my rant the other did help one thing: the serious writers block I have had as late. Those long term in the Lisa Chronicles should know the pattern by now: days of entries, big gap in time, one seriously angsty entry, and back to days of entries again.
In the last few days, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my head. I was telling James (from England) about how I would, at times, spend hours staring at myself in the mirror. Maybe looking for the piece that is missing? maybe looking for the “spark” to light up my life. who knows. but, it’s something I’ve always tried /not/ to do (but did anyway) because it seemed to be fairly vain.
When I’m walking by a window/mirror or something that basically is going to reflect, I always want to look at my eyes and facial features. I want to see what the world sees. Justin often chides me on this as we are driving home because I will glance into the rear-view mirror and just /look/ at my eyes. I want to notice something that other people claim to see or want to see.
The one thing that struck me odd was that my eyes are actually /light/ brown. I remember a few years ago when Danny and I were at BlockBuster one night renting a movie. We had been joyfully arguing about whose eyes were darker. The BlockBuster we patronized at the time had square poles that were covered in mirrors. He grabs me by the hair and shoves my face (lightly!) near the mirror with his next to mine. Yep, he was right. My eyes were a lot lighter than I had /thought/ I had seen while his were nearly black as night.
all too often I don’t think we really /see/ who we are. One of the big conceptions I think (as someone pointed out to me last night) was that web-Lisa is different from irc-Lisa, which to be sure, is different from real-life-Lisa. Some times it’s hard to reconcile one from the other and where those boundaries lay.
I’m not really good with boundaries. I tend to think “mine mine mine” and keep it that way until I’m bored or have been kicked to the curb.
so the other day, was sitting on the sink applying mascara when i /really/ looked at myself. eyes, lips, cheekbones, the curve of my face into my neck. i spent more time staring into my eyes than anything, still looking for that piece of information that i feel keeps lacking in my life. going back to the color, i noticed my eyes were light brown with a wide ring of dark blue around the cornea. it was a strange combination, but that is what i saw. someone else, as i recall, had noticed it too when staring into my heavenly orbs. others have claimed to have seen green and yellow specks or that one eye was hazel and the other dark brown. me? well, i always said my eyes were dark as night and after 26 years of living with them, you would think that i would know what i was talking about.
well i was wrong.
i keep thinking of late what Andrew said about perceptual reality and global reality. we can all agree, for instance, that the sun rises in the morning and sets at night. what we can’t agree on is whether or not when it rises or when it sets because our perception of this even is going to be different. i like akining this to people and how people perceive different things and what we want from that perception itself. maybe, sometimes, we try to hard to think one thing and what we really have is another.
i dunno, it just seems that lately the more angst i give myself the more i bury myself into myself. sometimes change is good — and sometimes finding certain aspects of different relationships with people on either irc/real life or what have you, gives you a whole new view on things.
tonight for instance, i interviewed a guy here for a position that is going to be created. basically, this position would be my boss. at first, i knew who the person was (he was doing tech support for us) but i had never spent more than five minutes speaking to him in any sort of conversation. but once we started the interview, the roles changed. he was a fresh perspective and i found i could really and truly communicate with him. while we came from different ethnic and racial backgrounds, our own lives were very similar in a lot of aspects.
Joseph said it on irc one night that clicked a bell inside of me: I like the attention people give me. And i had laughed that off because I didn’t that was true, but it’s not the attention from others in any context that i crave, it’s the energy from those people i crave.
someone with charisma who can keep up their end of the conversation is more apt to have my attention then someone who doesn’t. i think this explains some of the aspects of why i flirt so much. some people you can spend hours and hours talking to, even in a platonic matter, while others are like fucking dead people. I think that is what bothers me the most about some of my “admirers” that were stalking me at one time or another: the spark wasn’t there to carry on the conversation longer than any sort of subject other than what was superficial at the moment. and it wasn’t that i needed something like that all the time, but think of me as a battery: i need to keep going and going and going.
i think this works well with the exhibitionist streak that i have or the fact that it seems i have no morals. I do, however the point i want to make is that i want people to /think/ for themselves and think completely independent of what they see/hear. This doesn’t fall into any sort of intelligence or common sense issue, it falls into the issue that some people have “spark” and others don’t.
Jeff once said to me that I zipped up my whole life into a F.U.C.K. file and gave it to the world. Pawl said that I never told him anything other than in email. I think that I say a lot of things, I just think that many of those I’m speaking to just don’t listen. Yeah, yeah, I know: they are not clairvoyant or even telepathic. I just think that for the lack of attention paid to that aspect (look what I do for godsakes), is one of the reasons why i had finally broken down and did LisaLandCam, because I have absolutely no problem baring my soul to the world and have you notice the consistencies (or inconsistencies) of who I am. This is me. This is not all of me, but it’s enough for now. Even in day to day activities, I still find that many of what I said/do is still under heavy watching because it may not make sense with what I have said/done in the past.
