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Thursday, June 30, 2011


Yesterday went better than I thought it would. She didn't glare daggers at me like she usually does. And she gave me drugs when my allergies were acting up. Don't know if anything's changed.

I exagerated a little in my last post. You know me.Perpetual drama queen.

And now I'm baby-sitting... Well, am about to be baby-sitting anyway. It's my parent's annivarsary so they're going out to dinner somewhere.
In a perfect world, they'd all just fall dead asleep at 9 automatically, but that ain't gonna happen.
Well... I'm being summoned. If I don't get out of this evening alive, I love you all.
ily
~Belinda

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Wednesday, June 29, 2011


UGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I am not happy. Josh wants me to try to convince his mom that I am not a gonorrhea-dripping whore and I imagine that he will subsequently try to convince me that his mother is not a hypocritical, philistine-zealot, two-faced, vehement, Hell-spawned bitch--which she is.

The plan insofar as he has told me is to bring me over to his house and to have me just be myself.

I did that all along during the time when I still thought I was welcome in that house and all that accomplished was her thinking I was immature jail bait.

I mean... I understand why he's trying to do this. I know it can't be easy for him to hear all the shit she talks about me knowing full well it isn't true and not be able to prove her wrong, but her kind and my kind simply don't mix.

When she was my age, she was probably one of those people who knew and talked about everyone and always wore stilettos and shiny,pink lip gloss and loved her dog more than her boyfriend and I'm the exact opposite.

Ugh. My bank closes in an hour and I gotta get there now and Josh is still hours away.
Looks like I'm walking. :/
ily
~Belinda

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Tuesday, June 28, 2011


Myotaku (Helping Insomniacs Like Me Cope Since Forever)
We are the raw energy shed by every tactful poem.
We are the half-dead heroes reaching for our guns flung forty miles away.
We are the sisters that catch you the split second before you hit the pavement, the mothers who knives to your Demons' throats and send them back to Hell empty-handed.
We are the angels who watch over you somewhere or everywhere between ten at night and ten in the morning because we can never sleep.
We are infinitely talented writers and whiners who drank that last shot of espresso way too close to midnight. And we're out of sleeping pills. Again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Sunday, June 26, 2011


The Bastardess of Oscar Wilde and Vladimir Nabokov
Impetuous imitation of Humbert's Lolita,
Decades later, no progress made,
with daiquiri lips sipped her margarita
And asked me--oh, boring, pure, polished snore-bore me!--
"Is it so wrong to be both art and artist?"

Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't.
Maybe the only reason I felt the sick green and bruise purple beast in my belly bare it's teeth whenever she was near were the heady young paige's strangled melting and smothered moaning gazes making her once again the perilous Juliet and me the barren Nurse;
Maybe she was just too fey, too fair and maybe it wasn't fair how I struggled and staggered for hours to create something somewhere above banal and bare, and with every high-heeled stride she took and false eye-lashed wink she made she was something right out of the best bits of Oscar Wilde and Vladimir Nabokov.

Or maybe. Just. Maybe. I saw the rotting remnants of the child who had existed for but a precious, all-too-short second before The World bound hear, gagged her, cut her, and stuffed her with garbage-gutter glitter all at once until she became the flighty, flirting bird sitting and drinking before me; (For, like every aspiring harlot she had never actually had the chance to grow up before she was stretched out.)

And maybe in my sympathetic fellowship--the purest, least petty part of me--, it sort of broke my heart that be her admirers Cherub-faced or Daemon-hearted, they only ever notice the stars on her face, the bumps on her chest, and the hard plastic points on her feet and never the steady hand it took to paint those stars, the artful eye she must've had to select the gorgeous blouse covering those bumps, and the brilliant mind whose idea it was to draw fairies all over the straps of the plastic points as soon she bought them.

Maybe she had given up too soon on blank pieces of paper and pencils of potential because she more-than-maybe didn't realize art has a horrible habit of eclipsing the artist and when canvas and creative captain merge many misconstrues and misconceptions ensue.

