Something which is a little bit creepy:

A Goth couple with matching purple hair.

Cyberfuck.

Humans are uniquely various creatures. They are also ruled by various complex social value systems and self-restraints.

However, put them on the internet, and everything falls down. Behind their screen-shields, people lose their shame. And hey, who wants shame anyway? It's interesting to see how people interact without the fear of condemnation. Even if they do get shunned by some sections of the online community, there is always somewhere else for them to go, more people for them to meet.

You can meet all sorts of people on the internet. Just like the real world, but while you might have to know somebody for years in person before they admit to their bizarre fetishes, you only need to IM a stranger for five minutes before you know that they love to dress in rubber and have cat-women piss on their face.

For some reason, I am deeply attractive to weirdos. I don't go out to find them, I don't offer webcam services or MSN sex. There are only face shots on my profile, and I don't have a secret stash of other pics to send people. I am, as internets go, a nice girl. (I AM NORMAL WTF.)

This fails to explain the followers I have. The cross-dressing bisexual who loves me and wants me to be his exclusive sex slave. The rubber fetishist, the masochist, the men in general who tell me their secrets and expect topless pics in return. Ha, good luck to 'em.

I spent the early hours of the morning explaining to a depressed guy why I really would not be able to be his girlfriend/collared slave. He was really upset that I wouldn't promise to be faithful to him. This is what led to this blog. Expect more news updates.

And no, I am not an internet whore. It just seems that if a woman spends too long online, she draws all the wrong kind of attention. It's like walking into the seediest pub in town. I feel so very dirty. LOL.

Endorphins, Pina Colada and Ghetto Boys

Today I was wandering around Derby with Maddy, a massive grin on my face, utterly high on the adrenalin of piercings. Jordan the piercing guy and Maddy were slightly bemused by how calm and happy I was.

We decided to celebrate. A picnic by the river, with a box of donuts and a bottle of pina colada. Surrounded by pigeons and seagulls, looking out over the water, people passing by and everything working out just fine.

A guy on a bike starts talking to us. Shows us his prison tattoos, tells us about the guns and cars and drugs he owns. I'm not sure what happens then, but I'm sat on his knee kissing him.

Why does this kind of thing happen to me?

Nipples

Yes. Pierced.
Feels so very good.

Sheffield, From What I Can Remember

I went to visit Kayl. We ate the most delicious pizza, and drank vodka in her room. Then I wake up with a horrible hangover, some really filthy texts on my phone, and a matching cigarette burn on my other wrist. I think it was a good night.

Every time I travel I discover a random phrase, and a random piece of knowledge. Today, we learned that the Beatles are a fabulous hangover cure. I had a lovely walk through Sheffield, it is getting to be one of my favourite cities in this world.

"Don't just sit in Kansas waiting for the storm."

Days

Wreck it 'til you're shaking, then sleep all day. Live in the dark, live in smoke, live in cyberspace.

Drink and smoke and snort and swallow.
Tease, flirt, fuck.
Listen to music and talk to people, learn about this world.

Travel, keep your promises and take your chances.

Be inspired.

When I don't come home, do they wonder where I am?

Daily Routine

It is nearly 6pm. I just woke up. I slept for 14 hours, but that doesn't seem unusualy anymore. I make coffee and stand outside to smoke a cigarette. My throat hurts. It is almost dark, the last birds still chattering their evensong. By the time I've finished smoking, they fall silent.
Inside again. It is music time. First song of the day, Nine Inch Nails, Closer. Some dark filthy sex music to set me up for the night.

It appears that I have departed from the routine.

Cried myself to sleep, woke up and cried, stared at a computer screen, stared at a book, cried some more.

I feel so bad right now and there's nothing I can do. I'm a fuck up and that's it. Finished.

Consequences

Shaun actually hates me now. I mean he has cancelled every last scrap of caring or respect he might have had. He says I'm selfish, a burden, and people don't want to get to know me because of this. He says I need to grow up, that he has utterly stopped caring, that I am being removed from his Facebook because he 'considers it a place for friends'. He hopes I've learned my lesson.

I wish he'd have just left me on the street in Manchester. Would be better than being so scorned.

Happy Valentines Day

I'm shaking and fragile, coming down, hating myself. Fucked up, can't focus, can't walk straight. Fucking idiot.

