Blood

How did I get here? What did I do? Where do I go from now? This dark place… it’s killing me. How can I escape? I don’t know. I wonder if there is any escape. I’m tortured by these wailing, stabbing thoughts, these persistant cries drilling themselves deeper and deeper into my brain until they infect the blood itself. Hot, sticky hate. These thoughts make my skin crawl, my face flush, my chest tense and my heart pound, sending them pulsing through my veins to the very tips of my toes and back again, revived like the morning sun and just as hot to touch. Her name. He said her name. How can I kiss him when those very same lips have just spoken her name?

Hide it. Bottle it up. Turn it into a cocktail, poison rotting at my arteries until the envy in my blood spills out and consumes every inch of me, right down to my soul. Soon enough, I’ll let it explode. My insides are blistering. He said her name. For years this has gone on. I’ll never forget. Every word is as clear in my ringing ears as the moment they were slurred or spoken. I was always second to her. Living in her long, slender, beautiful shadow. I stood in that shadow as though it were a grave, shallow and cold. The most gorgeous girl in the world. The hottest body. The cutest face. I wonder what it feels like to be so amazing. There’s something so painful about being second best. You feel so close, yet so far away. It's enough to drive you insane. It did it to me. He did it to me. How could he do this to me?

I am disabled, yet I get no parking space and people do not pity me. But they do laugh. People have asked me why I hate “it” so much. Everybody does it. But how could I not hate it? I can never compete with these ideals he sets for me. This isn’t love. I feel so disgusting, like an animal. All I am is a parisite, clinging on, hoping things will change. But they never do, they never do. Screaming and laughing, contaminated sound waves to shatter my body, break my bones, leaving me crumpled in a heap on the floor, shaking, dying. The best I can do is to ignore it and hope to God that the heat doesn't start creeping down my arms when he's near. But he has said her name.

It's as though I become possessed by jealousy, hate and rage. It is a fire which blazes through my body, taking control, trying to escape and taste the air. I know that the moment it reaches my fingertips it will happen. I am too weak... it succeeds. My right hand collides with his face, my left swings up and tears at his hair. There is blood under one of my fingernails. And then the blistering heat is gone, subsided to its internal hiding place. Next comes the screaming.

He says nobody else would ever stay with me… I wonder.

Beyond reasonable doubt

America. It's a land of freedom and a land where justice is for all. At least, it's supposed to be. But for Damien Echols, Jessie Misskelley and Jason Baldwin, America's West Memphis is hell.

Despite America's justice system's rule that any person must be "guilty beyond reasonable doubt" to be convicted of a crime, Jessie and Jason face life in prison for the tragic murder of three young boys with which there is no evidence to indicate they were involved. Damien has sat for the past 15 years in solitary confinement in a 9’ by 12’ solid-front cell, trying every day to free himself and his best friends. Aged just eighteen, he was sentenced to death by lethal injection.


So in one of the most powerful countries in the world, a triple-homicide is pinned on three teenage boys. You may be wondering what the evidence was against these three West Memphis adolescents. Well, there is limited evidence to suggest that any of the boys were in any way involved, but let me tell you the main points that sent them each to maximum security facilities.

After being interrogated for hours by police (off-tape and off-camera), seventeen-year-old Jessie Misskelley, who has an IQ of just 74 and suffers a mental disability was finally recorded confessing that he had witnessed Jason and Damien rape, murder and mutilate three 8-year-old boys in the Robin Hood Hills forest. He stated that this happened during the morning and that the three victims had been tied up with brown rope in the woods. Throughout the confession, police guided and corrected Jessie when his story did not match vital details in the evidence. For example, Jessie stated the entire time that it had happened in the morning, until police mentioned that evidence suggested the boys were killed at night. From then on, he used the term "night". Also, the boys were tied up with white shoelaces, not brown rope, and forensic investigation concluded that not only were none of the victims raped, as Jessie had stated, they were not even killed in the woods, but dumped there.

Besides this there is little evidence at all, except for the following facts about Damien Echols which were repeatedly stated and which he was questioned on during the trial.

Damien Echols had longish, dyed black hair and had reportedly been witnessed in the past wearing black nail polish. He wore mainly black clothing and was even seen wearing an all-black trenchcoat. His musical tastes were of a "questionable" manner; Damien owned many Metallica CDs and wore black band t-shirts. On top of all this, the 18-year-old enjoyed reading Steven King novels of the horror genre.

Sixteen-year-old Jason Baldwin owned clothing that had similar fibres to that of fibre found on one of the victim's clothing. However, there is no evidence to conclude that the fibres on the victim came from those garments as the fibres could have originated from any one of hundreds of thousands of garments available and owned in and around West Memphis.

This is the evidence that resulted in Damien receiving the death penalty and placing Jason and Jessie behind bars for the rest of their natural lives plus forty years without parole. The confession of a mentally handicapped 17-year-old, inadmissable fibre evidence and an undesirable taste in music.

Please visit the West Memphis Three support site at http://www.wm3.org/ and help to free these innocent young men before Damien joins the other three young boys as another tragedy.

Thank you.

