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22:02 - April 25, 2002 And yesterday I talked about sucking gigabytes, which had to do with mechanical vampires, but comes out sounding much more wrong than it intended to come out, but at times a guttermind is unbidden; sorry. There is something the matter with my heart. It folded up into a little foldy not unlike those little foldies you stick your fingers in and play fortunes with, and it's wound up tight, with a marble in the centre. Centreeeee, as the man at the spa said, making fun of English spelling. I gave him a dirty look over the nailpolish. British is beautiful, and he was not, in his sweaty shorts right after his workout. That's what I mean. Religious people have been seeking me out lately to try and convert me, and I don't know why; do I have a magnet stuck to my head saying 'I NEED GOD'S GUIDANCE'? anyway, the point is, I've always been more than happy to discuss religion with religious people, as it's fun, and enlightening. However, today it gave me a headache. Tynon wants to bring me a Bible, he thinks he can show me the 'truth'. That's fine; that's great, I'll look at your 'truth' for as long as you want, I'll listen to your story about Noah's Ark being found on a mountaintop, I'll be a receptor, I'll even think about it for awhile and then, inevitably, go back to religious apathy, which is where I belong. Usually I can do that with a smile. I've been consciously seeking out people I can connect with, and out of nowhere come all these Bible thumpers. Maybe my mind is mistaking a deep conversation for a connection. Fucking stupid subconscious. Never doing what I expect or what I ask. And the least you could do is get rid of those unbidden gun-at-the-window images; I need to be able to sleep without putting my red pillowy thing in front of the glass. This had nothing to do with my heart, but at this time of night, it normally would. And it doesn't. It's curled up tight. I think I'm tired of 'reaching out', only to be 'slapped away' (good god i sound like a depression textbook) but, it's so true. I want to be swept away, without my feet dragging on the ground because I'm so tall and my legs so gangly; in other words, thinking about it too much. Although I've stopped thinking about it, really. There isn't any point. (I keep thinking about those men that try and save their semen inside for weeks... can you do the same with love? Passion?) I don't think it counts as much to try if you don't do it by your own choice; just for lack of boys. or girls. or love. or anything. That's just fate's idea of a joke. Today a razor fell off a shelf at the store and sliced my bottom lip right down the middle. ----
I live in a cemetery -Silverchair, 'Cemetery'
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