Sweet Tooth

Men are easy. All men have it, the craving for candy...I've always been able to find as many men as I wanted who'd accept a taste of my particular flavour-even if that flavour only happens to be 'female and available'. But that's all they want-a taste. A tease, a drop on the tongue, just enough to incite the desire, never enough to satisfy, to satiate that abyss of hunger. Most of whom even took a full plate.
I've never met a man that couldn't be manipulated with sex. Not necessarily by ME, given what I am and what I look like, but by SOMEone. They lose control frequently just by the mere thought of it. I have what they want. So I dole it out, piece by piece until they've followed the cookie trail into my gingerbread house.
Men are easy.
Am I your flavour?
Laters

Philip K. Dick

Post-apocalyptic world. People living underground for years, escaping the radiation on the surface. Underworld. That's where I lived. Underworld. Amethyst and Stormy were with me the day I decided to go to the surface. Radiation everywhere, they said, death in every breath and breeze. Why the hell not? It's not like we were really living down here. We step out into bright sunshine, into immediate confusion. Sunshine? What about the nuclear clouds that covered the entire planet? ---- it, maybe I'll get a tan and leave a crispy corpse. We start walking, the three of us. No one's been up here for what seems like ever, so the direction doesn't matter. We're only walking for a short time before we hit what appears to be a...flea market? That's what it looks like from what I remember of earth before we went below. And to our shock, there are people everywhere in this maze of shops and stalls and homes and we didn't even know WHAT else. People, all types and colours and sizes, a truly indiscriminate society. Except they're looking at us, looking at us as I'm sure we're looking at them, with amazement, curiousity and suspicion. Even a little fear. A little fear...something's chasing us! Something big and dark and unknown; some nameless, faceless terror. Our spines tingle, expecting at any moment to be ripped to shreds. We don't look back. I scoop Amethyst up because even carrying her I can run faster than she can by herself. We run until we reach the ruined remains of what must have once been an apartment building. The anonymous monster retreats, or maybe just loses interest. Stormy and Amethyst start looking around together, trying to find food or life or SOMEthing that can justify our surface expedition, our dangerous, fatal journey. Only now we know the radiation is not the killer. Now we want to know about the top dwellers. And so we look around. They go up further while I explore the lower levels. I come to a balcony, a wooden balcony with a pool. Water? Years of faith erode as I realize, finally, despite the previous revelations, that we've been lied to. For years... This is water. A tentative touch, and it's cool, liquid, wet, just like the water I remember. A lion comes at me from the side; I back to the rail. Fright does not paralyze me as I wonder what I can do against this beast. A rush and a struggle, we're almost wrestling when I throw him into the water. He dives below, playing it seems. A leopard joins him, and I think it must have come from the depths of the pool. The leopard leans into the corner, forelegs stretched to support him, just as a human would. And they are human. Human and male, dripping wet, wearing jeans with bare chests. We talk, I don't know what about. Stormy and Amethyst return, and we all walk out of the building together. The animal-men are going to show us around. A hand down the front of my pants, sealing my back to the lion-man's chest. He's touching me, caressing me, and it feels so good, so relieving, that I go down to my knees. He's pushing into me from behind, still caressing me, and I'm about to explode. I notice his legs are lion's legs as he continues to move against me. "Don't worry about it," he says, "it happens." I stand up and my pants are intact except for the front zipper which I fix. And he's wearing jeans, bare chested. How...? But the question gets lost as Stormy and Amethyst come to ask me for money. The question and the animal-men, without the slightest of pauses. Amethyst grabs her cash, (real American dollars, pre-war) and runs off after food or toys or whatever else six-year-olds find necessary. Stormy is given four dollars and told to buy me some cigarettes. It's been so long since I've smoked, and the craving suddenly overwhelms me. She wanders off and I amble slowly after her. For some reason I don't worry about Amethyst, somehow I know she'll be okay. I catch up with Stormy as she's shouting to the vendors in this gutted warehouse, asking for my cigarettes. One woman has just over half a pack, asking too much for just four. I ask to try before I buy and the woman reluctantly consents. I get the impression that cigarettes are not much in demand here. The smoke is good, going easily down into my lungs and refreshingly exhaled out. We buy all she has with our money and receive these thousands of their money in return. It's larger than ours, and the thousands are obviously barely worth what used to be a dime. But we browse around, looking for food, for anything interesting we might take back to underworld. Underworld...we still think of it as home. In a blur we meet some friendly, obviously affluent friends and are in their house. An actual house, unusual, rare even, for this world. We're invited to sleep and it's divine, soft mattresses and fluffy pillows and warm comforters. I remember this, and sleep in luxury and contentment. Upon awakening, I find a door, a sliding glass door that looks out on a yard with a waterfall in it. The water closest to the edge is muddy, murky, like the water of the pool on the apartment's balcony. But further up, near the mermaid/siren statue, it is clear and pure, sparkling and inviting. With the housemates and what seems like a community of others watching, I brave the mud, the murk, and swim out to the bottom of the waterfall, atop which is the statue. Here the water is clean and I drink, getting somewhat drunk on the sensation of purity and freshness that assaults my senses as I partake of this miracle I was told I'd never see again. So I climb. I climb the rocks, slick with the falling water, and reach the mermaid/siren statue. And find out she's alive. She speaks to me, telling me of resentment and aggravation, fear and prejudice. I'm to leave, she says. To go back to my home. I feel it, too. I jump to the grass of the yard, preparing to thank my hosts and take my leave. What about your little one?, they say. How do they know about Amethyst? She's fine, I say. She's not scared, she's not hurt. Even if someone took her by surprise (negating the fear), her pain sensors would have gone off. Pain sensors? I have a link with my daughter, I say, I know when anything's wrong. Now I just need to find her. Where do children go? McDonald's, of course. There are two here, on opposite sides of the city, and an arcade. I haven't seen a single child, I think, since I came to the surface. It's time to find mine.
And then I woke up.

