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Archive for December, 2002

 
|| December 1, 2002 || 2:04 pm || Comments (1) ||

seductress
You are the seductress pin-up! You are self-explanatory. You slut!
What Type Of Retro Gal Are You?

brought to you by Quizilla

Quiz found via Jen’s pretty new (and much more quickly-loading!) site.

 
|| December 1, 2002 || 1:11 am || Comments (1) ||

Living my life in four-minutes-forty-one-seconds intervals now, here, tonight. Thank God for a tiny little invention called The Repeat Button. I could drink faster, but I want the bottom of the bottle to come on slowly, like that guy in the corner of the bar….the one who won’t shake free from the folds in my grey matter. He came on slow enough, but knocked me right over before I knew I was falling. The best cheats always sweep you at the knees.

Even if I were able to place him in the dark recesses of forgetfulness, there is always the pink ribbon, slippery and flawed like nubby silk, there to remind me. I don’t exactly know why I cannot bring myself to throw it away, to banish the thought of blue eyes and hint of staccato Irish from my head. He’s out there, thinking of me as well, ripping off the scabs and licking the past….just like me. I just know it.

There’s not enough fucking tequila, y’all. What I have here clenched in my willing fist will do, however. It will do just nicely. Tingling toes and bittersweet recollections tell me it’s so.

The last words make me the craziest, only because I cannot recall them. Verboten is an irrelevant word here, because I can’t fucking recall them at all. Four-aught-four like green neon in my headspace. They’re there (I don’t care what my collective memory says…I know better) and I am not allowed to play, not allowed to wallow guiltily. Punishment for the sinnergirl.

There were the nights….blessedly humid, our sticky limbs akimbo across whatever surface served as space for the lustful couplings, the muted cries of pleasure and tender whisperings of stark emotion decorating the air we took into ourselves and held, prolonging the few hours we shared here and there over the months that insanity occupied us and knit us together. I sang him to sleep, and after he was no longer a physical part of my life I sang myself there, alone in my thoughts, heart limping and racing in turns.

Hopeless abandon is foolish, reckless abandon is not. Bravado kills; it tears away at a body slowly, eating you from the inside.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

it’s up to you now / this place is filling up with smoke / you won’t let me breathe in or out / so I resolve to cut my own throat

I will never change / not for anyone / sometimes I wish / I could leave myself alone

each day you bring me closer to going nowhere / like sleep walking I’m sleepsinging / some day you’re gonna wish you’d taken better care of me / like sleep walking I’m sleepsinging

I have been such a fool for you / I put my faith in things you could never do / now I’m chasing myself to catch up with you / and you mixed every drink of lies with the truth

I will never change / not for anyone / sometimes I wish / I could leave myself alone

each day you bring me closer to going nowhere / like sleep walking I’m sleepsinging / some day you’re gonna wish you’d taken better care of me / like sleep walking I’m sleepsinging

I will never change, no / will you ever change? / no.

// The Damnwells, ‘sleepsinging