Play dead, dear -- it's your only hope of pulling through

I realized I was staring at his neck, waiting to see a pulse. The thought made me want to giggle, but I held it down. I didn't think Azzy would find it amusing. I got up instead, very carefully since my muscles were still protesting deeply the abuse I'd put them through earlier that night, and moved a few steps away before stretching. It still seemed... rude, somehow, to make such human gestures too close to him. My muscles moved more smoothly than I expected them to. By all rights I should've been extremely stiff from fighting the wind and fleeing the storm that seemed to come up out of nowhere, but I wasn't.

I turned around to look at Azzy and found him already watching me, which isn't in and of itself unusual. He watched me quite frequently on a daily -- well, nightly -- basis, but somehow this watching felt more intense. He hadn't just been watching me because I was there to watch. He'd been watching something about me which is unusual because vampies aren't really into specifics. They take things as a whole. Something about the whole me had been different enough to make him take notice.

"What?" I asked stupidly. I couldn't think of anything else to say and the silence stretched thin. "What?" I asked again, more sharply.

"You are not in any discomfort," he said. It wasn't a question.

"No," I answered. "Should I be?"

"I am not an expert on humans, but it seems to me that yes, after the storm and your awkward rest, you should be in considerable discomfort." He stood up then, that impossibly fluid way of rising. Stood up really isn't the right term. He didn't push off the floor, or move his limbs around to gain momentum. He just went from being on the floor to being upright. Maybe the laws of physics don't govern vampires the same way they govern humans. Vampires do move through other worlds. Why should the laws of our world be absolute?

Some sorcerers get like that after the first century or so. It's less pronounced in them, of course, but they just sort of don't fit in the world properly anymore. You know when the cartoons try to mix computer graphics with animation? It's like that. They're almost the same, but they just don't quite go together. Vampires are like trying to mesh 3-D computer graphics with a black and white silent film. Everything about it is just fundamentally wrong, but it was starting to be a wrongness I could predict. I didn't think about what that would mean when I went back to the silent film.

He moved a little closer to me, still watching. His eyes had taken on that honey-gold color again and I felt his hand reach for me. I didn't exactly see it coming, but I knew it was moving, and I -- well, I don't know what I did, but I felt it coming and when it got close I wasn't where it was reaching for. It took a second for me to process this, but when I did I felt my world shift a little. I had avoided a vampire. I couldn't have, but I had. You don't avoid vampires. You don't feel vampires coming. You don't feel them at all.

I looked at Azzy numbly and swallowed. "I can't have done that," I said.

"No," he replied, "An ordinary human cannot do what you have done." It might've just been the shock but I'd swear at that moment he was worried about me. Maybe he was. Do vampires worry about their friends? Do vampires have friends? I felt an irrational desire to affirm I was still myself and looked around for a reflective surface. I doubted he'd have mirrors arranged artistically about the place, but the fireplace was made of marble and it reflected enough for me to see in.

I still looked like myself. I was still too pale, and my hair was still tawny, and I still had slanted eyes that made me look a little scary. I stretched out a hand to touch my reflection and then I saw it. I didn't move like me. I moved more like Azzy. More like a vampire. What the hell was happening to me? I could handle little changes, like knowing when he was in the room, or when he was moving. I could handle being used to vampire physics and making allowances for it. I could even handle picking up some of his otherworldlyness, like sensing things in people I shouldn't know, but moving like a vampire meant way more than any of that. It meant...

-Robyn Lefkowitz

This is a snippet from a piece I started writing quite some time ago, only to encounter a similarly written book and abandon it. I still rather like the writing style. Hopefully anyone who still reads this does as well.

As always, comments are screened so until I publish them they won't appear.

So many lives are on the breeze

So... I kind of forgot I had this blog until the marvelous Paige reminded me. Glad I have alerts set up on my comments.

