the reason for my sickness lies between this growth and the constant drinking I have called upon to numb the burning with in me.

I must apologize for by bitterness, perhaps I could appreciate the sunshine outside if I could breathe. But breathing became more and more impossible when I realized this is the last of the this kind of life.

Frightened.

I am beyond scared. 

I start  school soon. A lot of my friends have already left. 

The Picture is from the last party me and ALL my friends will be together for... most likely for a while.

The night was quite something. 

I lost my self after beer pong ;)

I am not quite used to this whole blogging thing, though I am  excited about starting, it will allow me to be completely truthful in a story teller kind of way. 

Bad Lover

I don't know how I even ended up in a bed last night. 

I went to see the boy I was once in love with. 

When we were younger we were enamored by each other. I was infatuated with the way that he carried himself. He was so delicate, the rock-star boy that would never speak my name. Not to anyone else. I was no one then, but I still loved him. 

Fridays and Saturdays we would sit outside Hollywood High, where there were other boys like him and girls like me. The lost-girls we called our selves. There was no name for the boys, but we knew who they were, even if they never spoke our names. 

Outside Hollywood High we would drink bottles of taka, take bumps of our hands and dance in our leather stud jackets, high tops boots and see-through shirts. The shirts would become the color of the light or dark around us, they would let the girls be lost. 

Me and George feigned love there. He would kiss me when I let him drink from my bottles or sniff lines off my belly. He would let me ride on his back when we walked up to Sunset to go see a show, it was normally the Atma then. 

Inside the club where he would never speak my name I would dance wild to try and keep his eyes on me, but it never worked, he was never looking at me anyways, but I promised to love him forever.

Years later when he needed me somehow I would always show up. After the drugs wore off, the girls left and house was dark, I would sneak into his big yellow house bottle of wine in hand, and come to his bed where I would no longer let him touch me. His room smelled of mulling smoke and sweat. There were kitties in the bed with us and they would all join as he laid his head on my chest always shivering but never cold to the touch and sleep. 

I went back to his house last night after my absence from him had almost last a year. He was having people over to drink. My mind was skipping and I didn't know why. After not seeing him for a while I thought I would pay him back by taking a few shots and then playing girlfriend when Joe behind the counter would want to hook up the underage if it meant they were gonna get some. 

I suppose I drank too much. And my mind was skipping. I was seeing the things in my head about the boy I once loved. He thought he was going to die soon and so I began to cry. I knew he would live forever, my mind skipped and I told him so. 

I think I scarred him. There were no kisses for the bottle and he wouldn't speak my name.

Letter to my Favorite Author: Francesca Lia Block

This morning I woke up puffy tongued and swollen with a sore throat that is perpetually thirsty. The party last night was called; The LAST Hurrah. Everyone is going away to school soon. 

My best friend was still asleep so I decided to go get a book from my room to read. I couldn't get my regular fix of Twilight this morning because I still have to buy the third so i decided upon Echo.

I haven't read the book since I was in about 8th grade where all I did was fantasize about living in the worlds of FLB.

I suppose I had forgotten what it was like. I don't think I understood the book then. Now I am 18 and feel more like Echo than anyone should. I began my rant for your novels at age 12 when I entered the 6th grade. 

"I was a teenage fairy" tore me away from my lanky awkwardness shrouded in curls that was my body and flesh. It was a year after I had stopped eating...to become a ballerina and be more like my mother. 

Dangerous Angels was next. I was a vintage princess playing dress up as a 7th grader steeling vodka from my parents and running rampid down the streets of Los Angeles. I had never been kissed. My dresses were short and inviting, my eyes covered in glitter and sequins, I made the dresses my self out of old table clothes or discarded fabrics, but no one came. 

So I too prayed for my secretagentloverman. He came the next year, I was reading Nymph and had just finished Girl Goddess #9. I told my mother he was gay and she believed me, he wore tight black jeans with doc martins. Sometimes he wore eyeliner too. We would sleep over at his house as friends for months upon months never kissing just talking. Writing poetry while we blew pot smoke out his window. His mother was blind..I think..I never saw her. 

Finally one night as I snuck over to his house he told me he was a Vampire boy, but that he loved me anyways. We kissed and touched until 6 in the morning when the sun came out and I realized my mother would be worried. I would come back every night drinking whisky from a flask, skipping school and cutting the tips of my fingers so that he could lick the blood off. He kissed my tears when I cried and held my hair back when I puked my guts out. Summer came and he told me he had to leave--military school.

I dyed my hair black hoping he would fall in love with me all over again but the kisses stopped and I cried and cried, cutting my wrists ever so slightly, not wanting to die but hoping he would maybe smell my blood and come home. I haven't seen him since. 

I stopped reading for most of high school, too much coke...too many parties too many dresses to make out of old tees, too many boys. 

Now I am re-reading Echo. I buy clothing from stores, get my nails done carry a blackberry and am starting college on a full scholarship as a philosophy major. 

My mother is beautiful and perfect, about your age with out a single line on her face. She wears her hair in a blonde bob that lets her baby blue eyes sparkle. When boys come over I feel like someone through a dark blanket over an already dying light. She is a successful comedian and film producer. I am struggling to spell. 

My father is recently sober but stopped making money because he was sick of "the man". Now he strums his old guitar and has fallen in love with a red headed women who once smoked crack in the vacant buildings of Echo Park.

I am in love with a skinny boy named Logan, we lounge all day in his mansion in Los Feliz where his mother cooks us big meals and there is always white wine for breakfast. His smokes his cigarettes while I read all day. In his bed. 

The last skinny boy I loved just died recently, I think thats why I am gaining so much weight. 

Your books allow my life to be a fairy-tale. I am in love with your words. I hope you see how they have shaped my world.