I’m really into “real” things. like things that can be touched/felt/seen/heard. I’m into staring into eyes and seeing what images i can come up with. I’m into baring the soul and not letting go. mystery is fine, that’s part of the mindfuck, keep it changing, but i need to make it real, in no matter what context. so that’s why, it’s a paradox: i say a lot in these herein journals but when it comes to those I’m talking to: i want to see results! i want to see actions! don’t tell me x,y,z just do it! I get easily frustrated with how people will, instead of take charge of the situation, lax on it. either you do or you don’t.
as for me, well, no one ever said i was perfect nor did anyone say that i easy to get along with. but i can tell you one thing: go sit in your bathroom, flip the lights on and stare into your own eyes for an hour or so. things will become a lot clearer when you do.
love,
x0x0x0x0x
Year: 1999
sex/purity/soul
in the past, a snappy title is what it takes for me to get going on writing a chronicle. sometimes it will be something that I’ve seen or something that i have read. other times it will be something that will just pop in my head when I’m doing something mindless.
tonights title came from the fact i was zipping up my mozerella cheese when i started singing the ziplock commercial song.
now how lame is that?
so here i am. hurriedly approaching my 27th birthday and in many ways, i don’t feel like i have accomplished a whole hell of a lot in my life. for many of you know, I’ve been in a constant state of flux with what i wanted to do with my life. my first set of stress was Justin. Well, I took care of that by breaking it off with him. So now I’m single. Well, lets enter some other problems here:
- We live together.
See, my plan was to stay with him till i felt that he was capable of taking care of himself. And NO he didn’t move to SF to be with me, however it took a lot of push/pull on my side to get him motivated to get a decent job and earn a living for himself. Now he is, but then I was in school and I wasn’t making enough to sneeze at. So I dropped out of school. But the stress is still there cos now we are broken up, i quit school and are living together. He gets depressed when I start mentioning about anything about the breakup. And that throws me off. I have not had time to heal damnit. And I really resent that. I need my space. But I cannot be a cruel person and kick him out on the streets. He has no financial obligations to me anymore (not that he should, however). But his lack of motivation drives me insane. I can’t force myself into doing that. - New Roommates.
Well it finally happened: Charlie “officially” moved in. Charlie is Cathleen’s bf, whom she’s been dating for the last 6 or so months. I finally put my foot down the other week and said “Look, he’s here /every night/, either he coughs up rent or he doesn’t come over anymore.” Well, the other day I was told that Charlie was officially moving in. Good because now everything is split in fours. Bad, because I still gets no privacy damnit. We have a two bedroom house, but it’s not like it’s spacious. and i still am in a snit about the fact that i haven’t slept alone since I last went back to Michigan and visited my family. god, back on my shitty twin size bed. it was lumpy, it was crappy, but oh so worth it. i miss that bed, out of pure instinct that i haven’t slept alone in nearly a year. no one knows how much that bugs me. I am, by nature a private person. I like my space. I like being alone. Really. I’m not chiding people here nor do I expect people to understand, but I’ve lived with three bf’s in the last four years and I’m tired of it. I want my own fucking space. I cannot stress this enough.Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my roommates, but my lifestyle and theirs just don’t match. You know I’ve never owned my own bed? it was either parental given or bf-owned. - Verk.Oh this should be a fun one.
(If there is a hell, I’ll see you there.)
That should sum it up. I’m BORED. BORED I TELL YOU!
I feel absolutely uncreative and un-anything at work. All i do is IRC all damn day, because that is mildly amusing.
This is one rant i don’t want to go on about right now.
sex/purity/soul
(you make me perfect)
I’ve been sl00ting around on irc for the last few hours, looking for something anything that will get me going. something that would take me away from all of this. something that will make me spark and make my world appear in clarity. what i got was a topic war in #after_dark and being beaten with a zuicinni by snowdrake.
this isn’t a bad thing — but there is something missing, a part of me. a part of something else. i don’t know.
So I’ll start at the beginning.
I’ve always dreamed of a life of being the perfect sub to the perfect male. more or less he would be my perfect counterpoint in so many ways. he didn’t have to be perfect, he just had to be perfect for me. and along the way, i ran into a lot of people i thought i loved. and maybe i did, but there was so much missing from them that i made compromises for. that i accepted it as such because i didn’t think anyone would want me. in my own ways, I’m too messed up for a relationship. along with me comes a lot of baggage that no one deserves to have.
and then there was shame.
shame came along when potential dates would exclaim about my fantasies as sick of perverted or that i had too much experience and since i enjoyed anal sex, i was a whore. i lost my ideals as they mocked my purity saying that someone like me wasn’t pure. my soul kept getting raped by gangbusters of things i do not understand or care to know about. and i let it happen. i wasn’t protective enough to not let it happen. i gave in. i wanted someone to fucking love me and along the way i was abused and used by (it seems) every male in my life.
and i have to be strong.
and so future potential dates would be aghast and would proclaim that i was damaged goods. “How could you!” they would yell at me. “How could you let him do that to you?” How could you have said that you loved him? How could I let him fuck me 90000 different ways. How could I become his willing whore? And after they fucked me, they would laugh and say how much this didn’t happen. I didn’t have enough respect for myself to NOT let it happen.
I always exclaimed I was the one women men would fuck while they married my friends. They wanted this ultra-pure girl who would proclaim, honestly or not, that he was the best they ever had. but she wouldn’t fuck like i do. they would get bored with their wives/gf’s and they would call me on the sly and tell me they loved me. and i would play the denial game and deny them, making me stronger in so many ways. they would come back to me. hiding out watching me. “She doesn’t fuck like you do lisa?” But what about fucking me. that’s my question.
What the fuck about me.
After Jeff, I lost all hope. No, I lost hope before that. It’s been so long since I have liked someone. Really liked someone for themselves. But I can’t talk about me because that would be too fucking painful. And they would only use it later on me when they touted to their friends that they fucked me and I was a whore. And they would laugh as I cried after we had sex because they didn’t get it. Or they would try and play the sympathy act, telling me that they loved me. my perversions didn’t mean jack shit but in the end, it did. “Hurt me.” I would say. “I can’t” they would say. OR else it’s the guys who love me and want to hurt me, but they smack me or pinch/claw/bite me and get frightened by my response.
Everyone goes away in the end.
