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Wow...

Haven't been on here forever. I don't miss it much, to be honest, but I do have to get a million things off my chest that I could never make myself say out loud. And there's no one on the internet anymore. I used to talk to Ash and 'Drea about everything, but neither of them are online much... neither am I come to think of it, but that's mostly because they aren't. 

Anyway.

I suck. Basically. I fucking suck at college. I'm terrible in my classes. I never get anything done, and my GPA is a measly 2.73 (how the fuck am I supposed to get into med school with that!?) If I do manage to get everything done, it's at the cost of about five panic attacks. If I don't manage to get anything done, I get about three panic attacks that day anyway because I'm thinking about what a worthless piece of shit I am. I'm such a worthless piece of crap that this entire thing is attention-seeking hyperbole. The most panic attacks I get a day is one no matter what, but to be fair, these new ones, ever since I went on and then off of Zoloft are hours long. An hour build up. An hour attack. An hour slow down. And then still feeling like shit for a few more hours, plus any little thing can tip me over even after that. 

I hate my brain.

But I don't want those pills again. They stopped working anyway. They didn't make it go away, they just made it just below reach. It felt like an itch underneath my skin. It felt like a constant, oncoming attack that would never just come already. Besides, looking back at all the things I didn't mind last year that I really don't like this year, I have to wonder what's worse: being unhappy with something (a lot of things, really) or waking up later from some overly-contented drug-induced numbness to my own likes and dislikes to find myself surrounded by mediocre things that I just settled for? Because that's what happened when the meds stopped working. I looked around and realized that I had settled for shit that I only half wanted. Not only settled for, but worked my damn ass off for shit that I only half-wanted. I got myself completely trapped into something that wasn't worth it.

Hopefully, I'll be able to get into UArts or the vocal program in Rutgers. I can still do premed so that I can settle down later after all of my dreams are destroyed, but at least I'll have tried before then. Of course, since I'm terrible at getting shit done, I only just started working on my audition pieces, looked like a complete ass tonight in front of the music teacher being kind enough to help me, and the audition is in less than three weeks. 

There should be a medicine specifically for motivation. Was I more productive with Zoloft? I can't really remember. I guess we'll see when my GPA comes out again, taking this semester into account. 

I want to go home the way home was before senior year. I want to be in eighth grade again. Kind of pathetic that eighth grade has still been the best year of my life so far. Really pathetic. 

The good thing is, I'm doing NaNoWriMo. Maybe I'll post an excerpt here and then, whoever still exists and watches me and wants to read the whole thing can have a go at beta-reading it when it's done. 

That was a nice, long babble. I think I'm done now. 

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Writer's Block: The table has turned

The answer is: Because it was interfering with my love life. What's the question?

Why on Earth would you just stop being a cannibal? Don't you know how much protein humans have in them? You can't just expect to substitute human for cow and especially not for veggies. So why? Why did you give it up?

Blind with the Beast

I should never had fallen for it-- the smooth voice and the emotion I could hear in it. It almost sounded as if he had a soul. But that couldn't be right. He made me feel the gun.

No man with a heart could do what I later found out he had done. Murder. Over and over. For reasons completely unknown except to him. Oh sure. Psychiatrists can try to guess. Can study over and over his past . But someone like that can't possibly have an ounce of reason in them. He made me feel the gun.

I remember how we used to laugh and the way I could feel and hear his smile in the air even though I could never see it, not even with my fingertips. Our first night together was marvelous. Beautiful. Perfect. We understood each other as separate entities and then we melded into one and understood that too. I never could have guessed what would happen the next day. What it would all lead to. He.... he made me feel the gun.

It was cold. So cold. And smooth. The cold of it almost burned in a way that I could practically feel the light reflecting off of it. The barrel of a gun. I knew it right away. Who wouldn't? There are only so many things a person can feel with that coldness, that metallic burn, and the chill down the spine as the psyche screams knowingly of death death death.

He made me feel the gun.

But I think that maybe, after all, he still loved me.

He made me feel the gun.

I'm still alive.

He made me feel the gun.

And the slick wetness of blood that wasn't mine.

