*~Dead Carousel~*

I'm back. I'll be posting more.

~Cayte

probly wont be on here anymore. <3 dA too much........................


check it out.... -----------> xxaddictivekissesxx.deviantart.com

Stressed out of my mind. Getting sicker. Really don't have a chance to corner either of my parents into bringing me to the doctor, and I also don't want to deal with them fighting about it. Because they will. I've still got a nasty cough (coughing up yellow and green stuff) and I'm not covered in poison ivy. EEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT'S OOZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*gag* .................

My little sister is staying at the campground with my aunt, so I get her chores added onto mine.

Just talked to my mom today I have to

1 Clean my room
2 Replant the basil
3 Clean the kitchen
4 Clean the living room
5 Empty the cat litter
6 Laundry (mine and hers)
7 Start dinner (making me touch chicken carcasses)
8 Work on my paper

and a bunch of other shit...........i won't go there now...



i g2g...bbl

too long. it took me way too long. he doesn't love me. he doesn't want to be with me. 






i don't even think he wants to talk to me.......
























maybe theres a chance the one from class likes me.........................but i doubt it

To swim, or not to swim: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to muddle
through slumber and laziness of Sunday morn'
Or to take plunge into a sea of chlorine,
And by exercise feel better? To dive: to sleep
No more; and by a sleep to say we miss
the low-impact cardiovascular health
that swimming grants us, 'tis a weekly workout
Devoutly to be wish'd. To dive, to float;
To float: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that arched-back float what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this landlocked soil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of sedentary life...
Daniela Cohen
I went swimming with Josh @ Red Cedar Lake tonight...

Minnows and their moms
hurry in           no running
no floaties         they bob
in the shallow end     feet
lighter than the air    outside
humid hot     hold your nose
dunk     then    sleek heads
break water       gasp in air
guppies swam earlier
tread water     flutter kick
breathe       breathe
pollywogs slipped home
to naps by now     lily pad
blankets pulled        over
still damp hair    barely green
this one dogpaddles slowly
dreaming next year
she will be        a bluegill
a dolphin        flying fish
her mother poolside with
towels       her unread book
watching     wings unfurled.
Lisa Hammond Rashley

Over an invisible
rocky chasm
I swim
with you
we slide slowly
back

to shore

together

my arms around

your neck

yours on my

waist

with water

sliding down

our skin

into your eyes

I gaze

into mine you

stare

slowly

slowly

we

k

i

s

s

 

Caitlin Dean (ME!)

 

You make me want to decorate the walls with arterial spray red






die Zeit mit dir hat mir Nichts bedeutet
My time with you meant nothing                







 

Ode ans Ertrinken

ist er's oder ist er's nicht,
der kalte Monsun,
der die Form meines
dunklen Herrn bringt,
von seiner Grausamkeit,
seinem Abschied spricht?
             — Nammalvar

1.
Dies ist eine Ode,
die in spätester Nachtstunde
gesungen werden sollte,

wenn sich die Regenwolken
über schindelgedeckten Dächern
zusammengezogen haben

und blauhäutige Götter
mit Zauberflöten
die Jungfrauen zum Tanz verführen.

Denn es gibt keine Liebe
ohne Musik,
keinen Regen

ohne Pfauen
auf den
Ästen

von Sandelholzbäumen,
mit den Federn
von Engeln

und den Stimmen von Dieben,
heiser nach der Rückkehr
ihrer Geliebten schreiend.

2.
Kündet der Regen
die Rückkehr des Geliebten an,
bin ich verloren

in der Wüste,
brenne
wie der Papiha-Vogel*,

der durch Süßholz
und Teakstämme hindurch
dein Bild sucht.

Weil von dir
oder dem, was ich
als dich kenne,

jedes Zeichen fehlt.
Nur Wolken, die über einen
bezwungenen Himmel treiben

wie Ranken
schlagender Arme
und Münder,

die sich, von der Nacht berauscht,
an den Ufern
meiner gefallenen Tränen laben.

3.
Die Sehnsucht hat so viele
Gesichter
wie der Regen:

langsam,
             unaufhörlich,
                                sanft,
böig,
        melancholisch,
                             warm.

