Hope ::tales~past::
The Extinction Chronicles

:: who do you think you ~ ARE? ::
:: who gives a ~ DAMN? ::
:: where do you get ~ OFF? ::

let blood.   
06:46am 11/10/2002
  this day has become, as always, the longest. my moon has become dawn. true, I have not been so bad in nearly three years, but how could I have said then that I knew pain? you cannot know pain until you have known life without.

quality of life, says the mad hatter, shall I give up my grace, my gentle face and turning palm for some vision of calm which vanishes with the light? I tell you, you have not known pain until you have no life without, strife and doubt that all these things come surging up again.

here is the neon creep, very steep price to pay for all those things which have gone my way. I will tell you how each breath is new and I have become doomed to live today - everyday - in this fast. here my past is catching up with me, can you say that you have known pain?

I will tell you. pain is the brutality that steals your ability to think, to lift your hand and drink the sweet cusp of play. I have no memory of before, no understanding of the day without the blood. here is pain, I can put it in your hands, I have had enough of idle sands that do not pass through time, it seems I've misaligned my life and ended up here.

pain is my enemy.
and all I'll ever know.
 
     2 bloody kisses - kiss me, kill me
 
red death   
01:13am 16/08/2002
 
mood: elvis, elvis, let me be!
okay. Sarah is back. I'm going to corner her this coming Monday and get the truth out of her. she went missing. she reappeared. nobody says anything.

Sarah is trying very hard to make me love her. and my lord, is it tempting. she is beautiful, in that ageless, graceful way that enchants. red curly hair, deep green eyes that change with her mood, soft, rosy cheeks. she has the softest mouth I've ever tasted. I could get addicted to kissing that mouth. very nearly did.

but Sarah, my dear, dangerous Sarah, is too dangerous to love. put simply, she's fucked up. if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say she has a personality disorder of some description. she's clingy, and sad, and needy, and you want to help her so much, but it's never enough. never.

people fall hard for her. I've seen it on numerous occasions. and they're always burned, because she wants to much, and doesn't understand the usual graces, and breaks your heart and then can't understand what she's done wrong. she makes grown men fight bitterly for her attentions.

if I couldn't step back and see the whole story, I might have got sucked in too. it's only my ability to interpret others' actions and reactions that saved me. that made me realise something really, really bad was happening. Sarah was destroying all those around her.


I've kept my distance. refused her advances. I want to be her friend. I feel pity and sympathy for her. the road can be very dark, but I cannot be the one to light the way. not for her, not ever.

but we work well together. we think on the same wavelength. we can anticipate each others' feelings. it's stunning to watch - I saw a video of us, giving an impromptu talk on Japanese mythology. we were finishing each others' sentences, saying the same things at the same time, communicating in slight nuances of expression and inflection, half-formed laughs and nods. Sarah has never had to explain herself to me - I know exactly what she's saying before she even says it. it's freaky to watch. how could I be so mentally in tune with someone so fucking dangerous?

and she is. dangerous to me. because I could drown in her. die in her. forget myself, everything I have ever needed and wanted and strived for in attempting to build her a crystal palace, which she'd only destroy anyway. Sarah is not dangerous for her sharp claws, or her long teeth, or vicious anger, she's dangerous for her soft mouth and sad eyes.




but. I know this had to do with something else. oh yes! cornering her next week. we're going on a conference, running creative writing workshops for talented kids from rural areas. same place I had my weekend of debauchery at recently. except it won't be drunk poets this time, I don't have to pay, I won't be staying up till 5 am, drinking wild turkey or smoking cigars.

well, maybe I'll do that last one. but none of the others.

and Sarah's coming in my car. heee! three and a half hours. I know we're going to discuss the meaning of life, solitude and she'll make little anguished half-bitten off comments about Me and Her as an Us. yech.

I mean, it's good. she's good to talk to. very smart, and we laugh our asses off. but I'm on my guard. always. behind our talk of music and writing and poetry and people and places, I've got my own personal assessomograph running a needle of Good, Bad and Inbetweeny. trying to figure her out, noting her motives and possible outcomes. she wants me. no secret. she made it blatantly obvious when she chased me at a costume party last year, despite the fact that I was making out with another girl all night and she had a boyfriend. and again and again and again, since then.

I am looking forward to the time with her. I'm a masochist. and not. very, very not. but I am looking forward to the time away. I have a play I'm writing, which I'm hoping I can give to the local high school on the condition that I help direct. it's an ensemble cast, a romance, a comedy, a tragedy. about the decline of a circus. I make myself laugh with it - it will be very visual, with a lot of physical gags and audience interaction, because I can't stand plays that make the actors stand rooted to the spot spilling out lengthy monologues. it's a waste of the form. you're in the theatre, you should be involved, looking around, leaning forward in your seat, cheering and laughing. because you're there with it.

but, anyway. that's my time next week. I leave on Monday afternoon. most likely, I will not have net access, and I will be gone until Friday.

more later. I've absolutely run out of thoughts.
 
     1 bloody kiss - kiss me, kill me
 
the nature of things.   
06:16pm 23/05/2002
  this is my journal.

if you have something to say, say it. do not hide behind false words and pithy smiles. I'll see through you.

this is the only journal entry that will remain public. I had another journal, one that I kept for a year. I grew tired of it. it felt lonely. I was writing it for other people, and nobody else cared. this journal is for me, from the beginning. it's mine as I write this - without anyone on my friends' list. maybe I will let other people in later. probably not for a little while, yet.

I am a writer. being a writer is the most important thing to me. it is my whole world, it is the way I see and taste and touch. it is the way I deal with a world that is not always kind. I have other interests, but they are secondary. writing is my life. I am my writing.

sometimes I like to write in riddles. a lot of the time I like to write about pain and blood and anger. soemtimes I write about beauty and joy. always, I write about where I am and where I am going in this world. the meanings may be, at times, obscure, but they're not here for you. they're here for me.

I have learnt, during a year of having a journal, that I am not everything I put here. it's only a fraction. I have learnt that I should not be so dependant on the opinions of others. I have learnt that I am tired. and it shows.

this is the end. if you want to know me, for sure, contact me. if you don't, you won't.
 
     6 bloody kisses - kiss me, kill me