In a surprising twist on what I was sure would be disappointment, Iron Man turned out to actually be a funny movie. I saw a lot of myself in this version of Tony Stark and the special effects were amazing. They blended almost seamlessly with the live action components and at times I actually forgot I was looking at CG. Very impressive. It gets two thumbs up from me.

I don't have much to post right now so I'll include part of an old, abandoned story. The female character is named Jazz, and I'll give a prize if anyone can guess who the male character is. Here's your hint: think archetypal trickster. I won't give the prize for just any trickster either. It has to be the right one. Good luck.

As she cast her gaze up to the moon the moon cast its gaze upon her. A thrill of awareness passed between them, and in the silent language of women they spoke to one another.

I am full of secrets, she said to the moon.

I am also full of secrets, the moon answered. Have we come this way before?

Yes, and you will come this way again. Jazz closed her eyes and raised her arms, feeling the moonlight on her soul. Moon, do you ever tell them?

The moon was silent a long while, then replied, My secrets are vast and deep, child. I would not remember where to begin the telling. Your secrets are also vast and deep. They are too wide for your mouth to speak and so we speak them with our souls, shining on the world. Will you come this way again?

I don't know, Jazz sighed happily. I am always changing.

I am also always changing, said the moon. And then it was done, their moment of commune broken.

Jazz looked down, remembering the world again.

"The moon is a fickle friend, you know."

Jazz turned toward the voice, toward the boy on the corner. He was leaning against the wall under the streetlamp, his tophat tipped low over his face, shadowing it. His fingers were tucked in his pockets, but not the thumbs so his arms hung limp and heavy from his shoulders.

"She's always changing, you see," he said, pushing off and walking casually closer. The smirk on his face was wicked looking. "You can't trust that she'll remember you tomorrow."

Jazz just smiled her little smile and arched an eyebrow. Closer she could see he was skinny, with lightly tanned skin and golden hair that made her think of Robert Smith. It stuck out in all directions from under the edge of the hat like the tangle of hemp around his throat.

"I, on the other hand, never forget a face." He gave her a mock bow and looked up under the brim of his hat. She noticed his eyes were yellow.

"And who might you be?" she asked, the smile threatening to crack into a grin.

"No one of consequence, my lady, but if you'd like a name you can call me Shilah." When he stood she noticed he was taller than her. "Who might you be, Miss Talks-to-the-Moon?" She went to speak but he raised a hand, "Wait, wait -- I know your name. It's Shadi."

Again she arched a brow, "Shadi, huh? What does it mean?" She tossed the piecey blonde hair out of her face to get a better look at him.

"It means older sister. Your medicine is older than mine, you know," he said matter-of-factly.

She laughed in her harsh way. "I see. I think I can guess what Shilah means then. Little brother?" He smiled in confirmation. "Okay, then, Little Brother. Would you like to go walking with me? It's a night for moving." She lifted her arms and spun around, hopping a few steps down the street.

"Sorry, Shadi, not tonight. Another time," he told her, tipping his tophat a little farther down.

"Your loss, then, Shilah." Jazz spun around and kicked in a puddle to send droplets flying his way. Only he wasn't on the street anymore and she hadn't heard him go. "Shilah?" She looked around a minute then shrugged it off. She looked up again at the moon, but it was passing behind a cloud, and didn't see her.

"Looks like it's just me, then," she told herself, and started off down the road. She wasn't lonely there in the dark. She was incapable of being lonely, because she'd never been anything but alone. Not really. Not in any way that matters. Overhead powerlines criss-crossed the stars leaving black highways between them. She thought of space freighters hurtling past at the speed of sound in the void and then of great beings instead, hurtling past at the speed of ages.

What do you dream about, I wonder, she asked the void. As expected, she did not get an answer, but she suddenly felt keenly her proportion to the universe. Conversely, rather than feeling miniscule, she felt immense. She was a planet, spinning lazily in orbit watching her moons flit past. She was a star, burning in an effort to stave off the darkness. She was an ant, bearing the crushing weight of a leaf toward the hive. The night always evoked peace in her and she felt herself again as connected to the living, beating heart of the world.