Es ist der uralte Gedanke
des Ertrinkens im anderen
zur Selbstfindung,

der Anpassung
des Wassers in Form
und Tiefe an etwas anderes.

Was aber, wenn das Summen der Bienen
verstummt ist,
wenn die Girlanden

des pochenden Jasmins
zum Trocknen ausgelegt wurden?
Wie lange soll ich warten

unter dem Sonnensegel der Begierde,
bis der nächste Monsun unseren
Durst mit Freude stillt?

4.
Denn es ist das Begehren,
das uns umherwirbelt,
verlangt, dass Liebe

wieder und wieder
gesungen wird,
als ob sie neu wäre,

wie die Stille
vor dem Eintreffen
des ersten Monsuns,

wenn das Hymen der Erde
durchbrochen wird
und der schamlose Geruch

der Feuchtigkeit
die Luft erfüllt,
wenn alles ganz

unanständig grün wird,
mit schweren Blüten behangen ist,
von Schmutz befreit.

Muss es Überraschung geben,
wenn wir gedonnert
und gegrollt

und unseren Durst gelöscht haben,
wenn die Stille zurückkehrt,
auf Neue?

Da es in Wahrheit
ein Warten ist,
das niemals endet,

wie die Pause
zwischen den Zyklen
der Welt,

zwischen Trennung
und Vereinigung,
Verlangen und Verlassenwerden,

nur dass uns irgendwo
vor dem Abflauen
etwas verbleibt,

etwas Wesentliches,
die Musik der Ungewissheit,
der Nachgeschmack des Regens.

 

Ode to Drowning

is it or is it not
the cold monsoon
bearing the shape
of my dark lord,
speaking of his cruelty
        his going away?
             — Nammalvar

1.
This is an ode
to be sung
in the latest hour of night

when the rain clouds
have gathered
over shingled roofs

and blue-skinned gods
with magical flutes
seduce the virgins to dance

For there is no love
without music
No rain

without peacocks
perched
in branches

of sandalwood trees
with plumes
of angels

and voices of thieves
pleading for their loves
to return

2.
If rain signals
the lover's return
then I am lost

in the desert
burning
like the brain fever bird

looking for images of you
through mesquite
and teak

Because there's no sign
of you
or what I know

to be as you
Only clouds adrift
in a vanquished sky

like vines
of deeply throbbing arms
and mouths

drinking at the shores
of my fallen tears
intoxicated with the night

3.
There are as many ways
of yearning
as there are ways for rain

to fall
slow
               incessant
                                 gentle
squalling
                  melancholy
                                       warm

It's that old idea
of drowning
into another to find the self

the compliance
that water gives in form
and depth to something else

But what if the humming bees
are quiet
and the garlands

of throbbing jasmine
have been laid out to dry
How long to wait

under the awning of desire
for a season to quench us
with delight

4.
It's desire
after all that spins us round
demands that love

be sung of again
and again
as though it were new

like the stillness before
the coming
of the first monsoon

when the hymen of the earth
is torn into
and the brazen smell

of damp
fills the air
and everything turns

immodestly green
heavy with flower
washed of dirt

Must there be surprise
when we've thundered
and rolled

and appeased our thirst
when the silence returns
again

Because in truth
it's a waiting
that never ends

like the pause
between the cycles
of the world

between separation
and union
longing and abandonment

only somewhere
in between the waning
we're left with something

of an essence
the music of uncertainty
the aftertaste of rain

 

I'm finally realizing that washing my hands of Arlo is the smartest thing I can do. He said some pretty shitty things while we were emailing each other back and forth. He told me that he's happy Chance is dead so that he can't see how unfaithful I am being to his memory and how much I've ruined my life. That it is my fault Chance is dead. That hurts so fucking much. As if I don't already have to spend every fucking day thinking that I killed my boyfriend, I have to have other people point it out to me. 

