phthalominekitty

[phthalominekitty]

dreamscene.

9/19/2001

detained by false gratitude, i'm walking down the street. the crowd follows me, surrounded by a rough cloud of cigarette smoke. everyone smokes camel turkish jades. "why the fuck are they so much cooler than me?"

insert hands in pockets. turn head towards the rock infestation. the rain begins to fall. ignore the collective gasp. everyone scrambles for another light.

the music starts and i begin to run. i can feel the beats of the herd, their feet hitting pavement in total sync. i was making out drum machines and conversation. my body pushed me forward. on with this hell. but now, i am stopping. they slow too, then cease their uncalled for persuit. eyelids blink. yellow gleams. cigarettes glow orange embers.

so that's how it is, this world of yours?

mommy, mommy - is it time to wake up now?

[phthalominekitty]

delete me! 

9/16/2001

insert rant about the up - and - coming "trivial issues that are kicking my ass out from under me" here.

but sleep is good.

so i am out (like a light, baby).

[phthalominekitty]

teacup girl.

9/12/2001

lessons in fiction: bad poetry/description.

[1] drenched in painful expression shadows cast across pink-laced plaids she sips in silence contemplation is the devil's work which is today unwanted isolation "send me an angel" is what she craves not cat ears kitten whiskers painted on pale cheeks infused with rose on her filigree tea

[2] yes, i'm gonna be a star more, that's what you get with verizon wireless the new album from babyface, in stores now i need to get away from the television.

[3] my scarf hovers on the wind emotion lies low currently: limbo i expect nothing will change vitality: on lend.

all inspired by sophie artwork.

[phthalominekitty]

paint it black.

9/13/2001

there's been a veil thrown over my eyes as my carmine tresses flutter in the pre-autumnal breezes. i meditate with the unconcious while there's still time, for those lacking in spirit will be blown away. privation is the devil's word and you scoff while being strangely amused. in the twilight of this strange disaster, i am harboring prospective affections towards taking up cigarette smoking. i know you will disaprove.

and so i stand here, resting against my thunderbird, painted in a disorderly way "midnight black". it has infinite qualities. staring into the blueness only raises questions, while glimmering like the night sky directly answers only one of them. you know now how it obtained it's name. so my sweater is lost in ford's cosmos. i wonder at the length of time i've spent out here in the darkness. i wonder why nothing is coming. how emotion is dead.

[phthalominekitty]

strangle me.

9/10/2001

right now, life's taking a turn for the austere. i'm deep into my twisted version of a simplicity complex. this is a horrible thing, because i'm disregarding everything, from emotions to food intake.

routine does her in again.

[phthalominekitty]

say 'hello!' to mama.

9/10/2001

i am the girl that smiles and sneaks a red heart-shaped sticker onto your cheek. i am the girl who plays keyboards while dressed in fishnet thigh-hi stockings and ball gowns and neon green glasses. i am the girl rollerskating down ninth street, but i'm not carrying an umbrella. i am the girl with the art clientele.

i am the girl who will probably dye her hair black again, but only when i obtain the perfect haircut.

i am surrounded by dizziness and pink velvet.

i save my starbust wrappers. can't you tell?

(this is only me trying to make something snazzy out of myself, i'm not actually interesting at all but i wish i was)

[phthalominekitty]

fever in.

9/9/2001

i don't feel good. this is me letting my head crash against the keys:

idkwywbicgia.

decode and win a prize, baby.

you were close.

(but not really)

idkwywbicgia: "i don't know what you want but i can't give it anymore".

it's a pet shop boys song. very pretty (sad), i might add.

[phthalominekitty]

this is not a test.

9/9/2001

it was a dark night. i put on new order's "crystal" and drove silently. street signs passed in quick flashes of white, lights stretched out reflected in wet pavement. god, how much i miss him. i thought about how all it would take would be a swerve of the wheel to reach him. i'd open the door, whisper down the stairs, and climb into bed next to him. we'd embrace and sleep next to each other for hours and hours.

it was only the song. and the atmosphere. it would never work. he's not the same, remember? i think this may be the second stage of missing him. first, there was indifference. now, there is this.

i'll get over it. i always do. i won't try to fill the void, but that void won't stop me from playing with fire.

"you don't care anyway."

(and then there is you. i don't know what you want, but i'll just be your friend to make us both feel better. and there's you too, someone i could die for. i could fall into attraction so easily but it would kill me. it would kill us both. so i'll stick to not really knowing you at all. for now. how i'd like that to change.)

someone, come save me.

[phthalominekitty]

hello, operator.

