Sometimes I don't know what I'm getting myself into. Just when I start to settle in and feel comfortable, I'm yanked out and thrown to the wolves.
Why couldn't I just have picked a more "realistic" setting and career. There are millions of people just waiting to be discovered and the chances of this lone actress is far and few between.
I thought, for just a minute, even a nano-second that I could change my life for the better and become a better person. Shows what I know...I'm an unmotivated girl living in a fast car, bumper boat town. If I don't have my gaurd up or even a fucking tube of lipstick in my purse, they'll throw me in the dungeon and have my female parts castrayted for the world to see.
I'm not ready to sacrifice my lifestyle. I'm not ready to give up on love. I think the things I love the most are the things that hold me back. There is no best of both worlds, it's one or the other. Sink or swim, dive or jump...but beware of the sharks who crave for fresh meat.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Over Hung
Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. The side that faces a cracked disco mirror, mutating my split reflection like a Jekyll and Hyde.
In the mirror I saw a girl I hardly recognized. The wholesome brunette that used to smile back is now a bleached out has been with pink lipstick smeared around the lines of my lips indicating anther's mouth was there. Who knows who he was, or if it was even a man for that case. I've been known to kiss anything these days that show me some sort of attention or affection.
Under my blankets is the wrinkled 80's prom party dress that is ripped in the back and there are runs in my fishnets achieving that overall punk rock girl look, but it was not meant to be intentional. And while other girls might strive to achieve this look, mine was forced upon me.
I can not remember the details of last night, only memories. The drinking, the partying. Pill popping, nauseating, vomit inducing after glow while swapping spit with a pimply faced teen age boy delivering pizza's to our den of iniquity.
On my hand is a phone number written in sharpie, but the last two numbers are too smudged and I can't figure out if they end in zero seven, or eight and two.
Littering my floor are booze bottles, overthrown blankets that took part in a passion throw down no less and peanut shells from our last call post drinking chow.
When will I ever learn to throw it all in and reform to the poster girl my parents once wanted me to be?
No, that girl is dead. The only one that remains is the one in the cracked mirror. The girl with champagne coursing through her veins, with powder dried in her nose. The girl whose heart is bleeding but can no longer feel.
I am that girl...
In the mirror I saw a girl I hardly recognized. The wholesome brunette that used to smile back is now a bleached out has been with pink lipstick smeared around the lines of my lips indicating anther's mouth was there. Who knows who he was, or if it was even a man for that case. I've been known to kiss anything these days that show me some sort of attention or affection.
Under my blankets is the wrinkled 80's prom party dress that is ripped in the back and there are runs in my fishnets achieving that overall punk rock girl look, but it was not meant to be intentional. And while other girls might strive to achieve this look, mine was forced upon me.
I can not remember the details of last night, only memories. The drinking, the partying. Pill popping, nauseating, vomit inducing after glow while swapping spit with a pimply faced teen age boy delivering pizza's to our den of iniquity.
On my hand is a phone number written in sharpie, but the last two numbers are too smudged and I can't figure out if they end in zero seven, or eight and two.
Littering my floor are booze bottles, overthrown blankets that took part in a passion throw down no less and peanut shells from our last call post drinking chow.
When will I ever learn to throw it all in and reform to the poster girl my parents once wanted me to be?
No, that girl is dead. The only one that remains is the one in the cracked mirror. The girl with champagne coursing through her veins, with powder dried in her nose. The girl whose heart is bleeding but can no longer feel.
I am that girl...
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Van Winkled
Last night I fell asleep to a bottle of tequila, a handful of mixed party drugs, and one slowly exhaled bong hit.
This morning I awoke to whole new universe...
I never used to believe in the story of Rip Van Winkle, until my elongated slumber transformed me to this cavernous new future. I was surprised to see the rotting house that I had been passed out in last night was still standing, but the damn thing was using its last ounce of life support until I awoke and it all collapsed on top of me. Luckily the rotted wood and moldy walls erupted into powder when they hit me and I wormed my way out of this foreign home stay.
Where there was once paved roads is now dust covered gravel, where there was once vibrant trees lies oily rotted roots.
What happened to this beautiful place that I once despised completely? If I would have known the outcome of this damned civilization I would have played a part in changing history, but instead I sway back and forth, weak from my rest and hung over from my partying.
Where are all my friends? How did I survive? All questions that should be answered but then I think back to the collection of stories I used to read. 1984, War of the Worlds, I Am Legend....nothing ever really makes sense in those books, except the fact that there was once a "normal" civilization that rested easily. Now lies a futuristic Apocalypse where I am doomed to no less wander this strange world and come across strange, horrific things.
Will the tall dark things that go bump in the night come to collect? Or will I be the lone survivor that tends to cater more to a female protagonist than a male? If I'm lucky, I will not come across a single person in this ghost town and live out the rest of my life bored, comfortable, and alone.
No such luck. I hear a woman's voice. She is begging for help. I can't quite see what's the matter with her, but I have two choices cross my mind. Do I help an innocent face, or do I flee the scene with some sort of head start in surviving this new strange land.
I better make a run for it...besides, you can never be too careful in a foreign land and women bring nothing but baggage and double crossing trouble.
This morning I awoke to whole new universe...
I never used to believe in the story of Rip Van Winkle, until my elongated slumber transformed me to this cavernous new future. I was surprised to see the rotting house that I had been passed out in last night was still standing, but the damn thing was using its last ounce of life support until I awoke and it all collapsed on top of me. Luckily the rotted wood and moldy walls erupted into powder when they hit me and I wormed my way out of this foreign home stay.
Where there was once paved roads is now dust covered gravel, where there was once vibrant trees lies oily rotted roots.
What happened to this beautiful place that I once despised completely? If I would have known the outcome of this damned civilization I would have played a part in changing history, but instead I sway back and forth, weak from my rest and hung over from my partying.
Where are all my friends? How did I survive? All questions that should be answered but then I think back to the collection of stories I used to read. 1984, War of the Worlds, I Am Legend....nothing ever really makes sense in those books, except the fact that there was once a "normal" civilization that rested easily. Now lies a futuristic Apocalypse where I am doomed to no less wander this strange world and come across strange, horrific things.
Will the tall dark things that go bump in the night come to collect? Or will I be the lone survivor that tends to cater more to a female protagonist than a male? If I'm lucky, I will not come across a single person in this ghost town and live out the rest of my life bored, comfortable, and alone.
No such luck. I hear a woman's voice. She is begging for help. I can't quite see what's the matter with her, but I have two choices cross my mind. Do I help an innocent face, or do I flee the scene with some sort of head start in surviving this new strange land.
I better make a run for it...besides, you can never be too careful in a foreign land and women bring nothing but baggage and double crossing trouble.
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