And it is my fault. I mean, we were technically dating when he died. We were "taking a break." I could have gone and seen him so much more, could have called him and emailed him and just done everything in my power to let him know how much I loved him. Because of me, he didn't find any reason to live. If I was treating him the way I was while he was in the hospital, what's there to say that everyone else wouldn't have been meaner? That needle must have looked really friendly. 

My priorities were all fucking wrong. I spent the first few months of Freshman year trying to establish friendships with kids that just didn't give a shit about me, so that I could feel good about myself. I was waiting, waiting for Chance to get out of the hospital in December so that he could transfer to Bacon. He was going to come here, be by far and away the prettiest senior Bacon had ever seen, and we'd be back together. But I spent all of my fucking time trying to hang out with upperclassmen who don't care about me, doing Good Things for Teachers, trying to get noticed by Joining In with School Activities. 

Now I look back and realize that, if I hadn't changed at all for Freshman year, if I still acted the way I did in eighth grade, then Chance would still be alive, because he'd still be the only one important to me..............


I'm realizing now, because of Arlo, the hurt and heartache that comes from love, or anything vaguely resembling love isn't worth it. I'm just going to stop...........forever. 





Remain faithful to only Chance.........




The descision I feel I have to make......











.

 

I spend too much time thinking about him. Probably because I spend all of my time thinking about him. I only had one class with him this year. 46 minutes a day where I'd stare at the back of his head (of course, after I pointedly moved to the seat behind him) and make tiny attempts at talking to him. Many were unsuccessful. He'd ignore me, get distracted, be disinterested. I can't stop thinking about him...I'm going to wander off and eat popsicles now..........................

rave more about him l8r

Earlier, I was cutting Ozark-Bastet's (my kittykat) claws because she was scratching me last night and all morning. So, when I went to clip her really long hind claw, I did, but my thumb was right on the other side. I was using fucking razor sharp kitchen shears because I couldn't find the kittykat nail clippers, and I snipped right into my skin. Ow. It went in at an angle, and the inscision is a hybrid between an upside down U and an upside down V.

It hurts. It couldn't be stitched even though it is deep because of the angle. It is has butterflies on it, you know, those Steri-Strips? I have to have my entire hand wrapped though because if my thumb isn't exactly in the right position, it rips open and starts gushing blood. 

*Gag* Hate the sight of my own blood...........



Post again l8r  

I don't know whether or not Caitlin (ducksxsayxmoo) would approve of me reposting something of hers and adding on because it is so fucking true and it is exaclty how I'm feeling lately, but I'm going to do it anyway. So everything in red was written by Caitlin Caustic, ducksxsayxmoo...

I know you knew I wouldn't tell him, and I know you see how pathetic I am, but just for right now could we pretend that I'm better than that? Can we pretend that I practice what I preach? Can we pretend that I'm as honorable as my heroes and has calculated as my enemies? Can we pretend, just for once, that I wasn't too scared to do the right thing?

Come on, you used to play dress up and make believe as a kid, I know you can do this. Let's pretend I'm not typing this up in a journal, that I'm actually saying it to you, that I can say these things out loud without sobbing. Let's pretend that I don't lose all hope or my nerve or both whenever I'm faced with this kind of decision. Let's forget that this hole I've dug for myself is getting dangerously close to six feet, let's forget how you knew all along even when I didn't.  Let's play make believe and pretend that I'm braver than this, just for tonight.

Shit.................there's just nothing I really can add to that, therefore, I yet again commend ducksxsayxmoo....

No such thing as being gothic. I believe (and have been told by many reliable sources) that the Goths were barbarians in Northern Europe (i.e. Norway). And everybody in the whole entire fucking world is aware that Gothic is a type of architecture that was dominate around the time that Notre Dame was built (probably among the most famous Gothic-style buildings). 

So who are the kids who think that they're 'goth'? They're either channeling some spirit from way the fuck back when, or they're a bunch of little fakes. "Ooh my life is sooooooo bad....!!!! I hate everything!!! Life is just so terrible!!! God, the only thing that is me is a very common clothing line that is supposedly badass!!!" Is anyone but me aware of the fact the ABERCROMBIE AND FITCH AND HOT TOPIC ARE OWNED BY THE SAME COMPANY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Cor, the clothes aren't even what being gothic is about. That's all about lace shirts, fairy shirts, top hats and trench coats. All of the losers think that if they wear the pants and dye their hair obscene colors that offend Mommy and Daddy, then they're goth.


