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| 02:51am 14/11/2006 |
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UPDATE:
So i haven't posted in forever...heres what i've been up to. I'm working on a play, and several other projects. Expect to see some new stuff soon!
xo xo xo |
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| the way the pain feels whe its real |
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| 04:37pm 18/08/2006 |
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mood:  nostalgic
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I feel as though everything is thick. I have a 1,000 pound weight of emotion on my chest and i want to carve myself out of glass. I want to make a model...of how i should be. sculpt and create every contour to make thins seem more real. I want to love completely. I want to live fully. I want to be enveloped in the sounds of the day before i'm devoured by the night. I long to be fearless. I ache to be immortal. |
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| a work in progress. this is Johnny |
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| 04:37am 04/08/2006 |
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mood: twisted music: cancerslug-nadia
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Johnny, reclined back in his seat staring blankly across the room out the window to the rainy day that lie ahead of him. As the rain trickled down his window sill...he could only think. think about her body laid out on his bed, and how she writhed and squirmed. It took him a second to look over and see the bloodstained sheets and remember.
He loved her. He loved her so much...but she was too good for that. Her perfect hair, her perfect smile, and her body so young and firm. For four years he had admired her. Looked at her seen her smile, wondered what it would be like to hold her hand. For four years she tourmented him...four long years.
He pulled out his cigarette pack from his sleeve, and remembered how she felt last night...wrapped around him...writhing....her tears on his chest. begging....little miss perfect was begging him. After 4 long years he longed to feel her. to touch her...but all she did was laugh. she was too good for him. always...
"they pushed me too far..." he thought to himself "she needed to know...she needed to know how i felt"
staring over at the blood on the sheets....
"now i am the last thing she will ever remember...."
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This is from a story i started about 4 years ago, then shelved, because i wasnt able to really let johnny develop.
background-
Johnny is 18, he is the kid in school everyone always picked on. pushed around. made to feel less important than what he was. His mother died when he was young, and he was raised by his grandfather and grandmother. It is about someones decent into madness...and its surprisingly a dark comedy set in the late 80's early 90's. to understand this sequence, you need to understand that Johnny has recently found a trunk his grandparents have hidden that contains his mothers old beauty competition photos and an old dress she wore to her prom in 1958. There is also a picture of her mother with a man who Johnny has no idea who it is, but bears a striking resembalance to him. His decent into madness is that he overnight tries to reclaim his mothers glory. He becomes obscessed with everything from that time period...and the girl in question is the woman who Johnny loved. Her name was diane, she was the beauty queen, the popular girl...who wouldnt give shy and quiet johnny the time of day. She we later find out...looked exactly like his mother. the story goes from there.... |
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| a work of short fiction. |
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| 12:31am 06/07/2006 |
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mood: sadistic music: cancerslug-nadia
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I woke up in tears. Barely conscious of where i was, or what time it was, or ever that i was alone. It was you again. All i felt was you. I tasted you on my lips, felt your touch on my skin. Maybe it was a lucid dream. Maybe you really are just that toxic and you fondle me in my sleep. From the feelings i just had. i'll never know.
Sometimes i miss you. Sometimes i just wanna claw my eyes from my skull and forget they ever saw you.
I've showered 12 times in the 4 days since we last saw each other and i still cant get you out from under my skin.
I wish i could make it better. I'd take my knife and dissect you. make sure you never hurt anyone again...least of all me. I'd poke around your cold dead heart and see how many holes i could make. See how long you would bleed. If you blood even ran warm.
i hate you...because i loved you.
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This was inspired by none other than my ex boyfriend. No i dont hate him. No i dont want to kill him...it just got me thinking. its a what if kinda post. |
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| Draft 1, early intro, Peter Pan story (wendy and peter meet) |
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| 07:25am 26/06/2006 |
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mood:  sick music: Less than Jake-Hopeless Case
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Once upon a time, in a land not so far away nor different from this one at all, lived a girl. The girl was neither beautiful, not gawky, she really didn’t stand out at all in fact. She was positively average, in her shoes and well sewn designer dresses. The girls name was Wendy. Wendy Moira Angela Darling.
Wendy Lived in a fantasy land. Her father was a banker at the bank of Chicago, her mother was an actress. They had met when they were in college on the east coast and fallen in love immidately. She lived with her perfect family in a perfect townhouse in the Linkin Park area of Chicago.
This positively average princess was given all the best of everything. The best schools, the best lessons, the best books to read and the best pens to write her studies with. The best clothing, the best of life that her parents never had.
The girl was very shy though. She didn’t have many friends, and often snuck out at night. Riding the dirty L Train around the city, watching how the other half lived. It was on a night like this in a place like this, that she first laid eyes on him.
