The Scenes Are Dead

Everything in the history of cool is fucking dead. It's pretty sad if you think about it. The NOW is nothing but a conglomeration of awful distastefulness. There are no current musical, artistic, or political movements worth taking the time to revolutionize. There is no hip. There is no fuck you way of doing things anymore. Everything has been melted down into a nightmarish mashup of gaudy genericism, a melting pot of cocaine party hangover diarrhea. Rock n' Roll has been raped. Punk has become pussified. Hip hop has become whorish... Jazz and folk have been so ignored that THE KIDS don't even know what the fuck it is. It's 2010...the deadline for improvement is well beyond passed. We didn't experience the bounce back that our previous decades enforced to save their dignity. This has been happening since 1995. It all went downhill from there. No wonder Kurt Cobain blew his brains out. People talk about him like he was fucking Jesus, maybe those people were on to something... Maybe he was a prophet. Maybe he saw this influx of luridly cheap awfulness on the horizon...
I will no longer follow fashion. I will no longer follow rock n roll. My church has been so badly desecrated that it will be too painful to return and worship there. It's time for me to be a grown up. I'm not sure if the world went tacky, or if I'm just not cool anymore.

What's Killing Me

How cliche to be writing underneath a street light.

The small amount of analgesics coursing through my blood began to wear off only to come back with a vengeance after a meal leaving my body feeling a familiar warmth. The warmth started to become uncomfortable and initiated the urgency to go outside for cool fresh air and cigarettes. While pacing the lot of my apartment complex I something sparked a chain of rapidly changing thoughts about recent situations. Then my pondering about myself and others made me wonder, and with the wonder came worry. I realized that my latest obsession is with none other than myself. What I'VE done...What I am doing...How people feel about ME...what I wish I could be...etc.
My own hangups are catching up with me. My insecurities may have caused paranoia, discomfort, and conflict...and they all may have been brought on by delusional scenarios in my head. I don't know. I'm too afraid to ask anyone around me whether my irratability is valid or rational. I'm scared that I may be turning into a clusterfuck combination of people I said I never wanted to be like. I don't know the proper way to go about dealing with this. I don't know how to fix any problems I've caused for myself, nor do I know how to heal any damage I may have done.
On top of all of the bullshit in my head and that my head has caused, I have the overwhelming weight of the chaos I'm in and am facing regarding everything else in my life. All of the roles I play are distorted versions of themselves. My roles as mother, sister, friend, lover, and daughter have all been so skewed and poisoned. I'm estranged from most of my friends and family. I'm afraid of the pain and disappointment that only friendships, partnerships, and LOVE can cause. I'm uncertain about my relationships with men due to the fact that I hate everything that men stand and strive for. I'm completely petrified about how everything iseffecting my son and often wonder if he even sees me as his mother.
Nothing is sure...and it's becoming more and more difficult to make even the simplest of decisions a person has to make on a daily basis. At this point it seems easier and less frightening to not do anything at all...but it isn't easy...I have to do something. I have to figure this shit out and fix everything the best I can instead of making myself believe that I'll be dead soon enough and not have to worry about any reprecussions for my actions or lack thereof. I don't know where to start.

Attn fellow fuckup poets and underachieving journalists

PLEASE. Ever since myspace has basically died, I've had to go to facebook and it sucks because it's more difficult to add cool people. It's like, most of the people that are on my facebook friends list are people I've been been loosely acquainted with throughout high school, barhopping, etc... in other words, they're people I would very rarely feel intrigued about anything they have to say or anything that they're into...so please add me if you read my blog so that I can be entertained and fascinated with all of my kindred spirits and fantasy people...besides that, it will be easier for me to find out my fellow blogger people have been writing since my filter on here has been being bombarded by some writers' entries (especially the COPY-and-Paste bloggers...