See the strange girl talking to her shadow

When Paige requests an update, an update she shall receive. I suppose I handled his absence as well as I could have done. I was very listless for a few days, but I didn't sink into depression or waste away. There was only one truly bad day, and I got past it. I don't know that I've found any good method of coping with loneliness, but I've discovered I can still turn myself off enough to float through my days.

As for his homecoming, that would require a far more graphic post than I feel all two of you who read this blog would want. XD

I've also decided that someday I'm just going to throw together a book of all the useless bits of things I write down. The scenes that don't get stories, or the stories that don't go beyond basic ideas, or the random snippets I write down in a fit of emotion. I'm going to throw them all together in a book, and I'm not going to edit them, or fit them together, or separate them except by chapter. Then I'm going to publish it, because I feel like some of my best writing goes into those tiny fits of inspiration and it never pans out because it wasn't more then a tiny fit.

I'm also back to my obsession with fairy tales, but I'm not sure what I want to do with them. Part of me wants short stories, part of me wants novels so who knows at this point. I've also felt the urge to revisit a world I created a long-time ago and never fleshed out on paper. I'm not sure I will, though.

Who knows?

Say hello before you say goodbye

My husband is going away for about six days. He leaves Sunday and I'm depressed already thinking about it. It's rather ridiculous if you look at it objectively since we maintained a long-distance relationship for almost a year and a half, but this will be the first time either of us has been away for more than a day or so since I picked up my life and moved here.

I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I'll go to work, sleep, and then what? For most of my free hours, I'm with him and now I'll have a week of just me, the dog, and the cat, neither of whom, despite their best efforts will be able to joke with me and make my long day at work seem funny rather than soul-crushing. I know I sound codependent, and maybe I am, but he isn't just my husband, he's my best friend. There aren't people physically nearby with whom I'm at all close. I have one friend, and we're very casual. She isn't the kind of person I can call up on a whim and ask to go shopping at Walmart with me because I need to buy cat litter.

It's shaping up to be a long week, folks. I can read, I suppose, since I've taken to doing that more often than not these days when I'm awake and alone, but there won't be a break in it for human company. I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of time asleep or at the gym.

My problem comes from the fact that by nature I am a loner. I don't generally like to be around people, personally speaking. Call me a snobby elitist, but I expect a certain measure of intelligence from people who want to keep my company and to be blunt most people don't hit the mark. Besides that, I have an abrasive personality in many ways. I'm usually honest, whether or not the intended appreciates that. I'm caustic, callous, and if you give me a reason to mock you, I will. There aren't very many people I'm compatible with, and the few people I have found who can stomach me and whom I can stomach are usually separated from me by vast distances.

My husband is one of those people and for the past year I haven't been separated from him hardly at all. We aren't clingy and our companionship isn't forced. We just enjoy each other's company above and beyond sex, or marriage, or duty. I've grown used to having him with me, and now I'll have to go back to my solitary ways, though only for a week, and I will be lonely for the first time in a very, very long time.

I haven't ever been lonely in the sense of missing companionship because until this past year I've never really had a companion. I've had casual friends whom I could handle in small doses, and a few in slightly larger doses, but they were always people I would pick up and put away at my whim, cruel as that may sound. I have never been attached to my family. I'm just really not suited to being a social creature. I'm too intolerant of too many things. It's just my nature, and I don't apologize for it. The only friend I have maintained for more than a few years moved away after only a year of being local and we have maintained our close friendship from a distance, so in her I never found a companion, only a confidante. If ever I have been lonely, it has been for lack of immediate diversion from myself, not for any one person. Any person would have done.

As my relationship with my husband progressed we were only together for four months before he left to join the Marines, and then the relationship was based on distance and scattered visits. Eventually I moved to Rhode Island and vested my interests in him and that has been this past year.

The conclusion all this rambling, maudlin exposition has been for is that I am feeling lonely for the first time in earnest and I don't know how to handle it, nor do I have company with which to mitigate it. I am a twenty year old dealing with issues most people discard in childhood.

