Keep it Casual

| Thursday, July 23, 2009

Yea, I played with knifes when I was younger. So? What did you do that so special? Join the peace core? You suck.

5...4...3...2...Too Late

Today was going to be a normal one,
or so I thought...
I went into the kitchen and put my dirty dishes in the sink
I opened the fridge door
Took out a number of things, too many to mention
I took out a knife that was in the holder on the counter, the longest one to cut
The sharpest..
Cutting piece by piece my delicious treat for later on
For later on, will I enjoy it then?
Music playing randomly from the TV
And I had no time to look but only to listen
For a split second my trans of thought left me
Where could it have gone?
"Shhhhheeecccaaaaa" was what I yelled
It was better than cursing
"Don't use those any more! Why weren't you careful???"
I was careful, it can happen to anyone.
It's not like a slit my wrist
Now I know the feeling.

© 2001 DiRtY <====(I did this when I was younger, who knows if it worked)

lol I still have a nasty scar

Unleash hell :-P

When I was 17...

| Tuesday, July 21, 2009

I wasn't really 17. A Long, long ago when all I had was time on my hands I would write anything that I imagined. Even if it didn't make any sense whatsoever. At that this time of the poem I hadn't experienced true love or any other form of sordid emotion. During that period I had read so many stories that conveyed that feeling that I thought I knew. Well, I didn't. Ha!

"So good to see you, I missed you so much"

Surfing the television for something to watch became listless and boring again. Keeping herself busy to shake off the constant unease and excitement of seeing him for the first time after so long. To see his eyes again, to hear his laugh again, to see his smile. It had been so long; almost three years since he had went into the military. It had been something he had wanted to do for so long. She was weary of the whole thing but she didn’t want to stop him. He asked her to come with him but she couldn’t. Who knew that wanting to be a forensics pathologist would be so hard?

Looking at the television became as more pointless than a blind man watching a sunset. She got up and began pacing around the apartment, checking her watch every nano-second. His plane was going to land around 5pm, he was supposed to come earlier, but he had called and said that there was some problem with a passenger on a plane. It wasn’t his, but it was worth delaying the entire terminal. It was now going on 6pm and the excitement she had first felt on the day he called to tell her he was coming home, made her drunk with happiness.

Busying herself even better, she went into the kitchen and pulled out a Bud, screwed off the top with her hand and drank it strait down like it was water. It mid-guzzle the door bell rang.

“What the…” she said to herself.

Even though it wasn’t heavy liquor, it made her forget sometimes. Even the one of the most exciting moments in her life. It rang again. She walked over to the door, unlocked the locks, and at the moment she turned the doorknob she remembered. The light from the hallway added to the half-lapse of memory. It had been so long, anyone else probably wouldn’t have recognized him, but if it weren’t for those eyes of his, there would be no mistake about it. Her breathing became light and the beer bottle that was still in her hand also became that so. No words came out of either of them. There didn’t have to be words said. The bag that was loosely hung over his shoulder and the bag that was in his hand fell to the floor. Her bottle, the same. They braced each other in a tight hug and kissed passionately that made them both want to cry.

See, there are words people say when they say goodbye and also when they say hello. Tears maybe shed, maybe not. But there were no words they could say to each other but a kiss that said,

“So good to see you, I missed to you so much.”

The End

Unleash hell :-P

My Letter to Chuck

| Tuesday, July 14, 2009

It was 2004. I must have read "Lullaby", "Survivor", "Choke", "Fight Club", and "Invisible Monsters" by then. I wasn't obsessed. Imagine if you like, the admiration that Mark David Chapmen had with J. D. Salinger and "Catcher In The Rye".

I'm glad I never mailed it to him.

Dear Mr. Palahniuk,
My name is Christina and I am 19 years old. I came upon one of your books about a year and some months ago and became instantly intrigued. Choke, Fight Club, Survivor (my Favorite one to date) and Invisible Monsters is what I've read so far, I have Lullaby and Diary but haven't had the time due to school and such. But because of you I started reading again, but not writing. I when I was 15 I wrote my "soul" or as I think of it "my introduction of better things to come" (And also became "Dirty" or "Sucia" (the Spanish dirty), it's my author name and still is today. It was inspired by a song and the theme of the story was also the basis. It's not with the letter, besides I've gotten enough "you wrote this when you were 15?" My first 10 good comments were enough, I never want anymore.) and it was the last I could ever write my best. So, I won't try, or plan to, but I will begin writing again. But I have a serious problem, it's not uncommon for writers to write themselves into what they write and that's what I always do. It's....flattering and kind of self centered I've felt with my own work. Why write about myself when I am capable of so many other things?

I wrote a letter some time ago, when I had found out about and then later found out that you don't accept anymore letters, so I forgotten about it and gave up trying. I always dreamed of this, but mostly I would wonder how it felt to receive fan letters, sending them are nerve racking, it almost feels like you're reading it right in front of them and then you feel like you're rambling not making the reader feel indifferent at all. I apologize, I really do. I enjoy and am influenced by your work. You have a very special talent of describing the world as some see it. One day I'll do the same, but maybe just a bit differently.

I'm compelled to mention stresses in my life that has prevented me from writing clearly. I don't like to be punished and assume you don't either so I'll leave out the sob story go straight to the ending, I'm glad I got this opportunity to stumble on to find out I could actually write to you. It is a privilege to know that someone better than myself knows me, or at least my essence for at least a moment. "To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world." One day.


Unleash Hell :-P

I can't even the beginning

| Friday, July 10, 2009

I've been in a very hard spot in my life. Currently I have become very maternal. I can't help but think of the many reasons why I want so badly to have a child. In many ways I think I can't, I guess it's natural.

I've decided to try to rekindle my old habit from 8 years ago. Enjoy what I post, they were the deepest thing to expressing myself to millions of people who never bothered to read them. This is what I can call, my first child.

I'll begin with a poem written...well I don't know when I wrote it. It was definitely written when I was in college. At the time I was 100% dedicated to school. Getting good grades, making my parents proud, and being the most depressed I have ever been in my life (so far). It has no title.

Hit the alarm.
Wake up.
Go to school.
Come home.
I'll help you read between the lines.

Constant sounds, vibrating in my hand
To deaf to hear the real thing,
Too poor to want the real thing.
Feed the bitches and then shower.
Off to school, no one is as focused as I am.
I'm forgetting.
My 7AM is your 9PM.
I need to hear your voice.
I'm forgetting how it sounds again.

I'm welcomed with a turned back when I come to school.
Such a place, and I still love coming to it everyday.
The rashes on my sides start to itch.
Belt marks, the itch reminds me how fat I've become.
The talking, Jesus the teasing.
It's never ending.
The classes are just that, my dream crusher.
Midterms are my weakness.
"She doesn't get enough....She doesn't get enough money....
She died from an overdose"
I picked the wrong time to quit killing myself.

I look like a bum on the train, falling asleep like that.
Going deaf, not hearing the music I have blasting
Let alone my stop
It's what I like the most of coming home.
It might be somewhere else, so much better.
Sometimes I imagine being in so much pain that
No one can hear my cries
Even to the point where my pain is physically visible
No one can see a thing
I think I'm doing good so far, no one has come forward.

So, when I close my eyes tonight
I'll forget today, yesterday and the day before that
I won't even remember this, but I know you will.

Unleash Hell :-P

I haven't!


Been touching base. Clearly, I'm not rich yet.

Unleash hell :-P