Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Unkillable Year

I'm glad there's an extra day this month. When the Doomsday Clock is counting down, every extra minute is precious.

My thoughts are clouded with revenge.

I've sacrificed a lot. I've dropped off the map. I've gone without. For what?

For something I've been focused on since I was a child.

For a fucking dream.

People don't see you for a spell, they write you off. Out of sight, out of mind, out of the running. Doesn't matter how hard you've been working, how many projects you've nurtured to the brink -- if no one can see your work, it doesn't really exist.

Everything is about to change...

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

When Things Fall Apart

This is a difficult week of waiting and dealing. Anything can happen this week. And/or next week.

For now, though... I am cautiously optimistic about at least one thing.

Would it be possible for me to be more vague...?

I've no idea what the timeframe for anything could be. I hope to hear something concrete soon.

I need this to work. I need this one thing to work. It would be immense, to be sure, but I think that it would restore some balance to the Universe.

I would really look forward to sharing some good news here.

Monday, February 27, 2012

When I needed sunshine, I got rain...

This week, the future is won or lost.

This week, I reinforce discipline.

This week, I have a lot to prove.

This week, I am an engine of hate.

This week, I'm scarce.

This week, I'm reborn from ashes.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

The Third Act

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

No One Ever Survives.

I've a lot of anger about how this space has been used by people to vet me. Yes, it's public. The world has access to it, as the world has access to a lot of obscure things. Anyone can track me down if they know what to search for. It's not that difficult.

You know what's even easier, though?


NOT going on the fucking internet to dig up information.

NOT going on the internet to dig up dirt on the guy who *stole* your girlfriend. Or to try to get some backstory on the guy you just started dating. Or to try to find out what I'm thinking or feeling. Whatever happened to people talking to each other?

This is why updates have been staggered recently. I don't trust how this thing is being read. I don't trust how this thing has been read.

In the end, this is my little stream-of-consciousness experiment. It serves whatever I want, whenever I want. It is what it is without apologies.

These aren't bleak days. These are dangerous days.

Every day is Anything-Can-Happen Day.

Every day, anything goes...

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Whitney Houston Has a Posse

Whitney Elizabeth Houston
August 9, 1963 – February 11, 2012

Whitney Houston has a posse.

Excerpt from Diary of a Lost Girl: The Autobiography of Kola Boof, an account from a woman who dated Osama bin Laden in 1996:
Osama kept coming back to Whitney Houston. He asked if I knew her personally when I lived in America. I told him I didn't. He said that he had a paramount desire for Whitney Houston, and although he claimed music was evil, he spoke of someday spending vast amounts of money to go to America and try to arrange a meeting with the superstar. It didn't seem impossible to me. He said he wanted to give Whitney Houston a mansion that he owned in a suburb of Khartoum. He explained to me that to possess Whitney he would be willing to break his color rule and make her one of his wives. I tried to hide my outrage at his racist remarks, but it would come to pass that for the entire time that I would be trapped in his palm, Whitney Houston's was the one name that would be mentioned constantly. How beautiful she is, what a nice smile she has, how truly Islamic she is but is just brainwashed by American culture and her husband—Bobby Brown, whom Osama talked about having killed, as if it were normal to have women's husbands killed...

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Saturday Morning Deathwish!

I loathe it when people try to get to know me exclusively by reading this blog.

Yes. You know who you fucking are. It is a cowardly endeavor.

At best, this space is a funhouse mirror's distortion of who I am.

It is a venting space. Sketches on scrap paper. Creative trials. A release valve.

What it is NOT is strict autobiography.

Not that any of this matters. I've probably written down THE RULES for this blog a dozen times over its course and no one seems to really pay attention. People find the blog and take it as gospel because that's what satisfies their easiest needs. It is an act of desperation, Bill.

Alas, what are you going to do? People in desperate times do desperate things.

Thursday, February 09, 2012

I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget.

Wednesday, February 08, 2012

Coldest Days of Our Lives

What stings is remembering a *scent*. Not even actively smelling it but somehow *recalling* a specific scent or taste that serves as a connection to something you are actively trying to forget.

What I wouldn't give to scrub the memories...

Excerpts from a book:
Your friends and family may wonder how you could want someone so badly who has treated you so poorly. What they don't understand is that your partner's leaving automatically aroused symbiotic feelings that had been stored deep in your emotional memory. You are left to cope with feelings that stem from psychobiological processes that operate independently of your conscious thought and beyond your immediate control...

... The more time that passes, the longer your needs go unmet, the more your body and mind ache for all that you've lost. No matter how hard people try to hold themselves together, a profound sense of loss intrudes on every waking moment.

The effects of withdrawal are cumulative and wavelike. They often have to get worse before they can get better, a point lost on friends who expect to see your desperation dissipate, not mount day after day.
I'm doing the best I can.

(And not.)

Friday, February 03, 2012

Joyless Division

Anger. Grief. Reflection.

I could write a lot more here but I won't.

Not today.

I am trying to turn this around. Trying to turn everything around.

For your amusement, take a look at Faces of Death.

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

Call It Off

You know what I hate? Life.

I've been keeping a dream journal recently. The worst is when you wake up and realize that everything you remember from the previous night is not a bad dream. It actually happened.

It's over.

Whatever the fuck this has been. It's over. Again. And seemingly for good.

I'm angry. I'm devastated. I'm gutted.

I would like nothing more right now than to disappear completely.

Spare me your "It wasn't meant to be" business. Do you know how long it's been since I cared about someone? Do you know how long I've resisted caring about anyone? I feel fucking cursed.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Fuck you, Bill. Hope you've enjoyed the blog.