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it helps me to rule out the sorrow, it helps you guys to dance
Sunday, October 19, 2003
You'll get it right sometime. You will."
I tell myself that everyday.
"You don't need to latch on to anything.
You'll just end up back here
In your little limbo scene."
It's repetitious and exhausting.
I might need some therapy;
Anything to keep me in check through the day.
Don't think about your lover.
You're already steady shaking."
I might need a sedative,
But I hate the taste of medicine.
"I just need to let you go."
These pills shaking in my hand
Just make me feel defeated,
Like I'm not able to just let you go away.
I hate this place but I love these chords.
"An empty fate just means an even score."
And the pain this morning...
It filled my head.
It's JaMeson.
It means that I'm not dead.
And I just can't seem to get away
There's no such thing as escape,
Even with the sedatives
You're always in the same state,
Clutching to a limbo scene.
You're never changing anything,
You just stop the shaking.
And it's constantly repeated through the days.
I tell myself that everyday.
"You don't need to latch on to anything.
You'll just end up back here
In your little limbo scene."
It's repetitious and exhausting.
I might need some therapy;
Anything to keep me in check through the day.
Don't think about your lover.
You're already steady shaking."
I might need a sedative,
But I hate the taste of medicine.
"I just need to let you go."
These pills shaking in my hand
Just make me feel defeated,
Like I'm not able to just let you go away.
I hate this place but I love these chords.
"An empty fate just means an even score."
And the pain this morning...
It filled my head.
It's JaMeson.
It means that I'm not dead.
And I just can't seem to get away
There's no such thing as escape,
Even with the sedatives
You're always in the same state,
Clutching to a limbo scene.
You're never changing anything,
You just stop the shaking.
And it's constantly repeated through the days.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
I said, "that boy's handsome"
and a little bit of me wanted to be beautiful-
Carrie said, "It's hard to look in the mirror these days
when everyone has everything you'd rather be."
There's just something about his smile He looks so nice,
I wish I had friends like that
They'd always be there for me, I wouldn't look bad
They wouldn't talk behind my back.
Saves The Day
and a little bit of me wanted to be beautiful-
Carrie said, "It's hard to look in the mirror these days
when everyone has everything you'd rather be."
There's just something about his smile He looks so nice,
I wish I had friends like that
They'd always be there for me, I wouldn't look bad
They wouldn't talk behind my back.
Saves The Day
Sunday, September 28, 2003
"And I'll take to wishing and fall under
Sleeping safe and sound
Just give me medicine prescribe me anything
Just knock me out and walk me through the door
I have no desire to see through my own eyes anymore"
Matt Skiba
Sleeping safe and sound
Just give me medicine prescribe me anything
Just knock me out and walk me through the door
I have no desire to see through my own eyes anymore"
Matt Skiba
There is a very real, distinct possibility that I am profoundly and irreversibly fucked up.
Remember that movie? Where Jack Nicholson walks into the therapist's crowded waiting room and says "What if THIS is as good as it gets?".
What if he's right? And if he is right, what am I fighting for? Why struggle? Is this where acceptance and surrender comes into play?
I continue walking through my life with the feeling that there is a huge void. How do I fill that void? It's that fucking perpetual question that refuses to reveal itself to me. It's the question. What's the question? How can I know the answer if I don't know the question?
Feeling confused and hopeless at the moment. Depressed. A tad dipping into suicidal ideologies, too, which is a bad sign. Romanticizing the Dark Side. Someone looks at me weird. Kill yourself. Find a five dollar bill in my pocket that I forgot about...maybe life's worth living. Late for work. Kill yourself. Got a raise. Maybe there's a glimmer of hope. Legs hurt and have insomnia again. Kill yourself. On and on this goes.
Only sleep offers any relief from the noise in my head, but the fucking irony of it is I have been experiencing insomnia coupled with those leg aches & twitching again, so I am forced to think.
Godammit.
Remember that movie? Where Jack Nicholson walks into the therapist's crowded waiting room and says "What if THIS is as good as it gets?".
