Death In A Pink Boa

Do you remember when we used to dance
Innocent victems of circumstance
I was young and you were just a little older
And as time passed so we grew bolder

The pain is gone and I can't feel anymore
It doesn't matter now you're walking out the door
Can't I sing you one more song
One last dance before I'm gone
Won't you let me be someone
Other than what I've become
Death in a pink boa

I think the people at my school are finally getting used to me. The only ones who run away from me in the halls are the ones I don't want to talk to anyway. My gayness has become just another quirk of The Weirdest Kid On Campus. I wonder if anyone will challenge me for the title?

I feel like I exist to do my homework. I have better things to do than figure out what x times 47 plus y equals. Math is so very, very pointless. To those who say it is a life skill I will need, I say: Calculator.

I do not believe in gender in the conventional sense. I believe in sex, as in the biological things that determine what's between your legs, but gender is different. Yes, males and females think differently, but that doesn't mean they need to be confined to mental boxes. For example, men should not be expected to be macho just because they have penises. Likewise, women should not be expected to be delicate just because they do not have penises. Obviously, my examples are ridiculous and over-simplified stereotypes, but they do apply in much of Western society's subconcious.

Note: This is the revised version.

Klavier

She sat at the piano, silently, immobile. Her long fingers, turned white by isolation and cold rested uncertainly on the dusty keys. She was young, but seemed as if she had felt pain beyond her tender years. Her clear eyes were thrown starkly into shadow by the single guttering candle as she stared down at her hands. Slowly, she began to play. Her song was a simple one, the notes flowing like a tear, slowly, but always there, always flowing. The song caressed the air with its gentle melancholy as the room grew darker. Her body curled in upon itself, her long black hair casting its shadow across her face, lined by pain more then time. As the song died away, the tears, which had started gently, flowed in a silent torrent down her face, falling softly on the keys of the shadowed piano.

This is my new favourite song. For today, at least. It changes often.

SOME KIND OF STRANGER
words by andrew eldritch music by gary marx

And yes I believe in what we had
But words got in the way
And only yesterday
As I was leaving
Lord knows I've tried to say but I've
Heard a million conveprsations
Going where they've been before
Seen the way that careful lingers
Undecided at the door

I have realized that I kind of regret coming out to my mom. She's supportive, but I feel like just under the surface there is a lurking discomfort. I don't know. I seem to feel that way often now. I know little, and and would be perfectly happy to curl up in the corner with some rootbeer and books for the rest of my life.

I feel like I have a large weight that hangs in my ribcage, pulling on my sternum and collarbone and curling me up into a ball of manic depressiveness. Particularly at school, where sometimes I feel like dying, and others I feel like singing, within about 10 minutes. Someday we will start to fly and never look back. But today I have to cry when I can't go back.

Today I bought a copy of The Scarlet Letter. I haven't even finished the introduction, and I'm so hooked. Nobody writes like that anymore. Nobody turns a mundane description into beauty like Hawthorne or Poe. I must finish it! I sense I will stay up too late reading again.

I did my homework tonight while singing along to "Life Support" from Rent. That song is short, but bittersweet and beautiful anyway. I actually did my homework, every bit!!!! I finished my math, and did my German, which i love, but the homework isn't that great. I'm a good student except for my fairly frequent ignoring of my homework. I usually end up reading or writing instead, which is good for my mind, but not my grade. I like Rent. the music is not spectacular, but sort of quietly wonderful. Kind of like a bottle of Virgil's root beer. It's good. undoubtably, buty it's the subtle flavours that make it wonderful.

I FUCKING HATE THE FUCKING PRINTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just started working for a nonprofit dark art magazine/newsletter called The Minstrel. It is awesome. The first issue is coming soon. The first issue was supposed to print tonight, but the fucking printer is old and evil, hence, no magazine. Grrrr.

This is a song from a screen play I'm writing.

You remember so well
The time when you lost me
Thought I was gone forever
Thought I was gone and never
Coming back

You remember so well
The time when fate tossed me
Through the mires of of the Styx
Like in bad romance flicks
Cut your wrists and fade to black

Calling out to me
Eurydice. Eurydice
And who
Echoed your call back to you?

I wrote this because I miss the girl I love horribly, and am going to go nuts (oops, I mean more nuts) if I don't write about it.

Echo

Echos of your voice in my ear
Echoes of your hair on my face
Echoes of you
Echoes of you
Echoes of your arms around me
Holding me
Telling me you love me
But you're not here
Not now
You're not that far away
From one perspective
But from mine
You might as well be on the moon

This jusst happened to me. I was sitting at my desk thinking "I don't understand girls at all. I am one, and I don't get it." When I looked back at the computer screen, my Dashboard was displaying an Oscar Wilde quote; "Women are meant to be loved, not understood". Coincidence? Or just odd?

Young Lust

Empty
We're empty
I don't love you
But I want you
I want you pressed against me
I want your body
I don't care about your soul
For all I know you don't have one

You want me
You don't care if I love you
Or not
But you want me
And I want you

We are empty
Empty gods in a pantheon of Hell
Bound by the burning flames
Of our young lust

Empty
You're empty
I can't love you

This is a sequence of three poem between The Dark Lady and her lover. The Dark Lady is my muse, and I borrowed her from Willy Shakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Dark Lady Sequence

The Dark Lady

Drape your velvet skirts around me
Silent lady of the night
Envelope me in sultry blackness
Help me blot out all the light
Draw your hands across my face
And take my heart, my dear, I'll give it

~ I hate things I can't control, like the fact that I can't play guitar now because it's too late. Grrrrrrr.

~ I like masks. Maybe I just like hiding from the world. I am an actor, and love pretending to be things I'm not, so maybe the mask thing is related. I'm even wearing one now, sitting in the dark in the evening. *assumes deep theatrical voice* Ha, I am the Inkblot, you don't know me, I am invisible. Ok, I'm scaring myself.