It won't stop running.

I want to live in a studio apartment, with a huge open window, a great view of the city. All one big open room. I want to move away from here, from this dirty, lonely spot in New Jersey, to a place where I will struggle and no one will know me. And I will know no one.

I want to string paper birds from the ceiling.. and stick pictures of my friends without faces to the beams that hold up the ceiling. I want to have papers spilled all across the floor with my drunken writing and paintings from the night before. I want to wake up at 8am, a hot mess, and drink my coffee and smoke my cigarettes. And bask in the sunlight.

I will arise and go to work with a heavy smile on my face and no one will know what's underneath or who I am or what I go home to..

He will be there with me, whoever he is. My best friend, I hope. Someone who will love me unconditionally and whom I can love in return. We will make love to one another with childish smiles on our faces.. and never look back. It will not hurt, not matter. There will be friendly loving love between us, no emotional strings where the other will get hurt. He will wash my back for me in the bath, and put my oversized t-shirt on me at night. I will cook for him and read him lines from my book in progress. No tears, no fighting, no jealousy.

There will be candles around us. Around our white wrought-iron bed with the musty sheets covered in yellow flowers. And the lamp I just bought that is made of pink lace and crystal and bows and sweet things that makes a lovely pattern on the ceiling. This is what I want.

We will stand on the balcony and overlook the city and smoke and smoke and smoke. And drink, to life. Not knowing if the bills will get paid or when the electric will get turned back on. We will waste away, never having enough to eat. But it's okay. Because we will have each other. And we will dance to the hum of the cars and the light of the stars.

This is what I want.

Night travels through the forest. In white dresses and suits. And wreathes of nature around our heads. We will have each other and nothing more will matter.

Then we will awake again.. to the sound of more cars. And to the creaking of the bed. And to the paint being spilled upon the floor. And to the drunken post-its crowding and covering the beam next to our faces.

And to some lovely strawberry tea.

This is what I want.

Is it that obvious?

I fell backwards into the chair across from my mother as soon as I was home from work. She tilted her head, gazing at me.

"You look so tired. Your eyes... they look so dark."

I smiled widely, I couldn't help myself.

"Do they?"

Let this burden drift away

I came home from work, immediately running the to the computer to see if he was there. This seemed to be a habit. He was, and my hands fumbled over the keyboard, joyfully popping up a greeting. Then, it began. The harder I fell for someone, the stronger my anxiety became.

2 minutes.

7 minutes.

13 minutes.

No response.

20 minutes.

The timer ended for me at 33, and I just went outside for a cigarette. I carefully sat on my front porch, making sure to sit on my top step, so my feet could rest on the bottom one. I brought the lighter to my face, burning the tip of the cigarette, slowly leaning back and pushing all the smoke out. This is where I always stop, glancing around. My eyes shift from one house to the next; from the houses to the trees looming above them; from the strees to the sky. I brought the cigarette to my lips again, staring straight ahead as I breathed in the poisonous smoke. I began to clutch at myself, wrapping my arms around myself as tightly as possible, since there was no one else to do it for me. My mind always wandered back to him, what I was going to say, what I was going to do to leave an impression. How long would I stare at the monitor before replying?

I took a few more drags, finishing the cigarette. Stood up, walked to the end of the driveway, flicked it in the street. Always the same. I retreated to my bed, gently sitting on it, debating if I wanted to even turn my monitor back on, or if I should just go to bed.

I made the decision to just go to bed.

My phone was turned off; I didn't want to be woken up.

I drifted off quickly, no obstacles in my way.

The night cradled me, lulled me, loved me.

I didn't wake up once.

The next morning

Sun poured in through my window, spilling onto the floor. My body was telling me, screaming at me, that it was too early. I turned over, turning my cell phone back on.

......9:17 a.m.

But more importantly----

no texts

no calls

no questions "Where are you?"

I don't think he cared that I disappeared.

Thinking about this hurts my heart.

chasing, running.

I always wind up chasing.

Always.

How does this happen?

Why can't I ever just sit back and relax?

I thought love was about give and take. But apparently not with me.

Love is about me chasing. And getting turned down.

I throw myself out there haphazardly. I make a fool of myself under all those bright lights. Then I'm left out there, alone.

I still haven't told you the truth.

You'll probably never read this.

But I left him, for you.

turning.

issues? really?

i went through a lot of pain and sacrifice

just to find out he has commitment issues.

exit here. a novel by Jason Myers

"I stalk around my room. I take out this notebook and start writing things down.

Things like:

When I see her, I see need,

I see a black gift wrapped in pink paper,

I see a skeleton draped in red velvet,

I see a frown hiding in a smile,

I see filth and dirt, covered by a rose garden

I crib:

What the fuck is love anyway?

