It's shit when you're one of those few teenage girls who are fat. I'm not gonna sugar-coat, that's what I am, and other girls my size, you're fat too. I'm not being mean. I'm just saying what we're all thinking.
Don't tell me I can get rid of it with hard work, I know that, I'm not spastic. It's just that it is hard work.
Anyway, I have to go to the beach for 8 days tomorrow with my boyfriend's family. Do I want to go? No. Fuck no. I want to force myself to be sick so that I can get out of it. Is that fair? Of course not. But the thought of being there, exposed, with all those slim people having fun, makes me want to curl up in a ball and die. Sadly, I can't do that, so I just sit at the computer crying.
Fuck my life.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Newlyn; the place to be?
Well I'm not sure how many of you are aware that I've been seeing my new boyfriend Googs for about 3 and a half months now. Anyway, he lives about a 2 hour train ride away, but close to 3 hours all up, in Newlyn (it's about a 30 minute drive from Ballarat, near Daylesford).Anyway, I figured since I haven't posted in a while and I've just got back from spending the weekend up there, I'd dedicate a blog to some photos of the area; it's really beautiful haha.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
We're dirty
Sunlight doesn't love me, but the potheads can't resist.
This dark and lonely basement, my very first kiss; pale, chapped lips.
You’ll walk beside me all alone, ‘cause we’re no more than ants to them.
The grimy walls of corridors that lead nowhere and back again.
This is the anthem for all who’ve lost nothing and nobody, not yet.
The weeds creeping slowly toward our tired ankles – we’ll never forget!
Battering lamb of god
Force our way in through the gate
The city burns in our wake
Smash it!
Smash it!
No wood or fire used to break
Ere lamb of god your town will quake!
Battering lamb
Battering lamb of god
Smash its head into the door
From ears and eyes foul blood shall pour
Smash it!
Smash it!
Slammed so hard its skull will crack
Fucked from behind til its neck snaps
Smash it!
Smash it!
Entrails ripped and thrown at mobs
Slaughtered lamb to please our Gods
Battering lamb
Battering lamb of god
Battering lamb
Battering lamb of god
No more whimpers, no more bleating
The lamb has suffered my cock beating
Your homes become our blasphemy
Your screams become a symphony
Cocks in bleeding, frozen cunts
Victimized, I fuck and grunt
Smash it!
Smash it!
Battering lamb
Battering lamb of god
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Summer is just a sweatier cold
My arms shivered, thousands of tiny hairs standing up like little soldiers trying to fend off the cold, but they couldn't. There was no army strong enough... because the cold was inside me.
It was a muggy summer evening, legs hanging over the warm white tiles and dangling small, pale feet into the chemical blue pool water. A longneck with a little foam still dripping from the mouth rested on its side a few inches from my right hand. The air held the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and chlorine, but inside the peeling white weatherboard house, I knew it smelled of manmade cold, that familiarly dusty yet pleasant aroma that the old air conditioner gave off.
For the first time in my life I wasn't looking back, I wanted to be right there where I was, right then. I wanted the tiny little kitten scratches on my hands, the broken toe nail from kicking the bedpost. I wanted the pretty, wavy beach blonde hair and I wanted to walk to the milk bar late at night for raspeberry slurpees and TeeVee snacks. Everything was perfect, except for the damn freezing cold that kept creeping through my veins and over my crawling skin.
They say that when you shiver, somebody's walked over your grave. But I know that isn't true. Not for me at least. I shivered because I was dying.
It was a muggy summer evening, legs hanging over the warm white tiles and dangling small, pale feet into the chemical blue pool water. A longneck with a little foam still dripping from the mouth rested on its side a few inches from my right hand. The air held the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and chlorine, but inside the peeling white weatherboard house, I knew it smelled of manmade cold, that familiarly dusty yet pleasant aroma that the old air conditioner gave off.
For the first time in my life I wasn't looking back, I wanted to be right there where I was, right then. I wanted the tiny little kitten scratches on my hands, the broken toe nail from kicking the bedpost. I wanted the pretty, wavy beach blonde hair and I wanted to walk to the milk bar late at night for raspeberry slurpees and TeeVee snacks. Everything was perfect, except for the damn freezing cold that kept creeping through my veins and over my crawling skin.
They say that when you shiver, somebody's walked over your grave. But I know that isn't true. Not for me at least. I shivered because I was dying.
Where are my eggs?
If somebody has seen my eggs, please - let me know!
Reward of $25,000 ffor the return of my beloved eggs.
Reward of $25,000 ffor the return of my beloved eggs.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Massive aggressive
Well, I received my Massive Aggressive fan box and t-shirt today after pre-ordering it a few weeks ago, hoorah.
I think the shirt is probably my favourite of all the ones I have now, not really because of the novelty factor but rather because it's white and just a change from the constant onslaught of black band t-shirts you see on every street corner and in every shopping centre. The CD is, well, Municipal Waste and I'm waiting on the chance to get shitfaced whilst listening; because in my opinion, it's simply the only way to fully experience a great new album, haha. And then there's just the extra goodies that come in the box, the patch, sweatband and a few 1" badges, which are pretty sweet.
Anyway, I'm getting a little bored of blogging to be honest, so I'm gonna down some voddy.
Cheers!
Cheers!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Because I know nothing
We’ll keep to ourselves mostly
We’ll never know
The world that’s around us
Of desert and snow
But one day, just maybe
We’ll take our first steps
And til then we’ll live out
Our lives, quiet and rest.
With small feet and small hands
Oh we’ll never grow
To explore, discover
What makes the world glow
Like snails in the garden
We’ll sleep all day long
And beg of your pardon
We’ve been here too long.
The rain on the window
Betrays winter dreams
The bright yellow sun dances
In golden streams
We’ll leave here, go somewhere
Where it’s all unknown
And maybe, we’ll come back
With something to show.
We’ll never know
The world that’s around us
Of desert and snow
But one day, just maybe
We’ll take our first steps
And til then we’ll live out
Our lives, quiet and rest.
With small feet and small hands
Oh we’ll never grow
To explore, discover
What makes the world glow
Like snails in the garden
We’ll sleep all day long
And beg of your pardon
We’ve been here too long.
The rain on the window
Betrays winter dreams
The bright yellow sun dances
In golden streams
We’ll leave here, go somewhere
Where it’s all unknown
And maybe, we’ll come back
With something to show.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A little friendly advertising
Congratulations to Andrew, Ben, Joel, Adrian and Merlin for winning last night's Battle of the Bands.
Sorry I could only be there in spirit!
Keep up the great work, and continue to blow us away!
Flesh Decay are headlining at the Macleod YMCA on the 18th of July, can't wait. If you can, I highly recommend you go and support them, they're not only great musicians but top notch guys all round.
x
Sorry I could only be there in spirit!
Keep up the great work, and continue to blow us away!