I remember the details of my dream last night. The feel of the lion's legs, hairy and course against mine. The taste of the water, the tingling in my spine as I was chased. The sensation of mud between my toes when I first entered the pond. Even the hurt in my eyes when I stepped out into the sunshine. The rocks and dirt and desert like area we walked through before coming to the flea market thing. The smell of some of the 'homes' there. The relief from the nicotine, the comfort of the bed. Very real, and very strange.
I almost didn't wake up this morning.
Laters

My Heart is in My Tears

He wants me to cry, this man who leaves these marks on me:

Hit me harder, cut me deeper, hurt me worse. I will not cry for you. I will not cry for a man who is only as useful to me as his cock is functional. Yes, crying is a release-for some. And I'm sure you've made others cry with your belt, with your slaps, with your harsh words. Not me. Never me.
He has a girlfriend, overseas. A "girlfriend", I should say. Found her on a mail order bride website. He speaks of marriage and commitment and children, but not of love. In one way, he reminds me of my father, his desperation for offspring. I offer advice and support, even though the bitterness and hatred are apparent in my voice. But they are directed at the one who hurt me, the one from the same country, the one in a similar situation. I tell him to be wary as my heart remembers the same words spoken to me. I tell myself this is not the same girl, this is not the same girl.
He is "taken", this man who hurts me so well. Every now and then my body belongs to him, and his to me. Every now and then we use each other for pleasures otherwise so difficultly obtained. My body he can have, my body he can use.
But my heart is in my tears and no matter how hard he hits, how deep he cuts, how much he hurts, he will not reach it.
He wants me to cry, this man who leaves these marks on me.
Laters

Picture This

My Amethyst. I could watch her for hours when she dances. I've probably said this before. I could say it a thousand times. I could see it a thousand times. And still want to see more. Boundless joy, and nobody's watching. Except me. I drink the sight with my eyes and my heart's thirst is quenched. I know I'll be thirsty again. But in this moment, watching her dance...I feel I have all I'll ever need. She's my treasure.
Laters