Is it a phone call the next morning?

Is it picking up a hundred-dollar-meal tab?

Is it flowers on the fifth date?

Or is it sleeping on the wet spot?

With my notebook in my lap, my left hand draped against the side of my face, I slam:

You are wrong to think I have no feelings,

You are wrong to think I would not care,

You are not sorry so don't tell me that you are,

You are nothing to me, just some distant black star

I scribble:

July eighteenth.

Three forty-five in the afternoon.

A Team Sleep CD spinning around the player.

I have no one else but myself to blame.

This is all my fault.

It hurts.

It will always hurts.

I will never forget.

I could try, and I will try, but I will never forget.

It will burn in my memory forever.

Just like everything else.

I will not be able to put this away."

careful

you asked me to do this

you told me to do this

i think i let someone break me again

how am i so easily broken?

be careful with my heart

I just want you here, right this moment.

Circling circling inside of you

Close your eyes
Close your eyes
Put your thoughts to sleep
Let your brilliance float to the surface

who feels love

[nido] VIRTUD

Mayhem 2009

How I felt so alive.

Oh, how I wish I were better.

I lay down at night, and I dream. Oh, how I dream. I try to create but I fail miserably. Something half good must come from these fingers at some time or another. It kills me... I used to be quite the artist. I painted and drew for hours upon hours, never looking back. Now the most I do is draw patterns in the cement with my cigarette ashes. I keep a book at my side, and often times it is forgotten for days and weeks. I try so hard to keep it with me, but sometimes my head just lulls to the side and doesn't want to think right. He was the one who inspired me to create, but I don't quite want to remember him anymore. I've moved on to bigger, better things. If you don't want me, then I don't want you.

I try to be happy, I try to smile.

But these sleepless nights are getting to me. They make my body frail and tired, and suddenly I feel like death is approaching. Why can't I just get along during the day like everybody else?

And now, I don't know what I want. I don't know what I want from anybody.

From you, from him, from her. From myself.

What more can I ask? I simply need to keep existing from day to day.

I feel like moving far and starting again.

I've fucked up royally thus far.

These feelings inspire, and these feelings kill.

I never truly feel that I am too alone.

my own pictures.

Omg guys.
I got a Lomography Diana F+ today.

dreamland.

Can I go to sleep for a few months or a few years?
But I want you by my side, holding me.


pictures from deviantart.

Come home, Oscar.

Stuntkid.

Stuntkid- blog & illustration.

Bleeding Fingers.

above the rotted flesh

As I was driving home

I took my eyes off of the road
And noticed the small piece of myself hanging
I put it between my lips
and tore
It stung
but I wasn't quite sure if it was from my teeth
or from something else
I bit down hard until it bled
almost, almost
and then I remembered the tiny crack I had in my lip
and I watched as 1,000 tiny spiders
came pouring from it
and all I could taste was the blood in my mouth.

sleep & memory

day in and day out. day in and day out. I try to keep my sentences short, oh, just the way you like it. I remember that ride, where I felt completely at peace with the world. How I always wished the world could look just like this, forever. The sky was blue and the grass was green. I wanted to fly up and out of myself, and lay there until time decomposed me. These pictures bring back memories of a time that was once much better. I didn't have any cares or worries. I was, really, halfway across the world. I was outside the area of communication with my friends and family, but I felt so disconnected, it didn't even matter. The big green phones always called out to me, ring, ring, ring. The card in my pocket burned a hole. Don't you wish you were there, too? I know you do. No one, ever, in existence, shall return to my exact spot and feel what I felt. No one shall look out the rain-speckled window and stare at those boys with such wild ferocity and wonder... How could two school boys, on their bicycles, be so interesting? I traveled from city to country and from country to city. I can say I've climbed a mountain. And I wouldn't be lying.
I can sit here and stare at the television, and maybe I'm not so alone now because I can hear my mother sleeping in the next room. I have a feline next to me, adjoined to my hip. My legs are feeling the warmth of this machine, and it's traveling to my cold hands and feet once again. The lights are unnaturally yellow, and I wish I could take a picture. Outside, is black. Black like that time. I feel like the night calls out to me, as though I should be a nocturnal person. But sleeping is so good to me, coddling me like a newborn child. It takes away my self, and allows me to dance and writhe in it's dream world, where I am quite invincible. I see bad things, and good things, things I both do not want and want to remember. Sometimes I am sad to awaken, other times ecstatic. My consciousness is slipping, being pulled from behind my eyes. Can I reach out to you? I think not. My other half is sleeping a town away, watching bad kung fu movies and jogging at 11:30 at night. I wish I had the motivation to wander around the earth so late at night. I want to be someone else. My lip is bleeding bad now and my back is crying.


pictures(c) me, except for #3

What am I feeling?