Flesh Decay are headlining at the Macleod YMCA on the 18th of July, can't wait. If you can, I highly recommend you go and support them, they're not only great musicians but top notch guys all round.
x
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
En as i dype skogen
43 days and standing strong, friends.
Let's see if I'm still doing as well by day 50.
xx
Let's see if I'm still doing as well by day 50.
xx
Lost wisdom
I sifted through the papers, aged like torn, brown leaves scattered across autumn's damp, grassy base, and squinted at the smudged, faded letters, attempting to figure out what word they'd once spelled.
An unusually strong gust of wind found its way through the trees from the east and blew my waist-length hair across my face. My vision was completely obscured by the hair, flowing and shining like honey in the pale evening sun that was dappled across the needled forest floor. I knealt, placing the pages beneath my left knee and using both of my hands to tuck the gently waving tresses behind my ears before continuing to search the papers for something, anything. I wasn't sure. A word, not so deteriorated as the rest, caught me eye. "Ëlothrim," I read aloud, in only a hushed whisper. Fear. It was not safe to speak in a raised voice any longer, even here.
I gathered the papers and set them neatly in the leather cover from which they had fallen. I rose to my my standing height - a full 6 foot, 4 inches - and shook my hair over my shoulders. In any direction, one could see naught but trees. The ancient pines stood tightly together, leaving only small spaces through which one could pass and making it nearly impossible for any who did not know the forest Nífyrre well to travel through. The clearing in which I stood was itself only a few metres across and for the most part was ridden with thick, gnarled tree roots.
Another icy blast of wind rolled through the woods, and seemed to push what little light remained far into the southwest. The forest took on a shadowy, blue-green hue and seemed to creak, the moss and needles beneath my leather boots groaning mournfully at the peril that now lay so close to Nífyrre's vast boundaries.
To be continued.
An unusually strong gust of wind found its way through the trees from the east and blew my waist-length hair across my face. My vision was completely obscured by the hair, flowing and shining like honey in the pale evening sun that was dappled across the needled forest floor. I knealt, placing the pages beneath my left knee and using both of my hands to tuck the gently waving tresses behind my ears before continuing to search the papers for something, anything. I wasn't sure. A word, not so deteriorated as the rest, caught me eye. "Ëlothrim," I read aloud, in only a hushed whisper. Fear. It was not safe to speak in a raised voice any longer, even here.
I gathered the papers and set them neatly in the leather cover from which they had fallen. I rose to my my standing height - a full 6 foot, 4 inches - and shook my hair over my shoulders. In any direction, one could see naught but trees. The ancient pines stood tightly together, leaving only small spaces through which one could pass and making it nearly impossible for any who did not know the forest Nífyrre well to travel through. The clearing in which I stood was itself only a few metres across and for the most part was ridden with thick, gnarled tree roots.
Another icy blast of wind rolled through the woods, and seemed to push what little light remained far into the southwest. The forest took on a shadowy, blue-green hue and seemed to creak, the moss and needles beneath my leather boots groaning mournfully at the peril that now lay so close to Nífyrre's vast boundaries.
To be continued.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wodensday
A house; with a door: 1, 2, 3, 4!
Knock knock - ready to play?
What's the day? It's Wodensday!
So I've decided that every Wednesday I will have a Wodensday Warrior of the Week (note: the alliteration was unintended).
This week's Warrior is Hans Fyrste from Ragnarok and Svarttjern.
He's blonde, well-built and not afraid to get messy... a very important trait in men. Did I forget to mention he's Norwegian? That covers it all then, haha.
See you tomorrow, guys!
xx
Knock knock - ready to play?
What's the day? It's Wodensday!
So I've decided that every Wednesday I will have a Wodensday Warrior of the Week (note: the alliteration was unintended).
This week's Warrior is Hans Fyrste from Ragnarok and Svarttjern.
He's blonde, well-built and not afraid to get messy... a very important trait in men. Did I forget to mention he's Norwegian? That covers it all then, haha.See you tomorrow, guys!
xx
Sunday, June 7, 2009
I'm so weak
Yeah, so, it's been a day right? Right.
I'm already talking to Justin again. Right now actually.
And listening to Eminem. Whatever bitch, I do what I wannuh!
Let's fuckkkk.
xx
I'm already talking to Justin again. Right now actually.
And listening to Eminem. Whatever bitch, I do what I wannuh!
Let's fuckkkk.
xx
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Abandonment
Well it's been a while, that's for sure.
So I haven't seen Justin for about a week now and it's been three times as long since I saw him last. The reason being, he dropped out of school. What a fucker.
So I went temporarily insane, what with the fact that I'm now never gonna see my best friend again. But hey, who cares right?
So he promises me we'll hang this weekend. Well the weekend is here and he's vanished out of thin air - knowing him he'll appear online on Monday night with some lovely tale of his internet being cut off or him falling deathly ill and having no way possible of contacting me.
Well I'm through with him. I'm so sick of the pain he causes me.
I can't keep waiting on him; he was never there for me and he never will be.
As well as the Justin situation, I've become a lot closer to Georgie. She's pretty fucking awesome, I've gotta say - I feel like she actually listens, doesn't just wait for her turn to speak. Cool kid (I mean it, too). So she's coming over tomorrow night and we're pretty much gonna watch Metalocalypse and talk about Tajikistan and Norway with dreamy looks on our faces while she refuses to share Stringy (Toki). It's gonna GO OFF!! Haha.
We're both pretty shitty at the moment, no thanks to mid-years and other shit, but I guess the mid-years are a big "owie" factor in both our lives right now. I did my English and music exams yesterday; both, I'm sure, poorly.
On a lighter topic, I've been buying a lot of albums lately; Burzum, Carpathian Forest, Graveland, Myrkgrav and so on... and I'm really satisfied by it. For some reason just knowing that the albums really belong to me, that I earned them, I dunno. It feels right.
I'll start posting more regularly, promise.
xx
So I haven't seen Justin for about a week now and it's been three times as long since I saw him last. The reason being, he dropped out of school. What a fucker.
So I went temporarily insane, what with the fact that I'm now never gonna see my best friend again. But hey, who cares right?
So he promises me we'll hang this weekend. Well the weekend is here and he's vanished out of thin air - knowing him he'll appear online on Monday night with some lovely tale of his internet being cut off or him falling deathly ill and having no way possible of contacting me.
Well I'm through with him. I'm so sick of the pain he causes me.
I can't keep waiting on him; he was never there for me and he never will be.
As well as the Justin situation, I've become a lot closer to Georgie. She's pretty fucking awesome, I've gotta say - I feel like she actually listens, doesn't just wait for her turn to speak. Cool kid (I mean it, too). So she's coming over tomorrow night and we're pretty much gonna watch Metalocalypse and talk about Tajikistan and Norway with dreamy looks on our faces while she refuses to share Stringy (Toki). It's gonna GO OFF!! Haha.