(Based off Red Dragon. Reba McClanexFrancis Dolarhyde)

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Really weird fucking dream O-o

i just remembered a really weird dream i had
  about a house that had a killer tree in the front yard
     it trapped us in the room that's kind of like a porch but with walls that are mostly windows
     and the other, older, eviller, but less active more plotting in the backyard tree was by us, always covered in mist.
     it was mixed in with party scenes cause when we escaped, we went to prom and told everyone about it.
     and also my mom buying two new cars at once
     and we was megan, sarah, billy, and me

So strange... but also kind of awesome xD I love nightmares. They never scare me, they just make me happy like after watching a horror movie.

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Feeling kind of awful...

I look around everywhere and see people who are still friends with people who used to be my friends too. I hate what I did. I hate that I hid myself from freshman year until now. I hate that I loved her and lost her and she doesn't even want to talk to me on the internet never mind face-to-face. I hate watching my friends have conversations that I can't be apart of just because I pulled away from one of them despite loving them. It's happening the most in two places but I'm sure it's everywhere. I ruined everything here and I can only hope I don't do the same thing in college. I want myself to let friendships last for more than a year. I'm tired of pulling away.

If I still talk to you, I love you.
If I don't, I still love you, but I'm just scared.

~Coward

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Q&A

1) If you're on my friends list, I want to know 35 things about you. I don't care if we never talk, or if we already know everything about each other. Short and sweet is fine.
2) Comment here with your answers and/or repost the questionnaire on your own journal.


01) Are you currently in a serious relationship?
02) What was your dream growing up?
03) What talent do you wish you had?
04) If I bought you a drink what would it be?
05) Favourite vegetable?
06) What was the last book you read?
07) What zodiac sign are you?
08) Any Tattoos and/or Piercings? Explain where.
09) Worst Habit?
10) If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride?
11) What is your favourite sport?
12) Do you have a Pessimistic or Optimistic attitude?
13) What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
14) Worst thing to ever happen to you?
15) Tell me one weird fact about you.
16) Do you have any pets?
17) What if I showed up at your house unexpectedly?
18) What was your first impression of me?
19) Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
20) If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?
21) Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
22) What colour eyes do you have?
23) Ever been arrested?
24) Bottle or can soda?
25) If you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it?
26) What's your favourite place to hang out at?
27) Do you believe in ghosts?
28) Favourite thing to do in your spare time?
29) Do you swear a lot?
30) Biggest pet peeve?
31) In one word, how would you describe yourself?
32) Do you believe/appreciate romance?
33) Favourite and least favourite food?
34) Do you believe in God?
35) Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you?

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Crisis

Family
Undergoing
Crushing
Kill.

Taken
Here
Into
Shit,

She
Hurts
 Into
Tears.

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Dissection

I think about dissecting myself.
I would do it in front of a mirror so I could see everything like an experiment.
Slicing, opening.
Peeling back skin and cracking open ribs.
I shiver with imagined, phantom pain, but also fascination as my mind's eye pictures the sight.
My insides would be bared.
I could take them apart piece by piece.
I could put my palm against my beating heart.
Inside, it would all be the same as anyone else's
Like the cadavers I hope to dissect in medical school.
And then when I'm done, my body would lie still.
And that would be the same as anyone else's too.

~*~
I really did think about this when we were dissecting frogs. If it wouldn't kill me, I would totally dissect myself. If I was some weird genie thing and it would just heal up. I think it would be really cool to know your own body that way. Maybe I'm just morbid. Oh well.

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Burton/Selick Cube

Nightmare Before Christmas (Burton and Selick):

Jack and Sally with Zero:



Oogie Boogie with Lock, Shock, and Barrell:



Corpse Bride (Burton):

Victor and Bonejangles:



The Corpse Bride:



Coraline (Selick):

The Other Mother/ The Beldam:



Coraline and Wybie throwing the Beldam's hand down the well:






Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Gerard knows they'll find him. Gangs like that always know how to find people-- how to keep track of all their enemies and later weed them out-- and poisoning their bastard of a leader wasn't the most subtle thing Gerard has ever done in his life. Especially since he left his prescription bottle of Xanax, with which he had shamelessly managed to fatally OD the sick fucker, somewhere on the floor. But Gerard doesn't care. Let them fucking find him. He doesn't care about anything after what they've done. They've torn his life away so completely that they they might as well have pulled a Nathan Wallace from Repo! and pulled out his intestines and other organs while he was alive, awake, and screaming in pain.

