[.l.o.s.t././.i.n././.t.r.a.n.s.l.a.t.i.o.n.]

I hope ya flip some guy the bird
He cuts you off and youre forced to swerve
In front of the beatles tour bus
A bookmobile and a mack truck
Hauling hazardous biological waste
The light turns red you have no brakes
And hard copy gets it all on tape
So you can see the look on your face

Die die die die die die die
Die die die die die die die

I hope your pinto begins to spin
Takes out a disabled vietnam veteran
Mows down a nobel peace prize winner
And maybe some orphans having christmas dinner
Perhaps even the british royal family
And the rabbi thats clutching the bottle-fed puppy
And we cant forget the newlyweds
And those jerrys kids are as good as dead

I hope this helps to emphasize
I hope this helps to clarify
I hope you die

I hope your cellmate thinks hes god
But c.n.n. refer to him as bowling ball bag bob
Serving time again for abuse of a corpse
Only this time the victims a clydesdale horse
While he masturbates to photos of livestock
He does the silence of the lambs dance to christian rock
Eats feces and quotes from deliverance
And fights with his imaginary playmate vince

Die die die die die die die
Die die die die die die die

I hope he grins like jack nicholson
And forces you to play a game called balls on chin
And whatever happens next is all a blur
But you remember fist can be a verb
And when you finally regain consciousness
Youre bound and gagged in a wedding dress
And the prison guard looks the other way
cause hes the guy ya flipped the bird the other day

I hope this helps to emphasize
I hope this helps to clarify
I hope you die

I hope you die

(ephemeral) 

The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts, there’s no more pain
I’m in heaven, I’m a god
I’m everywhere, I feel so hot

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side
I’m not an addict (maybe that’s a lie)
It’s over now, I’m cold, alone

I’m just a person on my own
Nothing means a thing to me
(Nothing means a thing to me)

That’s from K’s Choice’s Not an Addict. I woke up on my alterna-sobriety birthday in the hospital recovering from a medication overdose initated by a well-meaning doctor. That, after two days previous of being totally out of it and very near death, was the first day I was aware – me – again.

Happy pseudo-birthday to me.

The Sun was born, so it shall die
So only shadows comfort me
I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me
Each day shall end as it begins
And though you’re far away from me
I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me
VNV Nation – End of Days

I know that’s a funny quote to begin with, given the title of this post. I’ll also warn you now that there’s some trigger-some content that follows, so you might want to skip the next paragraph and then read the rest if you have abuse-related issues.

I refuse to be a fucking victim. I’ve had enough of that in my lifetime already. As a kid I was abused, but I’m not going into detail there. It gets nasty. At fourteen I was raped by a family friend’s child. At sixteen, while at boarding school, I was raped again. During my parent’s divorce, I was used as a pawn by my mom – promised rewards if I got documents against my Dad during visitations, but nothing ever came of those promises. They were merely lies. Notice how ‘Dad’ is capitalized and ‘mom’ is not. Anyhow, my mom used to have contests with me to lose weight, promising a new wardrobe and other such bullshit if I lost more weight than she did. That never materialized, either. And when her systemic lupus erythematosus got bad enough to where she couldn’t take care of herself, the house, the bills, and my little brother and I, guess who’s shoulders all that fell upon? Mine. There was never any thanks, just chastising that I should do better, perform more. That started when I was twelve. I’d get into my evil bitch of a grandmother on my Dad’s side, who viewed my little brother, cousin, and I for being "half breeds" and therefore not good enough for shit . . . or her verbal and physical abuse because of it . . . and the subsequent bullshit she put my brother and I through while my mom was in St. Luke’s Hospital dying when I was sixteen. Nor will I get into my Dad abandoning me in Puerto Rico for the rest of the summer after mom’s funeral because I insulted his bitch of a mother, over which we got into a nasty argument that resulted in my being ditched there and eventually landing my ass in boarding school, after a wonderful – and I mean that in the most sarcastic way – month with some of my mom’s extended family in which I was ridiculed by an alcoholic pastor’s wife. Hey, at least the pastor didn’t . . . and I got get drunk with him. I’m pretty certain he wanted a divorce, but his religious convictions wouldn’t allow it. Meh. Not my problem now.

I refuse to be a fucking victim again. I refuse to be a fucking statistic. What am I talking about? See, about two months ago, my husband got referred to a neurologist when he had an accident that landed him in the emergency room. So we went to this guy’s office, unsuspecting of the bullshit and lies and what else would come of that. At first, I thought the guy was okay as he seemed to be very scientific in his proceedings. Being narcoleptic and epileptic and having also been looking for a neurologist, I figured I’d make an appointment to see this doctor – if he can even be called that – as well. So I went in, he seemed focused on the narcoleptic issue because, well, it’s been getting worse and Provigil isn’t working for me as a stand alone medication anymore. So he set me up to have a polysomnogram – though without an MSLT, which is a standard test for narcolepsy and repeated if the condition worsens. And then it got fun. I got jacked around and lied to by his office and then directly – to my face – by him, all the while my condition was still deteriorating. And, as if that weren’t enough, my husband wasn’t improving. Now he’s at a point where things are to the point where they began. Our patient records – if they can be called that – are full of erroneous details, things we never said, and more. And I’m angry as all fucking hell about it.