Stutter to Breathe

I'm exposed, completely uncovered. Naked, with my skin scrubbed nearly off. You can see my heart beating, my lungs filling and emptying. The blood in my veins, how it drips to the floor, how it splatters everything as I walk. Dark red stains...
It hurts to breathe like this, to have my heart pump its blood in and out. The muscles that cover my bones shreik in agony with every effort they have to expend. My brain, too, has no cover. It is utterly open to scrutiny, and it aches with the air passing over it. I scream, my open vocal chords howling along with me.
Funny. How odd. Work continues, everyone in his own place, doing her own projects. Existence here goes on, despite my desperate cries.
Amazing.
The world does not revolve around me...
Laters

Small update:
Mmmmm, valium.
Laters

*pout*
I'm not going to have internet access tomorrow, but hopefully I'll get it back by Tuesday. Goddamned rules and bosses and actually having to fucking WORK for my paycheck.
Anyway, I've been in severe pain all weekend, hardly able to move or even breathe. Hopefully the chiropractor will fix me all up and send me on my merry way so I'm not miserable at work tomorrow. And if I am, hey, valium!
Laters

OSTEOPATHIC MANIPULATIVE MEDICINE

Just another day, right? That's what every day is, just another day. Except today isn't. Today...today I'm cute as hell. I feel good. I LOOK good. Maybe it's the clothes or maybe it's the fact that I'm all giggly and bubbly from lack of sleep in the last two weeks. Maybe I'm just insane. I'm rooting for the last one. Mental health is highly overrated. But today is just another day. Another day working for the things I can't afford...oh, wait! I CAN afford them. God, you have no idea how liberating it is being out from under Raven's sorry excuses and lame attempts at helping support us. Not even attempts, more like reasons for him to hang out with drug dealers and crack whores-ya know, the people he's most comfortable with because he's one of them. I spent a year with him, a YEAR listening to his bullshit. A year that started well, until he "lost" his job. Stormy's right, he has no work ethic. He's just a leech. I don't give a whooping funt anymore because he's not leeching off of me. Anyway, work is slow today as opposed to the complete insanity of the last couple of weeks. WORK, people. I WORK for a living, for a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs, and clothes on our backs. I work for Amethyst to be in Tae Kwon Do this summer. Oooo, she's totally adorable! She shows me the kicks and punches she's learned, and she's SO excited about it. I just want her to have some discipline and learn some self defense-something every woman needs nowadays. And even though it's expensive as all hell, I can afford it. Because I WORK. Besides, it's better than day care, they DO a lot. Swimming, bowling, roller skating, picnics, movies, field trips, tours, science museum...PLUS she doesn't have to be stuck with my mother the whole summer. THAT'S what rocks. And...oh! I need to take a picture of my car! It's so pretty and ALL MINE! I can afford THAT, too. And I think I'm getting an apartment closer to where I work. It's a MUCH better area for Amethyst to go to school. Better than the gangland ghettoville that she's in now.
Oh, rambling!
Laters

Did You Notice I'm Not Perfect?