What Happened Next

I remember being in Grand Central, and then I remember being in the nearly empty top room at Jilly's, with a bunch of older guys. Then Shaun appeared. I made out with some guy, who uttered the words 'If I wasn't engaged...'

I drank a vodka and coke, and then there is a blank space. Apparently I passed out on the stairs, which would explain the bruises on my back, and was then carried out of the club. I remember sitting outside while a girl gave me water to drink. I'm told I tried to attack various people, and was taken in a taxi to the train station. At the train station I apparently burnt my arm with a cigarette, and then we went to Leeds, me continuing to be off my tits in a shameful manner.

Then we are at Leeds station, and some memory comes back. Shaun and a friend he met there waited with me for three hours. Then they went, and I somehow made friends with a guy. So we talked, and then some old guy started talking to us for a while as well. Eventually I got a train at 6am back to Derby. The guy I met asked me to go back to his, but I figured that wouldn't be wise. So home I went, getting colder all the time. Eventually I got in at 9am and collapsed into bed.

Reportage #3

[transcribed with increasing difficulty from Manchester notebook]

My God. I am utterly fucked. Took one pill, spilled drink on self. Lost ability to write. Oh dear, I'm the loner alky. Every bar and pub has one, but why does it have to be me? Oh yeah, because I'm the only one on drugs. I bet none of these folks drank a bottle of Benylin yesterday. I bet none of them took a random pill. Oh fuck, I have utterly failed. I had planned to talk to people, but instead I'm writing bitchy things about them.

I like it here. I'm fucked, really out of my brain, but not one person has hassled me. I might move to Manchester, or Sheffield. Both are better than Derby. I can't write properly anymore. I am going to look an utter twat when I meet Shaun. But weirdly enough I don't care. I have finally stopped letting people affect me. I feel like I'm about to pass out. I am happy. NIN are on the jukebox.

I want sex but never love. I want those bastards who will fuck me and not care. I am not built for love. I want to text my sexfriend because NIN remind me of him.

[this final section is practically illegible]

Oh dear. I'm with guys, trying so hard to test [?] everyone. I even burnt a fag on myself. [upon reading this I check myself for evidence. there is indeed a burn in the centre of my left wrist. it does not hurt at all.] [the final lines of writing are utterly illegible]

Reportage #2

I found my way to the Oxford Road, and I found the student bar Font. £2 cocktails, need I say more? Admittedly they are very basic, but definitely drinkable. I just slurped down a Cosmopolitan in record time. I think I'll go soon, there are too many students :(

I've now made it to Grand Central. Shaun text me about it and said that it was a rocker pub. I just saw long haired boys wearing black outside and decided to come in. Now I'm drinking Stella and waiting for something, I know not what, to happen. I guess I want someone to randomly talk to me, but I'm not sure if that happens in cities. People are once again looking at me funny as I'm sat on my own writing. There's a nice Kerrang metal flavoured jukebox here at least. I feel somewhat at home. My head is spinning. I have eaten two baked sweets today, and yesterday a yogurt, a packet of crisps, 2 grapes and 2 biscuits. My alcohol tolerance must be really low now. Might go to the bathroom and drop a pill in a bit. The anticipation is killing me.

Human beings are quite insular creatures, especially metalheads. They are possibly the geekiest of rock tribes, but still. I have noticed that less people approach me now I look more weird. Am I too much of a loser? Just too odd for them to engage with? Or maybe the fact that I'm always writing, rather than engaging in the real world. Even when I'm not actually writing, I'm thinking, 'Hey, this would make a great blog post, I'd say this, and present it from this sort of angle.' Maybe I just look self-sufficient. Nobody fucks with the girl with the notebook. I am an impartial observer. Or something.

By the end of the night I hope I'll have written maybe one useful thing. Most of this is drunk drughead balls, whatever spills out when I put pen to paper. I hope at least that I'm developing as a person and as a writer.

