I used to think of regret as such a beautiful thing, like a stepping-stone. Like a sweet sorrow, solid.
But, lately, I can't seem to see it as anything but a method for madness.
For what I truly regret is my inability to regret what I shouldn't want to.

The harder I try to control it, the more out of my control it all becomes.

I hate it when I put out a cigarette, and it continues to burn into a separate cigarett's filter catches fire and the smell is inescapable, a pungent reminder that I know how to do things with half an ass.

So it's a sitting thought, and when you start to move and walk the thoughts push onward, a tingling sensation and a hint of guilt. A sad reminder. Calendar days marked off on the wall like a ticking time-bomb full of pessimism, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Wander forth, wonder always. I wonder when I'll know where the hell I'm going, because tomorrow is a scary obstacle I'd rather totally avoid. I got paid today and my birthday is coming up, I think it's time to put something new on my skin.

For now I'm just going to get drunk and think of things I'd rather not remember I shouldn't be thinking of.

You know I want it, and I do.

You know I want it, but I can't give it to you. Because it's not mine to give, even though I'd share a million blank stares just to see your face and mine in harmony. Slow and sweet. Real and really surreal; and all the tall-tales you've heard about my short-self would seem to be nothing at all. You know I want it, and I do. I'm not a liar, and I can't deny what's true... because it's true. You have to pick your poison, and my checklist didn't include throwing it all away when involving anyone's sake but my own. It's an excuse, and the words grow old. But you kept me out of the cold, and I really liked that.

When I listen to old country songs, I can't help think about the one person who would never think about me while they listen to old country songs.

I'll put my head up on the block, will you bid on it? I know you said you'd never place your bets by it.

Every so often, I'll be doing something in my car that is making me frustrated... And a really, really good song will come on the radio. Now, I'm not talking pretty good song, or even an alright song... I mean, a really, really good fucking song. In this case, it's usually an incredible song I hadn't heard in a long time.. sometimes, for even several years by the time it hits me again. And the bass and lyrics charge through my veins like ions into fucking powerful infinity. It's truly a very electrifying feeling, as my fingertips lace around the leather steering wheel without question of where the hell I should be going. I'm going to be going wherever I feel like going for the time-being.

So I take to the back streets with the least possible traffic for a quick jam. Turn it up, widows cracked, burning cigarette in had. Yet, I'm not really smoking it because i'm too busy singing ignorant blurts of the segments of lyrics I can remember stringing together. I'm never quite sure how I forget about things like songs I love so much to hear. It's strange, I don't seem to forget moments in time... or photographs, or conversations at all. Yet I can totally sing my soul out to an offbeat eighties hit for a week of days straight, then not hear it or seem to even think about it for three or so years. Sometimes the melodies linger around situations I'd swear I'd love to forget, but I strive hard to remember. And it's very sad in it's own way, like I'm addicted to disappointment. Sometimes, even when I can, I simply won't let go. I'm starting to realize that the strings I've tied around my fingers, that pull so hard when I hear this certain song... They're making my fingertips numb. They need to be cut. Yet with a stark reminder, all I can do is stare at them as they reflect in the light of my heart breaking to the melody of this sweet, sweet tune.

I know it's asking a lot... but, I think you should try me before you try to shake me off. I know it's hard to ignore once you've looked; so I want you to look a little harder. Squint a little more, with your irises pivoting back and forth. Instead of trying to rip your attention, delve into this... Pale, young, dumb, and sensitive skin. Become a part of everything you wish you hadn't had any interest in before.



You'll love it.

Yeah, I thought about it while in the act. I thought how it could have been different... The faces, the sounds, the feelings in the moment. I contemplated it's simplicity. I had a fantasy about the complexities. Yes, yes I did.

I love every second of knowing I've made an ex-lover regret not taking the opportunity to keep me as theirs.

It's a filthy satisfaction, but I just can't deny how good it feels.

There are so many angles by which this axis could be judged, but from here I only see where one rod and another meet. And there are no pivoting points, and there's nothing to reference. It seems like only the best of the best hand manuals are written in this manner, and only the best of the best handlers can learn from reading this way. And yet even the best of the best still never take the time to read the fine print, or to find an easier medium by ways of simple exploration.



It's hard to express how you feel when you're emotions are so clouded with one another, that you can't tell them apart.

K, so things don't always work out as according to plan. I'm aware of this much already. The funniest thing is, though, that sometimes nothing will ever go according to plan at all.


     I took a twenty minute nap, it was enough to calm my stomach to the point of being able to drink some vodka and listen to kevin mix with his new controller he's been so excited about. It's only currently serving as a reminder that I'm doing absolutely nothing with my time at all. Productive or not, I'm simply doing nothing. Drink in hand, I sit and think about all sorts of things I'd really never have to talk about again. But sometimes I talk about them anyway. Like the people that I'm jealous of, and the completely ridiculous reasons why I feel that way. As if I'm aware of every reason why things never work out as I dreamed they would, but for some reason... Skin on skin is just more of a promise than you ever like for it to be. And there's this scent, this scent I can't describe exactly what it smells like. But it smells vaguely like the reminding factor that something vivid has faded away.
     Sometimes, when I'm laying down... particularly in situations where I am trying to nap, I feel my veins in my body pulsing through and around bones, muscles, and layers of flesh. It's odd, like feeling a clock move gently when it ticks as you're leaning against it. Leaning more against a wall, wishing the moments would fleet more quickly so you wouldn't be subjected to such awkward silence.