I try to be so brave and pretend I’m something that they want. i would do things that they “thought” they knew me as, and not ONE of them had the balls to look past that and tell me to knock it off. They don’t want me. They think I”m the whore i truly am. Nothing matters anymore.
What have i become.
I’m angry right now, but it’s the anger that doesn’t matter. because i like someone right now. i like them a lot. first person in god knows how long I’ve actually liked. and i find myself sitting there just thinking about random and sundry things because i know i could fall in love with him. and he says he understands. i think he does. but…
but I’m over-reacting. i see myself in him and vice versa. and i think my obsession with him will drive him away. how my own lack of security about the fact that this person likes me will drive him away. i should be happy, right? i have something to look forward to. and i find that I’m not happy about anything because finding him right now was the worse fucking luck. why couldn’t it have been when i was settled somewhere new and not have so much fucking baggage wrapped around my neck? why couldn’t it have been when I felt i made something of myself. or in any a 100 different ways or situations?
the other day we were on the phone and he said he felt i was it. you know, THE ONE. first time someone admitted that to me without my prompting (men are so fucking easy to fuck in the mind). and in the spur of the moment, i wanted to say “i love you” because in that moment i did. i loved like i never loved before. however, there was a fork in my tongue and i didn’t say it. the problem is that, when i find someone i like, i start thinking the wonderful person they are. and i get possessive about them. and i get obsessed about them. they get scared. and they don’t understand. and i find that i jinx it by talking about talking about them. that i might make it worse. and i don’t want to be stress to anyone. or a burden. just pet me a few times a day. throw some luvin’ my way, and I’m set. let me be free. i don’t want to hurt anyone, god, i don’t. i don’t want to be hurt, but liking him means that maybe, one day, i’ll be hurt or he’ll be hurt. and I’ve been thought hat scenario so many times in my life. how much more pain do i have to go through? i don’t understand that.
hold me like this for a hundred thousand million days.
i always end up saying the wrong thing and they will get angry at me. and then i get scared and i cry and i don’t know what to do. and he’s not a stress to me. no. that’s not it. i know that, I’ve thought about that. finding him right now was good luck because i don’t have to think with him i just be. but i miss him. more than anything.
but i always feel like there is something missing in me.
or that something is evil. that i will never get anything that i feel is richly mine. that i will always end up being someone’s whore, because it feels like every man i meet wants to fuck? fine. i can play that act so well. i don’t know what it feels like to have sex and WANT it. all I now is the motions. I now how to fuck someone and fuck them good. i know how to move and moan in the right motions. and when they aren’t looking, i turn and cry.
I wish i could just stop.
too many years I’ve cried for you.
head in pain, holded in shame.
different name. same old game.
so i can’t take it anymore.
my friend James left to go back to Florida yesterday. a few weeks ago i had the bright idea that i would pack up everything that was holding me down and just go. leave. vamoose. adios, i ain’t looking back. but i didn’t. i couldn’t. i should have. I’m kicking myself for not doing that. i didn’t care about what happened. i knew what i wouldn’t. i didn’t have the balls to do it. i wanted to feel free. take a few weeks off, enjoy his company, see the US.
I’m feeling non-sequential right now. i have so much to say. and i read this and it smells like tripe.
and i hate myself even more.
i wish i had the energy to die. you know, suicide. but I’m too strong for that. i don’t have the guts to complete anything it seems. i just waste my hours on thing that make no sense. people anger me. i don’t want to deal. just don’t want to deal anymore.
I’m broken.
used goods.
there is a tiny sliver inside of me that has hope, but I’m guarding that. holding it close. i know this game all to well. i know now how to play it with the best instinct. i know how this goes. i now what to do. this is my mantra. i know what I’m going to do.
I WANT MY LIFE BACK!
so i sit here with my head cocked to one side and i realize that i don’t care. i don’t care at all. Justin is next to me, he’ll do anything for my attention and i get repulsed by his constant greediness and i can’t deny him because it’s all my fault. it’s all my fault. and i want to hurt myself. pain. that’s all it i think about these last few days is pain. because i can let it go. i can let it go.
i need to find something pure. something worthwhile to believe in. something worthwhile to hope for. i need to have something(someone?) who i can hold and not feel like it’s fake. not feel like it’s going to disappear on me. i need something i call my own. i need something that won’t mock me, shame me or make me feel dirty inside. i need to find something that i can hold in my life that once i have that everything else will click into place.
I’m not as strong as you think i am.
i may pretend, but that’s a game I’ve fabricated all to well.
i just don’t want no more lies.
i just don’t want to lie to myself or to them or to anyone. i want to carve out the person known as lisa and fuck them all. i want to curl up and die sometimes. i want to hold hold hold hold hold hold.
no more lies.
my life is a sham. it is. everyone wants a piece of me and they all want this piece of something. and I’m not worth having. because once they get the person known as lisa, they decide this is the time they don’t want it, so they discard it. they don’t understand.
one person.
not fake.
to understand.
who fucking gets this shit in my head and i don’t have to explain. i don’t want to explain anymore. I’m so tired of explaining to everyone.