I am realized -- I am changed

If I could choose a name it would be Arachne. I would be a weaver and live on highwires. I would see through my feet as much as my eyes. You would never notice me, tucked away safely from the danger of your loathing, and instead of a baby I would have thousands of children. I would wear my bones proudly rather than hide them away under disfiguring flesh. I would be beautiful. The lightest thread would hold me up. I would leave no footprints, only works of art, to show where I'd been.

~Robyn Lefkowitz

I found this gorgeous photoshop painting while browsing the web at work last night and thought I'd share it. The snippet is my own. Click on the image to see the full picture.

There was no softness in this embrace. His arms around her body were firm and tense. She, the product of violence and rape from the start, was unable to be anything but brutal. He understood this. Her body was narrow and slim. Her curves were the subtle curves of the killing blade. Nails curled into flesh where she held him but he made no protest. His grip was bruising, crushing her against himself.

And yet within the violence there was tenderness. He was a solid, protective body. He was warm, and alive, and he would not release her. She was kept safe. She was so thin, so fragile, but real. She was the embodiment of truth for him. He could feel her bones under his fingers. Every part of her was open to him -- her pain, her torments which did not torment her. She had taken them in, accepted them; she used them like tools to shape herself. She was so very real.

That is not to say they trusted one another. There is no trust in anything feral. This was beyond trust. It required nothing be given. The tenderness was the recognition of another with the same lack. She was beyond the touch of humanity. He was unable to recognize it in himself. She was the purity of the madness in him he could not quite attain. In the contours of his soul he found the barest shreds of kindness and mercy -- her doing. He could never find them except by comparison to her. His dark mirror. How he envied her.

In the darkness, they parted. She would go, having seen into his soul and found the flaw there, shining like diamond. He would not stop her, having found that he could not drive that piece of himself away. They would come together again in some future moment, seeking the comfort only wild things can provide.

There were no words to mark the leaving.

~Robyn Lefkowitz

There's a hole in the world like a great black pit

My husband and I had an amusing conversation today. They're doing construction behind his work and I asked him about it.

Me: What are they building back there? They've been at it for a month with no change.
Him: They aren't actually building anything. They're replacing the soil.
Me: Why?
Him: Well, it's technically lethal. It has traces of arsenic and mercury in it.
Me: ... Sounds like a healthy working environment.
Him: Yeah... Here, let me get that bottle. Don't want it rolling under the brakes.

Makes me wonder why that was his worry about leaving a bottle in the car. =P

I have off work today and tomorrow and I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. I don't really have much extra money right now. Bills are pretty tight and probably will be until next month. I am making headway on my credit card, though. The tax return should help when I get it. If I get it. =P I should know by Wednesday. We'll be doing our taxes then.

I think we'll be going out to a nice dinner on Thursday. I'm going to take part of tomorrow and pick out something really awesome looking. Maybe take a double dose of fiber Thursday night to be sure everything is gone. I'm definitely going to the gym tonight to get some cardio in and I'm hoping my period doesn't arrive until Friday. I'd really love to have a nice evening all around but mother nature does love to have her fun with us mortals. I wonder if she takes plea bargains.

I am empty. I am skin and bones. I'm a ribcage.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight again."

She didn't mean anything by it. My hands shook as I reached for the door to my room. My mother's voice careened around my mind confirming every insecurity.

Cow.

"She didn't mean anything by it." I slammed shut the door as if that would shut out the littany of self-loathing. I said the words aloud hoping that would banish her carelessly uttered demolition. "She didn't mean anything. You're too thin anyway." False convictions, I knew.

Who are you trying to fool? Look at yourself. You're disgusting. How could you let yourself get this way? You're...

I cranked the volume on the stereo; sound pounded my flesh. Collapsed on the bed I was content to let the music exorcise my demons. The beat pulsed, dragging me down to where my heartbeat moved blood. The bass hit my outsides, the blood hit the bass.