We're both pretty shitty at the moment, no thanks to mid-years and other shit, but I guess the mid-years are a big "owie" factor in both our lives right now. I did my English and music exams yesterday; both, I'm sure, poorly.
On a lighter topic, I've been buying a lot of albums lately; Burzum, Carpathian Forest, Graveland, Myrkgrav and so on... and I'm really satisfied by it. For some reason just knowing that the albums really belong to me, that I earned them, I dunno. It feels right.
I'll start posting more regularly, promise.
xx
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Manifestation
My name is Alyssa-Jayne... and I'm an eBayoholic. I seriously think I have an addiction here - there's simply no other explanation as to why I would buy such useless and random items, even at ridiculously expensive prices.
For God's sake, I bought a set of plectrums with world flags printed on them. Why? Because they're limited addition, of course! And for only $10! Wowie! Can you believe it, ten special edition "Flags of the World" guitar picks, and at such a low price? Why would I need guitar picks anyway? Then there's the plethora of too-large second hand band t-shirts from the USA, the vintage style bracelets with old fashioned charms and chunky glass beads and the 20-year-old cherry red Doc Martens.
I need help! Everytime I see something I obviously don't need, I'm compelled to "confirm bid" - after all, somebody will probably outbid me before the auction ends; which is why I run to the computer 10 minutes before to make sure I'm still in the lead, and if I'm not, I'll throw out some insane bid that would make Donald Trump look like a pauper and voila, my new professionally screened and top sewn Darkthrone hoodie is on its way.
Are there eBay addict support groups? Or should I just keep buying til I'm broke and they shut my account? Probably not the best idea, but look at all my pretty new things...
xx
For God's sake, I bought a set of plectrums with world flags printed on them. Why? Because they're limited addition, of course! And for only $10! Wowie! Can you believe it, ten special edition "Flags of the World" guitar picks, and at such a low price? Why would I need guitar picks anyway? Then there's the plethora of too-large second hand band t-shirts from the USA, the vintage style bracelets with old fashioned charms and chunky glass beads and the 20-year-old cherry red Doc Martens.
I need help! Everytime I see something I obviously don't need, I'm compelled to "confirm bid" - after all, somebody will probably outbid me before the auction ends; which is why I run to the computer 10 minutes before to make sure I'm still in the lead, and if I'm not, I'll throw out some insane bid that would make Donald Trump look like a pauper and voila, my new professionally screened and top sewn Darkthrone hoodie is on its way.
Are there eBay addict support groups? Or should I just keep buying til I'm broke and they shut my account? Probably not the best idea, but look at all my pretty new things...
xx
Thursday, April 16, 2009
What's happening to me?
I don't know what's wrong with me lately, I've been behaving strangely and feeling even stranger - there's some epic conflict going on within me and I'm not even sure what it is but I'm being torn between two sides; do I stay myself, introverted, cold, lonely and adjusted - or do I dare to venture forward into this scary, new realm of social interactions, alcohol and god forbid romance?
Ever since I had my 16th birthday party the tightness has continued to swell in my chest, holding my lungs shut, my throat taut and my head dizzy. It's so completely out of the ordinary - upon being faced with a friendly encounter today, I completely lost my nerve and behaved rudely and obnoxiously - not at all like myself. It seems there are so few people that know the real me, people I am comfortable being around, that now I simply cannot open up to new situations at all. I'm so scared for myself.
I don't know if I want to stay lonely or if I want to risk being hurt again by braving the real world outside my bedroom.
If I believed in God, I'd be praying right now.
Somebody has to save me - I'm so overwhelmed.
:(
Ever since I had my 16th birthday party the tightness has continued to swell in my chest, holding my lungs shut, my throat taut and my head dizzy. It's so completely out of the ordinary - upon being faced with a friendly encounter today, I completely lost my nerve and behaved rudely and obnoxiously - not at all like myself. It seems there are so few people that know the real me, people I am comfortable being around, that now I simply cannot open up to new situations at all. I'm so scared for myself.
I don't know if I want to stay lonely or if I want to risk being hurt again by braving the real world outside my bedroom.
If I believed in God, I'd be praying right now.
Somebody has to save me - I'm so overwhelmed.
:(
Friday, April 10, 2009
Cliché alert!
I can't help but think back to the good old days. It seemed like I didn't have a care in the world - everything was so simple. It pains me deeply that long gone are the days of old when Ben, Justin, Sam, Matt and I would have sleepovers, watch horror movies and mess around.
If only I could turn back time and relive those moments that I took for granted.
Alas, I must move on with my life and start from the beginning; a new life - a new love.
Haha.
xx
If only I could turn back time and relive those moments that I took for granted.
Alas, I must move on with my life and start from the beginning; a new life - a new love.
Haha.
xx
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Disappointment
Needless to say thanks to my clear title, I am not feeling too swell right now.
My parents decided to rename my kittens - apparently birthday gifts aren't permanent. Fucking Indian givers. I'm so pissed off and hurt.
Whatever. I'm certainly not as fond of whatever the new names are going to be;
apparently Varg is 'Mouse' now and Toki is 'Flea'. Fucking Mouse and Flea... get fucked.
Bye.
My parents decided to rename my kittens - apparently birthday gifts aren't permanent. Fucking Indian givers. I'm so pissed off and hurt.
Whatever. I'm certainly not as fond of whatever the new names are going to be;
apparently Varg is 'Mouse' now and Toki is 'Flea'. Fucking Mouse and Flea... get fucked.
Bye.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Varg Vikernes
Varg Vikernes is the musician my second twin kitten was named after for my birthday. He is the solo member of the music project Burzum, which became prominent in the early Norwegian black metal scene. In 1993 Vikernes was sentenced to 21 years in prison for the murder of fellow musician Øystein Aarseth aka Euronymous of Mayhem and the burning of various churches.He has also been associated with far right-wing policists and neo-nazi organisations, although has since stated that he is no longer in contact with any national socialist groups or parties.
He may seem an odd person to name a tiny, innocent kitten after, but you must remember that a kitten that seems so innocent and sweet will grow up to be a cat that kills and maims birds, mice and other animals - not for the fulfilment of hunger or energy, but simply because it is in their nature to hunt and to kill. Besides, Vikernes is extremely intelligent, makes great music and well, he's kind of cute and cuddly in a way that only de Sade could appreciate.
Taak.
xx
P.S. And yes, just like Toki, he is Norwegian and used to have long, brown hair; one exception is that his English is near perfect.
P.P.S. I might also add that on top of the difference in language skills, Varg Vikernes is REAL.