and what I’m sick of is these tripey emails from people who tell me how brave i am. i ain’t fucking shit. I’m just a person who sits down and writes what the rest of you don’t have the fucking balls to admit to anyone, not even to yourself. you have no fucking clue what it’s like being me. everyone wants a piece when I’m high, cuz when I’m high i fucking rock and when I’m slumming to new lows they all vamoose quicker than a prom dress. and you fucking sit there and tell me how much you admire me? Admire what? My pain? Admire what? My view on things? because i can see things you are too fucking ignorant to even comprehend. I’m so sick of the nearly 100 emails in my box of people telling me they understand. no, you don’t understand. how do i know you don’t understand? because i know that you want to feel like me. this is my gift. i fucking rip my heart out for the whole fucking world to read and you sit there and think you are like me and you’re not. you don’t have the balls to do what i do. very few people do. you just sit there smug with satisfaction thinking that this is nothing more then something you understand and then you try and hold a conversation with me and you don’t get it. i have to explain even the same thing over and over to you again. and I’m sick of explaining. if you so fucking understand you wouldn’t have me fucking explain the most simplest concepts to you. you don’t get me. see, that’s what I’m saying. you think that this webpage is a mirror of me. no. it’s a mirror of a part of me. it’s everything I’ve been dying to say to the fucking world since i was old enough to fucking talk.
yeah and I’m fucking pissed right now.
and the word fuck gets sprinkled in my language a lot.
and i’ll tell you why I’m fucking pissed. I’m pissed because people are fucking whores. I’m a whore. i sold my fucking body for a plane ticket and three months of hell to move to california thinking i could escape my demons. hell is living with a gay male pretending he’s straight. someone telling you over and over that he loves you and understands you but has no clue to who you are. someone who publically humiliated me at a conference over some two bit trick. i’ll tell you what being me means, it means sitting there listening to people talking about their fucking life and wishing for one fucking moment the fact that i chipped a nail was the least of my problems. i’ll tell you what fucking being means. flying to Pennsylvania on the fucking HOPE that you found someone that had a clue only to get there and try to kiss him and have him reject you AND then to top it off, tell you that he doesn’t find you sexually attractive and sit there smug as a fucking ass while you cry. i’ll tell you what being me is, it’s sitting there waiting hope against hope that someone that you once dated turned himself into the image of something you wanted and once he did that, you didn’t want them anymore. i’ll tell you what it is, it’s sitting here shoving clothespins everywhere because that pain is real.
you want to know the big joke is?
it’s that the people who read this will take this abuse.
that’s the fucking joke.
did i hurt your feelings?
too fucking bad. I’ve been too fucking careful about what i say. fuck’em. every last one. the minor points of my stress is this facade people put around themselves. What the fuck are you afraid of? I don’t get that. They all sit there smug when i rant and rave (She’s nuts, they say.) but you know what, this is ME. mememememememememmeme. ME. This i WHO i am. I’m fucking angry. I enjoy giving pain. I enjoy pushing myself to the limits. You don’t get it, you never will. You see something I do, and suddenly it becomes the new euphanism. I snarfle, you all snarfle. I burp you burp. I make asinine comments and you laugh. god you’re stupid.
one person.
to stand up to me and tell me I’m full of shit.
I’m revoking the right for you to abuse me with your lame ass emails. Who gives a fuck if you understand me. If you understood me, you would know perfectly well that by impressing me is not by emailing me some lame ass tripe shit about how cool i am.
duh.
i despise you. i despise the fucking lot of you. i despise the fact that you’ll read this and go back to your safe little life and have no imagination or creation. i despise your ability to mock me and what i say. and secretly you want to be like me.
i despise you for imitating me. get your own schtick. now i get sick when i do something because you want to be like me so bad. i want something different.
one person.
different.
someone.
just one person.
that’s all i ask.
i want to fuck them and feel it. no more blue dots for me. i want to regain everything you parasites took from me. every single last thing.
i want to love like there is no tomorrow and i want to be my own person.
i want to.
kinda i want to.
because my curse. hysop in your perfume.
and he knows i love him.
and i won’t be afraid to admit it next time he asks.
x0x0x0x0x0x
moi
short but sweet
I broke up with Justin.
For good.
I had this long diatribe written in my head about things with him, and about what i wanted to be/go/do/see, but right now it’s currently 1:47am in the morning. Tomorrow I am “supposedly” driving to Clovis to go fix computers (3hr trip one way) and to be honest, I’m too fucking tired. To top it all off, my fucking zip drive is dying and i almost lost /all/ my webpage stuff.
Ick.
Let’s just say today’s theme song is “I’m Free” by the Soup Dragons.
I’ll get into the gory details tomorrow.
To amuse yourself, check out a few things:
-LisaLandCam. All Lisa All The Time(tm). I got this wild idea up my ass (um, thanks Paul š that having a cam at work was a good thing. So I took mine into work and played around with it and finally got it working. Then I buggered Justin to use his cam at home on my pc, so NOW you can watch me either at home or at work. I still don’t “get” cams. Why anyone would want to watch me sit there with biore on my face is beyond me, however, it’s been pretty neat. I’ve been having a lot of fun with it. Within it’s birth, I’ve gotten over 2000 unique hits and over 10000 hits. In three days. Cheap lazy buggers, won’t read about me but will sit there and stare at my face. heh.
-Finally uploadedĀ Lisa 2000. heh. Missing some links, but it sure bets that crappy old page I had.
Now, you know and can SEE everything about me.
I have no shame.
Love,
exhibitionist extraordinaire
x0x0x0x0x
astrix love
another unsuccessful day at work attempting to get my lisa-land-cam working.
blah.
true confessions
anger is a gift.