      But it's my veins, and I swear I feel them. They beat off-time in comparison to my heart it seems, or at least off time in comparison to how I feel my heart beating in my chest. Most of the time, if I think about it too much, it starts to really depress me in several ways I find it practically impossible to describe. But it's a very frightening sensation; oh the things I could have done with this beautiful skin and strong bones in a life time. And yet I feel them malfunctioning as I try to rest. So I turn, pretend there's no pressure on my calves and swallow the desperate sighs I wish I could gasp into infinity, searching always for an answer. Shrugging off, always, all possibilities.

I have a bad stomach ache. This is really fucking up my plans of getting trashed super early and falling out cold. It's a damn shame, too.

I think I'm finally in the right mood. I'm "home" as in at my own appartment, with no one other than Kevin to accompany me. And this is certainly how I prefer it. For the past four or so days, I feel as if I have had a fuckton on my mind; but no outlet of any sorts. Last night I managed to take a two or three shots of coffee flavored liquor and two beers before leaving Jax's basement in Central City, and I can't say I left sober. Though my father was still very much awake by the time I had made it home, I found myself getting about another two beers in by means of sharing secretly with kevin.
      You know you're drunk enough with you blurt out your racial slur of a password in front of a room full of people and then giggle about it excessively. Somehow, I still found everyone laughing at me. By the time I laid down for sleep, I was too tired to consider much... But I did ponder a conversation I'd had with my father over dinner, and whether or not I was allowing a certain person to think of me in a certain way; a way in which I cannot achieve thinking of the same person. Though I'd be a liar if I didn't say the consideration isn't tempting, it's maybe even sweet. But I can't comply.
     Just hold my breath, and pass it off... pretend like I'm made of stone until the coughing makes me succumb to the feeling of being a weak bitch. Sometimes, I'm afraid of being nothing at all but a weak bitch. Not even bitch as in female, bitch as in someone who accomplishes nothing but complicating the regularity of other people's live's. In a few weeks, the weather is going to start to change... And there will be a familiar smell in the air, similar to something I've smelled before, but never just quite the same. It's a sort-of reminder to remember where I was and what I was doing "x-amount" of years ago. What angle my body was positioned with, what puzzle pieces is rested against before it had fallen into place. And if you have to burn my crown because I can admit it, I still can't say I'm sorry.
     When I think about it, it might be the strangest situation I've ever involuntarily been sucked into from means of friendship, or worse. "Not now" I hit as I think about it, as I realize I don't feel like thinking about it. I mentally press "Not now" just the same as I had using my mouse and watching my screen. I feel like most of the concrete-bricks I helped mold in the past years, as well as set- have begun to slowly crumble apart. Into pieces, like gravel, and the noise of it crunching might be the only thing I hear on a much-too-longer-than-appreciated walk towards a clear head and calmed heart. Most of the concrete bricks, no names etched in, become nothing to no one but a damn memory. A snapshot, mostly forgotten as the cars push the pieces more tightly together, under the pressure of the body weight of two, or three, or more.

I'm too sober.
Something's gotta bust.

I've been spending the last two hours making a collage of Justin Bieber eating people's souls. I haven't been able to journal since new years, I should be in a writing mood.... But, I can't seem to muster anything up. It seems like I'm still in an observing mood. This time exactly one year ago, I was sitting on a couch in a house in the country... In front of a flat-screen television that had been busted in a previous scuffle. The moving SIGNS with Mel Gibson was playing, about aliens, and I was trying to pay attention though my mind kept wondering off in the winter breeze. I remember there was snow on the ground, and my car slid around quite a bit as I drove home.

The hot shower felt amazing. I was staring at my bright yellow wall and the dust in the crease of the windowseal as my phone started ringing, and a feeling in my stomach made me realize that nothing good would come of it. The rest of the morning was all bright florescent lights, tears and goodbyes..


There's a lot of stress in life. There's a lot of everything in life, and I try to take it all as it comes. And as far as pleasing other's goes, though my body may remain somewhat useless... I love all the parts of the struggle that brings me to the surface of the water. It's the pool that is continuous emotional struggle. Even naked and honest, it's still hard to overcome the waves that wash over me. Over and over, crimson and clover.

I truly think that without the internet, I wouldn't find myself intertwined with celebrity crushes. Even the most unrealistic options become suddenly available to explore with the imagination as soon as a simple page search results in option after option; all mind-numbing photos and information about someone who somehow feels relevant in your life with absolutely no intentional connections.


So far this new year has brought me nothing but intense pain, thanks to mother nature. She always has my favorite timing. Unfortunately this means I completely lack the capacity to contain full moral compassion, as I usually would towards anyone and everyone in my life. As of now though, all I'm able to focus on truly are the grinding pains in my midsection along with the intense feeling of emptiness from the striking memories of this time of year one year ago, and my mother's last short conversation we had before she left the house for the last time; in an ambulance.

Two thousand eleven, my whole body feels electrified with a sort of reminiscent sleepiness. I'm quiet, but I'm not concerned. My tedious work remains as so, and though it's saturday... I'm still ill with a cold, a bit worse today from the addition of a hangover and the dehydration alcohol is commonly known for. Though I don't quite remember much of my new years eve, I seemed to have captured quite a bit of it on the camera my father gave me for christimas.




At midnight, we wrote things that we wanted to see "burn" from 2010 on paper bags. Mine consisted of a mere six words, two as a statement and three as a collective statement. "Negativity" "regret" "disregard for family." With a deeply alcoholically intoxicated breathe, I blew into the bag and wrapped the opening shut. Seconds later, I watched that motherfucker burn until the remnants of ashes scattered and blew in the wind with the ashes from the bags of others. My boyfriend and my second father fired shots into the night air at noone, emptied guns to the dissatisfaction of curious listeners near by. Two hours of a rainy ride home, scavenging for food and joints, and putting my blacked-out soulmate to bed. Then New years eve was over. I'd closed a whole chapter of my life. 365 days down, however many more to go... I know I have to optimistic as I can be about them.