No, maybe it's not so wrong to be both art and artist--but it sure is depressing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
This is what happens when I read the exploits of a fictitious pedophile for too long.

I get the feeling that when I finally get around to becoming an author, I'm going to end up writing those horrible half-novels, half-books of poetry. You know. Those Frankensteinian half-prose, half-poetry monsters?
Because that seems to be all I can write anymore.

Well... write well, anyway.

I don't have the patience to write proper novels with detailed descriptions of the exact shade of the hero's ankle and I have too much ambition to write nothing but obese books of angsty verses about restraining orders and sex and goddesses and stupid boys with Nerf guns.... So yeah. I'll probably write something in between.

Oy. I'm tired. Might go dye my hair red in a minute. I'm not sure. Have to wash it first. I don't want the dye to come out too fast.

Then again, I might just get over myself and finish Lolita. The trouble is, that book manipulates me so well, I'm kinda afraid to read it. It's so sad the part where I'm and so well-written that I'm kind of afraid I'll start crying if I read anymore. Ah well. Josh isn't here to distract me.

Despite my half-assed efforts, I'm afraid this has turned into a summer of distractions. Haven't done a single worth-while thing in... Well, I can't even remember.
Argh. '-__-

ily
~Belinda

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Saturday, June 25, 2011


Going to a party and I have no idea where it is. I do have the address though and Margaret could probably give me directions. :/

Crystal Flute, I will definitely look into Empire of The Senseless. Incestuous relationships, pedophilia, and the like are basically all I read Russian literature for--especially Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. Look it up. Fr srs.

I can't type much because Josh keeps coming over to look down my shirt/read over my shoulder. Is it weird that it doesn't bother me that millions of people could be reading what I post without my permission or knowledge and I'm not bothered by it and yet one person reads it over my shoulder while I type and I'm a nervous bundle of nerves?


ily
~Belinda

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Tuesday, June 21, 2011


I'm having a Russian literature craving.

Actually, I'm just having a good literature craving. Haven't read anything in forever and now my brain is filled with no one's thoughts but my own, and that's not always a good thing. I need to shut myself up.

Watched Georgia Rule today--that movie with Jane Fonda and Lindsey Lohan? Yeah, look it up. It's pretty good.
Reminded me how much I like Lindsey Lohan despite all the mess she's gotten into.

I mean, I don't like Paris Hilton or Nicole Richie or anybody else resembling Lindsey Lohan, but for some reason when it's her, it's different. I don't remember ever being disgusted or disdainful of her when pictures showed up of her stumbling out of clubs drunk at three in the morning or of her flashing her naughty bits getting off a boat. I just felt sorry for her. Maybe because I grew up with her. The Parent Trap was my favorite movie when I was little and her character in Freaky Friday was my idol. I don't know what it is about her, but I can't remember not liking her.
ily
~Belinda

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Sunday, June 19, 2011


Get that razor ready.

My mother wants me to go to the misery mass.

My eyes are watering already.

Le sigh. :(

ily
~Belinda

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Saturday, June 18, 2011


In response to last post: I was PMS-ing. Nobody actually came out and told me I was ugly. Well, not recently, anyway. I've been bullied and teased about as much as any other person.

HERE'S SOME MORE MENSTRUATION MOODINESS.

Promoted myself to lime-light leech,
A radio-edited step up from attention whore
Because I know there's been confusion about this, but my name is not pronounced That Bitch.
They yell at me, but even though I shouldn't have to scream every damn time I want to be heard, I do--so tell them to shut up and listen

I want so bad to say "I don't care" and make the words sincere, but she haunts me like mist over London.
No matter what I say or how the words are said, this basement is a dungeon and no matter how hard and how far I run--and run and run and run--her too long fingernails wrench into my brain and she turns them with a switchblade smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm going crazy.
So cray I can't keep my thoughts linear. This is happening all too often.

More on that later--maybe.