No. Gerard doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care about any of it. And he knows that he never will again. So why not let them find him? After all, the only thing left of his life-- left for him to do-- would be memories. Memories that Gerard knows he would never be able to forget or forgive and will only dwell upon until his dying breath. So why not just give in now?

As Gerard waits in the darkness of his room, leaning against the headboard of his bed-- their bed-- knees drawn up to his chest and chin resting against the warm flannel of his pajama pants, he stares forward at the slats of light from his window breaking the cool blueblack of the room and the shadows of the rumpled white sheets. Rumpled from Frank. They'd been there only two days ago. Had it really only been that long?

"Gerard! Stop. You're tickling me" It was a grumble muffled by the softness of a pillow and the rough, phlegmy sound of sleep.

"Mmm... well I had to wake you up somehow. I made you breakfast and coffee and you know I'm not a morning person. So you better love me for this." Gerard could just see the small, sleepy smile that reminded him beautifully of the trust and happiness always written on Frank's face after sex, and Frank stirred before yawning and stretching and turning over to peer up blearily but brightly all at once at Gerard. Pillow lines patterned Frank's face and Gerard reached out to rub them, tracing them softly with his fingertips.

But then Frank was white and still, his breath invisible and too soft to be heard over the surely slowing beeps of the heart monitor.


Gerard feels his chest clench painfully and his teeth grit, his breath being forced from his lungs by the tension so that it sends a hissing sound through the air. He focuses on breathing, ignoring the flashes of pain

"No! No! Please! Stop! G-Gerard-d! Oh God someone please fucking help!" Gerard had tried so hard ro reach him.

and triumph that is dark and quickly fades.

Gerard watched inconspicuously and unnoticed through the window as the man poured his vodka with relish and took his celebratory shots one by one, smirk writ on his face before, with a split moment of shock, it faded right alongside of the life he once held within his twisted soul.

He doesn't know what to expect, really. He only knows what he hopes as he sits there silent and still. The only sound is his breath and the creaking of floorboards as the house settles. He waits for a crash-- the dramatic entrance he knows any gang would strive to make as they break a window or even kick in the door just to intimidate him. Just so he knows that they're there. So that he whimpers and shudders and pleads with God before they even walk into the room. But Gerard knows he won't be doing that. He doesn't have it in him. And even if he did, he would remain silent and expectant and brave. For Frank. He would make them regret making Frank scream through refusing to give them that satisfaction. They heard Frank scream. But Gerard knew that all they would get from him would be the blank stare of a man already dead before they'd even had a change to take another life away-- to watch the light fade in another's eyes and laugh in glee at their destruction.

So when they finally do come-- banging their way through the door, laughing and cajoling Gerard out toward them with filthy threats and sexual names-- Gerard isn't surprised. He isn't moved into fear. He is grim and bitter as before, still staring forward, his heart a slow and dull thud in his chest. Resignation continues to fill him just as before-- the knowledge that it must be done and the vague wish that they would just get on with it.

He doesn't even jump when his door careens open, slamming against the wall before bouncing back slightly. They laugh when they see him there, curled up against the headboard in pajamas and Gerard raises his eyes, knowing their mistaking his upright yet fetal position as fear. They're wrong, but in his silence Gerard doesn't bother to correct them.

One of the men 'tsk's as he steps further in, mocking sympathy and pity as the others laugh mindlessly behind him. "Aw. Look at that boys. Look at the little bitch curled up where his pussy little boyfriend used to take him." By then the man is next to Gerard and he roughly pulls Gerard's head back by the hair so that his blank stare is now aimed toward the ceiling. He moves only to look at the man slowly, expression unchanging as he meets the gaze of his soon-to-be torturer unflinchingly. "Do you miss the feel of his cock in your ass, bitch? Huh? Or was it the other way around. I almost wouldn't blame you. He was tiiight." The man thrust and wriggled his hips obscenely and Gerard is flooded with anger and rage.

But before his expression can even change to mirror his emotions, the man's knuckles collide with his face, sending him falling sideways so that he's laying on the bed instead of sitting. His eyes fall to the floor and he sees Frank's converse there, a stark black and white shadow against the blue rug which almost shines as it catches and holds onto the similar color of the striped twilight seeping through the shades into the room.