How fucking mentally retarded can you honestly be??








I do have to admit, there are a few (a very select few) people who do actually identify with the 'gothic' way of life. People that have experienced things that have caused them to have a much darker demeanor that most anyone else. But many of these people do not feel the need to dress like it is Halloween every single day. 






I'm not goth so don't call me that. If I were to label myself I'd be a music loving hippy. Sure, I dress a little darkly , and my mother calls me a Goth Fairy Princess, but I'd rather tear my ovaries out and beat myself to death with them than to identify with a bunch of little whiny bitchy rebel fakers................





No thank you sir... I'm not interested today....







.

Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck School. Fuck teachers. Fuck tests. Fuck work. Fuck writing. Fuck music. Fuck drawing. Fuck running. Fuck swimming. Fuck movies. Fuck friends. Fuck family. Fuck parents. Really fuck doctors. Fuck medecine. Fuck reading. Fuck breathing. Fuck being sick. Fuck headaches. Fuck boys. Fuck people who fall in love. Fuck people who fall out of love. Fuck people who care too much. Fuck food. Fuck drinks. Fuck sleeping. Fuck cuddling. Fuck kissing. Fuck holding hands. Fuck slow dancing. Fuck just being able to look at someone and have them know everything you want to say. Fuck stupid little crushes. Fuck boys that are too far out of your league. Fuck thinking about college. Fuck dieting. Fuck walking in the rain. Fuck romantic moments. Fuck boyfriends who hurt your feelings. Fuck boys who flirt meaninglessly when they're all you can think about. Fuck friends who want more out of your relationship than you do. Fuck wanting to just be friends. Fuck people who take advantage of you. Fuck people who lie. Fuck people who sanctimoniously tell the truth. Fuck trends. Fuck preps. Fuck 'goths'. Fuck emo kids. Fuck thespians. Fuck nerds. Fuck the fakers. Fuck the gangsters. Fuck the 'bow down before me I'm great' artists. Fuck the brilliant kids. Fuck the musicians.  Fuck cutters. Fuck the kids who dumb themselves down. Fuck the kids who figured out how to be invisible. Fuck the cheerleaders. Fuck the blonds. Fuck the jocks. Fuck the stoners. Fuck the grunge kids. Fuck the religious. Fuck the atheists. Fuck playing instruments. Fuck doodles that take up the margins of your pages. Fuck taking pictures. Fuck painting. Really really fuck faking a good mood. Fuck pretending to like stuff you don't. Fuck picking classes. Fuck guidance counselors. Fuck psychiatrists. Fuck nurses. Fuck siblings. Fuck having to spend an hour doing your make-up so he'll notice when he never does. Fuck guys who break your heart. Fuck your dreams, it really probably won't ever happen. Fuck your idols. Fuck your philosophies. Fuck bad habits. Fuck your rituals. Fuck the gay kids. Fuck the straight kids. Fuck the bi kids. Fuck the questioning, transgendered and pansexual. Fuck the homophobes.  Fuck the things that always annoy you. Fuck trying to pretty. Fuck people who think they're funny. Fuck anger. Fuck suicide. Fuck cutting. Fuck crying. Fuck laughing. Fuck smiling. Fuck having to hide shit from people. Fuck drugs. Fuck being tired. Fuck being wide awake. You know what? I've got a great fucking thought. Give me a second to cross all that bullshit out, and write something that's pretty all-encompassing. Fuck everything. Fuck. It. All.



I'm pretty fucking sick and tired of feeling like this. Of being sick without my doctors not knowing exactly what is wrong. Of the new theories every .0000000000037 seconds. I'm not kidding. I hate feeling like this so much that I just want to sit down, tear my hair out and cry. This constant headache BULLSHIT is driving me right up the motherfucking wall. It's ruining my life because the fucking doctors can't just run a goddamn full blood panel and make me have an MRI. No... they're just going to ignore the fucking problem until it goes away. I had two seperate hour-long nosebleeds today. A headache that'd probably rate at the top of my fucking richter scale. My throat was incredibly sore and I could barely breathe...or keep my eyes open. Today was the last day of classes and I either slept or was falling asleep during multiple periods. 