P.P.P.S. Still, they're both adorable and have both killed at least one person intentionally.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Toki Wartooth
Toki Wartooth is the guitarist that my parents named one of my two twin kittens for as a birthday gift. He is the underrated and overlooked rhythm guitarist in Dethklok, an American/Scandinavian death metal band based in the United States. Although he spends most of his time in the shadow of Skwisgaar Skwigelf, Dethklok's "lead Swede" and fastest guitarist in the world, Toki is a beautiful musician and person all round.He is the youngest member of the band and often behaves very childishly, which is emphasized by his poor English skills (Toki had no English experience prior to moving to America due to being raised in a small, abandoned village Lillehammer, Norway by strictly religious parents - one of his major language problems is that he tends to pluralise incorrectly).
Although most of the time he behaves in a very innocent and naive manner, Toki has a darker side which is considered the most shockingly violent of all the band members (despite apparently doing no illicit drugs and drinking far less than his bandmates). It has also been theorized that those who become close to Toki all suffer horrible deaths or at least frequent violence - a little sick girl and his father most notably.
Ha det bra.
xx
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Whats in die names of Odin?
I was selected to be in the only 10 students in Melbourne to undertake the forensic science program in May.
Why me? Should I feel as though I'm special or intelligent or even alright at biology, since I, Alyssa, have been chosen to participate in this spectacular event? I don't feel adequate, I feel overrated and underused, pointless and pathetic, but it seems I'm the only one who can admit it. I am given higher grades than my work deserves because examiners take pity on the desperate, depressed waste of space that is me. They see the need in my eyes, they can hear the pleading tone in my voice, and they watch as the pressure and inner pain of knowing I'll never be good enough washes over me each and every time I attempt to create a piece of work worthy of a "satisfactory".
I sometimes wish I could turn back time so that maybe I wouldn't be such a dreadful excuse waste of time, life and resources - unfortunately, I have so far been unsuccessful in finding a way to do that, too. I'm unsuccessful in everything I try.
I can't even starve myself for more than a week without giving in and eating a whole sandwich in one sitting. There are people out there who never eat, and here I am having breakfast up to 3 times a week and so-called "healthy choices" for dinner every single night. I even ate at recess and lunch yesterday. It made me feel sick. To be completely fair to myself, my parents force me to eat breakfast and dinner. But that's not the point. The point is I should weigh 45kg and I weigh over 60kg. It makes me want to die.
I can't get anything right. I'm such a useless beast. I can't even listen to the right music or buy the right things on eBay. I already broke the chain on the necklace Marko sent me for my birthday - it was a beautiful silver chain with Odin's two ravens, Huginn and Muninn on either side of four small beads representing dawn, dusk, thunder and lightning, with Thor's hammer directly in the centre. I loved it so much that I was afraid I would break the chain as it was so delicate, and I did break it by falling asleep in it last night. I didn't lose any of the pieces but that isn't the point. The point is that I'm a failure and a disappointment who doesn't deserve to have people's attention or affection.
I hope I rot.
Why me? Should I feel as though I'm special or intelligent or even alright at biology, since I, Alyssa, have been chosen to participate in this spectacular event? I don't feel adequate, I feel overrated and underused, pointless and pathetic, but it seems I'm the only one who can admit it. I am given higher grades than my work deserves because examiners take pity on the desperate, depressed waste of space that is me. They see the need in my eyes, they can hear the pleading tone in my voice, and they watch as the pressure and inner pain of knowing I'll never be good enough washes over me each and every time I attempt to create a piece of work worthy of a "satisfactory".
I sometimes wish I could turn back time so that maybe I wouldn't be such a dreadful excuse waste of time, life and resources - unfortunately, I have so far been unsuccessful in finding a way to do that, too. I'm unsuccessful in everything I try.
I can't even starve myself for more than a week without giving in and eating a whole sandwich in one sitting. There are people out there who never eat, and here I am having breakfast up to 3 times a week and so-called "healthy choices" for dinner every single night. I even ate at recess and lunch yesterday. It made me feel sick. To be completely fair to myself, my parents force me to eat breakfast and dinner. But that's not the point. The point is I should weigh 45kg and I weigh over 60kg. It makes me want to die.
I can't get anything right. I'm such a useless beast. I can't even listen to the right music or buy the right things on eBay. I already broke the chain on the necklace Marko sent me for my birthday - it was a beautiful silver chain with Odin's two ravens, Huginn and Muninn on either side of four small beads representing dawn, dusk, thunder and lightning, with Thor's hammer directly in the centre. I loved it so much that I was afraid I would break the chain as it was so delicate, and I did break it by falling asleep in it last night. I didn't lose any of the pieces but that isn't the point. The point is that I'm a failure and a disappointment who doesn't deserve to have people's attention or affection.
I hope I rot.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Det som en gang var
Well it's my birthday, and I thought I'd let you know what I've got so far.
- A white gold and diamond heart pendant
- A Burzum t-shirt
- A beautiful little stained glass clock
- A necklace with Thor's hammer and Odin's two ravens on it
- The second season of Metalocalypse on DVD
- An Ulver album, 2 Hades albums and a Darkthrone album
- A box of chocolates (even though I can't eat them, they look delicious!)
- A great big organiser
- A keyring with a functioning heart-shaped lock and key
and last but not least
- My mother named my two new kittens Varg and Toki, after two of my heroes! I am so happy!
In case you don't know who they are, Varg Vikernes and Toki Wartooth are Norwegian metal musicians, among other things (murderers, neo nazis, cartoon characters, cough cough...)
Anyways I'm positively elated at my babies' new names and I'll cherish that gift for a long time to come. Oh, I thought I'd add as well that although Toki and Varg are both male names, my Toki is a little girl. I don't mind, I'm still ecstatic.
I also had a very strange dream last night. It seemed to go on forever, although I'm sure it wasn't as long as it felt. It was in heaps of different parts but I'll just tell you about one strange section. I'd moved into this huge building (suspiciously like Dethklok's Mordhaus on Metalocalypse) with my friends Sam, Cameron and Justin, and I was walking around checking it out. It was in Berlin, and was somewhere around 30 storeys tall (wowie). I went into the dining/meeting room, where there was a long, medieval 20 seat table and a huge rectangular window about 10 metres across and 5 metres high. The room looked directly out onto this massive church that was just across the street - it was the most elaborate church I'd ever seen and the domes and spires were framed perfectly by the window. I was drawn to it, the image of fire in my mind, the church ablaze and the sky filled with thick, black smoke. I walked towards it, unblinking, until I came to the window. There was a tense laughter in the back of my mind, urging me onward, closer to the church. I had to touch it, I had to hear the wood crumble to the ground, breathe in the suffocating smoke as the tapestries curled up and turned to ashes and watch as the entire building fell to its demise... I gazed down at the busy street that separated me from the church. I put my hand on the glass, but as soon as I did it disappeared and I fell forward. There was a steeply slanted 10 metre segment of roofing jutting out beneath each window, including this one. I tumbled down and managed to grab hold of an ancient-looking stone gargoyle. I don't know why, but I didn't scream or even feel terrible alarmed. Justin appeared above me, staring down from the windows ledge. His expression was bored and almost irritated as he said to me, "What are you doing."