My head has that kind of heavy feeling, like it could just topple off of my neck at any moment. I can feel the cold from my toes pressed against my jeans. The sun is shining outside, and it's a beautiful day. I drove home with the windows all the way down, and felt like I belonged. My hair was rushing around my face in the wind, but not going above my head thanks to my hat. I was listening to the right music, and smoking a cigarette. But I was returning home to an empty house. I wanted to go somewhere, and do something, but I knew that homework was awaiting me. Homework that isn't getting done, even now. The television is on, and it gives me some sort of connection to the outside world, even in this lonely house. I feel like I'm not sitting inside of an empty building so much. But you. Why can't I stop thinking about you? I feel it in my fingers, but not in my brain so much. My brain is swimming. I only have so long to sleep before everything comes crashing down. And yet, I sleep all the time. Too much, for someone my age. I don't know what I want.

Aching head the next day.

Water, water, water. Her eyes were bright, and clean, and alive. Her hands were shaking, and her knees were trembling against the cold wind. This was something that didn't happen often. She didn't know what to make of it. All she knew, is that she wanted to crawl into bed and lay there until the end of time and her for her soul to be taken away. Everything was coming back and forth in flashes, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her, and her hands entwined in his. These people were cold and harsh, and insulted her at every chance. Just because she lived in the quiet little neighborhood, near the horrible one.. was that probable?

Synesthesia "Gimme Heaven"

(Synesthesia / Synaesthesia) - (sin'is-the'zhea) - Noun.

A condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another, as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a color. Synesthesia is "abnormal" only in being statistically rare. "Synesthesia" is a sensibility which cannot be understood by other people. An incident brings two lonely souls who possess this unsolved puzzle of mind to meet, leading to strange events and a serial murder case.

Shinsuke has been going on with his uneventful daily life, with "synesthesia" being the only symptom differentiating him from others. He keeps the dark depth of his mind to himself, but feels distant even from his best friend and his fiancee. Mari has also been feeling deep solitude from experiencing synesthesia which she feels she is unable to share with anyone. Her parents have passed away, and her adoptive parents mysteriously die, one by one. Picasso, the "dealer of death" comes into scene as mysterious incidents and murder occur one after another. Shinsuke suspects that Mari is being followed by Picasso, and that she may be the next victim. Shinsuke and Mari's fateful meeting upturns their lives and leads them to tragedy.

Marlboro

She was up at 7 a.m., bright-eyed for the morning ahead. She went to church like a good little girl, and went to work until 10 p.m. She was told that she would have coffee awaiting for her on the other end of the world. Or so it seemed that way.

She went home and got changed, put on her fresh doll-face, and got into the car. As soon as she received the address, she was on her way. She drove for hours and hours, in the lonely night. No one on the road. No more headlights to encounter. It was already getting late, and she was tired. Happily expecting that coffee.

After much coaxing, he came from his house. It was like a silent reunion of two long lost souls. What were they supposed to do again? Oh yeah, visit haunted spots in Jersey and take pictures of each other, and stare into each other's souls. Take pictures that would last forever, hold hands, see through one another. Drive all over the Jersey landscape in the night with no one else.

First, the coffee was not prepared. But the jitters in her cold bones kept her awake. The driveway was bitter and mean to her, not making the situation any better. They drove to Wawa, drove to Marlboro, didn't get out, couldn't get out. Her stomach leaped up into her throat and she couldn't do anything but drive away. They sat in an abandoned shopping center parking lot for a while, listening to music. She got criticized for her taste in music. Tried to access the internet, but to no avail. Jersey was dead at 3 a.m.

Were they the only two souls alive at that time?
Hot, hotter, scarier.
The night ended miserably.
Something was taken from her, something inside was broken. She left a part of herself back there. But it's forever lost now.

Haddonfield, Still

So I spent my entire Biology class dreaming up things to fill this blog with. I have quite a few ideas, 3 full lined pages in length. Daydreaming was much better than learning about the damned cardiovascular system. And every time she pronounced something wrong, it made me squirm deep down inside. Which was quite often.

picture (c) me

Haddonfield

So now here I am off to school.
I'm sitting in my bedroom with the lights turned down low, and my finger tips are as cold as ice. I wish I didn't have to ride that rotten bus with all those alienating people. Talking on their cell phones about shit that no one cares for. I am in a class of perhaps 10, and my professor is a complete moron. She makes me fear for the direction Biology is taking.

Maybe I should do a picture a day?

pictures (c) me