But it was never loud enough.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight again."

I threw my body to the side, twisting the covers around myself. I wanted them to be the magic shield they had been in childhood, to feel safe wrapped tightly in their folds.

I didn't.

My veins itched. I felt the tingle start in my arms and spread to encompass me. Under my skin a thousand spiders crawled and shuddered and stung.

Worthless. You mean nothing. Your own mother wants you dead. You're a burden. A hideous burden, at that. How much do you weigh? You don't deserve...

I reached for it, my cold avenger. Blindly I groped the bedstand, searching until I felt metal under my fingertips. I hesitated, stopped just shy of picking it up.

You're pathetic.

A fine shaking had begun in my limbs. I waited, letting the anticipation mount.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight..." it poked at me, prodded my imperfections.

And still the beat was pulsing against me, and the spiders crawled inside me, and the flesh itched and the veins ached and the blood moved...

And I bled. Looking down I was almost surprised to feel the droplets, warm and wet, staining my sheets and skin.

I've been here before and hate what I've found

I've come back here again with more bones and fewer inhibitions. It seems to be the case more often than not. I have not shed more than five pounds, but the fat is disappearing. As is always the case, I'm torn. I feel the highs of being thin, but also the loss of femininity. Maybe it's an unfounded fear but it weighs on me (haha) nonetheless. Somehow I'm in a good mood, though.

Somehow tonight I feel poised on the verge of a nameless void. Perhaps it's Imbolc. It is the midpoint of my year. I don't know. I don't know a lot of things these days. I'm going to go get my insomniac ass some rest. Good night.

I've been waiting for this silence all night long

I was wandering in a forest last night, but the trees were white, and the snow was red. I wasn't lost, though, I was walking. There was a sudden pain in my stomach and I looked down to see a hole in my belly, right over my womb, right over my baby. My blood was black.

White as the wood, red as the snows;
Black as the blood that over it flows

I kneeled there in the snow dying. Yellow eyes watched me from among the woods. Wolves, but they were too small. Coyotes, but they were too muscled. Dogs, but they were too wild. Their fur was black tipped with silver and they circled me like starlight.

There was a cub, no more than a year, who came to sit before me, his yellow eyes looking into mine. I reached out a hand, white skin with black rivers running over it. He sniffed me, tasted me, I fell over. The snow around me is cold. I am lying in it, surrounded by crimson. He is lying with me, his head resting on my neck, my fingers twining in his fur.

He sat and lowered his head, lapping at my belly. His muzzle was black with the blood of my baby. He is sipping my soul. His eyes were a mirror.

I was falling in them.

Red as the snow, white as the leaves,
Black as the soul that mourns and grieves

"Let it go," said the wolf-coyote-dog. "Let it die. In death, there is always new life. In truth there is no dying, only change. Look at your belly."

There were two young ones, baby wolf-coyote-dogs lapping at the blood around me, feeding on me.

I looked back at him, and saw him for what he was. He was King Death in a hellhound body, running in the dreamland.

"Let it go," he said and lowered his bloody muzzle to my face. I closed my eyes and he licked them each, leaving a circle of blood on the lids. I could not open them.

"The toll for the ferry to the waking world," he told me. "This is like life too. You must even pay to be abused, as you are punished for being hurt."

White as the dawn, black as the leech,
Red as the lessons hell has to teach

When they went, I was alone in my snow-grave. In dreams, I slept and saw them roaming the shores of the Styx. I did not follow them. I was done with despair.

Feeling the blood run inside

"Her body felt slinky and gorgeous, writhing in time with the music. She was slick and dangerous, a snake weaving her way across the dance floor. The power of her own sexuality was like a drug, drawing her deeper into the folds of her movements. She could feel bodies brushing against her and didn't care if they were male or female. There was no identity, only the drive to move. Here she was an arm against a side, there a hip against a thigh. It was divine.