I’ve always thought that and i shall always believe that. sometime ago i used to be quite angry. really angry. hours and hours locked in my room writing/reading/pacing the floor. i would listen to Ministry. NIN. Front242. JudyBats. Cure. hard driving music. depressing music. this was my own little world and this is how i wanted to live it. i remember oh so long ago, standing in my bedroom while living in Toronto looking out to the city. I had gone with my dad to see “Pump up the Volume” and I had borrowed my dads cassette recorder. I spent hours talking to myself, always thinking about that perfect moment, perfect man, perfect life. I chronicled how I felt in long diatribes. I wrote letters after that to my friends. Long missives about life. me. love.
i still remember those nights quite vividly. they’ve been sparked by long discussions recently that were not of shallow content. And it started breaking down again and again. pent up rage and emotion that i don’t let out anymore. i had promised myself after Alan that i would never feel that way again. After Jeff, I made it so.
Then along came Justin. And you would think i would be happy. People always tell me I should be and that i have to be. Look around me.
But that is not what this is all about right now.
Several months ago, I started a project I had nicknamed “Lisa 2000”. It was an off-shoot of this that I had basically started putting together one night that would cover rants on specific topics. I completed about 10% of the project before I got bored and stopped. I went perusing the my stuff the other night and found the writing that I had started. I had initially started the site as a “portal” (gag) but decided against it at a later date. I think the writing is one of my best. here is what i have done so far:
astrology
autobiography
women
bluespot
ideabook
manic/depressive
obsessions
some of the links are dead. I plan on updating that shortly (like this weekend if I don’t keel over and die).
hooked on the past
so continuing on with this thread, i sat in my chair last night knees against the seat. chin on the back. F242 was playing on the stereo. i kept twirling around and around. stopping a bit to type something in and going back to twirling. the past keeps catching up with me in different ways. i had originally started this piece with the intent of talking about BD/SM, but found I couldn’t. I would get email upon email from HNG’s (horny net geek) wondering if i was available and when? perhaps tomorrow? lets met somewhere. doesn’t matter where. I’m an irc tart. I’ll fuck your mind and not your body. safer that way. can’t let you in or anyone else in. fuck that.
i want it all.
lately I’ve been thinking about dying. i would get so fucking down on myself for whatever fucking reason. be it late at night or early in the morning and i would sit there and think about my life and how wasted it’s gotten to the point where i don’t want to do jackshit any more. everything is bringing me down. work. lack of a proper sex life. relationships. lack of drive/desire. i keep hiding and hiding and can’t find out where I’m going.
but I’m going to talk about it.
even if I’m up all goddamn night.
s.e.x.
I’ve always been sexually liberated. even when i was a kid, i grabbed Jeff something or anther in the 2nd grade, pressed him up against the tree and gave him a big fat smooch. geeks were always my weakness. genius guys that lacked social and moral convictions. i need to save them. make myself worthwhile. cos if i can save them i could save the relationship between my mother and father that ended 25 years ago. fucked up isn’t. I’m such a fucking statistic. i can pinpoint my problems and tell you WHY they happened. case in point above. mentally and sexually abused as a kid? no problem, I like sex so rough and so hard that no one has been able to deal with it. I’ve been date-raped, raped by bf’s, sexually abused by my father, beaten by bf’s, dumped, cheated on. did drugs and alcohol in high school. dropped out twice because i was sick of all the bullshit i was given.
but sex. i used to think i was a lesbian. used to fantasize about girls quite a bit when i was young. wet dreams about women that would leave me awake at night with my clit hard and my panties wet. but i never told a fucking soul. wasn’t till i moved to california that i got my first experienced with being with a female. fucking loved it. i was so hot that i nearly tore justin apart after the experience. we had fucked 8 times within a nine hour period. i was on the verge of going wild. and he fucking wouldn’t let me.
alan brought it out in me. i always knew it was there. i always thought that the moment i got laid for the first time i would turn into a raging nympho. and sure enough it was true.
alan and i would fuck 15 different ways till sunday. he would walk into my house and zip would go his pants as I was on my knee’s sucking his cock. on the kitchen floor. on the washing machine. everywhere in the house. on the hood of his car, my car. we got off thinking people were watching. i would give him head without a damn doubt anywhere he asked. we talked about threesomes, orgies and public displays. the more that we talked about it, the hotter i got and the more into it i got. spanking, clawing, biting. i could fuck HIM anyway i wanted. objects were used that were not intended for sexual purposes. i was his sexual slave and i loved it. i whipped him around my finger and we engulfed each other any chance we had.
then we stopped having sex as frequently.
then we stopped having sex at all.
found out, that the bastard had been dealing me a bad deck of cards: he was cheating. it was a monogamous relationship. we weren’t using condoms after the doctor checked us out. i was only 20. i wanted to dress in leather, get pierced and be made a slave.
he decided he needed a nice girl that could satiate his family needs.
after the break up, alan stalked me for a bit. i started whoring around sleeping with a few people and dating whomever asked. but when alan called, my cunt started hurting and i started pining away. i wanted this. i wanted him. no one has ever made me feel this good. and we kept fucking each other until my 21st birthday when I had seen him and the new girlfriend at a bar. i had been drinking. i had ended up pissed off in a rage and had confronted him. he had been watching me all night but i didn’t care. the gf came up to me and started being a bitch. i was too drunk to be coherent so i started walking away. FUCK THEM!
She called me a whore.
I turned around and started choking the shit out her. took alan and two bouncers to pull her off of me. one escorted me to the door and told me to get my ass home. i was drunk. so drunk that i could barely walk straight. they let me drive my muthafucking car. i drove to his best friends house and started bawling. i was so hysterical i couldn’t calm down. alan called asking about me, but, that was the one of the last times i ever saw him.
6 months later, I ran to the store for my mom. i walked in as alan walked out. he didn’t say a word and i just glared.
that was 1993.
in 1995 i started dating someone serious again. most of what had happened was beyond me.
i never forgot no matter how far i pushed it down inside of me.
i remember what it was like being that insanely in love and my soul had been taken. i crave that deep down inside. tried to hide it since then. i always knew plain vanilla sex would never be what i wanted. i wanted to take it back and have him again. i wanted him to take me back. i plead begged and screamed.