But no, somehow I'm sure that I deserve to be miserable. Right now I'm fucking trying so hard not to cry because I'm so stressed. Chores and finals and needing to have my shit for France tomorrow and parents and siblings and knowing summer's going to suck and drama and just fucking everything. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Sorry... I needed that. 

And I hate to sound like a whiny little bitch, but seeing as I've no one to talk to about this shit, I'm going to send it way the fuck out into cyber-space. 



I'm just going to go chill for a little while...................................


Write more eventually....

~*Sex II*~

I'm wrapped up so tight 
in this,
your sweet embrace
that I can't tell where
it is that I end
and you begin
so cliche, yet oh so very true
In my mouth, I can still taste you
the way you've 
always tasted
something I just can't name
and I smell you 
hot and musk
sweat and
blood
and I'm so entangled
in this new emotion 
because you said
'No strings attatched'
and dammit
you've spun a skein
that ties me to you
permanently
I'm your now, 
for the taking,
the holding,
those sweet caresses,
for loving...
if you'll have it
have me 
and I say it, 
my mouth gets ahead 
of my brain and I blurt it out
"I
love
you" 
you turn to me and look
the sweat still on your brow
blink slowly and say
"I
love 
you 
too"
I'm wrapped up so tight 
in this,
your sweet embrace
that I can't tell where
it is that I end
and you begin
so cliche, yet oh so very true
so very very true
but I don't think
I'll try to
sort it out

~*Lie With Me*~

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

lie with me on this

your bed of dreams

hold me close 

so i hear your heartbeat 

louder than my own

lie to me as we are intertwined

make me promises that

you'll not keep

because your offers are

far too optimistic for this world

pretend that all is right here

that we are okay

lie to yourself

pretend you know how i feel

even though it is impossible for even you

your own Adonis

to imagine




~*Sex*~

Sex. In the eyes
of the teenager, the child
who thinks they know it all
Sex is just 
something to do
it no longer means 
anything
anything at all
at least, that's what you think
why you are convinced
you'll have your way with me
any way you'd like
 again and again and again and 
again
you take of me
nothing in return
and what has come of it
my passionate hate
my loathing for you
you can fuck my body, but never me...



Ceay Dean

Why do boys drive you fucking insane?




Ceay's Answer: Incoded into their DNA?

 ~*Pain*~

vague memories
fading shadows
light passes
burning hate
blank nothing
dark gashes
knives cut
blood drips
fists fly
cars collide
ripping fabric
lives end
spirits die
roses wilt
shallow breaths
bitter winds
rocks crumble
stinging burns
frigid words
stubborn mumbles
slitting wrists
big mistakes
rusty nails
bleating goat
pleading beggar
crippled horse
gnawing hunger
everything
fills me with pain



~*Hurt*~

my chest seizes up
my heart skips a beat
carefully
i swallow
the lump in
my throat a
deafening roar
fills my ears
your face looms
burned on my brain
ever present in my
conscience
i close my eyes
blink away tears
do you notice?
do you care?
i offer to you
naught but a
feeble smile that
shows none of my real emotion
my emotion
locked to deep inside
far to deep for even me
to find
.
.
.
.

Step right up, all you children
to the carousel of souls
where light, it will unravel
and the horrors will unfold

come ride upon the demon steed
with deadly chilling eyes
heed the chill of the thick black fog
and the banshee's piercing cry

hear the haunting music
that heralds your demise
feel your life force drain away
for all who ride here die

the shadows draw you closer
with fingers cracked and broken
the cold slices through you
not a single word is spoken

your soul is taken against your will
on a hell-bound horror ride
in a circle of the eternal
on the carousel you'll ride

so step right up, all you children
hearken to its spell
do not ignore the siren song
of the deadly carousel