She could feel him waiting, a still spot in the corner of her mind. He was stone and earth, hard lines and angles. She couldn't resist slithering closer, always circling, stalking him through the bodies. He was watching and so she danced all the more slowly, every motion a torture of flowing limbs and aching muscles. Darkness and denim flashed, alternating with her shifting hips. He hated her. He loved her. More importantly he wanted her, and that was what she needed. She called him like the moon calling to the seas, her pull inevitable, bringing him into the same spaces as often as possible."

~On Desire, by Robyn Lefkowitz

I need to go dancing again. My beast is pacing in the cage behind my eyes. I can feel her, waiting, watching for the chance to slip out. I find her in the pounding bass. I can work her there between the bodies. She can wear herself down, dull her claws on the floors, scream her throat raw and when I stagger home, exhausted beyond exhaustion, I'll find peaceful sleep of moonlight and pomegranates.

I say she, but I am a beast under all my pretty layers of culture and society. I am animalistic in my heart of hearts, a leopard stalking alleycats. Perhaps living so long as an animal instilled this in me, but for whatever reason I have deepseated primal urges that I have to vent every so often and I am long overdo. There is a restlessness in me that can't be sated with anything but blood, sweat, and tears. It needs pain, and anger; fear is unknown in this part of me.

For the longest time I would bleed it away in long, jagged testaments to the truth of the flesh. I paid blood sacrifice to my dark goddess. When that wasn't enough I would roam under moonlight in the cold. I slept on gravestones to soak in the numbness. I bathed in the chill air of winter to cool the flames. I even fought strangers to get the bruises I so craved.

When I got older I would fuck it away with angry sex. I'd hand some poor worshipper his dream and fuck him, but leave if he looked for more. The scratches quieted the beast; I was content with bruises and aching. Then even that became useless, because I fell in love and it meant something more than pacification so I would dance instead. Real dancing, from the days of drum circles, is about blood, and sex, and destruction.

I need to go dancing.

Inside the crushing down, I felt a pang -- the tide was turning

I keep having strange dreams but when I wake up I can't remember them. Sleeping has been more like unconsciousness than anything else. I always remember my dreams, and I can't help but feel like I'm failing Morpheus. Starving exhausts me so much but I saw an oppurtunity and seized it.


I had a dream a few weeks ago about Morpheus's library again. I was reading a version of Little Red Riding Hood and he asked me why I had been away. I told him I couldn't find him as easily anymore and that I was lost in the woods too. He put his hand on my head and I felt like I could see everything that had ever happened and when he took his hand away again he said, "You've seen an eternity. You can always find me." Then he was gone, but it was as if he were behind my eyes watching what I watched. And it's going to sound ridiculous but I could see it through his eyes. On the page where there had been plain print I could see the original manuscript, the scratches, the revisions, the copy edit changes, this print, the pages rotting away, emptiness where this book had been in some distant day.

I've always had vivid dreams and I've dreamed about Morpheus more than once. I don't worry too much about analyzing but it does bother me that I haven't been able to remember them lately. My dreams are important to me for personal reasons. I hope my drought ends soon.

And the sun will set for you

Today has been a relatively good day for the metabolism farming. I had a bowl of Rice Krispies this morning, and a sushi roll for lunch. I also snacked on a slice of cheese, but nothing else today. I need to get rid of my period bloat.

Edit: Damn the girls at work. They went into crisis and I had to eat Doritos with them to prevent it from escalating. Just a handful, but still.

I'm fasting tomorrow. Fuck it. Nothing but coffee. I have a staff meeting in the morning, an interview in the afternoon and a CPR class at night. No time for anything to eat.

These are not good times to be near me.

Give in to Peer Pressure

I'm bored at work.

1. What is Your Name? Robyn
2. How old are you? 20
3. What is the link to your website, blog, or myspace? My other one is noisrevni.livejournal.com but it's friends only.

