it feels good to be

Alive! And healthy, finally, after four long, long weeks of disease and weakness and self-pity. Free at last to do whatever it is I do, that is, nothing important.

I feel like fasting forever. I feel like running around and going to school and reading for hours. It's been so long since I've felt like doing anything at all. Just for the sake of doing it.

On days like these I'm just invincible. Nothing can stop me unless I let it. Even when every plane of my existence is crumbling at the edges, I can prance around like it isn't happening because no one really knows and I don't really care.

I want to go some place new. I'm suffocating again. There are too many people in my life, but it's mine, so get out, get out, GET OUT! Away with you all. Let me read and breathe and be. Let me laugh because everything you think you know is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Amaris Starshine, your name says it all. You were meant to shine, and you do. But if you hide in a forest forever, you will grow dim and ordinary. And what shame it would be for all those with whom you could have crossed paths... We love who you are. With all our heart.

Maybe we shouldn't be disappearing. Maybe we should be growing brighter, our minds exalted at the expense of our shrinking bodies! For everyone else to see and love and fear.

"Play the man, Master Ridley; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out."

to wonder

When I can't fall asleep, I like to make plans for the future. Simple, superficial plans, or enormous, life-changing plans, or fantastic, impossible plans.

That's the one amazing thing about human beings that nothing and no one can change: we have so much potential. As a group and as individuals. Sometimes I feel like I could change the world. Or take it on.

Isn't it amazing that I can do anything I want? Anything!

But why I am still here and now and this? I am not who I want to be: I am who I do not want to be. Am I free? Am I capable? Or just some dillusional dreamer who will never amount to anything

Failure is not acceptable in my worlds. In any of them.

And now I'm nowhere where I used to be everywhere. I cannot write. I CAN'T WRITE

(can you sense the frustration?)

just dropping in

I'm going to have to come back to life someday. But right now I'm too busy shoving my head down the toilet... unwillingly.

It's hard to see the positive side of contracting the flu ten times a year. Even my twisted little mind does not think the weight loss is worth it (at least while I'm still sick).

I think my body is saying that I'm not ready to return to the land of the living. If you can call all of this living.

I'm sorry. I even bore myself these days. Pity.

having nightmares when i'm awake

A girl was murdered at my school this week. I can't sleep or stop crying. Everytime I try to put into words the screeching in my head I get the shakes. I am creatively dead for the time being... but still reading you diligently.

I'll be back when I get a handle on reality.

quotes; because others have better things to say

The virtually unknown Edgar Allan Poe: romantic, mystical, analytical... Pieces of genius.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee- and their will
Sall overshadow thee: be still.

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds
Are lips- and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words-
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrin'd
Then desolately fall,
O! God! on a funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall-
Thy heart- thy heart!- I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy-
Of the trifles that it may.

Mysterious star!
Thou wert my dream
All a long summer night-
Be now my theme!
By this clear stream,
Of thee will I write;
Meantime from afar
Bathe me in light!
Thy world has not the dross of ours,
Yet all the beauty- all the flowers
That list our love, or deck our bowers
In dreamy gardens, where do lie
Dreamy maidens all the day,
While the silver winds of Circassy
On violet couches faint away.
Little- oh! little dwells in thee
Like unto what on earth we see:
Beauty's eye is here the bluest
In the falsest and untruest-
On the sweetest air doth float
The most sad and solemn note-
If with thee be broken hearts,
Joy so peacefully departs,
That its echo still doth dwell,
Like the murmur in the shell.
Thou! thy framing is so holy
Sorrow is not melancholy.

Deep in earth my love is lying
And I must weep alone.

Shout-out to Paper Thin: we can't comment!

i just don't want to eat ever again

I weigh a thousand pounds and I'm as wide as a house. The walls look like they're breathing. I can't even take baby steps anymore, I'm just leaping all over and I don't know where my head's at.

But that's fine because nobody knows because nobody cares because it doesn't exist because I don't exist.