I squealed a little at his insensitivity given that I was about to plumet 15 storeys to my death. He shook his head in exasperation and walked away. I hoped that somebody would call the police to help me down safely.
So yeah. I'm going to watch Metalocalypse now.
Ha det bra!
xx
- A white gold and diamond heart pendant
- A Burzum t-shirt
- A beautiful little stained glass clock
- A necklace with Thor's hammer and Odin's two ravens on it
- The second season of Metalocalypse on DVD
- An Ulver album, 2 Hades albums and a Darkthrone album
- A box of chocolates (even though I can't eat them, they look delicious!)
- A great big organiser
- A keyring with a functioning heart-shaped lock and key
and last but not least
- My mother named my two new kittens Varg and Toki, after two of my heroes! I am so happy!
In case you don't know who they are, Varg Vikernes and Toki Wartooth are Norwegian metal musicians, among other things (murderers, neo nazis, cartoon characters, cough cough...)
Anyways I'm positively elated at my babies' new names and I'll cherish that gift for a long time to come. Oh, I thought I'd add as well that although Toki and Varg are both male names, my Toki is a little girl. I don't mind, I'm still ecstatic.
I also had a very strange dream last night. It seemed to go on forever, although I'm sure it wasn't as long as it felt. It was in heaps of different parts but I'll just tell you about one strange section. I'd moved into this huge building (suspiciously like Dethklok's Mordhaus on Metalocalypse) with my friends Sam, Cameron and Justin, and I was walking around checking it out. It was in Berlin, and was somewhere around 30 storeys tall (wowie). I went into the dining/meeting room, where there was a long, medieval 20 seat table and a huge rectangular window about 10 metres across and 5 metres high. The room looked directly out onto this massive church that was just across the street - it was the most elaborate church I'd ever seen and the domes and spires were framed perfectly by the window. I was drawn to it, the image of fire in my mind, the church ablaze and the sky filled with thick, black smoke. I walked towards it, unblinking, until I came to the window. There was a tense laughter in the back of my mind, urging me onward, closer to the church. I had to touch it, I had to hear the wood crumble to the ground, breathe in the suffocating smoke as the tapestries curled up and turned to ashes and watch as the entire building fell to its demise... I gazed down at the busy street that separated me from the church. I put my hand on the glass, but as soon as I did it disappeared and I fell forward. There was a steeply slanted 10 metre segment of roofing jutting out beneath each window, including this one. I tumbled down and managed to grab hold of an ancient-looking stone gargoyle. I don't know why, but I didn't scream or even feel terrible alarmed. Justin appeared above me, staring down from the windows ledge. His expression was bored and almost irritated as he said to me, "What are you doing."
I squealed a little at his insensitivity given that I was about to plumet 15 storeys to my death. He shook his head in exasperation and walked away. I hoped that somebody would call the police to help me down safely.
So yeah. I'm going to watch Metalocalypse now.
Ha det bra!
xx
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Inn I Slottet Fra Drømmen
Gjennom tåkete daler mellom dystre
Fjell under grå skyer mitt i svarte natt
På en stolt hest iført svarte klær sterke våpen i hånd
Uendelig med døde trær en evighet av kulde
Over stokk og stein inn i skyggene
Ut fra tåkenut fra mørke, ut fra fjellets store
Skygge drømmens slott
Da stopper rittet som varte i en livstid for herren går
Inn i slottet fra drømmen.
- 'Inn i slottet fra drømmen', Hvis Lyset Tar Oss, Burzum, 1993
Friday, March 27, 2009
Birthday dethday
So I've been neglecting you lately, apparently too busy downloading albums off Rapidshare and Megaupload to write a short blog once in a while...
I'll try to write more frequently to avoid mine become another of the vast array of DEADBLOGS that pollute the internet... Anyhow, here's a short piece I wrote on life versus death.
What expression rises in being this age that one shall cease to remember yet never forget? The turgid response that comes from the most inward part of our soul that tells us, this is who I am, who I always will be, and who I alone have the power to control; and what to make of it?
A soft lullaby that rests yet on the lips of dreamers who once more forgot to fall asleep. That regrettable place that lies between day and night, light and dark, life and death; unspeakably irresistible in its morbid appeal. It is the realisation that, if all else fails, the one thing we can be sure of is this - we are all going to die.
It’s a small comfort in a world of endless and utter despair, constantly agitated and disorderly populations away from which the tide desperately tugs, to sift back out into the deep and dark ocean with its crystalline reflections of the moon… so pure.
Every step taken is one closer to true being – the ultimate promise that can never be broken by any man, woman or child, ever reliable and relentless in its macabre envisage. We all wait patiently for its hand to rest on our shoulder and tenderly press us from this realm of hollow, earthly indifference and into the blissful nothing that is eternal damnation. The black clouds that swarm and shudder with full mass ready to weep for one last farewell.
Oh how I long for that final, indulgent embrace.
P.S. after this long and lovely post, I thought I'd let you all know that it is my birthday the day after tomorrow. Hooray for being one year closer to the end of my life!
I'll try to write more frequently to avoid mine become another of the vast array of DEADBLOGS that pollute the internet... Anyhow, here's a short piece I wrote on life versus death.
What expression rises in being this age that one shall cease to remember yet never forget? The turgid response that comes from the most inward part of our soul that tells us, this is who I am, who I always will be, and who I alone have the power to control; and what to make of it?
A soft lullaby that rests yet on the lips of dreamers who once more forgot to fall asleep. That regrettable place that lies between day and night, light and dark, life and death; unspeakably irresistible in its morbid appeal. It is the realisation that, if all else fails, the one thing we can be sure of is this - we are all going to die.
It’s a small comfort in a world of endless and utter despair, constantly agitated and disorderly populations away from which the tide desperately tugs, to sift back out into the deep and dark ocean with its crystalline reflections of the moon… so pure.
Every step taken is one closer to true being – the ultimate promise that can never be broken by any man, woman or child, ever reliable and relentless in its macabre envisage. We all wait patiently for its hand to rest on our shoulder and tenderly press us from this realm of hollow, earthly indifference and into the blissful nothing that is eternal damnation. The black clouds that swarm and shudder with full mass ready to weep for one last farewell.
Oh how I long for that final, indulgent embrace.
P.S. after this long and lovely post, I thought I'd let you all know that it is my birthday the day after tomorrow. Hooray for being one year closer to the end of my life!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The funny side of February
What I do when Sam comes over:
“Why does his nose look like stairs?”
“I don’t know, cause I don’t know how to draw stairs.”
~
“Synchronised vomiting!”
“My turn!”