Reportage #1

[transcribed from a notebook I took with me to Manchester]

Railway tracks dissect our concrete desert, and trees perch in islands. Glass is broken and brickwork is dirty, cars and people and stores fly past now blurring. I can feel my belly hollowing in, you can't eat properly on this stuff. We're travelling past fields now, fences and green, rivers shining in the low winter sun. I smell of cigarettes. I've smoked too many in the last two days. For some reason it doesn't seem to matter anymore. I have pills in my bag. Clouds float on water. Reflections like paintings, beauty. I'm still half fucked from the bottle of DXM I drank yesterday. In the quiet carriage of the train, it feels like a library. Warm and safe and peaceful. I feel so calm and hollow. This feels like the end. There is still so much green grass in the world, although some is hidden under snow. The sun is just an orange glow and trees stand stark silhouettes.

Depart.

Waiting for the next train, in a deep cutting which feels like a canyon. Between the cafe and the high stone wall, the people are quiet and the air is cool. It smells of caves and no sunlight. Green moss grows.

This train is crowded. People everywhere. Orwellian announcement: 'A full ticket check will now take place. Please have your tickets nd travel documents available for inspection.' The woman's voice is damn scary. I thought I was dying earlier, but a bit of food was all that I needed. Easy to let blood sugar fall too far. I don't know how long this train ride is. Everything in here is purple, chairs, tables, floor. Outside are snowfields reflecting the twilight back at us. Great hills on the skyline, the sky streaked with pink. Rooks fly around their messy nests, black scraps of life. Existence. This is wild country now. Hamlets and farmhouses, stands of trees and the high hills surrounding it all, cutting it off from the real world. Us on this train, sealed in with our laptops and electric lights, we are aliens to the small leaves and dry branches. We are lost.

I've got here. City full of lights and people, a big cold place where we are all much smaller. First pub I saw, I'm in it. Traditional style, painted-on character, all cheery and full of the half dead. I'm drinking cider on my own and quite hilariously out of place. I can watch all of these people as they relax and unwind after a week of work. I can never relax or unwind. Or work, for that matter. Must look a little odd sat here writing. At least they ignore me.

Everyone here looks the same. Jeans and shirts, suits and shirts, same attitude, same manner, same laughs. I need some cigarettes, I'm running out already. This is dificult. I'm in a totally unknown place, alone. I've never done this before. Always there was somebody to follow, somebody more likely to know the way. Now I have to rely on myself. I can feel cider in my brain already. This is going to be a fucking weird night, I can tell. When I've finished my drink, I'm going to walk. The longer I sit here, the more odd looks I attract. This is not a place for girls, let alone pink haired ones. Men outnumber women by about ten to one, it feels like a gentleman's club. I am a weirdo. Not even taken any pills yet, but I'm sure they will help the situation hugely.

Oh, I love cider. So sweet and refreshing, it slips straight onto the brain. Oh my. An old man just stared at me for five minutes straight. He looks like he's going to burst into tears, or attack. Fun times. I'd forgotten how being a bit unusual looking changed things so. I'm drinking faster now, this place has nothing for me. Everyone is in their groups, talking boring, old, done. Drink almost finished, nearly time to move out, chance my luck and sense of direction in the real world. Or at least until I find another pub.

Another Fabulous Compliment

'Your dorkorrific nature puts me truly at ease.'

Pink hair and Singledom

I finally redid my hair. Going from a slightly quirky, inoffensive style (with undercut) to a bright pink streaked, very assymetric cut, (with bleached undercut). I also dyed my eyebrows slightly purple. I feel like I'm back to normal.

People look at me slightly funny. Some people love it, others really don't. I just do what I feel like. It's nearly Valentine's Day, horribly commercialised as it is, and I'm single. Apparently this is because I look like a freak.

WRONG.

It's because of my multitude of obvious character flaws.

Come on people, let's not be shallow. Its what's inside that counts.

That Lovely Nicotine

Well, the quitting smoking thing is a total waste of time. I don't even want to quit. I like it too much. I know, its filthy, wrong and unhealthy. But that just makes me want it more. I am the queen of perversity, and I love my drugs.

I'm happy this week, because I have something to look forward to. On Friday, I'm going to Manchester. Going shopping, drinking, meeting a guy I talk to on MSN, going to a goth club. They have the best music. Although I am generally a lapsed goth (I don't have black velvet clothes any more), I think I can still get it together. Hopefully spending the last year wearing ripped skinnies and whatever is on the floor of my room has not totally destroyed my impeccable sense of style. And yes, I still pretty much only wear black.

Promotion!

