Before I sputter out!

A song we (unfortunately) don't hear enough

Life is hard
and so am I

you better give me something
so I dont die

Life is white
and I am black

Jesus and his lawyer
are coming back

Oh my darling
will you be here

Guess who's living here
with the great undead

this paint by number's life
is fucking with my head

once again

Life is good

and I feel great

'cause mother says

I was a great mistake

you better give me something
to fill the hole

:: Novocaine for the soul ::

Yes, you are.

You're such a beautiful freak
I wish there were more just like you
You're not like all of the others

And that is why i love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak
That is why i love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak

Some people think you have a problem
But that problem lies only with them
Just 'cause you are not like the others

But that is why i love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak
Yeah that is why i love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak

Too good for this world
But i hope you will stay
And i'll be here
to see that you don't fade away

You're such a beautiful freak

And know that i love you
Beautiful freak

(You know that i love you)

Back at you, baby.

This is to a girl who got into my head with all the pretty things she did - HEY YOU KNOW YOU KEEP ME UP IN BED. This is to a girl who got into my head with all the fucked up things I did - HEY MAYBE, BABY, YOU COULD KEEP ME UP IN BED, MY KONSTANTINE. Spin around me like a dream we played out on this movie screen and I said,

"Did you know I missed you?"

I miss the "puppy" (that however, is NOT rubbish).

Boredom makes you write rubbish.

I swear I've got a good mind to change my blog title to De(facto)Diar-RHOEA.

Wouldn't you like to know

Here is a song rarely heard (these days) - And my favourite of all "goodtime gay songs" (not that I know of many):

Girls who are boys who like boys to be girls who do boys like they're girls who do girls like they're boys - always should be someone you really love...

And love in the '90s is paranoid.

How the curse of comfort has plagued your artistic life.

Beautiful Freak

A little troubled. Quite complex. But still, ever-worthy of being loved.

That is she, my beautifique.

Sweet Holy Mother of...Sylvia?

It's 6am, and these are the words that are coming out of my radio - Sylvia's mother said "thanks for calling," "but sir, please don't call back again."

Sylvia's mother is either 1) Too polite. 2) Too sarcastic. And decidedly contradicting (not an option).

Then again, I don't suppose it would be altogether fair to judge the woman without having heard the rest of the song, would it?

NOTE: And when you find yourself analyzing words of a song as sorry as this one, and even more so, empathizing with its "characters", then you KNOW it's time for sleep!

_ k i p _ y

My name is _ _ _ _ _ _. I have a love-hate relationship with myself. Most of the time, hate wins over love. I guess I'm the type many would love to hate. But I don't believe it's fair to speak for others (unless of course, you were asked to - in which case I wasn't), so maybe it would be more appropriate to say: I am the type of person I would love to hate.

It's five in the morning. I don't care if I make no sense.

I am unrecognizable to myself.

The night has fallen, I'm lying awake and I can feel myself fading away; saw my reflection in a window - I didn't know my own face.

NOT: free of sin?

In religious context, it is generally known to be/considered a sin to hate yourself - but a sin is just, what it is, it is not necessarily a crime (although, on the contrary, it is common belief that a crime (any crime) is indeed sinful - because all crimes are bad, and bad = sin).

However, some things are both a crime, and sin, like a 2-in-1 package. For example, 'fornication', is one such "package". That's if, of course, your religion does not condone it (mine doesn't, as far as I know - and even though I haven't been a very devout follower, I still have to respect that it does indeed fall under the laws of my religion). It's definitely a crime (that is, under the judicial system/code of law) - I won't argue that. 'Oral sex' is another similar example (now, now, I didn't say anything about being anti fornication & oral sex, I am simply trying to provide you, the reader, with examples, so that you may better understand the point of which I myself am trying to grasp - think better I stop before I leave myself, and you, the reader, with an undeserved headache).

All right. So back to 'hating oneself'. Hating oneself (for the most part) is a sin. ONLY a sin. I guess that means it isn't so bad? Or just not AS bad as fornication/oral sex (consoling myself, am I? Or simply prattling. You be the judge - I'll try to be impervious for your sake).

I'm sure it is common for most people to hate themselves (from time to time) or something about themselves (unless you're a full-blown narcissist) at the very least. But what happens if that feeling occurs too often? Is it unhealthy to feel that way almost on a daily basis? If so, what can be done to counter/curb/minimise it? Is there a name for which to call it? Why, and how does one end up feeling like he/she hates his/herself ever so often? And how can, and do you make it stop? So many questions. Who has the answers?(yet another question) I guess this would be my cue to -sigh-

I hate a lot about myself. Perhaps TOO much.

For one, I hate that stupid paunch I've been carrying around since I can't even remember. Regardless of whether I lose or gain weight, it NEVER goes away.

I hate my hair. Not only is it an unruly, tangled mess, it's extremely dry and brittle and just, horrible. And it doesn't help to keep brushing it because that will only make it more frizzy. It's a lot like actual hay - my hair. Put the two together and you might not be able to differentiate one from the other.