Aus Liebe zum Automobile

Sitting at a restaurant table in Munich in the summer of 1932, a man of immense power and force designed the prototype for what would become the world-famous Volkswagen Beetle. This man believed that everybody should be able to own a car, and that every family should be able to holiday, recreate and most of all drive in style.

Adolf Hitler. Artist, dictator, mass murderer, designer of what has arguably become the world's most popular car... a man of many talents.

Despite it's seedy beginnings, there is no doubt the the VW is one hell of a car. Some of these babies are over 50 years old and still huffing and puffing their way up the Hume Highway.

Yes, Volkswagen has produced some pretty amazing automobiles. You've got your Kombis, Karmann Ghias, Polos, not to mention Herbie, that adorable Love Bug.

If you want to see more of VW's current and past autos, head over to their website at http://www.volkswagen.com/.
They even have Beetle merchandise! My gosh they truly are an amazing make of cars.

Night!

I'm pretty old

This is going to be a super duper short blog; I just wanted to let you all know that I'm celebrating my 5,660th day on earth and boy is it great to be alive! Soon enough I'll be wrinkling, and not just when I'm in the bath.

Fifty-five days, I says

It's only 55 days until I head O.S. and I am completely bewildered and amazed at hoe quickly time how flown since I first decided to go to Germany. Way back in 2006, in fact! What do you know. Yes, back when I was 13 I had a dream. A dream to travel outside this barren land and see the snow and - god forbid - rain. Maybe they have grass there. What a trip! I wonder if there's wind in Europe.*

So here's a little countdown to watch while I wait, it's sure to bring me joy with each passing day. Germany is the reason I actually started this blog in the first place so once I finally get there you'll never stop hearing about it!

Argghh, I can't believe it's so close, yet so far away!
Excitement overload, much?

*No, I'm not being serious.

Robotic

Four days in and I feel I've been consumed by this holiday madness. Hours running into hours, days running into days. Day and night no longer transcend from one to the other, they merely crash into each other to blend one whole, dim life. My surroundings a watercolour painting, lacking detail and sustain. It feels I'm collapsing in my own shoebox diorama - the show must stop. My once neat little world has been catapulted into disarray.

Working. Hours of standing, dusting, greeting, speaking, packing and pretending to be human. I don’t care about these people.
Recreation. Laying in my room crying with the television on, wanting him to be my own, not hers. Why her?
Sleeping. Tossing and turning in nightmarish convulsions, rapping my raw, red knuckles against the bed post until my father hears and comes to see what all the noise is.

Is this life? Just drifting through the stages, lifeless, doing things without thinking because they’ve been keyed into us like a machine? If I walk, I don’t know where I’ll end up.

And I'm so afraid.
Somebody, please.

Help me.

A blasphemous eulogy

A suicide nobody noticed; a love letter nobody read.
Is this how you thank the girl who held your head against her chest?
Who forgave you time and time again for letting her heart break,
Who sat through all the torture moaning because you preferred it fake?
She yelled and cried and cut her wrists but nothing ever changed,
So now she's given up trying to make her life a better place.
She heard a word, it tore her up, she nearly burst into tears.
But she hid it because she learned to from these two long, awful years.
Drowned in sorrow, burned by guilt, she kissed another man.
And now she's cut her throat to see if then you'd hold her hand.
For over a thousand deadly days she slowly faded black,
A memory soon forgotten because you wouldn't take her back.
She apologized, laid the world at your feet but it never was enough.
Tear-stained and bloodied, two teenagers, victim to a love so rough.



I loved you.

Rotund rebels

Today was rather fun. Cameron, Joel, Blair, Nathan, Julian and I decided to crash Macleod park's gazebo and boy was it exciting. Nathan aka Lionel's phone is better than mine because it has water in it - he can drink it through his nose! And Cameron is apparently now my boyfriend. All is well in Candyland.

But ohhh no - watch out for the shiny red Holden! Zip down Aberdeen Road came Papa G with his foot on the pedal and his mind of a crisp new pack of Horizons. So up I jump, out of the mighty 'tund and into a nearby wattle. Heck that thing was scratchy! My eyebrow still has a little red mark. God bless Australia.

Nathan being excited by his water-filled phone.

Joel being completely pussy-whipped.

Cameron playing handball (back: Ice Truck Killer!)

Anyway that's about all for now.
Toodles!

Two thousand and sicks

My breath is short and my heartbeat is slowing down to a tightening pace. It makes my chest feel inflated and blocked off from the rest of my body.
My head is light and dizzy. Year 8 is leaping up into mouth, begging for freedom. I wish I could let it go. I spray my Fa deodorant. My throat locks up. My eyes flicker. Is this really happening?
I waver and nearly fall. I can taste beer. I can feel his head in my lap, stroking my leg. Leave, fucking get away. I don't want that. Not that. The rest is okay. Just not him.
My blonde fringe swings in front of my eyes. Huge, blue eyes. Two fat, chunky rings clink on the front of my teeth as I grin wide and bright. Fuck yes. This is it. My hit. My drug. Year 8...

xx

Snapshot

Well this will just be a short one, I'm advertising my dA account as my deviations are pretty comment-lonely at the moment.

I do try to take a few nice photos every now and again and I'd love to hear some honest feedback so I can improve.

The link is http://alyssajayne.deviantart.com/.

I hope there's something there you like!

xx