acheron

the bipolar journal. yes, this will be another out of control entry so just brace yourself if you decide to read this...this has become my honest journal, maybe because i know there's no risk here--no one's reading and that's what makes it safe. on to the mission at hand:

"I draw them on reckless, etched in, scratched in like resurrection. your sins are killing you and you can bet they'll get me too. I've got to give some to get some.
Mining in the river, standing in the rain down on your knees as you heave at the drain you can lead a whore to water and you can bet she'll drink and follow
orders

and i said, 'Is this what you wanted?'
'Is this what you needed?'

Give it some more time."


if i believed in souls, i'd call my soul unsettled. there's something beneath the surface churning, tugging at my feet and trying to take me down. it shuffles my sleep: desperate imagery and groatesque paranoias. this thing is welling up inside of me, a water demon in every breath. i've gone hypomanic i can claw at the walls and kick anyone in my way...i feel like my music's something i've worn threadbare...purgatory's waning but i'm not done yet there's nothing left to to bleed the bastard dry. i want to run runrunrunrun rip off what i'm wearing and wear something awful, i don't care what...just run until i go blind. there's no one left to walk off the aggression with, erichka's gone, the mountain man as erik with a k would say and now there are no volunteers for bile refuge

-i think you just need to get laid
-i think you ought to shoot yourself in the face for that comment.

and i'm not the cute little girl when i'm losing my mind on days like this i just want want want my self back but i've been offered what i want and had it taken away...gave some boy my number on the way home yesterday but i don't want him no there's only 2 left who i'll take...one's got a girlfriend and one's away

-i think you're too picky
-i think you're a slut.

i. think. i. wish. i. didn't. give. a. fuck.



see why there are no volunteers to help me release hypomanic episodes? *sigh* if there are any takers for that or a trip to the sex shop...(maybe merlin's right...maybe i do just need to get laid...but then i'd have to stop breaking vibrators...)...help. *insert drowning icon here.*

postscript (and you'll see why it's an increasingly bipolar entry):
1. the more pushkin i read, the more lectures i hear on tatyana's innate russianness...the more i think 'maybe i'm not melodramatic, insane, paranoid etc'. maybe i'm just russian.

2. i've decided i've lost respect for e.e. cummings. aside from fucking around with formatting, his "innovations" with subject pronoun use would really only be viewed by a russian as the inadequacy of the english language and thus the superiority of the russian language. which is why pushkin can do as many narrative shifts as he does, and joyce isn't nearly so confusing to me.