I hate my neither here nor there-sized nose. And the fact that it has a steadily increasing population of black heads. PLUS, it perspires! (I get that from my mother's side of the family, by the way). My grandmother perspires on her nose, and I guess I do too 'cos we share the same birthday (possibly)? I mean, why couldn't I have inherited a more desirable physical attribute that could/would have contributed to physical attractiveness (of which I lack considerably) - like the pointed nose! (alright I better move on before I start to hyperventilate.)

My lips are awful. I hate the ill shade of pink (<--- see that? they're NOTHING like it) that they are. They aren't even properly shaped! And as if they couldn't possibly get more revolting, they've got an icky, grey-ish perimeter. Are you getting the picture?

OK. Enough said about the lips.

I HATE MY EYES. In most cases, you either HAVE double eyelids, or you don't. My eyelids, oddly enough, choose to hide and expose themselves as and when they please.

I absolutely abhor my big, BROAD jaws!!! My dad once asked me "where can you find a right angle?" and I naively replied "uhh at the corner where the bottom of the wall and floor meet?" so came his "amusing" reply: "no lah where else but your face!" (I wonder if he even realizes I got it from HIM) I also get a lot of "are you the chubbier twin?" DESPITE the fact that I weigh at least 3 kilos lighter than her, because of my ugly square jaw.

Why couldn't the 'big, broad' part be transferred to my narrow shoulders (yet another disappointment)???

I hate my far-from-ample bossoms - they make me look perpetually twelve.

I hate that I had an "interrupted growth", resulting in my inadequate body length; my short limbs (some short ppl have long limbs, don't ask me how that's possible - it just doesn't sound correct - I am aware).

I seriously could go on listing more physical attributes about myself that I hate, but that would take forever, and frankly, I'm not prepared to invest THAT much time on this, let alone the entire blog.

I guess the thing that I hate most about myself lies inside me (NO, I'm NOT pregnant, nor have I a "third twin").

It's my soul that I hate (yes that THING that makes up a person, that THING that determines whether you are good, or bad). SO bad, that it hurts my heart (and I don't just mean metaphorically though it may sound like I'm trying to over-dramatize the whole thing - well maybe I am, a tad).

I believe that my soul has turned bad - sort of the way food turns bad, over time. I'm not entirely sure why or how it happened, and I'm kind of dreading having to process/analyze everything even though I'm well aware of the importance in doing so, in order to initialize any form of recovery at all. I guess it just scares me, having to think about EVERYTHING collectively, you know?

I hate hurting her over and over again, when deep in my heart I know, I KNOW. I really don't mean to. I know it sounds like your average lame excuse with the hope of redemption, but it honestly isn't.
See the thing is, she has trouble believing me because according to her, I've "said it all before" - I just keep giving me more reasons to HATE MYSELF. URGH. It's like, a neverending process!

Will somebody teach me how to love myself again?

I really want to believe there is still hope for me.

The way I mistook how an overbite might look - like a smile on the face of a girl, and the way she's hating the world.

Well now, you say you're not getting enough. But I remind you of all that bad, bad, bad stuff. So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just put a bandaid on it? And stop the bleeding now.

Sex before marriage: A MISDEMEANOR.

We are all criminals.

And we will continue to fornicate as we damn well please, please?!

W.C-O.D.

Is today World Coming-out Day?

It apparently was on Oprah. For those of you who have been living the double life and carrying that grave secret all your lives, TODAY is the day to step out from the shadows (and everything will be ok?). "Come into the light" they say, "cos it's World Coming-out Day!"

Will I come out today? Hmm... I think I'll pass.

Random thoughts

I NEVER expected myself to be the sort of person who would be more disappointed because I was unable to afford a BOOK, instead of a tempting piece of clothing or fashion item. Quite frankly, I always imagined I was someone who possessed more vanity and superficiality than substance. This new & sudden "revelation", if you will, has provided me with a different sense of self and pride - of course that is not to say I am ashamed of vanity, because I'm not. Why should I be? At least I can say "I'm vain. And I have substance." Right? OK. OK.

I guess my point is, that above all that bullshit, the reality of it still remains - one in which I will always be nothing but a walking clichéd contradiction.

Please allow me to introduce myself...

My name is Skippy Peanutbutter.

Yes, there is a song written about me of which I am sure many of you are familiar.

(I must urge you to refrain any attempt to sing it with the intent of mockery, as I find it extremely impertinent and disrespectful.)

I exist solely to provide a wholesome goodness (of supreme quality) like no other, in between your sandwiches. And it delights me to know that I am still the undisputed no. 1 choice of content in many a little brown bag, the world over.

For generations now, I have brought extreme(eating)pleasure to innumerous youths, and grownups alike. I will continue doing so as long as I am able to bring complete & utter satisfaction to your lives.

I suppose this would be an opportune time to finally say thank you, after all these years, for your unrelenting love, support, and generosity. I hope to be able to touch the lives of many more, just as you have mine.

Your friend forever,
Skippy xx

But more than anything...

I want to take you far from the cynics in this town and kiss you on the mouth - we'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of this scene - start a brand new colony where everything will change - we'll give ourselves new names - identities erased.

-THE POSTAL SERVICE-