revolution_plus_desire's Xanga

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 23:53:52 GMT

...

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Tue, 06 May 2008 01:56:30 GMT

should probably get over the urge to say something.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 04:02:04 GMT

"Oh, she knew about rage, knew plenty, but she hadn't known how it could go inside as well as out, could smash things you couldn't even see, you carried the pieces around forever, and then they worked their way out through your skin years later, like her father's friend Denny, who'd been caught by a mine in Vietnam. The pieces of shrapnel still working their way out of his flesh all those years later. When he'd been drinking, he'd show you where one was coming out, a dark patch under the hairless, scar-shiny skin. Was that how Michael felt all the time? And how she would feel the rest of her life, pieces of this disaster coming to the surface, cutting through her from the inside out."

-- paint it black, janet fitch.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 23:14:30 GMT

today has been an extraordinarily bad day.

so, to provide me with some much needed entertainment and amusement, i have brought this back from the depths of......last year.

do this.

and then do this.

thank you.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Wed, 30 May 2007 14:42:58 GMT

there are now only 7 public entries on here.

over two years of my life has been hidden. or completely thrown away like the rubbish it really was.

and i feel so strange about that.

"it's okay by me
it was a long time ago"

i just never thought i'd feel like this about my past. i guess we all kind of live life looking for things to remember. with our selective memories. looking for a story to tell. we want to tell that story.

but i don't. not anymore.

i'm not sure if i want to forget it either. i just don't want it to be.. the story i tell over and over. so i won't. and if that means i have less to say, that's fine with me. and i'm sure there won't be any objections from other people.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 19:14:08 GMT

"She seemed transoceanically far away. She was a tessera, a fragment of a mosaic from a lost civilization that refused to remain underground. The effort to dig a mental crypt was futile, because the simple act of noticing her absence, of believing all memory of her dead and buried, of claiming not to miss her, was itself testimony to her lurking, living presence. Had she been absolutely lost, her name would have ceased to be a syntactic entity, the subject of sentences -- always questions -- that clustered in my head like an ache; the Janus-faced ambiguities--absence or presence; apathy or yearning; distance or proximity; disjunction or connection to a past -- would not continually descend. Expunged from my lexicon, the proper noun Susannah would be a meaningless bleat, an opaque syllable from a dead language. Words were cannibals eating up their own past. Susie was nowhere near this table, but I had just vomited up a deeply lodged mouthful of her."
-like being killed.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Wed, 09 Nov 2005 22:38:20 GMT

RadiationSkankQ: It'll proabably end up being something like
"trees, butterflies, butt sex
you are the greatest
muahmuahmuahsoulmates"

caitlin is such a talented poet.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Sat, 29 Oct 2005 01:20:24 GMT

"My mother was wrong about the people at Bellevue. The myth that mental illness has no consciousness of itself parallels the myth that rabbits and dogs have no consciousness of pain, to justify snipping off their eyelids and squirting deodorant into their exposed eyes.

According to my limited readings in pschopathology, broadly, two types of mental illness exist, the ego-syntonic and the ego-dystonic. Syntonic crazy people exist in emotional equilibrium with their symptoms, are untroubled and unworried by their fragmented, disorganized thoughts and hallucinations. They do not perceive their insane thoughts as such. They perceive themselves as well and normal. They are the rare ones, the lucky few that my mother described who get all the laughs.

Most mental illness is ego-dystonic, fully conscious of and hating itself. Dystonic people consciously, lucidly perceive their impaired ability to contact reality and are alarmed by the resulting confusion. Dystonics know that their mental patterns are excessive and unreasonable. Their frustration, when their enormous exertions of effort and faith to stop their obsessions, visions, compulsions, and hallucinations fail, deepens the break...

Syntonics, who are so crazy that they don't know they're crazy, appear more tranquil and socially adjusted and exuberant than the dystonics, who are healthy enough to realize their illness. Syntonics are magnanimous, absurd, slapstick; they were the medieval jesters, the Elizabethian fools, the beloved village idiots who made the whole town cheer when they did anything ridiculous. When a dystonic walks into the room, a storm cloud descends. Contorted with terror, socially withdrawn, verbally spastic, and not much fun, dystonics are never popular."
-Like Being Killed, Ellen Miller (pages 259 & 260)

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Thu, 13 Oct 2005 00:44:24 GMT

sorry for wasting your time
five long months on the telephone line
hours of asking if you were fine
and saying i was fine too

sorry but i've got to go
the birth was quick but the death is slow
there was so much i didnt know
and so much i never knew about you

and so we disconnect, the room grows quiet around us
its called the life effect, will it always surround us?

Friday, May 06, 2005

Fri, 06 May 2005 01:48:23 GMT