cahrizz

working on several writing projects. comteplating shit. deeply depressed and struggling through it. feels like i'm a ghost, like i've already died. then again carefully creating characters can be shitty work delving into pyches that maybe should be left alone.
here's a bit of it---
she had a scar that dove down from her bottom lip to her chin disappearing in the casual viewer's eyesight at the chin but continuing on in mess of clumped flesh and delicate skin just before her neck. she was astoundingly beautiful, the way katherine hepburn was, a mixture of strength and vulnerabilty put on like make up to lure you in. the scar which kept so many away drew me closer to her. it was the fact that in a bar with her profile hiding her defective beauty caught guy after guy, unable to resist the siren call of her beauty on unsteady, sometimes a little or other times a lot, drunken legs. through the maze of half lines, ernest introductions, poetical claims of amazement at her startling beauty they'd make procliamtions and promises, vows that all became shattered by a simple swirve on her bar stool and coming face to face with her as if at that moment she had a prostetic leg fall to the floor in front of them. often appologetic, never intrigued, stunned, sometimes polite backaways and splitsville horror in their eyes, from a scar that broke the continuity and symetry of her beauty, the perfect flirtatious pitch of her voice never detering them for a second to reconsider the puncuated humanity before them, they'd all take their leave from her presence with an expression on their faces of having tasted something rank and poisoned.....

thinking of going with some black eyeliner again. possibly a mowhawk but that seems a bit cheap nowadays. maybe the mad artist hair going everywhere look...ahhh damn too late.

just listening to the cure-- the funeral party...