What is the point of love if there is no emotion?

Its 3 AM and I cant sleep. A dream overwhelmed me and the man I care about could care less. Am I overdramatic? No! I am not. I am in need. In need for someone who cares about me ultimately. This is not the first time this kind of situation has arose, neither is it not been a topic of discussion. I am lonely. This is not a good feeling when you are "with" someone. THis is not how it is supposed t be. I hate this feeling really, and I know what to do about it, but the thing is, even when in missery, it still seems like you just don't want to be the one to let go. I need support. I need someone who feels like I do. We don't argue. We don't really do anything together except the occasional drink. Hell, anything I suggest we do is like pulling teeth. What does this mean I wonder. I know there are two sides to every story, and I am no battared, unkept woman. Shit, most people would say that I am a selfish person and just need to suck it up. Hell, I cant help how I feel. I want out. I am freezing at 98 degrees and I need someone to keep me warm. A warmth that only another person can give me, the kind I get without touch. A fucking carring warmth of not just words but emotions, which I am reminded weekly that he has none. Pressure of what to do eludes me, and from there my heart screams at me to let it go but my comfort says to deal. What is the point in love if there is no emotion?

When you take the time to write about something, sometimes it really takes a little out of you. Replaced thoughts. Replaced feelings, emotions. I want to write for a purpose. I want to put something out there that will jumpp off of the page and smack someone in the face and make them laugh or cry or just make them feel it really. I was watching this movie and in it there was this blogger and she really affected people with it and all she did was cook. Really? But, the thing is she had a purpose. She started something and she finished it. Apparently that was nother normal routine; starting something and finishing it, nor is it mine.

I need an idea, a mission, a goal. Inside the Goals I have now. A short term goal. Somethign that I love and that I can write about daily. This is going to take a minute though. I need to keep my eyes and ears open for something that intrigues me. I am a type of critic, but I am not sure that is where I want to go with it. Something fun, exiting. Something that is very local. Something I can discribe with Pizzazz. Something that will make you want to read it.

I read. The books that i like the most are the ones that make me laugh, like I am getting inside the Character. I always feel, while I am reading, that I am right there with them. I was just there shadow really. There the whole time just not noticed. Laughing with them and going to dinner wth them. I just look foward tothe day that I am abe to come across the way they do. I will get there. I know that I will.

Well, here is to trying to find a short term goal. An Interest that is not going to take me 5 years to complete. Something to accel on that I can create myself.

A Wrinkle in Time Current mood: argumentative Category: Writing and Poetry
What is this between my ears other than a wrinkly mass of misunderstanding?
…nothing more than a pour of muscle to reiterate the idea of life heard.
Only felt in between the lines.
What am I other than the difference of the time I have spent with myself
and the time that I have spent with others?
I have spent that time, exactly, because it sure wasn't free..
it has cost me a 20 years of time:
a six pence for a bushel:
a lifetimefor nothing;
and now the wrinkles are smoothed out by the life that was spread in the volumes of the mass of misunderstanding.
Even the writing that escapes has to be thought about so intently
that it escapes so slowly.
And as soon as I read it,
I feel as if it is not me
and then I realize that life is nothing more than a wrinkle..

WHo ArT YOu?

The future placed ahead is vaguely seen.. And, the after taste of the past lingers in the saliva of life that surrouds the tastebuds of who you are. A mental frenzy escaping with each touch of hope; faith; denial; rejection. Exploding in the form of who you are, which is a meaty flesh of a direct reflection of what your senses have formulated after years of living in a world of sensational expresional living in all forms of life, which breath though the plants that breath throught the dirt that you were originally made from.a not so vicious cycle. The artistic value is devided by the expression that you put into it and added to the thoughts that are not taken into action; and then taken into consderation that no matter if you accept what you are, you are who you are because of what you have and havent done all the way down to the reactions you still havent had , made , seen or felt. The depression you havent had the chance to dwell.in. the sadness that you want to escape is still in the future; put away so that you can feel the happiness that makes you melt.. you cant have one with out the otheres help.. how do you know the future if the past was never there.. how do know you are happy if you have never had the sad. and how can you have any of it here if you have never been there...

Thanks to you I know what I never Want to be! With love; from the bottom of my heart!

I feel liquid, almost, in my boredom with myself. Molding into the notion that I really feel that no matter how hard I am thinking and wanting to do something, I can't get past that point of thinking about it.



I have been thinking about that notion as well. What the hell am I going to do about it? Step one; Wake the fuck up. Step two; quit thinking and act. Act on those thoughts and quit being a blithering idiot. What the hell has came over me. Oh, wait a minute, maybe it is the 5th of tequila I am in taking on a more than normal occasion.



As I take in this grand Agave concoction and sit back; slowly taking in the handicapping, mind melting, laziness, I start to tilt into the forms that dead braincells elude. It is only after I have a lost a few though, that I start to realize where I am heading. NO WHERE! "Where you going? No where."




And that is, at each, where I begin another course. Another point in my travel that I am going to stop. Something Great is going to come out of it I know. Something very swell really. I know it, I can feel it in my soul. That thing I tend to use when I drown my self in the misery of the that fact. I feel I have to stare addiction in the face and rip it off every time I see it. Watching the sockets of truth bleed out of the muscles that held together its lying face, breathing on me and staring back at me with its ghoulish teeth molding into its gums, coagulation dripping into your inhale, as its microorganisms infects your FUCKING MOTIVATION to be your self. The dark black holes of deception in a sweet, sweet flavor.
Addiction to me a is a shape sifting entity. something that passes by us everyday in the form of our gluttony. sometimes passed down from generation to generation. One day being tramped on and then next obsessed on. A love so good and pungent of hate all in the same, the emotions that you fill into it. Making it stronger. At first feeling, a hug, and then an embrace of hope, then, only then, to grab one last time and crush you till all that is left in you is IT.