I refuse to be a fucking victim – and even moreso – I refuse to let the one I love be a victim, too. This means war. I’ve been trampled on enough just on my own, but what pisses me off more than anything is seeing the mistreatment of my husband. I can live with having to wait another few weeks – maybe – if my thyroid levels are in check – to see another neurologist, who’s been recommended by both my primary care physician and my psychiatrist. But my husband may have to wait until the start of the year because of our fucking insurance until he can get adequate care without it putting us in financial jeopardy. It aggravates me that he’s suffering and that my hands are tied as to doing anything about it, really, without drastic action. But, you know what? I’m READY to take drastic action against this son of a whore. Little does he know who he’s fucking with. Little does he know just how much firepower I’ll bring to the table. Little does he know that the victimization of people, in this instance, is going to fuck his shit up. And that’s NOT a threat. It’s a goddamn promise.

(ephemeral)

This was a triumph.
I’m making a note here: HUGE SUCCESS.
It’s hard to overstate my satisfaction.
Aperture Science
We do what we must
because we can.
For the good of all of us.
Except the ones who are dead.
But there’s no sense crying over every mistake.
You just keep on trying till you run out of cake.
And the Science gets done.
And you make a neat gun.
For the people who are still alive.
I’m not even angry.
I’m being so sincere right now.
Even though you broke my heart.
And killed me.
And tore me to pieces.
And threw every piece into a fire.
As they burned it hurt because I was so happy for you!
Now these points of data make a beautiful line.
And we’re out of beta.
We’re releasing on time.
So I’m GLaD. I got burned.
Think of all the things we learned
for the people who are still alive.
Go ahead and leave me.
I think I prefer to stay inside.
Maybe you’ll find someone else to help you.
Maybe Black Mesa
THAT WAS A JOKE.
HAHA. FAT CHANCE.
Anyway, this cake is great.
It’s so delicious and moist.
Look at me still talking
when there’s Science to do.
When I look out there, it makes me GLaD I’m not you.
I’ve experiments to run.
There is research to be done.
On the people who are still alive.
And believe me I am still alive.
I’m doing Science and I’m still alive.
I feel FANTASTIC and I’m still alive.
While you’re dying I’ll be still alive.
And when you’re dead I will be still alive.
STILL ALIVE

(ephemeral) 

this post is brought to you by small letters because it is not a happy post.

this post bears the "friends" tag. rather it should wear the tag "ex-friends", "betrayal", "backstabbing", or some other such thing as the tag "friends" is in and of itself a lie because this post is about those things . . . about someone who used to be a friend. and while i’m one of the most forgiving people you will ever meet and will give you chance after chance after chance after you’ve fucked me around and hurt me bad, this person gets something very few people have ever gotten from me: the axe.

i guess the era era ended between this person and i a long while before this. no, actually, it did end. but i guess i just found a nice, clean line of demarcation to simply walk away from it, to begin the silence that should have begun a long, long time ago.

so, without further ado, i bring you song lyrics that when and if you play the song itself – which i highly encourage you listen to it as it’s a great song – it embodies the emotions that washed over me when i stepped up to this line of demarcation.

the eels – "guest list"
album: "beautiful freak"

are you one of the beautiful people?
is my name on the list?
wanna be of the beautiful people . . .
wanna feel like i’m missed.

hey – you – with the walkie-talkie,
i know my clothes are not right.
i wish i had my own walkie-talkie
that reached to god every night.

everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.

are you one of the beautiful people?
am i on the wrong track?
sometimes it feels like i’m made of eggshell
and it feels like i’m gonna crack.

everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.

i’m never on your list.

(ephemeral) 

Endless Dream – Conjure One
Can’t Stop the World -  Gavin Rossdale
Cruel – Tori Amos
The Hollow – A Perfect Circle
Dark Angel – VNV Nation
The Chemicals Between Us – Bush
Spark – Tori Amos
Beloved – VNV Nation
Caught a Lite Sneeze – Tori Amos
Standing – VNV Nation

"Through my eyes, stare into me. I bear my heart for all to see . . . I had no faith before that day in any vow or deed. Days followed days and years were meaningless. Despite the wisdom of defeat I bore my heart for all to see the wonders I’d seen." – Standing, VNV Nation

(ephemeral)