It has very little to do with my past, with where I've been and who I've done and what I've seen. But then it has much to do with my past, with how I felt, how I feel, how I reacted and am still reacting.
Once upon a time...and isn't that the way every story should start? "Once upon a time"? But mine starts with this: Once upon a memory.
Once upon a memory, there was a girl, so young and so innocent. Yes, innocent, innocent and naive. She was intelligent, frighteningly so, but also generous and pure of heart. One christmas (did this really happen?) she went out of her way to shop for her friends at school, trying so hard to find the perfect present for each of their personalities and desires. She was so happy, taking so much joy in the choosing. And then the giving day came. Everyone was running around, giving each other presents, giggling over private jokes and gag gifts. Our girl gave out her treasures, revelling in the looks on their faces as they opened and acknowledged her insight and care. Our girl, that day, spent nearly the whole day smiling with the knowledge that she'd done well. Was it not until she'd arrived home that she realized she'd not received a single gift? Or, perhaps, was that the hidden truth behind her smile all that day? I don't remember.
Once upon a memory, same girl, still so young and still so innocent. Still, too, naive. Only now there was a boy. Of course, a boy, a boy and a crush. And a night when the boy stayed over, a friend of our girl's brother. Movies and popcorn and laughing. And the boy, touching and receiving touch in return. But not with our girl. No, our girl sat and watched as the boy and her sister flirted, touched, wouldn't move away from each other. Her sister knew, of course, about her feelings for the boy. So did the boy. Bed time, boys to the left, girls to the right, and our girl knew she wouldn't see the boy again until morning. Giggles and laughter in the girls' room (other girls spending the night as well), until...where was her sister? She'd disappeared. Our girl didn't know until days later that her sister and the boy had met for a secret rendez-vous. Our girl didn't know until she saw the words printed on the page about nipples and kisses and sucking and tongues in hidden places. Or, perhaps, was that the hidden truth behind her smile that night? I don't remember.
Once upon a memory, our girl again, no longer young, and not as innocent. Still, though, somewhat naive. Her body she'd traded for momentary pleasures, for the illusions of happinesses she wanted so desperately to be real. And she's on the phone. She's on the phone and the person on the other end of the line is telling her what a horrible person she is and how dare she do this to her parents and if she was going to be a whore she should get a pimp so she could at least have medical benefits. Pregnancy, and this person on the other end of the line was taking it as a personal assault, as if our girl had done this out of malice JUST to spite this person, her aunt. Auntie Satan. There was no truth behind her smile; our girl surrendered to her tears. I remember.
Once upon a memory, yes, same girl, far from youth and innocence. Even her naivete has been sacrificed to the harshness of time. She awakens to his urgency, his obvious need for her. Standing, walking into the other room where he grabs her to him and won't let go. He's shaking, crying. She's there for him in his moment of loss. His dearest friend, dead. Heart so big, trying to cover them both and ease his suffering. She stands there forever, holding this Raven man, until his tears slow and she can tell him she's there for him no matter what he needs. That, I remember, too.

Once upon a memory, and there are so many MANY memories. And each one associated with its own tear.

Only one minute to work and I have to run to clock in.
Laters

Okay, my weekend was hectic as hell. One of the things I did was go to the zoo. So, other than Amethyst, WHAT do I take picures of?

Then I helped some friends move, went to see a horror movie with Magenta, tried to comfort a whiny, depressive quasi-friend, took Amethyst to a movie (but not the arcade, unfortunately), went to a concert, watched a movie here with my little brother and, in general, got no sleep. And that's AFTER going all week the week before with twelve to fourteen hour days and no sleep. So I'm fucking exhausted and what am I doing? No, not sleeping. Playing around on the goddamned addictive computer.
I've SO got to get a life. Well, sleep first. THEN a life.
Laters

Gone Fishing

I was just swimming along in the ether of existence, obliviously endeavouring to survive. Then a flash of light, a sparkle in the distance. Something glittery and abnormal caught my eye. What else could I do but swim toward it? Tail conducting velocity, fins controlling direction, I raced forward with reckless abandon. Pretty!!
*CHOMP*
Now you've got me on your hook, dear fisherman. I can't get away, and even if I could, I'm still fascinated by the glint in the water.
So what are you going to do with me?
Laters

Why Do They Call It "Eating Crow"?

Why would he say those things? Why would he even CALL after all this time? Why tell me he loves me? Why tell me he wants me, he can't live without me, all the others are throw away? Why tell me anything? Why make me think about him at all?
I wish I could dismiss it as only a dream...