I’ve always been on the lookout for someone like that: to make me their whore. their sub. and i would make them my whore and my sub. so many people came close. but it never worked out. it never does, does it?
fsck
I swear, trying to get this updated and ready to go is killin’ me. š No, in all seriousness, a few things that need to be noted:
- I’ve been a fan of the popular comicĀ User FriendlyĀ for a long time now. Last week, I started hanging out on theĀ #UserFriendlyĀ onĀ Undernet. These guys are great! I’ve been on IRC for nearly five years andĀ neverĀ have I ever felt more welcome. But there are problems afoot in UFie-land. Please click on the banner on the bottom (the one with the cute little DustPuppy) and read more.
- I was voted “Geek of the Week: For 3.21.99”. I was so stoked when I got the email. You see, I NEVER WIN ANYTHING! š Okay, okay, it took me a week (and then some!) to mention this. š However, since they linked my page, I’m linking theirs. But it just mad my day š
New pictures:
*much* shorter hair. (It’s now orange š new glasses (which I love) and I still need a damn nose and cheek job.
AND IF YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH PINCHING MY CHEEKS! You areĀ soooĀ wrong.
and in other news
Monday (3.29.99) has got to be the worse day of my life. It started out with me first getting to work and finding out my machine had been rebooted during the weekend (a big no no) and not fully powered up. See, I run server connectivity software called WhatsUpGold that checks the servers to verify they are functioning properly. When one server is not responding, an alpha numeric page is sent over a modem to the attending sysadmin. I sent an email out to the sysadmin mailing list and told them my machine was down and I was planning on fixing it. A few hours later, one of the sysadmins comes running down stairs yelling and screamin at me about why isn’t my machine up. I patiently explained that I had emailed (as I should) and he kinda went “Oh.” and left. Turns out the st00pid mail server didn’t take it cos the address I emailed from wasn’t on the dist list.
Later on, i find out that my motherboard is fried. The only other matching motherboards are also fried (didn’t know this till I had rebuilt the machine). So I stole a machine fromĀ someoneĀ who had left the company. I swapped harddrives and everything worked out ok.for a moment.Other things happened in the day. One of the NT sysadmins didn’t like my “attitude” and threatened to tell my boss (whose used to hearing this by now) however, my saving grace is that I’ve been sweet as pie since my last talk with my boss (heh) so he (the NT sysadmin) couldn’t really fault me. One of the other sysadmins tried to get me to apologize. I was like “Funk that!” I’m not apologizing for some moron’s ego. I can barely apologize for my own!
To top that off, I got two parking tickets. And when I came home after work (after contemplating about buying beer *gasp*), I was making pasta when I had realized we had NO SAUCE! argh! And to make it even worse, none of my slobby roommates took the garbage out. *pout*
braggarts
and today on #UF a certain nick (who won’t be named) came in claiming that they had hand ENTERED the h_key reg items in the registry on winders98, while drunk, at a party. To boot this person claimed that they had done this on an old Toshiba lap top with a 200MB drive, which had winders3.x->95->98 all installed on top of each other. This person just ticked me off so bad. A lot of people disagreed with this story. Supposedly, this person also claims a lot of stuff — and supposedly walks the walk, but they are a braggart. Someone in the channel would request something (hardware) and this person would “brag” they had the latest and greatest, would be willing to give it to ’em, but gee! it was broken/out of the shop/they live too far away for mail. I mean, c’mon here.Ā
life
I had gotten an email, from my friend Skott the other day asking me something like: “Why is someone with such a natural talent for words and communication interested in installing computer networks with myself in the middle of nowhere?”
As many of my faithful readers know, this is the one quandary I’ve been having for awhile. I still haven’t made any concrete decisions about my life. I keep finding myself pulled in a thousand different places. I need to be making decisions, and I have been doing nothing but IRC’ing and playing spades my life away.
I miss everyone. š
Come find me on IRC when you get the chance.
and more life
I completely realize that this issue isn’t personal or maybe not even that exciting. However, the masses are calling for it and whom am I to complain? It’s all part of the “LISA-PLAN-TO-TAKE-OVER-THE-WORLD!”
night š
x0x0x0x0
new style
today i was sitting on BART, scribbling in my diary when i had noticed that someone has sat kitty-corner from me. i just glanced at him from the side, and didn’t pay much attention to him till i noticed the book he was reading. i squinted and peered closer — was it? could it be?
bukowski.
from my journal:
“and i want to say to him “hey! thinkĀ ham on ryeĀ is great? readĀ love is a dog from hellĀ orĀ the most beautiful woman in townĀ and i sit here, grinning like an idiot, and i find i can’t say something or anything to him. that my mouther is watering from wanting to say something -anything- and i can’t. i sit here rigid and i find i now can’t even look at him!! shit. i lick my lips because they’ve suddenly gone dry. and i realize that i don’t give two figs about something – i can be as brave as a warrior. but when i do care about something — i ultimately become shy and meek.
“i sat there, heart pounding and feeling like an idiot savant because i couldn’t get the nerve to speak to him. i heard “Montgomery St.” called off and knew this was my stop. i packed my bags and got up — and noticed he got up to. THIS WOULD BE THE TIME TO SAY SOMETHING!
“But i didn’t. I stood behind him and cocked my hips a bit and concentrated on the back of his neck. on the way out of the train, i accidentally stepped on the back of his foot as he turned left and i turned right. once i got above ground, i started scanning the crowds to see if i could see him.