If you don't have a facebook, just fucking do it. For me??? Writers unite!

http://www.facebook.com/MainliningEyeliner

Useless Information

Did you know that the song "Creep" de Radiohead has a huge following in the Pro-Ana/Mia community...(pro-ana/mia is a campaign mostly via the internet that supports anorexia and bulimia...includes blogs, tips, and photos of emaciated women in the fashion and entertainment industry as "thinspiration"-or, motivation to stay thin.) As it turns out, many people who suffer from anorexia and bulimia usually have REALLY low self-esteem, and usually live by a code to achieve "perfection". This would explain their embracing of the lyrical content within the song. A few websites include the lyrics to this song somewhere within the site, usually with the line "I wanna have control, I wanna perfect body, I wanna perfect soul" either highlighted or quoted.
Also, the song Creep was supposedly covered by the almighty Prince at a concert, where it turned out that someone happened to be recording this rendition. It became an underground internet sensation, as it was supposedly a very interesting performance of the song. Radiohead even praised it. As soon as it was apparent that there was something featuring Prince that he wasn't makin a ton of dough from, Prince got pissy and had it pulled from everything on the interwebs. I never even got to hear it, and I'm kinda pissed at Prince for being an asshat about it.

Security Gaurds

I was just sitting here thinking about crazy dreams I had...that made me think about prison guards, and they made me think of prison. Thinking back on the only people whose faces I saw daily or almost daily while I was locked up made me realize how much of an impact they all made on me. Counselors, inmates, caseworkers, and, yes, securiy gaurds...In a messed up way I think that people that have to deal with the system probably set their outlook on the idea of family based on those figures. One thing most people would forget is that these people that become your family during the times when you're dealing with them are being PAID to be your family. It's such a constant betrayal of trust when you drift away from these people...when they get promoted, when they get moved to another facility, when they GO HOME... It really kind of sucks when the time comes that you finally realize "this person didn't probably didn't want to be nice to me (if they even were), they HAD to be...they didn't want to call me, they HAD TO"...etc...

Every once in a while I look in the state of Illinois D.O.C.'s inmate search for people I used to be locked up with. I'm sure more of them are in there than I can find since a lot of them probably got married. Sometimes I can dig a few up. I've been thinking about writing one of them. Maybe she needs it.

Oh, and if you know someone who works as one of these figures...tell them to be as nice as they can to the people they are being "PAID" to deal with.

Do-Able

I'm finally figuring out part of the reason why I hate attractive people more than ever right now...it's jealousy, but it's on such a weird level that it's going to sound completely nuts once I try to explain it...because it is.
Yeah. I was totally sexually abused as a toddler/young child...and I'm going to make an educated guess that my being abused has plenty to do with the fact that (brace yourself-it's messd up...) since an extremely young age I have strived to be sexually attractive toward others, mainly men. When other little girls were wishing for a frou frou princess dress, I was taking dirty pictures of myself. I remember being sexually attracted to men and boys earlier than primary school age. I wouldn't think about how much I wanted a boy to share his candy with me or how badly I wanted the male substitute teacher to call on me in class, I wanted them to assault me.
Even though I had these fantasies of being insanely hot, I still knew that I wasn't. I did, however, learn that as long as she's not a total dog, a girl can screw just about anyone she wants to. Times have changed, and so have my looks. I used to be able to pass for cute despite my flat booty, wide hips, pale skin, and scars... I once had other qualities that were intriguing about me that could make up for what was ugly. Everything at this point is just ugly on top of ugly. I don't have any way to pass for attractive in any way anymore and IT'S REALLY GETTING TO ME.
What it really comes down to is that I'm extremely upset about the fact that no man will probably ever look at me and think "I wanna fuck her", ever, ever again. I can't stand to think of how stupid I look when I go anywhere...all trying to be cute...it must make me look like a total ass. The thing is, though, I hate to think that I'm just gonna have to start dressing like a dyke. It's the only way I can look halfway decent without just looking like a gross girl that tries too hard. IT doesn't help that I have an odd fashion sense and would feel incredibly uncomfortable in contemporary fashions that are more available for me. I'm always afraid I'll have what I call the "fat girl at a wedding reception" look.
I'm getting old. I don't want to. I'm getting fatter. I don't want to. I'd really almost rather die than be unfuckable.

Ghost Turds..A BUM Deal.

Anyone familiar with the term "ghost turd"? Well, ya know how most people gotta look down at their product after dropping a brick? Okay, well, a ghost turd is whenever that little bastard slinks its way so far into the toilet hole that you can't see it. So, you KNOW there's a big ole lincoln log in there, you've felt it vacate, smell its presence, and hear it splash...but you can't see it. They really piss me of. All of that toil and effort...just so I end up looking down and not get to see what it was all about. Whatta letdown. The past few days I've had a real problem with these. I haven't seen any of my stink pickles in over 72 hours.