General
4. What is your height? 5'7"
5. Do you have any siblings? A sister and a brother, both younger
6. What is your eye colour? Blue or green, depending on the day
7. What is your hair colour? Blonde, more of an old gold color.
8. Do you wear glasses or contacts? Glasses.
9. Are you right handed or left handed? Right, primarily
10. Do you have any piercings? My ears six times, four on my left, two on my right
11. Do you smoke? No
12. Do you swear? Indeed
13. Do you get along with your parents? Hehe. You're funny
14. Your heritage: Piker
15. Your fears: Having my tendons cut
16. Goal you would like to achieve this year: 115 lbs. and a new job.
17. Most overused phrase on an instant messenger: Hehe
18. Best Physical Feature: My hands are thin and pretty. People tell me I have pretty eyes
19. Your bedtime: Those are for people who sleep
20. What time do you arise in the morning? I go to sleep in the morning
21. First thoughts waking up? Five more minutes...
22. Do you shower daily? Always.

This Or That?
23. Bright or dark room? Dark
24. Chocolate or vanilla? Vanilla
25. Dogs of cats? Yes
26. Pepsi or Coke? Coke
27. McDonalds or Burger King? Wendy's
28. Ant or Dec? Ant AND Dec
29. Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea? Nestea
30. Cappuccino or Coffee? Yes

In the last month have you...
31. Drank alcohol? No
32. Gone to a mall? Yes
33. Eaten a box of Oreos? Fuck no. What have you been smoking?
34. Eaten sushi? Yes. Tasty, tasty sushi...
35. Been on stage? No
36. Been dumped? No
37. Gone skinny dipping? No. It's January. I would die.
38. Stolen Anything? No

Have you ever...
39. Laughed for no reason? Yes
40. Been caught doing something you weren't supposed to do? Yes
41. Been in love? Yes
42. Fired a gun? No
43. Been drunk? Yes
44. Been called a Tease? Yes
45. Been beaten up? Yes
46. Shoplifted? Yes

What was the last....
47. Furry thing you touched? My cat, Church
48. Thing you've said? "Abuse the fuck out of your subordinates."
49. Song you've listened to? The Knutley Brass band version of the Misifts, "Go Where Eagles Dare"
50. (Who was the last) person you've spoken to on the phone? I don't remember
51. Movie you watched? AVP: Requiem
52. Thing you were doing before this? Talking to my friend about our job.
53. Time you cried? When I was yelling at my husband for something he did.
54. Song you've sang? Build Me Up Buttercup, the punk cover by an unnamed band with a female lead
55. Time you looked at the clock? Just now. Thank you, psychological conditioning
56. Food and drink you've had? My energy drink
57. Flavour of gum you've chewed? Winter
58. Shoes you've worn? My sneakers
59. Store you've been in? Cumberland Farm's

Favourite...
60. Planet? Pluto. And if you tell me it isn't a planet so help me I'll maim you.
61. Age you've been so far? 20.
62. Season? Fall or Winter
63. Number? 7^3
64. TV show? Metalocalypse
65. Flower? Love Lies Bleeding

Random...
66. How much cash do you have on you? 7 bucks.
67. What's a word that rhymes with 'door'? Fuck rhyming
68. What T-Shirt are you wearing? A red t-shirt with a puppy Cereberus on it
69. What brand of shoes are you wearing? Nike's
70. What did your last text message say? I'm about 2/3 done.
71. What were you doing at midnight last night? Starting work
72. What's your current desktop picture? At home it's blue because my active desktop has a glitch and won't display pictures
73. What's a word that you say a lot? Indeed
74. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be? Pomegranate
75. How is the weather right now? Crisply chilly, but not cold
76. What is the first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Body proportions and the expression on the face (i.e. intelligent or not)
77. Are you too shy to ask someone out? No
78. Can you do a headstand (not using a wall)? Not for very long but yes
79. Who would you like to see right now? My husband because it would mean I was at home getting ready to sleep.
80. How many pillows do you sleep with? Usually one
81. Would you go on a date with someone on MySpace? Nope
82. How do you want to die? Let me put it this way, you'll be reading about it in the papers XD
83. What do you want to be when you grow up? A published author
84. What country would you most like to visit? Romania
85. How many CDs do you own? Maybe 10?
86. How many things, in your past, do you regret? Two
87. Do you think you are attractive? I don't think I'm unattractive
88. Do you believe in yourself? Yes
89. Do you want to get married? I am married. =P