Crystalflute, I semi-agree with you about the sex thing. I think in a perfect world everyone would just stay with one partner forever and be perfectly sexually compatible so that no one would ever feel like they missed out on anything if one of the two didn't get to experiment as much, but you know--IMPOSSIBLE IDEALS *siiigh*

People do need to mind their own fucking business though. I am 18. Josh is 20--we are grown ass adults. If we want to have raging, heaving, spine-quivering, leg-cramping sex until our insides bleed, than it is no business of his parents or mine or his siblings or mine or his friends or mine or ANYFUCKINGBODY ELSES... Except God's. But that's only, because I love Him and this relationship never would've happened without Him and I want Him in this relationship because nothing this perfect ever lasts without Him and about 5,000,000,000,001 other similar reasons.

ANYWAY.
Went on a mini-cruise today because my daddy had this thing for work. Had three virgin strawberry daiquiri's and a less-than-virgin pina colada. And 2 plates full of yummy foods I can't pronounce or spell. And a piece of cheese cake. :D I'm fat. JAM ON. (Except not really because my metabolism hasn't gone and killed itself yet so I can basically eat anything and still be small-ish. :P)

But while I was out doing that, Josh spent the day with his friend Kait, who does not like me because when I met her, she was in the front seat of his car and I asked her to move to the back because, damn it, I'M the girlfriend and my rightful place is the front passenger seat and that really jammed a dislike stick up her ass for me. The thing is, Kait is also Josh's ex-girlfriend and Josh thinks she still likes him and she's really pretty and they're still really close AND IT MAKES ME SORT OF KIND OF SLIGHTLY NERVOUS THAT THEY SPENT AN ENTIRE DAY ALONE TOGETHER.

*deepfuckinbreath*

NOW. I don't think Josh is the type of person to cheat--as far as I know he's never cheated on anyone--and he's every bit as crazy about me as I am about him, so I don't think he'd actually do anything, but ugh. I'm just not comfortable with this.

I need to go talk to him or do deep breathing exercises or something. All this freaking out can't be good for my health--or complexion, more importantly.
ily
~Belinda

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Thursday, June 16, 2011


I'm tired of being The Ugly One in the eyes of the world... in the eyes of everyone I can hear--hear in the traditional sense anyway.

I know those people don't matter, but... it hurts. It hurts so much today
ily
~Belinda

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Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Is it normal to feel slightly suicidal every time your boyfriend leaves?

Yeah, probably not.

But normals never been my style. I mean, it has, but normal for me is not the same for everyone else...

Like, it's normal for me to be completely psycho on medication that's supposed to preserve my sanity--quietly, discreetly psycho, but still psycho nonetheless.
It's normal for me to take pride in being different.
It's.... Fuck, I'm just like everybody else, aren't I?

Josh thinks I'm in danger of being possessed by demons because he's discovered I have daily, if not weekly emotional melt downs. I keep trying to explain to him that, no, it has almost nothing to do with demons, I'm just on a fast track to becoming an emotional wreck because his parents are irrevocably, hopelessly in hate with me (well, actually, I could care less about that one, I just like saying it because it makes me not feel so bad about despising them right back), he doesn't get me as well as I'd like him to, I constantly feel like a whore just because I like sexual acts and society is a bitch who condemns every unwed chick who does, and, worst of all, MY PANTS ARE TOO TIGHT!!!!!!!!

So in other words, I'm just a total pussy. :P But the demon thing sounds so much more bad ass, doesn't it?
FUCK IT. I'M POSSESSED BY DEMONS.

Or I was. Oddly enough, as soon as I typed ^those words, I started to feel a lot better and the bastards were like OHSHIT. SHE'S ONTO US!*poof, back to the netherworld*

Ahhhhh, relief.
See, this is the difference between Josh and I.
He needs go around the house shouting IN THE NAME OF JESUS, BEGONE!!!!!!!! to banish his hell-spawned, horned stalkers, and I just need to fervently beg God to make it stop, cry, write an emo poem, post on myotaku, read said post aloud whilest typing it like the loon I am, and maybe throw in some cookies for good measure.

Maybe next time I'll try the Dragon Ball Z approach: assume the energy ball-summoning position and scream out KAME, KAME, HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! in my best super saiyan voice.

Yup. Sounds like a plan.
ily
~Belinda

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