divaesque shenanigans.

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Yes, I was infatuated by you. I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of emotional and physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy... Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my minds, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.

There is so much hurt in this game of searching for The Other, of testing, of trying. And you realise suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.

If I didn't think, I'd be much happier; if i didn't feel, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time.

How complex and intricate are the workings of the nervous system. the electric shrill of the phone sends a tingle of expectancy up the spine; the sound of this voice, rough, brash and intimate across the wire hightens the thumping of the heart. If they substituted the word "lust" for "love" in popular songs it would come nearer the truth.

Sigh.

If I rest, if i think, I go mad. There is so much, and I am torn in different directions, pulled thin, taut against horizons too distant for me to reach.

I sit in my room, feeling the prickling ache in my body which constricts my throat, tightens dangerously, in little tear pockets behind my eyes. One word, one gesture and all that is pent up in me- festered resentments, gegrenous jelousies, superfluous desires unfulfilled- and that would burst out of me in angry impotent tears. No arms would enfold me, no voice would console me. No, in my new independance you feel the dangerous, premonitory ache, arising from little sleep and taut strung nerves, and a feeling that the cards have been stacked high up against me this once, and that they are still being heaped. An outlet I need, and they are sealed. I live night and day in the dark cramped prison I have made for myself.

I have a sharp piercing pain near my left temple.

It is yet another night. God knows no matter how my world crumbled and fell apart, no matter how I screamed and yelled for affection, everyone else continued their day like they did the day before.

Sleep has become an elusive drug and I have lost all ability to dream. My emotional exhaustion evolves my physical self to mere dead weight. One that does not tire, one that does not ask for food, one that just Is.

How I crave for normalcy again. Then again, I doubt my existence would ever be normal again. I cannot conceive the idea of being normal.

What is normal?

Jesse's right. Retail theraphy is everything. Especially when you do it with someone you love so much. I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. =)

Hmmm... in solitude, I contemplate the idea of death. And the idea of birth. I'd really like to be a mother. I think it's amazing. It's amazing how you would feel that that lil bundle of flesh is a part of you. That baby is yours. I think it's amazing how you would hold this little thing to your breast as it sleeps, feel its tiny heart pumping and weep because you've never felt so much love before. You've never felt so needed before.

I think being a mother's amazing. The bringing-up-the-bloody-kid part's the toughie. Oh, boy.

Then I think about You. I laugh at the undeniable irony. Then I laugh again for my initial laugh is another bleeding irony.

Speaking of which, I love the word bleeding and fucken, picked it up from Cunt, a book I read... and it makes me wonder how some fucken people pick up this word just about after the couple of time I've been using them to blog. Sad ain't it, how limited some people's vocabulary are.

Hah. I'm such a bitch. But God knows I lurve this shit. As Julius says it: "Fuzz [is] a hardcore bitch."

Hear me roar, baybee, hear me roar.

Because I want to hold your hand.

posted by Fuzzy @ 21:46

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