Tonight the band was fun, I enjoyed them immensely. I wasn't thrilled about being there alone, though. I couldn't stop thinking about everyone else there being WITH someone. And I was there alone. How do I always end up alone? Why can't I have a happily ever after?
Stormy is married, with a baby, my brothers are both heavily involved, DESPITE being such incredible losers, and I'm the only one of everyone I know who's single.

I'm thinking too much. I want my head blown off.
Laters

Ya know, I thought of something else I might like my father to know: it pisses me off when he steals my suffering, when he tries to claim it for his own. Like he blames himself, like it's all his fault and therefore his responsibility. Fuck that. I am who I am. And as far as I'm concerned, he may have no part of me.

Now on to this:

The knife drew blood. And as I sat there, feeling it drip down my naked back, I wondered if he'd lick it, wondered if he'd truly taste my pain. Vampyre fantasies. My blood finding its way into his blood and lurking; our blood mingling together for always. Yes, it felt like an eternity before his lips found my open wound, before his tongue started to lap up the iron thick liquid. And when the sucking started, I almost exploded with pleasure.

Um...yeah.
Laters

Falling For The Last Time

If you're falling, I'll be your wings.

He's got...something. Some big, disturbing secret. Which drives me absolutely mad because I don't know what it is and my mind keeps coming up with more and more implausible scenarios. It started simple with "maybe he thinks he's ugly." Then "maybe he IS ugly." Then "maybe he's married." Then "maybe he's dying." Then "maybe he's got AIDS and he's dying." Then "maybe he's only temporarily in the U.S. and has to go back to wherever soon." Then "maybe he's only on the planet earth for a short while and is studying us and taking back samples." Then "maybe he's not him, maybe it's a situation all over again and I'm just going to end up getting so royally screwed I'll kill someone, most likely myself." Other than that last I still want to be with him, still want to be his. He takes my breath away.
Obviously, I'm thinking too much. Too much about him, but right now...right now I wouldn't have it any other way.
Laters

I'll post some pictures of my pretty new jewelry when my phone charges. My stupid headset broke or quit or whatever and now it takes too much power to even talk on the phone. *sigh*
Anyway, as insanity as today is, I'm taking a moment for myself. I deserve a moment, right? Right.
Not that I have anything to say...
Denim finally got back in touch with me. It's been two weeks and I was content to just write him off, except that he has some of my "Story of O" movies. Apparenly his phone got messed up or something. I almost wish he hadn't been able to recover my number. But whatever. He's really strange-he wants me to screw someone (anyone, he doesn't care who) and go to him so he can have sloppy seconds. *shrug* Different people have different fetishes, and I suppose it's no worse than mine. We'll see how that goes.
Okay, my stolen moment is over, and I wasted it on Denim. Fuckin' A.
Laters

Apparently, you can get in trouble for being horny around here...
LoL
Laters

I thought you'd abandoned me...
Laters

Never mind, I deleted this post. Email me if you want to know a secret.
Laters

Little Duckling

It's raining, little duckling, and you're swimming in the water. It's a good thing you're waterproof, the drip-drops just slide right off your back. Light rain, initially, filling up your well. Each drop a memory, each drip a moment of time gone by. What's happening, little duckling? The rain is heavier now, but you don't feel it. You're immune to the effects of the downpour, insulated, safe. You splash around in your puddle, unaware of the past, oblivious to the pain it brings. Drops dripping all around you, waves hitting you with startling frequency, and still you play. Never drowning, never hurting, never knowing.

It's raining, little duckling, but I've lost my raincoat.
I wish I were a little duckling.
Laters

Things I Want to Say to My Father

(but never would)

You're creepy. If you weren't so firmly in denial/pseudo religious, you'd be a child molester. I'm even pretty sure you've thought about it, but immediately dismissed it in horror.

I see the way you look at my daughter, and I remember you looking at me that way when I was young. Then I didn't think anything of it, but now I know there's more than simple fatherly love behind your eyes.

