verily

i changed the template because i was getting tired of the kitty one.

so it's been awhile, just about a month, to be more precise, since i've written in this. i can't commit fully to anything, it seems. i'll wander back and forth between extremes for as long as they'll let me.

i fear i've become nothing, or that i was always nothing to begin with, only people allowed me to continue the myth that i was something just because they believed it was harmless, a mere sort of amusement. oh look, she's going to ascribe all kinds of virtues and talents to herself and think she's better than everyone else and then BAM, in one fell swoop, the facades are blown off their hinges and she'll be a thousand times more devastated than had we told her in the beginning that she had nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to say. i'm telling you, the world is one sick joke.

my mind is emptied like an ash tray turned out in the trash can. my sides are scorched with dead ashes -- grey flakes and black tar that smote and mock me.. i have nothing to life for.

this is quite true. if i had the slightest cause to think otherwise i would readily admit to it, but it is really the truth of the matter -- i have absolutely nothing to live for, except if i want disappointments, regrets, and the death of some qualities that i possess that aren't entirely bad. everything rots away, gets eaten up with starving mouths, gets picked to pieces, like bread in birds beaks, gets thrown into the gutter, decomposes, loses its lustre, becomes devirginized, tainted, used, abused, all that once shimmered and glistened with life dulls down to dirty grey, like rivers that once ran blue now run ribbons of pigeon shit. beauty quickly becomes sharp and threatening as if it were a knife then melts down and twists into something hideous, deformed.

all that is beautiful is really ugly wearing a beautiful costume. everything is ugly, malformed, misshapen. humans being among the most perfect example. girls cake their faces with foundation, powder, blush, eyeshadow, lipstick, smearing fake colours to their pale faces in attempt to mimic life. life drains away second by second, and the more that we run away from it, the more it outpaces us.

we wear costumes and face paint as if we were performing on a stage but not really living. i'm sick of charades and masques and ugliness parading as beautiful, as if deception were praiseworthy. i'm sick of bullshit. let our ugliness manifest itself, drive holes in our cheeks, stakes through our hearts, let us give up the ghostly sigh, at last, at last.