In a boy/girl...
90. Favourite eye colour? Blue
91. Favourite hair colour? Doesn't matter
92. Short or long hair? Short.
93. Height? Tall
94. Weight? Thin to athletic

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Of scales and balances

125. That's my new average weight. It's really strange to me to be back in this place but with a new and more destructive outlook. What I've begun doing to myself to lose weight is worse than starving in many ways because my metabolism cannot possibly find a way to adjust. I practice some heavy restriction, forcing my metabolism to remain active and high but not taking enough to maintain my weight. My results are not as dramatic. They don't happen overnight, but my body is slowly thinning itself down to these new balances of low weight and high burn. I don't know that I'll stop when the times comes.

Maybe it already has. When I stretch every rib shows in stark relief and the only reason they don't when i stand still is because I have firm skin that won't sink around them unless pulled. Well, it won't sink yet. I'm getting there. Even my face, which never thins, is thinner. Everyone thinks I can't maintain my body weight because of a high metabolism. I eat regularly now. It's the eating disorder no one will ever be able to spot. I'm too good at what I do now. Too experienced. It's so easy to cut out the fat in my diet, to drop the heavy protein and skip the carbs. It's too easy to get away with, because I am, and no one, not even my husband, would guess it's intentional.

I'm such a bitch. This is a selfish, stupid disease. It's not even a disease. It's an obsession. A phobia of being fat. I'm completely responsible for what I do. I'm not saying everyone with an eating disorder is. I'm saying I am. I know what my nutritional choices herald. I pick and choose what I know will help me get that little bit skinnier, that little bit more skeletal. My husband is trying to eat healthy. It's child's play to steer him towards low fat, lean protein, greens, no breads. These things are healthy for him, but unhealthy for me. I make them unhealthy. How sick is it that I've even found a way to corrupt nutrition to be counterproductive?

I'm so torn right now. I'm in a new cycle of self-destruction, but I feel guilty for what it may do to my husband to worry for me. I know he worries about me. I know he'd love me if I were a whale. I know this, and yet I can't let myself be fat. I can't let myself be healthily thin. I'm borderline too thin for my height now. 5'7", 125, mainly muscle. I haven't done my body composition in a while but I think I'm around 8%, if that. Too low for my frame, anyway.

This post doesn't have a point besides organizing my thoughts on "paper." Paper is too dangerous because it's a physical record. Electronic storage is easier to dispose of if the situation merits.

The Tale of Dusty and Pistol Pete

Dusty screams, through doors and imaginary floors
"Why can't you miss me?"
Pistol pete removes the final breaths from her unkind and she is shaken
What does this mean in love or in peace?
With you lying next to me
So faithless serene
And she calls to him,

"Let the waste cross the ancient trails to you
Far out beneath the sorrow clouds
Let them taste the bitter lost mistake of you
Let them cry out through your rusted scars."

Alone he roams inside the ordinary catacombs of her waiting
With raven hands she steals and staggers towards her man
Still scorned by his demon

Because he's undone
Become the language of
Disaster and love, vengeance and dust
And she calls to him,

"Let the waste cross the ancient trails to you
Far out beneath the sorrow clouds
Let them taste the bitter lost mistake of you
Let them cry out through your rusted scars."

Dusty screams, through doors and imaginary scenes
Of hurt and teardrop
As he holds her down, in the cold lonely winds
Together again, her inside him
And she calls to him,

"Let the waste cross the ancient trails to you
Far out beneath the sorrow clouds
Let them taste the bitter lost mistake of you
Let them cry out through your rusted scars."