I've come here all undressed,
for the numb and the dumb.

coming undone

January, 31. 2000

I never want to be a fan of hers. I have the solution. I'm hungry. wow did I ever feel off-centre in my little world today. Something wuz not right. Like I forgot my medication. Or took the wrong medication. I'm not on any medication.

I want Jupiter love. I fucking want it all.
I start thinking I crave some semblance of domesticity, but that's the last fucking thing I want. Please God don't tell me it's too late to take that back. You know what is the scariest thing to me about saying what I want? The possibility that I'll then get it. Getting what I want is... the scariest thing.

Watch Chaara delve into psuedo intellectualism.

"I got a bad desire, I'm on fire.
-feels like someone took a knife baby-edgy and dull
and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet,
with a freight train running through the middle of my head.
I got a bad desire..."


I'm keeping it like a secret. No I don't want to be always so inside myself. But I don't wanna talk.

"Drink all night to take away this curse-
but it makes me feel much worse."


I've been thinking about these little monsters that I hold so tight and dear to me. These little angers, fears, resentments, reservations... I've been carrying them around for as long as I can remember. Just clinging to them, like the furry scary scowling demon/things that they are. (they command affection, successfully, from me) I don't have to do much talking, I let them talk for me. For different situations I'll hold out whatever one (or more) of the little monsters feels most at home there... and let it say whatever needs to be said to shut the questioner up. Bla bla bla. My point is... someone has come along and is slowly grabbing these things out of my clutches and going "Hey, whaddya need this for?" and not giving them back again.

What the fuck can I say to that? I'm afraid I may be entirely blank without these creatures of mine. What do I do with my hands here? Where I used to hold them... And my chest is all exposed, Bilbo and the dragon. I'm flailing around all naked... what now? Roll over and be killed, sword in that.. softspot- right there at the heart. I don't think there is anything fucking left!

I don't like the infinite questions-folding-back-into-themselves mental track that gets me on.

And it's not over yet. Mazzy Star is singing "Take Everything". That's how this feels. Well, it won't kill me. It's only ...a complete mental overhaul. I'm too far gone to know if it's good for me or not. And, frankly, I don't even care. (I tell myself) I'll just enjoy the fucking ride.

that was my veil
who will love me now?