“On the way back to work, i started noticing people left and right. i kept my head straight, my stomach tucked in and my boobs thrust forward. i demanded that everyone look at me and see me for myself. right there. right then.
“I didn’t light a cigarette until I was at the corner of 2nd and Folsom and almost at work. i kept thinking of the poetry in motion of me moving along him — and knowing of course that the whole walk up 2nd street i had completely dissected this relationship with this stranger. i saw every movement between us — every shrill screeching moment from ecstasy to agony. within that 10 minute range from BART station to 2nd/Folsom, i had already put myself through an intense relationship, that lasted 2 years and ended up in tragedy.”
i love days like these.
save me the waltz
I had just finished, not more than moments ago,Ā Zelda: The BiographyĀ and am happy for doing so. Finally, after starting it all those months ago whenĀ JustinĀ came into town, I had finally gotten to the bibliography page. I was both disappointed and exalted at the end of the book.
I was disappointed due to the fact that the author would do pages and pages of literary criticism on Zelda’s work, which if I wanted to read, I would have bought such. But no — pages and pages of worthless crap attempting to intone how Zelda’s work mimics her own life. Well duh. A writer who writes about what he doesn’t know is a fool.
So many things in my mind tonight. Freaking figures. An hour ago I was lying in bed, could not sleep for the life of me, and now I am tired and yawning. I must sleep soon for else my next few days are going to be fucked up like a bitch. Thursday is the day from hell with midterms and I teach Interweb 101 that night. I need my beauty sleep. But I keep working strange hours and thus don’t get the sleep. Working is the schtick. I keep playing freaking spades withĀ ShellyĀ andĀ DaveĀ all the damn time. š Not this is necessarily a bad thing — gives me more time to flirt with Dave. *suggestive*
However, the rant this evening isn’t about spades, my new PHAT pipe to the Interweb (i just got 56k — woo!) or the fact that I’m really obsessing aboutĀ Henry RollinsĀ right now. Nope, not even about the fact I’m going to bare his love child. Uh nope.
In all honesty, tonights rant is about high school. For many of you (us/them), either you’re in it or just gotten out of it. My little foray into high school ended nearly nine years ago (yes — I’m old. Shoot me.) Now that it seems so far distant — my question is this: WHY AM I STILL LETTING THE STUPID POPULAR PEOPLE IN HIGH SCHOOL RUN MY FREAKING LIFE?
There. Now i feel better.
Let me begin by explaining:
Earlier today, a fine lass named Jessica from aĀ mailing listĀ I’m on, had emailed in about the old saying “high school is the best time of your life” and proceeded to prove to us, in her opinion why it was not. I had followed up with this tasty bite:
My freshman year of high school, I got tested for an IQ test because my MEAP test was really high. They wanted to put me in an high school that _geared_ for placing students into college. They taught Latin, Greek, were socially conscious -- not these see jack run public school classes. I was accepted and refused to go. I wanted to stay with my "friends". Big mistake. Later on that year, our AP Biology class went to Kentucky to go see Mammoth Caves. One night, I got pulled into a room with the jr varsity swim team. I knew most of these guys -- I was friends with most of them from classes and socially. One of them pushed me down onto the floor and attempted to fuck me in front of his team mates. I pushed him off of me, went screaming into the bathroom, locked myself into the bathroom and started yelling out of the window (the window was only about 1 foot high and 18 inches wide). My cabin mates came and forced the "boys" to open the door and let me out. Not one adult was told. That Monday, rumours spread around the school (1500+ students) that not only did i fuck him! i gave head to every guy (about nine) in that room. No one said a thing, my parents were never told and I soon forgot about it. However, the impact of that was amazing. I went from being 5'10 and 140lbs to 5'10 and 200+ lbs. During my sophomore year -- most of the time when i did get asked out, it was because of those rumors. Funny that, the most I had ever done until that time was kiss one boy. never even felt a penis until much later on. In my jr year, it was under the advice that I drop out. Actually, I instigated it. I was clinically depressed, had already attempted suicide (and that rumor was spread like crazy). I had gained a lot of weight, was smoking, and had also was on my way of becoming an alcoholic. When I went back that fall to re-do my jr year, I got taunted and teased by my classmates (and upperclassman, whom would have been my class). I got mocked by people in the middle of the mall (an open area that adjoined the two buildings). Teachers had very little apathy or hell, even empathy for me. By the end of THAT jr year, I had made the decision to go live with my dad in Toronto. When I came back a year later, I got notified that I was short ONE credit from YMI system to graduate. I took my GEDs in November of 1991 and scored in the top 3%. The instructor looked at me incredulously, because: a. i completed them in 1/3 the time b. i completed the whole series of tests within 1/2 the time c. i had scored the highest that he had ever seen. However, the stigma and shame I still feel 8 years later from having a HUGELY crappy high school experience (include psychopathic mother and her string of BFs), I won't claim a GED -- but that I graduated from York Memorial Collegiate Institute in Toronto, Ontario. And ya know what? Not one person had ever caught me professionally for "lying". High school sucked the big one.
I had been thinking about this recently and Jessica’s query and a nice little piece in theĀ SF ChronicleĀ about people bitching about TOO MUCH homework got me depressed. and angry. and furious.