9/8/2001

i went to see the white stripes tonight:

there was that movement, all too familiar. "lord, send me an angel" would sound great between the pixies and led zeppelin on a tape. meg white is adorable. i want to be just like her. but i'll settle for wearing my cool new shirt to work tomorrow.

i'll write more about it later. you know about how i'm all controlled by sleep. yes. yes, you do.

[phthalominekitty]

relapse.

9/7/2001

[5] you may just be everything to me. i can't shake this feeling of remorse. i sit in the shower on the mildewed tile and think about how you used to touch me. the light may burn out, but the darkness only offers shelter from my frothy emotions. unexpected darkness is like an unexpected hug. i thought about you twice, tonight. we were spinning, all dressed in white. all the while in perfect syncronization of emotion, until the first disturbance. as she walked by, her presence jarred our perfection as your eyes beheld her curves. and i was sodden, discarded. the realization that i meant nothing moved me to understand that, i had in fact not felt the exstacy. i'd only imagined it. and so, with the pelting of this cold, the wetness fails to penetrate me. for my heart is hot, it couldn't be anything less. i've been scalded by the best of them. and i want you in my arms.

[6] smooth kiss against pale nothing don a medieval grin ascend ancient staircases let your cape flow red against false darkness torch this feeling i can't live with such grace.

the rise and fall synthetic hearts beat one misplaced step places you on the brink of eternity the smile is now gone from here only determination reeking of falling away.

[7] a rythym in motion, crying softly in the corner. she remembers her beautiful past life. she dreams, she doesn't want to fall in love. but she needs someone. she needs someone like him to tell her she's good. someone to dress up for.

(playing in front of a mirror, stripped down in a black slip, slinky-like and tantalizing. she hopes, and the song plays in the background that drives her crazy-mad, mad with emotion. the scarf, the necklace, the spoon. each becomes her lover, and she loves each one so dearly, in that special moment. who is behind the mirror? something must witness those gorgeously private acts of bedroom dancing.

she licks her lips. the tears slow.

to a trickle… this can't be over. why is it over… ?

she stands up. walks across the room. and opens the door to the ice.

[8] i greet him, and right away he wants my phone number. "i lost it… i lost everyone's number." (you mean, you don't know it by heart, silly?!) so i give it to him, on a ripped piece of neon-magenta paper, decorated with stars-like, and he looks at it with a sly smile, sticking it into his back pocket. (don't lose, it, now. i decorated it just for you, and EVERYTHING.)

i say goodbye to him, and it's a nice embrace when we hug. because i waited, i get to hug him on the stairs. so we ascend them to the outside world, in which i grab his hands (you don't have gloves!) and rub them a bit, as if that would really stimulate warmth. i just wanted to touch his hands. they're nice hands. (you have no exuse not to call me, now. so you better do it!) "oh, i will. i'll call you." we give each other a parting embrace, while he goes inside to get his gloves. what a doll.

sandy speaking, to me. "sophie, who hugged who?" (i don't know. we hugged each other.) "he likes you. he has that look in his eyes, when a boy likes a girl." (no… really? really. ooh.)

all i can say is… things are never over. especially when they've yet to begin.

[9] japanese characters infused with charm bite her in the back of the neck as she pulls up her stubborn white kneesocks. her visionary drugged up schoolgirl face is reflected into the monitor, hovering with a deadpan expression. gone in an instant, replaced with a grimace. 2:47 am, like that's working. her reality is twisted because of time's supposedly linear existance…

what she needs, is a schedule

[10] in a leopard coat, scuffy converse led the way to the cold. surrounded in magenta lights, strung up by one foot, blippity blippity… on i go. white car waits, hums just for me and we put on add n to (x) and listen to robot new york. the drive is nice. he is quiet. the car screams. what a nice thing a firebird is. milk the holiday cheer for all it's worth.

scramble.

a dark room, a dark chair. i'm reduced to remembering sobs from a year ago, crying when i never needed to. i was so lost. now i don't know what i want but i'm singular. i am not lost withen him.

being confused never got me so good.

[11] raw throat parades around the darkroom, trying in vain to print picture after picture of the pretty boy. she doesn't feel pretty herself - he's in lipstick, she's got messy hair. seventy-one degrees, icy water to dip her hands into. her eyelids flutter and her grip weakens. magenta plastics of filters and such spin down to the ground, ruined on contact with the grimey floor.

"you. you are not worth this." she rips up his sultry, upturned face and stalks out, water running, lights flashing. on the way out, she gave the radio a swift kick. jeff buckley needs to die, anyway.

[12] she spun, full of flounce the music liquid her arms rise and fall languidly like the changing tide

her dark hair casts shadow across her face her movements syncronize the music plummets as does she

a swirl, and a light shines releasing the dark visage she smiles, a black smile

she stops and the music doesn't knowingly she whispers, "shh."

what happened to the way i write? all of this was from a year ago…

[phthalominekitty]

from ten million years ago.

