Alright, it's about time I wrote an entry. I've got a bunch of Manics b-sides on random. Too Cold Here, Prologue to History, now Never Want Again. I'm wearing purple velvet and a black feather boa, amongst other things. I look like something out of Moulin Rouge, with a slightly more modern dress-cut. I like it, though the resemblance was by no means intentional. And I feel good.

Hibernation. I haven't got too terribly much to say, really. Things have been... Well. You can't be happy all the time. Was backsliding for a couple of days. Last night everything kindof blew up. And then it rained. And I was purified. And things were fine. Odd how that works, hm?

I don't really want to talk about any of it. The whole affair seems rather insignificant and childish, now. The sky is blue with white cloudwisps and the birds are singing. I stayed up until 5am, last night. Misery makes everything fresh, and you never tire of being awake, and staring blankly at your own soul.

It was useful. I touched emotions I hadn't in a long time. That I missed. And I can relate to things again, that I had recently drawn away from. So. It's good. Made an abstract drawing from inside of my head. Discovered that I am always running in fear from the things I most desire. (Take love, for instance.)

Mother asks when I intend to start dating. I shrug. Cite the stupidity of the people around me. "Later," I say. And it's accurate enough. (What's My Name.)

Went out today, dressed as I am now, happily. Walking with my characteristic bounce and smiling with my purple lips and my black-rimmed eyes. (Sculpture of Man.) And I looked at the people, and I thought, wow. They all look so decrepit, so sad, so old. And it's just. I can't imagine being like that. Run-down inside and out. Even at my lowest points I walk around with a certain drama that makes the whole affair hold a certain amount of beauty. It's my nature. And these people aren't at their lowest. This is normal. And. Yes.

I don't know. I think I'll just say with my teenaged naivety and my petulant optimism, that I don't want to, will never be like that. I hope, at least. (A Vision of Dead Desire.)

Found myself seriously considering a nightly alcohol ritual. I actually sleep well, when I drink. I go out, and wake rested. I don't get hangovers, so perhaps that helps. Medicine to calm the mind and keep me from waking again and again. And to think, I thought the boy was crazy.

Mm. No matter. I'm lovely now, and that's the only important thing.

revoless.
4:25 p.m.
October 14, 2001.
comments? 1.

i could be a voodoo lady... or you think this is tragedy, she thinks this is fun