Several weeks ago, since I’m still under the impression that these nitwits DO run my life and I am nothing more than a puppet on strings, I got on altavista the other day and searched for the people i went to school with. And you know what? I couldn’t remember /but/ three names! and of those names — I couldn’t find /anything/ about them on the internet. Strange. The internet has been my whole world for the last four years — and by now, if i can’t find something about someone — they must not exist.
strange to think that i had let this whole group, nee’ this fantasy, foible of sorts and nothing.
one day, I’ll write more and rid myself free of these demons.
x0x0x0x0x
voices trapped in yearning
after i had gotten home last night (exulted in the few hours of freedom of being both cathleen and justin-less), i had started reading old email while waiting forĀ shellyĀ to come on-line so that she and I could play backgammon.
i found an email sent to me from an “admirer” of sorts who was responding to both my page and theĀ wiredĀ article that had appeared back in early February.Ā and for some reason, that email tugged a cord at my heart. the person basically had said: make a concrete decision: either leave justin or accept the situation.
for the last three months, congruently, I’ve been struggling with the idea of what is right and what i want. for many people, as i have learned, their life is fairly mapped out for them and they have a basic sense of what they want and need. for instance, i had met a few girls from my political theory class. both girls are 20 and 21 respectively and are dating men who are older than me (27). both girls are ambitious enough to finish college within a short time period and get on with their life, however, they had both told their BFs that “they are done being children”. while i had admired their perseverance and energy, it bothered me that they were in such a hurry to grow up. at 26, i still find myself floundering in what course i want to take. Some days I want to be this organized and methodical person who desires a truly academic life. On the other hand, I want to be completely wild and crazy like Zelda Fitzgerald and live for the moment. both sides are true and both sides are untrue.
i was beginning (natch — being solitary) to wonder if i was the only one — but part of felt drawn to these girls because many of their fears and desires corresponded to my wants and desires. i could empathize and sympathize with getting ahead and doing something “more” with their life — but on the flip side, i had felt (and always felt) that there had to be time enough for love and life. so many opportunities i have let by — on the context (and pretext) that similar ones would come again. for the better part of my adult life — this has been true.
does this make me lucky or unlucky?
some would say, that in my aspects, i live a charmed life. i live in a great area (by someone’s standards), i have a decent job. i have a lot of friends who do care about me (michael š and i have many outside interests that help define me much more than me is being defined now (new obsessions: sarah again, henry rollins, zelda fitzgerald, unconventional philosophy, pentel r.s.v.p. pens in blue fine point). i still feel like I’m always this undercurrent of emotion. that my desires keep changing — thus while it makes ‘me’ me, but it also destroys any thing that could lead some sort of happiness for a brief time.
last week justin and i had another long talk (in fact several within the last few weeks). i finally told him point blank that i wasn’t in love with him. he knew! don’t get me wrong — for months I’ve been saying that he knew — and he did know. maybe he thought he could push it under the rug and it would go away. But as many of you who have been reading know I harp and harp on many of the same subjects for hours š hehe (literally — days worth of entries).
It was painful — but it still didn’t make my convictions “clear”. I still feel this overwhelming need toĀ STAYĀ with him. I don’t know what for — financially? emotionally? maybe I’m giving up?
balls
A recent entry from my guestbook:
Name: Tim (Homepage) Country: Baltimore, USA Date: Tue Mar 9 19:25:15 1999 Comment: You are obviously mis-guided, hostile towards life in general, and sound very unhappy. Seek some counseling.
I don’t mind if people email me and give me advice. However, I cannot take you seriously if you comment on me/this webpage/my life in general if you don’t have the fucking balls to leave an email address or something in terms of contact. This coward had no issues leaving some lame ass post on my guestbook about me and yet doesn’t have the courage to leave some form of contact. What the fuck ever.
Therefore, if you wish to contact me in any matter — so be it. However, do not let me mock you if you cannot have the balls to leave an email address.
feisty
The weather is has been absolutely wonderful these last few weeks. I have had no motivation to do anything other than attempt to sun myself and find some solace in the world outside. Recently, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time writing in a written journal and not updating TLC as much as I should. I’ve been completely in-love with the new pens I’ve bought and to celebrate, I purchased a brand new journal. I’m taking the existing one to be turned into a book journal.
I’ve been readingĀ Zelda: A BiographyĀ these last few weeks. I had attempted to read it many moons ago when I was on my Fitzgerald kick. However, after readingĀ Tender is the Night, I found the comparison between the two books (one fiction, the other not) to be too overwhelming. I started getting mad at F. Scott for taking his wife’s life and turning it into best sellers.
A few weeks ago I was bored and needed something to read. Several of F. Scott’s short stories were sitting on the floor by my bed when I had made the conscious decision to read them. I was so enthralled withĀ Flappers and Philosophers, that I decided to start readingĀ ZeldaĀ again.
This time, it has been going much better however the book is (in some places) dry and it seems that the author (Nancy Milford) bases too much emphasis on the letters Zelda wrote and taking all ofĀ Save me the WaltzĀ and turning it into a literary criticism. What you get with the book (which is now out of print) is combination of hero worship, criticism, and rambling on.
For instance, Zelda’s birth through 18 years of age (when she met F. Scott) took up about 50 pages. However, it’s taking 3x that length to go through her few weeks in mental institution and a brief periods (less than five years) in an almost daily blow by blow account of her life. It’s a bit stuffy to read — however, after doing some major searching on the Interweb (and major booksellers) I found thatĀ Zelda: A BiographyĀ was the closest (if not the only) thing I had available to me to give me insight into Zelda’s life. Every other book (about five in total from what I had found) have long been out of print along with any book chronicling her life with F. Scott is also out of print.
While there is a lot of material about F. Scott and his work (including different editions of the same book, criticisms, and other fun stuff) anything having to do with Zelda alone or combining Zelda and F. Scott no longer exists.
This makes me sad, as I love Zelda.