9/7/2001

uncertain reality entertains superfluous minds transfers bliss pulled from chaos theory indulges in risk trusts something ungodly romantic minds often falter the eyes fail to blink pasty skin reflects in subtle mirrors urges coil like fire trains crash like thunder girls stumble, enticed by screaming fields endless transformation though processes WE ALL FEEL IT.

from back in the day:

[1] cliches manifest as my failed attempts to break away from expectation. there is the realization that i'm no different than them. i'm just a sordid puddle of fallen grace, and not even that - i'm dead.

i died last year, it was interesting. i became a faceless mass of sarcastic flesh, applying makeup and trying to squeeze into black tights and worrying about trivial issues like similarly dead boyfriends, and glitter. i would cry at indecent times and bitch about the lack of fear and love in my life. i was ignorant and stupid.

regeneration occured with new insights and possiblilities. i realized that, yes, boys do grow on trees, and if i wanted one i could find another. it was just harvesting them that was the trouble… and then there was sprite, who caused me to understand that i've got an obsessive, restless nature. also, he got me into "goth" music.

i don't feel good. this is going nowhere. i believe it's time to go insane…

the leopard ate my heart with a swift glance in the direction of the rising sun he tore my mother's heart out with a mental swipe and feasted on her anguish i tried to save her but i was too weak from loss of blood and we died together in each other's arms while the leopard purred and curled right round us like a large, warm kitten we realized at the brink of death the favour which he'd granted.

[2] sleeping together in a cloud of discomfort, wearing nothing but the blankets. entwined in him, i can't help but hide my eyes. i break free for a moment. staring at the cold ceiling, i can't sleep. i want to go home.

[3] many words forsake her plain, pathetic existance as she tries in vain to create a semblance of order. she wraps her arms around her knees in a feeble hug, thinking about [a] the stock market, [b] the death, [c] the future, [d] the cold. which one is more important? the fish need to be fed, there are papers scattered about the floor, laced with cookie crumbs and pick-ed out raisons. it wasn't that raisons didn't agree with her - she didn't agree with the raisons.

raisons. she began it once more - the linking train of thought that makes the world go round. raisons - 80's - madonna - christopher - cults - manson - dirty - pigs - intelligent - not her. it all came back to her, and how she wasn't pleased with herself or what she was doing. her fingers were frozen - moving slowly, she began to type. for the final time, of course. she hated nagging. she hated school. she hated schedules. yet. she knew she needed one to keep her alive.

oh, the irony.

it reminded her of the time she was home with her brothers, mother off at some meeting. a passionate craving for chocolate milk overcame her, and her car glistened [beneath the dust, of course] in the harsh sunlight. summer, ah. memories. and so, she grabbed her newly aquired license and was off, down to road to the drugstore with two dollars in hand, or lap. her automobile eloquence had yet to be obtained, however. on the way back, a lazy turn caused her to bam-crash! right into the side of her driving instructer. his car, his face. "oh, i know you feel bad about this, don't you." the cop wrote her out a ticket, and she thought, sullenly, about how she hated that man. she would kill him.

a fantastic tale began to rise from her underestimated mind. she would steal a samurai sword - but from where? the mall - a ha! she would run, run, run and they wouldn't catch her because she was too smart, she knew where to hide. and she would look up that evil driving instructer's address and stalk to his house, in the dead of night, and slice his stomach open. then she would laugh loudly, with no remorse, and drink his blood and feast on his flesh.

she shook her head. no, no. was she mad? morbid thoughts overcame her far too easily if she didn't keep them in check. she sighed. her dilema was this: she had an entire chapter of japanese homework to do, and her eyelids were quickly drooping. maybe she'd drop the class. learn more on her own. sleep comes first, always in her world. the most important phone call can be passed up for a few minutes more sleep. anything could be passed up…

she was a slacker. and then, she thought about how she could end up. she could get a job, some low-class entry level kind of thing, and scrimp and save and buy a one-way ticket to elsewhere. japan, maybe. she could traipse through the streets of harajuku and take pictures of all the trendy girls and the goths. she could find work in japan, anyone could be a janitor.

she shook her head. no, no. was she mad? she knew she was intelligent, a smart girl. she could get anywhere with brains like that, and the beauty (sometimes, some days) to boot. she pursed her lips, "i'm pretty," she told herself. and with an art portfolio like that, well, she very well could even go to san francisco. the city screamed, "magic!" her parents screamed back, "no!"

time to sulk.

the japanese homework lay at her feet. she glanced down at it, gave a soft snarl, and fell asleep in the chair.

