Brittany Murphy. Rest in . . . rest in . . . er, what was I saying? . . . .

(Kudos to flagg2ptoh for, er, raising the dead.)

Current Mood: horny, if she weren't dead

I had a traumatic experience when I was living in Santa Fe, New Mexico when I was thirty. I was falsely accused of "harassment" at the college I was attending and then expelled. I was never allowed to clear my name and lost many friends because of the accusations. It ruined my life and sent me into a spiral of crippling depression that more-or-less destroyed my thirties. I lost an entire decade because of that.

In the last three years both my mother and grandmother died within sixteen months of each other.

Last February, in the space of one week, I was arrested for felony assault, I lost my home, both jobs, and my share of the family business. I was living in my car for six months, and I still have not recovered. The legal battles over the family business have destroyed what's left of my family.

All traumatic experiences define who you are. The more traumatic, the more it defines you. Unfortunately, it's precisely the traumatic things that we don't discuss with others, leaving us formed mostly by events that no one else knows about. People don't understand one another mainly because we can't talk over the precise things which have defined us as human beings.

Tags: writer's block
Current Music: Reba McEntire, "Somebody"

"You didn't think it was gonna be that easy, did you?"

"You know, for a second there, yeah, I kinda did."

Current Mood: jealous

Just to prove that I occasionally post about things other than my anemic social life, here is a link to a Listverse of the 15 Greatest Composers of All Time.

"The hour of choosing has arrived: here are your tools."

Leave it to me to be inspired by the worst poetry in the universe. But if it works, it works.

I've teetered on the edge of the abyss all night and day, and survived. For now. Let's see how far I can crawl from that edge.

"If you're up for a rodeo,
I'll put a big Texas smile on your face . . . "

Fuck that demon. He doesn't know my friends.

Current Mood: slightly better

At the moment, I'd do it for nothing. This life sucks.

Tags: avatar movie, new world, writer's block

I remember reading, once, an account of some Middle Easterners who were torturing a captured American pilot. The pilot had crashed and in the fire his synthetic flight suit had partially melted itself into the muscles of his buttocks. The Arab torturers attempted to torture him by ripping the remains of his flight suit off his buttocks.

That's not the punch line of the story. The "punch line" was that when they saw the completely agonizing pain this was causing the pilot, they stopped. They may have continued to torture him in other ways, but even they had their limits.

I mention this because of something that happened last night that has just thrown all my calculations into a messy pile. This is my punishment for saying I wanted to push him under a train. This is my punishment for being evil. This was, well, too bad for tears. I tried to cry but there was nothing left. I was sick to my stomach, and I haven't been sick to my stomach for that reason for about a year-and-a-half.

A year-and-a-half down the drain. Here we go again.

I called my father in desperation, in the "middle of the night" (6 AM), having no where else to turn, and he listened to me for a few minutes before accusing me and my sister of trying to attack him and fuck him over. I hung up on him.

I plan on going to Churchill's tonight, if they'll still have me. I need to give Blair her Christmas present(s). Perhaps I can describe the whole thing after then.

" . . . and you find
That what was over there . . .
Is over here . . .

"So you scream from behind your door
Say what's mine is mine and not yours.
I may have too much but I'll take my chances
'Cause God's stopped keeping score
And you cling to the things they sold you
Did you cover your eyes when they told you
That He can't come back
'Cause He has no children to come back for. . . .

"It's hard to love.
There's so much to hate.
Hanging on to hope when there is no hope to speak of . . . "

Oh, hell, I'll give you the short version: I saw Blair out on a date. With someone other than José.

"Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!"

Somebody come here and shoot me. I can't do it myself.

Current Mood: sick, ill, lonely, cheated
Current Music: George Michael, "Praying For Time"

( Cut for her pleasure. )

Now I'll go home and change.

Current Mood: sorry about that

So knowledgeable in literature, extremely cool, moderate in computers, reasonably good at science. EX-cellent! (steeples fingers)

OK, I was just at Churchill's, having a beer with Bill, the gay man I met there a couple of months ago. Scott walked in, from Scare Escape, one of the moths who was circling Blair's lantern last Friday. He came in wearing his overcoat, looking around for Blair, and I shouted over at him, "You can go home, Scott, she ain't here!"

He left. Fuck him. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell his way to Dover.

Current Music: Cream, "Sunshine Of Your Love" / U2, "Vertigo"