What I am trying to say is that I am done drinking. One step at a time here though. The smoking comes next. I don't want to have a nice nervous breakdown. Shit, I am only human after all.










I came to the conclusion lately as if it were all a bad dream. Flashes of pasts hit me like a, well, a guilt trip...

1994.late. Stepfather 1 dies of liver disease. Cirrhosis; drank himself to death and then with that at 34is he leaves a 5ish year old daughter to be with out a dad. I am sure he didn't plan on that, but he sure didn't help it. Aloofness, feelings of the unknown, and reflections of guilt into the only other one she can put it into. She is happy with the hate she has in her heart and does whatever she can to destroy, or at least make them feel pain like hers. Her mother, who she blames everyday, just doesn't understand. All from a little beverage, sometimes hoppy, crisp and calming, melting almost. Even after you're gone, what you have done will still affect the people closest to you. Especially when you still do not have the wisdom to decipher between things you can and cannot control, and the wisdom to deal with it correctly either way.



2001. middle of. Stepfather 2 dies of aneurysm. He had had many of these. Started as a fit of coughs and then would usually come to a delirious state. I remember one time, him and all his drug induced glory, his tea was the crack cocaine, he was eating watching TV. I could see him eating like I had a zoom lens in my retina; the chomping and gristle ripping from the chicken bone, the smacking of his gums and lips, he didn't really have any teeth probably put them in a pipe( he is my ripped face addiction man I think). Then came the coughing. Then I can remember his memories; as he wanted to go to his dads(who had been dead of salmonella for quite some time), he thought he was late and was going to be in trouble. As he was trying to leave he spoke of the many bodies lying all around on the floor. Walking out, he seemed to be stepping over all the bodies he said were there. He was a Veteran of the Vietnam war. Classic. typical flash back status. From child molestation and the fields of the Cong to homeward bound with a crack pipe hanging from his lips. Can I please have a trailer to go with my trash. What had happen was through all his years abusing alcohol and crack the little hairs in his lungs got burnt out and in a cause and effect he slowly drowned to death, with those coughing attacks they would come so hard he would have little aneurysms. The day he died he had followed my mother, whom i didn't talk to at the time because she married this douche BAG, he had an attack and a major aneurysm. They finally got him onto the ambulance where he passed out. When he woke up he didn't know where he was and attacked the EMTs in the ambulance. Crack attack- 3; EMTs 0. One had a broken jaw, another a broken Femur... yes femur... and the last one, well he was just fucking bloody. Now going back in time, about a paragraph ago. What you do while you are alive still affects the people closest to you after you are gone. Little girl +Evil step dads death = Super life doubts. Yes 6 years later the only other man she knew died of drug induced retardation.

Lets say 2004is. Grandfather, though not my real one the one I really knew. Dies of cirrhosis induced bone cancer after a bout with lung and throat cancer from smoking; DOUBLE SHAZAM. How do you like those apples people. He got fucked by that one TWICE. I took care of him ladies and gents and was A OK. I wouldn't of had it any other way. He was a very misunderstood man. BUT, even though disease took him from all of his addictions he still lived a happy life. Hey whatever works we all got to die from something. Not that I am saying that it was OK for him but not the others, but at least he didn't get melted into a lazy piece of shit that never accomplished a thing. It was hard, and he is missed. But even though he lays in his grave rotting more so in his Cancer glory. What he did while he was alive affected my grandmother and she is taken care of through all he did. PAYED she is. But, I am sure she would rather have him around more. Shit take what you can get though. WORD.















2001ish. Grandfather (mothers side) dies of Emphysema from years of smoking the stogies. Ya know after being on a O2 machine for his last 10 years. I'd been ready. This mother fucker was hard core; would smoke while hooked to the tank. BALLZ OH STEEL. Get up on his O2, and head to the bar for 30 minutes and come home about to pass out. He was always nice to me. I knew him no other way. I head stories from the FAM but hey, I call it as I see it, not by what other people tell me how they seen it. Unless i was there when they seen it. How did that affect anyone.. hell I don't know, but I am sure that it did in some way or another. But I wasn't there. And/or Affected.


(Enter DAD here...)
So in this understanding I talked to myself. I said you know what. How can I judge a damn soul or complain about any person ever doing anything if I am sitting her spraying senseless chatter through an alcoholic, smoking ex coke head mouth of mine? huh? But, I then realized there is nothing I can say or do for any one but myself, let alone judge, judgement is not mine, not even on myself!. What gives me the right to hurt myself and bitch about it. Nobody fucking cares. Learn through my actions not my senseless chatter. Fucking talk about it buddy, but 9 times outta 10 all it is is talk. I needed to make that difference through my actions; through more than just words. Not vocabularic nonsense.

You know why no one ever listens? Because no one ever does anything they say they are going to do. People listen to actions. When other people are talking about what some one else did. Cause honey, if your doing something and doing it right, you probably have no time to talk about it. Follow me? Watch what I do and I bet you might be able to do better. What is it that you mean Gabby? Just watch and learn.. How's that for a cliche. Actions will always speak louder that words. Hey actions save peoples life. It's that senseless chatter that comes in tune with your attention that distracts you from that train about to hit you while looking around like a dumb ass, but in my religion it was the Substances that have been the trains and goddamn it i am tired of getting run over by my own Accord.