Randomly wasting time on the internet can lead you to fascinating places. Not just weird porn and woeful comedy videos, but real original thought. Here is an article which seems to agree with what I'm saying. It's from nthposition, a brilliant online magazine site. It contains many fascinating articles which you should read. It may even increase your intelligence.

Another Night, Another Dawn

Sky daubed luminous with sunrise, night fading gently into a cold new day. Walking home, there is still snow, white on distant fields. It glows as the sky widens pale and empty.

To stay up all night, talking, listening to music, getting to know new people. Sustained by chemicals, the evening starts in a pub, ends up in private rooms. I haven't been out as myself in a so long, I forgot I could socialise. Met a lot of new people, which was brilliant. Found a new poison to add to my repetoire too. *sniffs covertly* Everything slightly surreal, night deepening around us as the weak drop out and go home. We, the select nocturnal, stay, playing classic rock at 5am with the windows open, watching the sky lighten.

We are such a lovely mess.

Plans Which Backfire Spectacularly

Well, I quit smoking. Haven't had a cigarette for a couple of days. All well and good, no?

Sadly, this state of affairs can not be maintained. I am now making a concerted effort to obtain kreteks. These are clove cigarettes. I don't want them because they are a classic goth cliche, although I do appreciate this. Oh no, I want them because they are rumoured to make your lungs bleed. I mean real, heamorhagic pulmonary edema type bleeding. Yes, I think that coughing up blood is cool.

There is possibly something very wrong with my brain. I woke up feeling unreal, like I was physically falling through space. This has happened for the last three days. Maybe I'm going to have a mental breakdown. That would be pretty entertaining. I'd make sure to blog every morbid detail of it too.

Curses

Yes, I realised one possible cause for all my unhappiness. It is, as usual, entirely my own fault.

I seem to have got into a terrible habit of cursing people. I wish inventive, poetic, and entirely horrible fates onto everybody for even the slightest misdemeanor. Sometimes I wish bad things simply because they would lend poetic irony to a situation.

Today, as far as I can remember, I've wished people mutilated, impotent, diseased, and dissatisfied. I've wished life-changing catastrophes on people for their own good (yeah, you'll value your life more when you get cancer) and generally been uncharitable and cruel within my own brain. Maybe I shouldn't have watched Saw.

All of those curses above will probably be dissipated by my publicising them, but the millions of others are still out there. And, equally worrying, I curse myself a lot too. I wish misfortune and misery upon my own head. Hey, I'm a writer, where else am I supposed to get material?

More Time Wasting.

Meet the Existential Crisis Bunny. He thinks that your life is meaningless.

I'm not sure if he's even a bunny. I mean, really, what is that, aside from the malformed product of too long spent sniffing marker pens?

Distractions

Pictures. They are, apparently, worth a thousand words. Haha.

I'm Going to Fail :-)

I decided that the eassay of death was not getting any better, so I just sent it off. Hopefully the good marks on the other assignments will make up for its utter dreadfulness.

The course I'm doing does not actually count for anything. Whatever I get in it will have no bearing on the classification of any degree I get. That's assuming I can be bothered to do a full degree. I think I'd rather just get a few credits and then piss off to a real university.

I wonder, now, why I chose such a pointless course. I suppose its less pressure on me, that it doesn't count, but I am wasting my time. Again.

God damn waste of time girl. Sorry, it's existential crisis day. Feeling pretty perky on it though. A little rum can work wonders.

Don't Give Up Giving Up

I woke up coughing today, and decided to quit smoking before I get any unhealthier. From now I will not buy any more cigarettes, ever.

I had the last one this afternoon. Now its the middle of the night and I'm feeling all edgy. Its not that I physically need nicotine, its that I know I can't have it, so I want it.

I wonder what will happen now.

Only stupid people are happy.

I want it written on a T-shirt. Maybe I should start marketing stupid slogans.

Only stupid people are happy.

© 2009 LillyScabette

Intelligence

Yesterday I decided that my brain was not as good as it used to be.

Today I realised that of course it isn't. I used to be in school, thinking, solving problems, doing intelligent things all the time. I used to devour classic novels, have in-depth conversations, and analyse paintings.

Now I do none of these things. I skim-read textbooks, and avoid scientific thought. The last book I read was a trashy vampire pulp novel. Mostly I feed my brain webcomics and daft stoner conversations.