What if he's right? And if he is right, what am I fighting for? Why struggle? Is this where acceptance and surrender comes into play?
I continue walking through my life with the feeling that there is a huge void. How do I fill that void? It's that fucking perpetual question that refuses to reveal itself to me. It's the question. What's the question? How can I know the answer if I don't know the question?
Feeling confused and hopeless at the moment. Depressed. A tad dipping into suicidal ideologies, too, which is a bad sign. Romanticizing the Dark Side. Someone looks at me weird. Kill yourself. Find a five dollar bill in my pocket that I forgot about...maybe life's worth living. Late for work. Kill yourself. Got a raise. Maybe there's a glimmer of hope. Legs hurt and have insomnia again. Kill yourself. On and on this goes.
Only sleep offers any relief from the noise in my head, but the fucking irony of it is I have been experiencing insomnia coupled with those leg aches & twitching again, so I am forced to think.
Godammit.
Death by Digo
I have accepted the darkness
as I long for immortality
I have not changed sides
But I have become the whole
Death is knocking at my door
I still don't know if I'll answer its call
Does it matter anyways?
Is immortality granted?
Conquered?
I am flesh and soul
the soul hurts as the flesh overtakes
Awake and eyes wide open
Did I take the right pills?
It's funny that
As I long for eternity
The end seems so near
My sex is my sleeping pill
I am dependent on it
My sex soothes me
And it's gonna kill me
Is this goodbye?
Or have I finally been saved
It's all fucked up around
and within
The air that I breath is unpure
and my lungs can't filter anymore
I am dying
I am dying but standing
I won't die on my knees
I won't die without saying goodbye
Yes
I know better now
This is goodbye
Goodness is what matters
hypocrisy kills goodness
The air is not coming in
Good bye
Sep 10 03
For Real
I have accepted the darkness
as I long for immortality
I have not changed sides
But I have become the whole
Death is knocking at my door
I still don't know if I'll answer its call
Does it matter anyways?
Is immortality granted?
Conquered?
I am flesh and soul
the soul hurts as the flesh overtakes
Awake and eyes wide open
Did I take the right pills?
It's funny that
As I long for eternity
The end seems so near
My sex is my sleeping pill
I am dependent on it
My sex soothes me
And it's gonna kill me
Is this goodbye?
Or have I finally been saved
It's all fucked up around
and within
The air that I breath is unpure
and my lungs can't filter anymore
I am dying
I am dying but standing
I won't die on my knees
I won't die without saying goodbye
Yes
I know better now
This is goodbye
Goodness is what matters
hypocrisy kills goodness
The air is not coming in
Good bye
Sep 10 03
For Real
Ao meu primeiro filho nascido morto
com 7 meses incompletos.
2 fevereiro 1911:
Agregado infeliz de sangue e cal,
Fruto rubro de carne agonizante,
Filho da grande força fecundante
De minha bronzea trama neuronial,
Que poder embriológico fatal
Destruiu, com a sinergia de um gigante,
Em tua morfogenese de infante
A minha morfogenese ancestral?!
Porção de minha plásmica substância,
Em que lugar irás passar a infância,
Tragicamente anônimo, a feder?!
Ah! Possas tu dormir, feto esquecido,
Panteisticamente dissolvido
Na noumenalidade do NÃO SER!
Augusto dos Anjos - genial
com 7 meses incompletos.
2 fevereiro 1911:
Agregado infeliz de sangue e cal,
Fruto rubro de carne agonizante,
Filho da grande força fecundante
De minha bronzea trama neuronial,
Que poder embriológico fatal
Destruiu, com a sinergia de um gigante,
Em tua morfogenese de infante
A minha morfogenese ancestral?!
Porção de minha plásmica substância,
Em que lugar irás passar a infância,
Tragicamente anônimo, a feder?!
Ah! Possas tu dormir, feto esquecido,
Panteisticamente dissolvido
Na noumenalidade do NÃO SER!
Augusto dos Anjos - genial
I have now entered your bloodstream. I have gone beyond urine, excrement and its sweet acrid taste, and I have lost myself in the warm recesses of your body. I am here to stay. I will never leave.
