This morning I drove through a small rainbow.

Ah, the wonders of being young. I was always aware of death, including my own; but somehow I felt exempt. Sometimes I still do. My instinct and my mind are in a constant battle with each other. There is ultimately no winner, of course. The idea is to maintain some kind of solidity for my fragile mask of sanity whilst trudging about the weathered waking and sleeping worlds.

I like masks. I loathe masks.

Yeah.

I work with three people. Two "bosses" (really, one of the two is the REAL boss -- the head of the company) and the "third" guy who has been here since the spring to do sales. Out of the three, of course, I like the "third" guy the best. Both my bosses are foreign (One is Egyptian and the other is Indian). The "other guy" is Indian as well but waaaaaay more Americanized, so naturally we get along better. I believe my bosses are more sexist and stubborn. It isn't their fault of course. It's due to the cultures they were raised in. So the Real Boss (Sikh Indian) calls me on the phone in the office this morning to tell me that Third Guy's father "expired" and Third Guy won't be coming in. I feel very bad for Third Guy, of course. I also had an automatic sting in my chest when Real Boss used the word "expired" but I also know that it is common to use that vocabulary in many cultures so I let it roll off my back like nothing.

After Real Boss finally arrived today, he had to make some phone calls. After he gets off the phone at one point, he said to me in his very heavy accent, "I don't know with some women who get high in power of things become VERY arrogant and very..." I can't remember the rest verbatim (and yes he does speak that way). I did hear him on the phone though and he did mention that Third Guy is out due to his father "expiring". I told Real Boss that people are different and you never know what's going on on the other end and why people are the way they are. I said "people" on purpose because the mentioning of women offends me a little (even though I wanted to throw a sexist comment of my own like, "Perhaps she is on the rag!" in there). No one sex is this or that way more than the other with many, many things. I also told him that perhaps she got offended by the way he described the passing of Third Guy's father. I told him that *I* understood what he meant, but usually people in this country say "died" or "passed away" and usually the latter of those two. He told me that was "good to know". You'd think 13 years in this country would teach you these things but I guess not always. I think it's very interesting how different cultures refer to death (and things in general). A term someone from somewhere afar uses everyday is something that sounds like when we ask what the date on the carton is to see if the milk has gone sour.

Here is why three weeks with no cigarette really doesn't matter. Alternately: Temporary Atheism? Second alternate: Simply severe depression?

Words cannot express the anguish my "soul" experiences. Yet, I still write. Why? Will it serve as some magic cathartic vessel? No. It's just the slight and pathetic hope it will help. I suppose it's a distraction. Passing each dying minute of this body's "existence". Making this temporary stint on Earth seem meaningful. I find this life to be pretty cheap. Here, listen to some wonderful music. Watch the ocean crash onto land. Bake some delicious fucking cookies... Whoops! Sorry! All these things must cease for you since now you must cease. Right. Well, if you believe in an afterlife, then that's just dandy. Hey, do you think there is a 'beforelife'? Fuck. There is now. We choose what we choose to make it seem worth something. To distract from the inevitable. Hobbies, "God", work, sex, shitty writing - whatever. Pain. No pain. Old. Young. We all just go. It doesn't matter if anyone even reads this.

I am an alien.

Now it's October.

I don't know where the month of September went, but it went fast. It was August until my Grandmother died. September began and Jason's Grandmother died on the first day of it. Since then, everything has been a blur of somehow driving to and from Kentucky, packing, preparing, unpacking, cleaning, physical pain and of course the depression. My BPD (Borderline) has definitely clenched me in it's fists a lot lately as well. So much so and so hard that it's pouring out of the almost completely closed spaces between it's fingers like meat being pressed into a meat grinder and squeezing through holes.

I was going to say more but I am leaving work early.

Very, very depressed. Whatever pops into my mind.

Last names are despicable
First names are a nuisance

No two clouds are ever the same
No two waves are ever the same

My feet are roots
My body is a stem
My head is the flower
My hairs are the petals

The intangible tumor in my mind is named Misery.

If I pick the skin around my nails, things will be better. I try to make it all even. No parts sticking up. I don't care if any parts are redder than pink. It's still smooth. Smooth is better. Smooth is better. Smooth is better. Tiny balls of blood will clot and wash away. No worries. No worries.

Cup. A teacup. Soft clank to a saucer.

I'm done with life but apparently it's not done with me.

I love one of my best friends ever, Jill. She is talking to me as all this random shit pops into my mind.

J just texted me and now I want to cry.

Forget whatever flows into my head. None of it matters, really.

I can't stop thinking about this today...

Machines. 98 years here. Brown blocks of chronology visible through dried and opened lips. A small bug lands on her mouth. Like the one that bit me last week on my hand. She's not even dead yet. Tiny and frail, she (the machines) gasps for air. A dying, wrinkled flesh robot. My Grandma.

We leave the hospital. Sun showers ensue. A full rainbow comes through the clouds. I have never seen a full one before. Only halves or parts.

Two days later, gone for good. The day after that, burial.











5.23.10 - 8.14.08


*Edit* The pictures are getting cut off but only a little bit and I don't know why. Still not all too used to this site. If you really care, just right click and view image.

Hello, Friday.

So once again here I am. I'm sitting at "work". Listening to 'Bbydhyonchord' by Aphex Twin via my Project Playlist thingy on my MySpace page. It's the first song that came on when I decided to listen to it (it's always on shuffle) and I must say, it's rather appropriate for right now. There is something about his music that melts into the creases of my brain and drips down all the way to my heart. I feel this way about a lot of music (since music is my Love) but his music is different since there are usually no words involved.

Music always intrigued me from every possible viewpoint. For instance, when you hear a song, it becomes it's own identity. I don't know if that makes sense. I guess what I feel is that you almost forget that people are putting together sounds to make one conglomerate section of space, time and sound. Sure you can see sound waves with proper instruments and your ear drum does technically vibrate, but really, listening, is an pseudo-intangible thing. I am insane. I am insane? I wish I could convey what I mean properly.

I think I may post some old and shitty and also some not-so-shitty poetry on here from time to time. I haven't written much lately. I haven't really done anything lately. I feel trapped where I live. Thank BOB that will be changing in a little over a week. Same with cigarettes. *waves goodbye to those on Sunday* I must sing. Some way. Somehow. By the way, does anyone know how to copyright photos and poetry on here? Not that anyone would want to steal my shit, but how do you make it official?

On my way to work this morning I used the heated seats in my car. A sure sign that Autumn is almost here. This pleases me. I love feeling the cool air from outside while my back and bottom is warm. I love wearing comfy clothes, breathing crisp air and the scent of dead and/or burning leaves. I took a different route today because of shitty Long Island traffic. The sunlight hit everything around me so beautifully, it made me want to die. I don't understand why I feel this way! Beautiful? Die? Why put the two together? Maybe I just ache for happiness so when I see something enjoyable it subconsciously reminds me of how crappy my life has been? Oh woe is me, woe is me. "It could always be worse", Jason says. "You could wake up with no arms." This is true. Very true.

My boss just turned on the air conditioning even though it's chilly. I told him I was sick and cold. "It's just a little stuffy in here..." he said. I love the consideration. I shouldn't complain. I've known the way he is for over three years now. It truly is chilly in here. Oh well. Slaves don't get much say, do they?

I think I'm going to call a doctor soon and try to get seen after work. I can't stand this anymore. Day three.