[4] (pseudo-gothic poetry) oh, how fair art thou slender fingers slowly breaking apart my poor withered heart my mind is dead dead like the wind on this still night my tears run red for the acid of your kisses implanted upon each eyelid burns oh, my soul livid with a rent of failed passion how i wish your love was true.

[phthalominekitty]

oh train of thought, i beseech thee.

9/7/2001

she leaned into me, a wave of cornsilk splashing across my polyester thighs. her fingers were delicate, and i studied them for great lengths as i couldn't bring myself to look into her eyes, though i knew they were green and very beautiful. she was trying to get at me with that songstress voice of hers, its vibrations playing along the very wires of my nerves. i wasn't even sure of what she really wanted. it was difficult not to be enamoured.

oh. she just wants me to dye my hair black.

[phthalominekitty]

my car finally has a drink holder.

9/7/2001

i was standing, slouched somehow against a great rack of energizer batteries, breathing in the fog. air displaced by the parallel movement of shopping carts, strands of strawberry blonde hair floating around my face. a halo of sorts, the perfect companion for my heavy eyelids. a mexican lady told me to smile. her request was ignored, if not unnoticed. i began the evasive task of examining my cuticles, the lunar shapes momentarily captivating me. (maybe i should slop on some blood red nail polish tonight. that blood moon got me thinking of vampires. vampish. yeah.. )

there was also me trying to forget about the throbbing pain in my feet. fuck me for wearing black tights imprinted with dice and stars. fuck me for wearing clunky black shoes with the 2.5" clunky black heels. nevermind i was upright for eight hours. i deserve everything for my poor judgement.

(hey, aren't those the shoes you wore out dancing? two saturdays ago? when they photographed you for the paper? when you were graceful and fluid and sexy and beautiful?)

my entire body is screaming out for a massage. mostly because it knows that will never happen. my picture did not make it into the paper.

and i'm suffering from uncharacteristic urges lately. please tell me that you'll keep me away from the following: parties, alchohol, and boys. because all three will lead to trouble.

maybe that's not so uncharacteristic. i think the desire for it, that might be. if i were in a better mood, i'd ask for any takers. of course i'd be joking, because i've got a nice logical (however contemplative and spontaneous) head on my shoulders. maybe this is just sophie screaming "i want a man", but i'm not that pathetic, either. i'm just bored, and lonely. and shaun's not working tomorrow.

ah well. i'll see about inviting him out to staxx then, sometime. i'll be dressing up, for once. lavender pet shop boys shirt and glitter, i suspect. and i might even wear the wings. we shall see. i hope to be a very fun dancing girl. everyone should come just so they can see my dorky fun with clothes. you know you love it. because crazytown says so, butterfly.

[phthalominekitty]

did i waste my time?

9/4/2001

writer's block. so yeah. maybe i was masquerading as someone who could write worth a damn. yeah, that was it. nevertheless, i can't write now.

so. my new watch is really cool. it was five dollars.

[phthalominekitty]

madness written at work.

9/4/2001

write about how tired you are. write about how, if you don't get some sleep in the next eight hours, you're going to claw some random innocent's eyes out. write about how you won't take a caffeine pill because you want to sleep when you get home. write about how you want to die, how you want to fall to your knees and talk to god because - and only because - it's your last chance. write about how you want mr. goth boy sparkly pants to sit on your grave, to lament about if onlys: "if only i had kissed her that night" - that night he dragged you out under the stars. "if only". if only he would have listened to his gut for once, instead of the wankers inside his head. then he would have had a piece of you. write about yourself, laughing in the casket, in the deep earth. because you can. and in the light of his pathetic musings you scream "NEVER!"

write about how you came back from the dead - twitched your little finger attached to that little bell - how you would have loved the look that flashed across mr. goth boy sparkly pants' face. write about his recollection of running to the proper authoratative figures. write about the expression of sheer wonderment and devotion capturing his hideous features as if on film.

write about how you just couldn't stop laughing. you are laughing, even now.

[phthalominekitty]

do i sense malice?

9/3/2001

perfect delirium, my sweet. that's what the world is coming to. you can drape yourself all over that chair and type until five in the fucking am for all i care. ooh, so you think i still care? and what might i care about, exactly? equilbrium? exhaustion hits - into you like a train - and nothing matters, save the soft crush of the sheets, the strands of hair rearranging against the pillow as you shift. that's what i care about. life is erased. optimally for eight hours, but thanks to you, this time it'll only be five.

i'll be going to bed, thank you. DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TRY TO STOP ME!

what the hell?

[phthalominekitty]

getting used to this is hard.

9/3/2001

they are everywhere! now there are six. only two of them are worth this. one more is a mystery. i just want something to happen.

i am drowning in all of this - socially demanding.