~
“I have customised sounds for different people logging in – yours is a shredding guitar and Justin’s is like some French coffee shop music*, it’s like “dun na na na na ning ning!”…oh wait no that’s just the song we just listened to…”
~
[Imagine the next 6 hours spent drinking Midori and singing karaoke online]
What I do when Courtney comes over:
Yeah figure it out for yourself.
*It actually isn't. This is a mistake I made once again whilst explaining the custom sounds to Courtney. Justin's custom login sound is a few baritone notes of jazz-blues saxophone. His custom message alert sound is the "coffee shop" music, and it sounds more like "blinka-ding, dung-dung, dun da-diddle-in, da do do".
“Why does his nose look like stairs?”
“I don’t know, cause I don’t know how to draw stairs.”
~
“Synchronised vomiting!”
“My turn!”
~
“I have customised sounds for different people logging in – yours is a shredding guitar and Justin’s is like some French coffee shop music*, it’s like “dun na na na na ning ning!”…oh wait no that’s just the song we just listened to…”
~
[Imagine the next 6 hours spent drinking Midori and singing karaoke online]
What I do when Courtney comes over:
Yeah figure it out for yourself.*It actually isn't. This is a mistake I made once again whilst explaining the custom sounds to Courtney. Justin's custom login sound is a few baritone notes of jazz-blues saxophone. His custom message alert sound is the "coffee shop" music, and it sounds more like "blinka-ding, dung-dung, dun da-diddle-in, da do do".
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Cameron Frye, you're my hero
Hypochondria, neurotic tendancy,anxiety, insanity,
nervousness, fear,
sorrow, depression,
introversion, panic,
courage, strength, cunning;
so sad to see you sad so sorry my Cam.
The darkness
The blackness swells and pulls me under
I feel I’m trapped beneath its tide
But I keep marching forward in snowy forests
I feel I’m trapped beneath its tide
But I keep marching forward in snowy forests
Searching for a place to wait and hide
To fight the things that haunt me
To fight the things that haunt me
They catch me in my sleep
And when I let my iron guard down
They tear me apart piece by piece
Broken like a wilted flower
My cry rings out in the night
Until the moon is full, fat midnight hour
And no hope is left in sight.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Mr. Charlie
I'm not entirely sure what came over to me, but I had the urge to do something today and I did it. I wrote a letter to Mr. Charles Manson - that's right, the same Charles Manson we're all thinking of right now. Swastika tattoos and long, wild hair. I know this is extremely contraversial and I will recieve a lot of "Oh my"s and "Satan! Satan!"s but I don't really mind.
I felt like doing something interesting and I've done it.
Don't try to burn me with "What if he hunts you down!"
Whatever state of mind you're in to think that a nearly 80-year-old Charles beeping Manson is going to get out of prison, fly to Australia and come get me, I think you should probably take a closer look at your own level of sanity.
In all honesty, considering the amount of mail he recieves, I will never hear back from him.
Night night.
P.S. I haven't actually sent the letter yet, I need to reopen my P.O. box first.
I felt like doing something interesting and I've done it.
Don't try to burn me with "What if he hunts you down!"
Whatever state of mind you're in to think that a nearly 80-year-old Charles beeping Manson is going to get out of prison, fly to Australia and come get me, I think you should probably take a closer look at your own level of sanity.
In all honesty, considering the amount of mail he recieves, I will never hear back from him.
Night night.
P.S. I haven't actually sent the letter yet, I need to reopen my P.O. box first.
Monday, February 9, 2009
The toll rises
It has been less than 24 hours since I last posted my blog about the tragedy that is know known as the Black Saturday bush fires that still continue to burn through Victoria.
Since last night, the death toll has risen to 130, and hundreds are still missing.
Since last night, the death toll has risen to 130, and hundreds are still missing.
At school I heard even more stories of teachers who could not come to work; they were still looking for their children, their husbands and wives. Children could not make it to their classes today - their homes and everything else were gone.
The 2009 Black Saturday bushfires are now officially the worst natural disaster Australia has ever faced. It's like 6 degrees of separation - everybody knows somebody who lost their home, their family, or their life.
The 2009 Black Saturday bushfires are now officially the worst natural disaster Australia has ever faced. It's like 6 degrees of separation - everybody knows somebody who lost their home, their family, or their life.
Once again my thoughts are with everyone who's been hurt by these fires...
It's an awful tragedy that none of us will ever forget.
It's an awful tragedy that none of us will ever forget.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
City of smoke
To look out the back window of my Melbourne home today is to look out onto a city that is losing a battle against one of the worst bushfires it has ever seen.
The sky is grey despite being clear and blue only a week ago, the air smells of ash and smoke that billows across the entire state in a depressing blanket of hopelessness.
I know that while I watch the smoke, somewhere it is rising from the fires that are stealing hundreds of homes, to the point where entire suburbs no longer exist, murdering the people and animals that lay trapped by its many fronts.
At the moment the death toll is at 84, the loss of homes sitting briefly on 750, but the numbers rise so frequently it's impossible to say what it will be by the time you read this.
Of what I know from family and friends, one woman we know is missing and her home is destroyed, a girl has lost her great uncle and cousins, a boy has lost both of his parents and his home, and four more friends have lost their homes and pets. Others still don't know where their families are.
I'm so sorry to everybody who's been affected in even the smallest way by this. It's something we all know is coming every summer, but we couldn't know it would be this bad.
I wish the best for everybody.
The sky is grey despite being clear and blue only a week ago, the air smells of ash and smoke that billows across the entire state in a depressing blanket of hopelessness.
I know that while I watch the smoke, somewhere it is rising from the fires that are stealing hundreds of homes, to the point where entire suburbs no longer exist, murdering the people and animals that lay trapped by its many fronts.
At the moment the death toll is at 84, the loss of homes sitting briefly on 750, but the numbers rise so frequently it's impossible to say what it will be by the time you read this.
Of what I know from family and friends, one woman we know is missing and her home is destroyed, a girl has lost her great uncle and cousins, a boy has lost both of his parents and his home, and four more friends have lost their homes and pets. Others still don't know where their families are.
I'm so sorry to everybody who's been affected in even the smallest way by this. It's something we all know is coming every summer, but we couldn't know it would be this bad.
I wish the best for everybody.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Main offender
Well, school's back now and I'm owning again.
I stalk the yard, shooting scowls and howls at you
Skinny little prats with the bottom lockers.
God, you're not good enough to have dust kicked on your shiny T-bars.
Don't you know how much I'd like to tear your fake hair off of you scalp?
You disgust me.
You tiny, filthy viruses plaguing my schoolground
With your running makeup and your acne ridden faces.
Why do you have to crawl in my sandpit?
Why me?
You wear a cross around your neck and I wonder why it doesn't burn you.
You probably think you're very pretty with your big black eyes and shiny pink lips.
Well, I think you look like a cheap slut.