Sept 28 03
Sept 28 03
Saturday, September 27, 2003
The Perfect Song
So you broke down
Trying to leave town
I broke down crying on your return
You left me feeling awful
I'll never see your face again
You made for a bad lover's liver
You sold all the covers and busted my head
You made me such an ass hole
I wish we'd never met
I'm tired of being bored
I'm through with the headaches at night
And my hands they tremble like earthquakes
Under the table under the daytime sky
Good fucking bye
And when you lose hope
It's hard to cope
Watching the tyranny with sober eyes
The daybreak and sunset
All hours in between are spent murdering time
You made for a bad lover's liver
You sold all the covers and fucked up my head
You made me such an ass hole
I wish we'd never met
I'm tired of being bored
I'm through with the headaches at night
And my hands they tremble like earthquakes
Under the table under the daytime sky
Good fucking bye
So you broke down
Trying to leave town
I broke down crying on your return
You left me feeling awful
I'll never see your face again
You made for a bad lover's liver
You sold all the covers and busted my head
You made me such an ass hole
I wish we'd never met
I'm tired of being bored
I'm through with the headaches at night
And my hands they tremble like earthquakes
Under the table under the daytime sky
Good fucking bye
And when you lose hope
It's hard to cope
Watching the tyranny with sober eyes
The daybreak and sunset
All hours in between are spent murdering time
You made for a bad lover's liver
You sold all the covers and fucked up my head
You made me such an ass hole
I wish we'd never met
I'm tired of being bored
I'm through with the headaches at night
And my hands they tremble like earthquakes
Under the table under the daytime sky
Good fucking bye
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Was Holden Caulfield suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? Why? and Are his fans suffering from PTSD?
First, a brief overview of Dr. Leymann's observations: In his research about mobbing (it seems safe to say that mobbing is a term for group bullying), he found nothing that showed that victim personalities caused mobbing, but rather that mobbing causes Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which, practically speaking, changes the victim's personality. Sometimes their orientation toward life is so drastically changed that they become very ineffective people, suicidal at times.
Leymann outlined the stages of mobbing as starting with a conflict of some sort that is not effectively dealt with (sometimes no fault of the victim, for example, incommunicative roomates). The next stage involves people using a negative approach to the victim where any one exchange or incident does not seem very concerning , but, over time, the pattern forms a hostile environment that has the flavor of retribution toward the victim. There are one to several people involved in this and any number of bystanders who are aware of what is going on but who do nothing. When and if authorities come in, they take the side of the majority: the consensus seems to be that the victim is at fault and the authorities would rather not get involved and would rather not take responsibility for effectively managing things, regardless. If the victim seeks psychiatric help, they are usually seen as paranoid and suchlike because most psychotherapists are not very familiar with PTSD. The victim falls ill more often than before and is stigmatized by the entire sequence, for instance, feeling obsessed with wariness. Suicide usually follows.
First, a brief overview of Dr. Leymann's observations: In his research about mobbing (it seems safe to say that mobbing is a term for group bullying), he found nothing that showed that victim personalities caused mobbing, but rather that mobbing causes Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which, practically speaking, changes the victim's personality. Sometimes their orientation toward life is so drastically changed that they become very ineffective people, suicidal at times.
Leymann outlined the stages of mobbing as starting with a conflict of some sort that is not effectively dealt with (sometimes no fault of the victim, for example, incommunicative roomates). The next stage involves people using a negative approach to the victim where any one exchange or incident does not seem very concerning , but, over time, the pattern forms a hostile environment that has the flavor of retribution toward the victim. There are one to several people involved in this and any number of bystanders who are aware of what is going on but who do nothing. When and if authorities come in, they take the side of the majority: the consensus seems to be that the victim is at fault and the authorities would rather not get involved and would rather not take responsibility for effectively managing things, regardless. If the victim seeks psychiatric help, they are usually seen as paranoid and suchlike because most psychotherapists are not very familiar with PTSD. The victim falls ill more often than before and is stigmatized by the entire sequence, for instance, feeling obsessed with wariness. Suicide usually follows.