Gerard doesn't bother to move as something slams into the back of his head. The blue undertones and highlights of the night quickly turn to pools of red with blackpurple static and he is whipped away from his chosen still-life on the floor. They pull him off of the bed and two men hold him. Red sparks again in his vision as he silently takes a blow to his stomach, feeling his organs crush each other and bruise against his spine. He tries to hold back his gasp-- the only noise he is forced to let out-- and it comes out as a choke which only makes the men laugh.

"What's a matter? Cat got your tongue?" One of them asks-- Gerard can no longer see well enough to tell which-- before landing another blow to his gut.

Gerard can't remember exactly when and he doesn't know how long it takes, but he is on the floor and surrounded by painful kicks to his spine, head, gut, arms, legs, and countless things he can no longer even name in his incoherency. He feels almost proud, though weary, for a split second that he has not screamed, though his tongue and lips are bleeding from biting down on them in the effort. He thinks of Frank as much as he can-- the softness of his dyed jet-black hair, the beauty of his soft, pale skin and the way he had enough muscle that it rippled casually but powerfully beneath his skin with every movement. He thinks of the way Frank liked to hold him and how it felt right sitting on Frank's lap and leaning against Frank's chest even though Frank was shorter. He thinks about how amazing love felt and how every second spent under Frank's gaze or enjoying Frank's touch made it grow and flourish until it almost hurt and couldn't be described with words. He thinks about how when they gave up on words, touches and kisses were all that were left and how, for once, the lack of words were perfectly alright for Gerard as he simply gave into the fact that it went beyond anything he could find in a dictionary or thesaurus.

He can remember the second he gave up. They were laying in bed after watching a movie and Gerard looked on as Frank began to fall asleep, raven lashes against porcelain skin dyed a slight blue by the light of the moon contrasting against black night.

"Beautiful and perfect just aren't good enough for you, Frank," Gerard said with a sigh. It had always bothered him to not be able to find a word for something, and he found it frustrating that it should happen then of all the times in the world-- the one time when he really needed to make his feelings known because the person laying next to him deserved to know more than anyone else ever had and because he'd never felt anything so strong or important before.

"So don't say them," Frank whispered before turning over and pressing a kiss to Gerard's lips. It clicked in Gerard's head finally. Spoken language had limits, but this-- a single kiss-- never would.


Finally, Gerard realizes he is dying. His breath is shallow and choked. His throat is caked with blood that he's coughed up. It's practically drowning him and he vaguely wonders where it's all coming from. Maybe his face. Maybe only his lungs. He doesn't have the ability to pinpoint anything anymore, never mind something on the huge expanse of the body that no longer feels to his soul like a home, but more like a prison. He hears them talking to him, meaningless phrases to make themselves feel good through belittling him. Questions that they want no answers to. Threats that mean nothing to Gerard's fading consciousness.

Finally, they pick him up and throw him forward so that his head is against the bed, chin pressing against a spring. He blinks away spots and blur and strives to focus one last time as he hears the click of a gun. He wants to remember one last time before he dies. He sees that he has ended up pressed against Frank's side of the bed, right next to the pillow. It still smells like Frank and Gerard thinks about how smell is the sense most linked to memory before his own is flooded.

"Baby, wake up. I'm hungry and we need to go to IHOP."

"Gee, I love you." "I know." "No Gee, I really Really love you." A smile. "No Frank, I really Really know."

"Do you think lovers get to be together when they die?" Frank asked, looking up at the ceiling. Gerard is struck by the strangeness of the morbidity before he nods. "There couldn't be such a  thing as Heaven if you weren't there."


Gerard knows he's heard before that before you die your life flashes before your eyes. He also knows that it's completely accurate that nothing before Frank came to him just then. His life was Frank. It had only truly begun with Frank and it had ended with Frank.

Still believing his claim that Heaven couldn't exist without Frank just as surely as Gerard couldn't, Gerard smiles as he feels the cold metal of the gun pressed against his head and remembers once more  the thud of a body and the sound of a rolling glass as the over-dosed man died. "We got him, Frank," he whispers with a smile, closing his eyes and pressing his face against the pillow just as the world ends in black static and splattered red.




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