And pin your fringe back, it's terribly oily.
It looks like you rubbed grease into it.
Did you just bump into me?
You better not have just bumped into me.
Don't you know who I am?
I stalk the yard, shooting scowls and howls at you
Skinny little prats with the bottom lockers.
God, you're not good enough to have dust kicked on your shiny T-bars.
Don't you know how much I'd like to tear your fake hair off of you scalp?
You disgust me.
You tiny, filthy viruses plaguing my schoolground
With your running makeup and your acne ridden faces.
Why do you have to crawl in my sandpit?
Why me?
You wear a cross around your neck and I wonder why it doesn't burn you.
You probably think you're very pretty with your big black eyes and shiny pink lips.
Well, I think you look like a cheap slut.
And pin your fringe back, it's terribly oily.
It looks like you rubbed grease into it.
Did you just bump into me?
You better not have just bumped into me.
Don't you know who I am?
Friday, January 30, 2009
The Wieskirche
These photos are from the almost scarily ornate inside of the famous roccoco Wieskirche in Bavaria. Believe me, the photos do not do this church's decoration the slightest justice. But don't think it's just a showy tourist piece, you are not permitted to take photos or speak inside and are promptly removed if you behave in an inappropriate manner. We sat as they had Mass here one evening, and it was rather chilling, the empty silence filled only with the chants of the priest, followed by the men, followed by the women.
Random post anybody? Obviously I'm bored.
Night night xx
Random post anybody? Obviously I'm bored.
Night night xx
Friday, January 23, 2009
The damage a man can do
"It's said that everything is connected to everything; the butterfly effect.
You drop a pebble into a pond and the ripples radiate outwards, touching and effecting everything. Until finally a fish grows arms and legs and crawls out of the water... and picks up a rock and smashes the next two fish over the head, and we have the first serial killer."
You drop a pebble into a pond and the ripples radiate outwards, touching and effecting everything. Until finally a fish grows arms and legs and crawls out of the water... and picks up a rock and smashes the next two fish over the head, and we have the first serial killer."
- Dexter Morgan
Sunday, January 18, 2009
My Secret Story - Part II
By the time I was 13 my self-destructive ways had already taken a two year toll on my body. My forearms, stomach, breasts and legs were riddled with scars, my eyes were pouchy and yellow and I was constantly tired. When I could, I slept on two dirty, bloodstained mattresses stacked on the floor of my bedroom, which was barely visible for the clothes, papers and assorted litter heaped on it.
The planks of wood on my wardrobe door were kicked in and the entire inside of it was scrawled with things like “I fucking hate you” and “I love Benn”. There were ivy weeds growing from the room’s skirting boards, which I drizzled with tap water from my en suite daily.
The en suite was, at the time I claimed the room my home, fully equipped with a shower, vanity, mirror and toilet. From the time I was 12 until I was 14, the mirror would lay in shattered pieces on the tiles that I refused to pick up despite often cutting my feet.
The mirror had fallen forward and smashed over my head whilst I had been taking photos of myself. I wasn’t hurt, but I was upset because I had owned the mirror for some time. The walls of the shower were covered in red swipes, spatter and hand prints and dried shampoo. Before I could have a shower, I would have to search fervently for any spiders that were living in it and place them in a container before letting them back out when I had finished. I often felt I was being watched in the shower through the vent in the ceiling or that somebody was waiting just behind the blue shower curtain to torture and slaughter me. I was terrified of this, but comforted myself by imagining that this particular somebody was in fact Jason from Friday the 13th and that I could simply turn the showerhead on him. To embody this fear, I painted the words “Friday 13th” in large, bold letters outside my en suite door.
All or most of my time was spent in my bedroom. It was where I went to eat, drink, sleep, shower (compulsively), cry, cut and anything and everything else I wanted to do.
My bedroom was my haven and nothing could hurt me there, although I did believe that someone broke into my bedroom on a daily basis and would watch me sleep. One night I woke up and felt someone breathing on the back of my neck. To this day I do not and will not believe that it was a dream.
I never seemed to try to hide my personal turmoil from the people in my life, leaving the razors I had unscrewed from pencil sharpeners in plain view along with various pain and sleeping pills that I emptied into a small glass jar I kept beside my bed, although they weren’t things I flaunted and I can’t even recall ever thinking about it, or, for that matter, anybody else ever mentioning it.
I was completely content in being unhappy with myself, and didn’t plan on changing. It was the one stable thing in my world and for the first time, I had found some order in the life.
And then He showed up.
The planks of wood on my wardrobe door were kicked in and the entire inside of it was scrawled with things like “I fucking hate you” and “I love Benn”. There were ivy weeds growing from the room’s skirting boards, which I drizzled with tap water from my en suite daily.
The en suite was, at the time I claimed the room my home, fully equipped with a shower, vanity, mirror and toilet. From the time I was 12 until I was 14, the mirror would lay in shattered pieces on the tiles that I refused to pick up despite often cutting my feet.
The mirror had fallen forward and smashed over my head whilst I had been taking photos of myself. I wasn’t hurt, but I was upset because I had owned the mirror for some time. The walls of the shower were covered in red swipes, spatter and hand prints and dried shampoo. Before I could have a shower, I would have to search fervently for any spiders that were living in it and place them in a container before letting them back out when I had finished. I often felt I was being watched in the shower through the vent in the ceiling or that somebody was waiting just behind the blue shower curtain to torture and slaughter me. I was terrified of this, but comforted myself by imagining that this particular somebody was in fact Jason from Friday the 13th and that I could simply turn the showerhead on him. To embody this fear, I painted the words “Friday 13th” in large, bold letters outside my en suite door.
All or most of my time was spent in my bedroom. It was where I went to eat, drink, sleep, shower (compulsively), cry, cut and anything and everything else I wanted to do.
My bedroom was my haven and nothing could hurt me there, although I did believe that someone broke into my bedroom on a daily basis and would watch me sleep. One night I woke up and felt someone breathing on the back of my neck. To this day I do not and will not believe that it was a dream.
I never seemed to try to hide my personal turmoil from the people in my life, leaving the razors I had unscrewed from pencil sharpeners in plain view along with various pain and sleeping pills that I emptied into a small glass jar I kept beside my bed, although they weren’t things I flaunted and I can’t even recall ever thinking about it, or, for that matter, anybody else ever mentioning it.
I was completely content in being unhappy with myself, and didn’t plan on changing. It was the one stable thing in my world and for the first time, I had found some order in the life.
And then He showed up.
My Secret Story - Part I
A surge of panic rose in the pit of my stomach, bubbling over and mixing with a white hot anger I hadn’t felt since…
I struck out, hitting his arms, chest, face, anything I could do to get his hands off of my chest. He groped and squeezed, trying not to laugh as he played his sick game. Carey lay twisting on the floor, covered in his own vomit and groaning in his fruitless effort to get up and help me, save me. One hard grasp shot a sensation of pain rushing from my right breast into the rest of my body. My eyes went wide and I let out a high pitched yelp.