She was sitting in the back of the train, with her nose in a book. Dressed in jeans and a T shirt. He walked on. Visibly a man of about 26, covered in tattoos. In one hand he grasped a Mickys 40 oz bottle, in the other a lit cigarette (which everyone knows are not allowed on the train). His hair was jet black and slicked back, like something out of The Outsiders. He wore black eyeliner, a cowboy hat and a button up shirt that looked like something a gas station attendant would wear. The name tag said “Satan”.
She shoved her nose further into the book, pretending not to notice him. He did not show her the same courtesy. They were the only 2 people on the car, it was 3 am in Chicago, and for Wendy Moira Angela Darling, life was about to start.
She felt her chest tighten trying not to look up. Peeking sneakily over the edge of Pride and Prejuidice.
“Hey. Princess…” he said, his words slurring a bit. “Is this seat taken?”
There was an entire car full of seats, and Mister Satan, James Dean himself, blue eyed rebel, wanted to sit next to her. All she could do was blink and look at the floor. He didn’t wait for an awnser. He just sat next to her. It was clear from looking at him close up, that he was too old for his age. Lines on his face, a coldness in his eyes. He didn’t seem to wanna bother her, he seemed to just want to be close to someone. She looked up, and noticed he seemed distraught. Saddened. Before she could even think twice….
“Whats wrong” she squeaked…”You look like you’ve been crying”.
“Well. See I have this dog. His names shadow. I’ve had him for years, and he’s sorta like my only real companion. I travel a lot, and go from town to town. Shadows always been with me…Today I opened the door to the place I’m shackin’ up, and he took off runnin’. I’ve been lookin all over town all day and I cant seem to find him.”
“You lost your shadow….” She said aloud. A smile crossing her lips. She had forgotten how insensitive she must sound to this person.
“I don’t find it so amusing princess. You got a name?”
“Wendy” she said hesitantly. “whats yours?”
“Peter. But everyone calls me Pete. Its good to meet you princess.” |
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| a snippit of a story |
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| 03:25pm 22/06/2006 |
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Sometimes I don’t know if the pain created me, or if I created the pain. Sometimes I wonder if all that matters.
The night was young. Young and beautiful. You could smell the fresh cut grass in the air, and the sky was bubble gum. Pink to purple to fade to dark. The stars were like pinholes in some madness painting done in the dark. June in the Midwest.
I snuck out into the depths to become anything other than what I was. Gawky, akward…a mess of hair and salty sweat dripping down my body…everything you’d expect from a girl. A child. Searching too hard to become what she could never be.
My feet hit the pavement, flip flops clanking maniacly against the worn street. Hair falling into my face. I ran like my life depended on it…what I was running from I was about to stare in the face. The urgency in my gut was about to pop. Contaminating the night air with wonder and delight.
The water fell hard like needles on my skin as the saltiness washed away. Emerging naked and cold I began my journey.
The eyeliner was on too thick, and the hair too messy, held back by a childs barrets (teddy bears and hearts). My dress was torn at the bottom and my shoes beat up. I should have cared, but I didn’t.
I climed carefully from my bedroom window so as not to give away the betrayal. I walked into the night.
“Hey kid” he said taking a drag off his smoke…”shes not home.” I knew she wouldn’t be there. It wasn’t her I was there to see anyway.
My friend. The girl who played with dolls and chewed wads of sugar sweet bubble gum. Popping off her tongue like music. My childhood. My innocence. Everything I was struggling to obliterate.
There were people sipping off longneck beers. Drinking concoctions out of plastic red cups. The kids were dirty and raw…like aliens from the planet “cool”. Kids I had never seen before and since have alluded me.
“Get a drink kid…unless you are afraid. In which case you should probably go home…” he handed me a red cup in which there was a concoction mostly jack, little bit of coke. It ran down my throat like fire and burned in my gut like a dragon. I felt 10 feet tall…ready to breathe fire at any who doubted my reign. Tonight was my night. Little did I know that its beauty was like that of birthday cake light creamy fluffy sweet…laced with cyanide. It wouldn’t kill you till it was too late. |
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| yet another blog |
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| 11:46am 21/06/2006 |
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this is not meant to be like my other blogs. this is primarily for my writing. (poetry. stories. etc)
if you would like to read about my personal life please go to:
http://lex.astralmoon.net/blog
or
www.myspace.com/murdering_wench
this is for my artistic expression. Plus i wanted to have a presence on LJ as well and one that represented me.
i am a serial blogger so. if you wanna keep up with me you need to read all my shit.
all my contact information is on the page.
new posts coming. |
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my_black_angel's journal
