|
|
-these violent delights have violent ends-
|
|
|
|
[29 Sep 2005|05:31pm] |
So...I just jumped on my trampoline.
Naked.
In a thunderstorm.
Life couldn't get any better right now.
|
|
|
[13 Jul 2005|01:06pm] |
Tell me your e-mail address or e-mail me because it's the only way I have of communicating now, since talking on the phone is so fucking akward.
catscheufler@hotmail.com
|
|
|
[05 Jul 2005|01:09pm] |
I HAVE PINK EYE AND SHINGLES LOL.
PS What's weird about this whole "being grounded" thing is that I haven't masterbated in like three weeks.
|
|
|
[05 Jun 2005|10:39pm] |
I went to the Keys last week and I def got to swim with dolhpins. AND I WAS FUCKING TERRIFIED.
( When Dolphins attack. )
|
|
| Absence makes the heart grow fonder. |
[03 May 2005|08:22pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Damien Rice-Remember |
] |
I remember it well
The first time that I saw
Your head around the door
Cause mine stopped working...
kitCat 1279 0: youre just a big nobody
kitCat 1279 0: A NOBODY THAT I LOVE
Lax1089: nobody loves u
|
|
|
[09 Apr 2005|08:46pm] |
|
I'm having tons of fun in Illinios, with lots of prepubescent little girls and boys. Mmm...prepubesence.
|
|
|
[06 Apr 2005|06:35am] |
|
I just had a dream about my dead grandmother. And when I woke up I swear to god I could fucking smell her.
|
|
| Hey. I'm happy. |
[02 Apr 2005|01:04pm] |
Heaven's not a place that you go when you die
It's that moment in life when you actually feel alive
So live for the moment
And take this advice, live by every word
Love is just a hoax so forget anything that you have heard
And live for the moment now.
Seriously.
|
|
| Oh, that fateful summer... |
[27 Mar 2005|10:50pm] |
She was laid open by a glimpse of intimacy, and when she tried to find it again, there was no one and nothing there. He offered, whether he meant to or not, some giant idea of love. But she only grasped it long enough to know her poverty. He pushed her to destroy herself. He made her want and then gave her no satisfaction.
Why did he do this to her? Why did she let him? How could she give herself away like this, even after she's already learned such a bitter lesson?
Having this love was ecstasy, but its sudden, inexplicable loss was too painful to bear. She'd rahter go through her life doubting such a thing was possible than knowing it was real and she couldn't have it.
What a pitiful waste she was. It was one thing to sacrifice yourself for a great cause. It was another to destroy yourself for a person who didn't even want you. It was an act of self immolation, a sacrifice nobody wanted, that did nobody any good. What could be more tragic than that?
She thought she was independent and strong, but she got one small taste of love and she was hungrier than anyone. She was ravenous.
|
|
| Sister, sister. |
[21 Mar 2005|07:51pm] |
I love Lydia Mae Scheufler.
Yes, that's chocolate on her pretty little face.
|
|
|
[10 Mar 2005|09:54pm] |
I love wholesome television shows like The Brady Bunch. And helping the elderly. And ABSTINENCE!!
But above all things...
Tomato soup.
|
|
|
[01 Mar 2005|12:54am] |
|
I thought I lost you somewhere, but you were never really there at all.
|
|
|
[17 Feb 2005|08:39am] |
|
Everyone seeks comfort. People seek comfort. Even if it's wrong. I understand that now. I didn't before. I guess you really have to be in that place to fully understand it.
|
|
|
[13 Feb 2005|10:49pm] |
The Promise
One hundred stories in the air. The wind whips at their hair and blows across their skin like the breath of a new lover. It summons images of the passion they had in the beginning. Of never finishing a movie with all their clothes on. Of sitting under blankets afterward, shivering and sweating at the same time. Memories lurch across their mind's eyes like the walking dead and they try their best to shove them away.
It is cold up there. On the roof. She is wearing the same dress she had worn on their first date. Of course she had. Not because of the irony. She didn't understand irony. Because it felt right for her to do so. The first floor of the building housed a little cafe named Fredericks that eight long years ago had been named Fred's. She was so nervous wouldn't even hold his hand because hers were so sweaty. But before the night was over, he had secured a kiss from her. They finished that first date back at her apartment, making love in her art studio. They swore a promise that night,after spreading acrylics and pastels to the corners of the room with their bodies. Marriage had followed soon after like a loping puppy.
"Cold," she says. She isn't wearing a coat or sweater, hasn't expected the 70 degree weather down on the street to be this much chillier up here. But he had. He removes his green suede jacket and offers it to her. She refuses it. Not bitterly, just offhandedly. He shrugs, and tosses it over the waist high railing, watching it flutter and flap like a dying bird of prey, last of its kind, taking a bullet midair, and plummeting to its death.
"Looks like a bird," she says.
"Yes," he replies, "Diving for a concrete breadcrumb."
She smiles wanly. She reaches for his hand, and for the first time in a long while he lets her take it without hesistation. He expects it to be clammy, sweaty, nervous. It isn't. Strength enough for this, he thinks, but not enough to barrel through our problems. What a complex piece of machinery. With her free hand, she holds her flapping dress down as they make their way toward the railing. She steps up and over first; he helps with a hand on her right thigh for support. There is a small rush of blood in his loins, and god bless, even now her body is still a cattleprod to his flesh. She comes down gingerly on the small ledge on the other side of the railing. She faces him, the back side of her dress doing its Marilyn Monroe impression.
He follows suit. And once he is over, they face the street together. Hair and clothes ruffle and ripple in the strong updraft. Below cars cruise by oblivious. He sees that his coat has been dragged, kicked to the side of the curb by the flow of traffic. A vision whallops him: his face smeared across that asphalt blackboard like a child's chalk line. He pushes it away. A wave of vertigo splashes the inside of his skull, and for a split second he knows his bowels and stomach are not under his control. Luckily enough, they behave until he regains his bearings.
"Last words, my dearest?" he says wryly. She hates his sardonic humor; he hates the fact that she never appears to understand the smallest inkling of it.
She wipes tears from her cheeks. He suspects they are the same wind-induced tears that are now pouring from his own eyes. He isn't sad. He thinks to himself that she wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her as such either.
"I've tried. All this time, I have been trying," she says. And as the words come out, she curses herself because she knows he will want to argue the point.
He doesn't. He lets her words fall unanswered like screams from a tomb.
She entwines her fingers in his. "Don't let go," she says. "Please."
"Okay. Do something for me?"
"Yes?" she asks, happy to stall time for just a few more seconds.
"If you see God before I do, tell him something for me."
"What?"
He gives her a look that says, You're hopeless. Then after his stabbing pause, he says, "I can't believe you have to ask."
"Let's finish this," she says.
"Yes," he says and leaps. Half of a second later, a million miles away, clutching his hand in holy matrimony, crying not just because of the wind, she jumps after him.
He holds her hand all the way down. Keeping that last promise to her, as they are keeping the promise from that night a thousand years ago. "When love dies--" that promise had began.
When love dies.
And they change places in their plummet, dancing around each other, stories rushing past them, stories racing through their heads. And he holds her hand all the way, looking into her eyes until the very last moment of the very last second.
|
|
|
[31 Jan 2005|09:25pm] |
|
( Ew. )
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
athousandreams's journal