“Oliver, stop!” I thrashed underneath him, his heavy body constricting my legs and stomach. Considering the great deal of pressure on my internal organs, my rapid breathing and shaking were probably not the best idea, but the human body acts on its own accord and right now it seemed mine wanted very badly to escape.
My stomach and chest felt crushed and he was still staring down at me, that huge grin on his face and I knew in that moment that even nothing He had ever done to me had been this bad; He had never laughed. And He had never even forced it on me, had always ensured that it was right, for both of us, and of course it always was with Him. I loved Him more than life itself and would give up anything to hear Him tell me that He felt the same. I was sure that He had loved me now, even though I had always been a suspicious partner and had questioned His motives in the relationship to no end. But now He was gone and I had bigger things to worry about – no pun intended.
Oliver was a tall, pale and flabby boy of 16 with clumsy, stubby hands and a waistline that stretched about 2 foot across, a real showpiece of Australian youth. He had blonde hair, which he attributed to his Swedish decent, and seemed to either be suffering a long-running rivalry with genetic facial craters or, maybe, too much chocolate. His weight was too much even for my usually strong body to handle; I gave up and let my arms fall in hapless repose by my sides. There was no use struggling against his massive power, and so I decided to spare myself the pain and humiliation. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the terrible things that were happening to me, but the brush of a tongue over my left nipple sent me into a terror-induced seizure, my entire body shuddering and vibrating under the giant like a child’s toy gone berserk.
His dark brown eyes met mine and I saw in them the unmistakable, taunting excitement that I could hadn’t encountered since He had been in my life. I’d watched it in His eyes as he anally raped from the front, when he’d slammed my head into the wall and when he had gently pressed his pocket knife into my sternum. But there was still love in His eyes, and I knew that He cared for me a great deal, despite His inability to act accordingly.
My mind fluttered back to the present and to Oliver’s oafish body on top of mine, and without hesitation shut down into a blackness that swept over my entire body. My eyes rolled into the back of my head in one quick, final spasm and my body went completely limp.
And for a little while I didn’t think anything at all.
I struck out, hitting his arms, chest, face, anything I could do to get his hands off of my chest. He groped and squeezed, trying not to laugh as he played his sick game. Carey lay twisting on the floor, covered in his own vomit and groaning in his fruitless effort to get up and help me, save me. One hard grasp shot a sensation of pain rushing from my right breast into the rest of my body. My eyes went wide and I let out a high pitched yelp.
“Oliver, stop!” I thrashed underneath him, his heavy body constricting my legs and stomach. Considering the great deal of pressure on my internal organs, my rapid breathing and shaking were probably not the best idea, but the human body acts on its own accord and right now it seemed mine wanted very badly to escape.
My stomach and chest felt crushed and he was still staring down at me, that huge grin on his face and I knew in that moment that even nothing He had ever done to me had been this bad; He had never laughed. And He had never even forced it on me, had always ensured that it was right, for both of us, and of course it always was with Him. I loved Him more than life itself and would give up anything to hear Him tell me that He felt the same. I was sure that He had loved me now, even though I had always been a suspicious partner and had questioned His motives in the relationship to no end. But now He was gone and I had bigger things to worry about – no pun intended.
Oliver was a tall, pale and flabby boy of 16 with clumsy, stubby hands and a waistline that stretched about 2 foot across, a real showpiece of Australian youth. He had blonde hair, which he attributed to his Swedish decent, and seemed to either be suffering a long-running rivalry with genetic facial craters or, maybe, too much chocolate. His weight was too much even for my usually strong body to handle; I gave up and let my arms fall in hapless repose by my sides. There was no use struggling against his massive power, and so I decided to spare myself the pain and humiliation. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the terrible things that were happening to me, but the brush of a tongue over my left nipple sent me into a terror-induced seizure, my entire body shuddering and vibrating under the giant like a child’s toy gone berserk.
His dark brown eyes met mine and I saw in them the unmistakable, taunting excitement that I could hadn’t encountered since He had been in my life. I’d watched it in His eyes as he anally raped from the front, when he’d slammed my head into the wall and when he had gently pressed his pocket knife into my sternum. But there was still love in His eyes, and I knew that He cared for me a great deal, despite His inability to act accordingly.
My mind fluttered back to the present and to Oliver’s oafish body on top of mine, and without hesitation shut down into a blackness that swept over my entire body. My eyes rolled into the back of my head in one quick, final spasm and my body went completely limp.
And for a little while I didn’t think anything at all.
My Secret Story - Epilogue
Tap, tap. Hello neighbour. Tap, tap, tap.
There was something in His eyes that told me He was the one. He felt the same things I felt, thought the same way I thought. He was special and I was almost certain that He knew it. He was by any count nothing special to look at, but for some peculiar reason I took a detached liking to his appearance. The nameless ‘He’ was a good 20 kilograms overweight with pale, speckled skin that was host to a variety of interesting scars and blemishes; putting His arm through a glass panel as a young boy, jumping from a tree, cutting His throat in my bed; all the happy times shown in an array of bumpy, pallid imperfections that begged the question:
Why on earth do you love Him, Elysha?
What do you see in His plain brown eyes that makes them seem so shiny, or in His dirty black hair that you find so attractive? What could it possibly be, that you find so completely and utterly indispensable about Him?
And consequently I would learn a great deal about what it was that I found so essential about Him. It was a connection that took a full 2 and a half years to break, and when it did I was left completely helpless, a miserable lump of flesh without purpose or direction.
And so it began.
There was something in His eyes that told me He was the one. He felt the same things I felt, thought the same way I thought. He was special and I was almost certain that He knew it. He was by any count nothing special to look at, but for some peculiar reason I took a detached liking to his appearance. The nameless ‘He’ was a good 20 kilograms overweight with pale, speckled skin that was host to a variety of interesting scars and blemishes; putting His arm through a glass panel as a young boy, jumping from a tree, cutting His throat in my bed; all the happy times shown in an array of bumpy, pallid imperfections that begged the question:
Why on earth do you love Him, Elysha?
What do you see in His plain brown eyes that makes them seem so shiny, or in His dirty black hair that you find so attractive? What could it possibly be, that you find so completely and utterly indispensable about Him?
And consequently I would learn a great deal about what it was that I found so essential about Him. It was a connection that took a full 2 and a half years to break, and when it did I was left completely helpless, a miserable lump of flesh without purpose or direction.
And so it began.
Monday, January 5, 2009
I'm back
I'm back after my writing hiatus in Germany and I come bearing all sorts of new experiences to babble about. This is just a short blog to let you all know I didn't get locked in the laundry and suffocate.
Au revoir.
Au revoir.
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