I have no respect for you. In fact, I DISrespect you. I love you because you're my father, but I wholly dislike you as a person.

The one time I really needed you to be on my side you abandoned me. The one time I was so sure you'd see things the way they were, you chose to close your eyes.

You don't comfort me. When you look at me like I'm breaking your heart and give me a great big hug, the only thing I'm thinking about is how best to get away.

I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR MY OWN ACTIONS. You are not to blame, nor are you to credit for what I do.

Remember when you used to tell me that I may be smarter than you, but you had more experience? That was true when I was eight. The tables have all been rearranged-now I'm ahead of you on BOTH counts.

You don't know me. How is it possible to spend your whole life around a person and still have not the first clue about who she is?

You and I are not as alike as you'd like to think.

I'm a better person IN SPITE of you, not BECAUSE of you.

I refuse to believe in your god because if I did I'd hate him-all I have is you for an 'example' of a father.

When I think of you, my thoughts are contemptuous, and I speak of you in like manner.

I know you better than you think. You never surprise me.

This is a conversation we need to have, but never will.

Laters

The music is so loud, SO LOUD. It's hurting my ears. I turn it up; it still hasn't silenced the screaming in my head. The song doesn't matter, the words, the beat are inconsequential. The noise, I need the noise. I'm hoping it will liquefy my brain and it'll come leaking out of my ears, my eyes, my nose, my mouth. Can music GET that loud? And even then...will I still hear the screaming?
Laters

GreyMatter just showed me this:

I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer inwaht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas thought slpeling was ipmorantt.

Fuckin' kewl, huh?
Laters

There's just a hint, more like something nearly almost heard. She's sobbing too loud, though, huddled there in the corner. She can't hear the soft melody spinning through the air around her. Even so, her whimpers create an exquisite harmony, the obvious pain fueling her tears enhance the notes of the simple song. Even as I dance to the music, my heart goes out to her. I'd do nearly anything to comfort her, to soothe her hurting soul. Ah, but the music...

Her suffering makes her beautiful.

Laters

This is what's currently on my MP3 player:

Alien Ant Farm-Smooth Criminal
Don McLean-American Pie
BlackHawk-That's Just About Right
Blink 182-All the Small Things
Brooks & Dunn-My Maria
Green Day-The Great Beyond
Sammy Kershaw-She Don't Know She's Beautiful
Soggy Bottom Boys-Man of Constant Sorrow
Squirrel Nut Zippers-Hell
Uncle Kracker-Follow Me
Wierd Al Yankovich-The Saga Begins
Deanna Carter-We Danced Anyway
Jewel-Intuition
Jimmy Eat World-A Praise Chorus
Mannheim Steamoller-The 7 Chakras of the Body,Chakra 1
REM-It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
Alabama-Song of the South

If I didn't know better, I'd say I was somewhat eclectic. Oh, wait. I AM somewhat eclectic.
Laters

Hast Du Etwas Zeit Für Mich?

Except, really, I need someone with nothing BUT time for me. I need attention.
I feel so alone and isolated; it makes me want to scream and jump around just so I know that others know I'm here.
I feel like all the people who screwed me over went on to have everything they wanted, everything they took away from me.
I feel like my only triumph over them is Amethyst, and I feel sometimes that's not a triumph at all. She wasn't exactly deliberate, and what I mean by that is that I never deliberately took her away or deprived anyone of her or used her in any way just to cause pain. She just sort of does, by her absence. Everyone loves her.
I feel like everything is my fault-for allowing myself to be walked on if for nothing else.
I feel like I'm being penalized for others' malice. Like because I'm so trusting and loving and loyal, I'm being punished. I feel like the heart I wear on my sleeve is nothing more than an invitation to stab it/crush it/shatter it/otherwise rend it useless.
I feel like my words, along with my love, are being swallowed by a hungry void. I feel like even my screams get sucked down it, ripped from my throat into oblivion.
I feel like ending this pathetic attempt at...who knows what?
Laters