It seems obvious that I would have got worse at academic subjects. I live on junkfood, and feed my brain the same. I need to nourish it on something other than drugs and Youtube videos.
Even the trash novels are a step up. Reading an entire book is an achievement. This is so horribly sad.

Strange

I feel strange.
I had weird dreams and woke up feeling not-quite-here.
For some reason this post has automatically aligned to the right, but it seems appropriate somehow.
I feel alone but I don't want to go out. I don't want to see people. I need alone time.

However, I also have a creeping suspicion that not many people like me.
And even less people really care about me. I have no really close friends. Nobody really knows me. This is quite depressing.

Why have I suddenly fallen into maudlin introspection? An hour ago I was kicking ass at Guitar Hero, and an hour before that I was dancing around the place, full of industrial electro-joy.
Stupid mood swings.

An Academic Education

Well, I'm supposed to be writing an essay right now, hence the blogging. It is not going well. It is on a subject I don't care about, for a course I'm getting bored of, which doesn't even count towards my final degree classification. Still, it would be humiliating if I failed. And more importantly, I need to learn how to write decently, without relying on the panic-induced essay trance which normally happens.
I don't know if I'm clever or stupid. I was clever at school and got good grades, but maths is beyond me, and I'm currently struggling to write 1200 words on a simple topic which I have just studied. Possibly I did used to be intelligent, but lack of use and too much messing with it have left my brain withered and shrunken. Maybe I was always a bit daft and people were just humouring me when they said I was clever. Or maybe I am too intelligent for such mundane tasks as essays, and my brain is more suited to writing philosophical treatises and creating fabulous and revolutionary theories.

Ok maybe not that last one.

Possibly I will settle for being average or slightly above average intelligence, but with severe problems with motivation and application. Even when I want it to do stuff, most of my brain just can't be bothered. Its my brain, it should do as I say, but obviously not. Stupid lump of junk. At least it burns 25% of calories consumed, so is doing its bit to stop me from getting fatter.

Maybe that is why stupid people and fat people are generally considered the same. Stupid people think less, and so burn less calories, and so are statistically more likely to be fat. Yes, another theory which sounds good, but is utterly unscientific. If thinking made you thin, then I would be a skinny rake. Although maybe it is what lets me eat like an utter pig and not become morbidly obese. Yes, people, become neurotic! Fret constantly! Pause only to think up crackpot theories! It helps you lose weight!

Snow!

Yes, the entire country is in uproar, it's all over the news, everybody has heard about the three inches of snow. But I'm still going to blog about it.

I love the snow! It makes me feel like a kid, it transforms the world, making beauty everywhere. Walking through the streets, seeing the snowflakes falling down, casting tiny shadows in the whiteness, is so life affirming, so peaceful. It is impossible to be unhappy in the snow.

I'm sure if we lived in Canada or Norway or some other permanently snowed in place, then it would not be at all exciting. But this is England so we have to be more enthusiastic about this novelty weather.

We made a giant snowball and named it Jeremiah. It started off as a snowball, then became more of a snowbean, then a snowprawn, then the prawn wanted to be a real boy, and its wish came true, and we had a snowbaby which we smashed to pieces on the ground.

Back on Earth

Here I am. Back in what passes for normal life. Brain still subtly rearranging itself, processing the mass of sensations and information it received over the last two days.

I think I have learned some things. Some things which make me sad, other things which will help me.

I learned that people are motivated by fear, and as such they are dangerous. I learnt that people are motivated by instinct, and as such can be controlled. And I learned that people still contain something pure and beautiful.
People are hurting, and I want to help them, but I don't know how. I know that I can't fix them, they have to grow themselves, but I at least would like to know how to guide and nurture them.

I learned that I can not expect people to be how I want them to be. They will be shallow and selfish and silly and they will not learn or change.They will not be gentle or thoughtful or spiritual, and I have to learn to deal with that.

I learned that the human body is a precarious balance, more like a man riding a unicycle across a tightrope while carrying all his wordly possessions, than a sleek and beautiful system. Luck keeps us going as much as anything. My own body is starting to wobble. My legs are bad and something in my stomach is bad. I should do something about this.

I saw that the universe is a place of chaos. We try to create order, but this is impossible, and we end up only with stress and pain. To accept the chaos of life is the way to happiness.