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kitten fucker's LiveJournal:
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|Thursday, June 16th, 2011|
this is me
|Wednesday, June 15th, 2011|
|i believe in ...
dreams (whether or not i'm using in them)
that i've fallen in love with allison
that i can recreate a new better life
i'm living in michigan for the next year or so.. about to get out of rehab, into transitional housing and i've got 98 days drug and alcohol free.
desperately trying to get a job because it's been 5 years since i've worked and i think that's why noone will hire me (that and my record)
hope someone's reading this who's been wondering.
must try to get back to jobsearching... Current Mood: thoughtful
|Wednesday, November 7th, 2007|
i'm going to be checking into the hospital again tonight.. i was in the hospital a week and a half ago for cellulitis in my hand and now it has spread and is causing me all kinds of grief. i wanna go clean again but with this much pain i don't think that'd be possible.
so me and michael ran into each other last night.. and he stood me up again. so i rang his buzzer and his roommate was very angry for me calling so late but you know what?? If Michael had met up with me i wouldn't have rang it. So now he'll probly be pissed at me too but i don't care. he's seriously fucking up my head and i think he knows. shit, he's probly doing it on purpose.
so it's off to the hospital and hopefully they act professional, unlike all the others.
james and i are getting along again.. thal's good cause he's my only friend...
|Tuesday, November 6th, 2007|
|i can't believe you
he says that he has always liked me
he has always had an interest
and i play the sucker
i say i been watching
"and there's this burning like there's always been
i've never been so alone and i've never been so alive"
now that i think of it... i don't even know if it was true
i am attracted to him
we got spun and held eachother and we made love and when he was done
he was gone
i felt used
maybe i wasn't but i think i acted in a way that pushed him away
"why don't you call me?"
honestly michael... cause if you aren't playing me like a game, it's because i'm terrified of having anything that good in my life. you're beautiful, a drug addict too, a musician, so accepting... that is way too perfect... if we stayed together i'd be watching the clock wondering when and how i'd fuck it up.
every time i call no one answers... when i stopped by you said to come back tomorrow
i shouldn't get hung up on him. face it, you got used... one night stands are nothing new mikaela...
but.. i wanted it to be real so bad. i need it to be real cause i need something someone otherwise i might just tip over and fall off the face of the earth pretty soon.
SLOW MOTION SEE ME LET GO.
god i hate being human. hate to feel.
|Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007|
|that's a damn dirty trick
so i'm going into detox tomorrow.
and when i get out i'll be getting a job that'll hopefully occupy all my time. cause i don't want to fall back in once i get out. i'm going to be freed from my grave and i'm so scared that i'll fuck up again.
but i've got this non-homeless, non-user friend named james and he's incredibly supportive of me kicking.. he's been letting me stay at his place and gives me cigarettes and money on a regular basis. he's proud of me and we have a lot in common (music taste and behavior and sense of humor).
i need to go make up money that i just spent on this computer and the coffee that came with it. cause i was supposed to have $20 and buy some dope but dude was cutting a really shitty deal so i decided i didn't want it and now i've gotta pay for this shit out of the $20.
what an asshole.
i'm single again and incredibly cynical.
if i know you (like my brother included) i'd like your address.
especially my brother cause i needa send you your birthday present (still).
|Thursday, August 16th, 2007|
|i wrote a letter to my friend and threw it out the window... this is it.
So you were talking about the whole on the heroin wagon off the heroin wagon thing and I'm off it. I've got 3 days today and i know that sounds like nothing but after a year straight on it, loving it, living only for that high for that quiet bliss that silent seductive nod, i've spent three days without it. I cheated. I'm using these pills called suboxone... they're like antabuse for heroin. basically they make you sick if you do heroin and you don't get high but they stop the withdrawals... you cut back day by day until you're doing none and you're "normal" again. as if i was to begin with. I'm trying to eat better but i've got no appetite... i drink alot of water to flush the toxins out and i'm on a steady diet of beer and marijuana so that i don't even think about sticking a needle in me (not true really.. it's all i think about). but i know i need to be clean to get off of this street alive. I'm not going to get a job, get a place, get anywhere if i spend all day getting drugs and doing them.
It sounds like it hurts.. you and Emily. I really don't know what to say. I was in love. Still am I think. I know I can't be with him cause we don't get along. The police are looking for him so that means he'll be in jail pretty soon and that's good because he'll be forced to get clean (he's so NICE when he's clean... he's such an asshole when he's high) but it's bad because i won't see him for a while and he's my only friend. I spent 9 months day in day out with this cat and i can't just turn and look the other way, y'know??
i feel so vulnerable and weak without heroin. I wish i could walk up and down the street fuckin looking and feeling 100% better than those motherfuckers all sucked up and dying because they've devoted every aspect of their beings to heroin.. but really, heroin is all i have. It's the only thing that can make me happy, the only thing that's not let me down. It's the only thing i can feel besides pain and WHO THE FUCK WANTS TO FEEL ONLY PAIN??
but hey, one day at a time or some stupid shit like that.
I gotta check the jail register for mitchell t. Mckibbin (aka my soul mate) and then apply online for foodstamps.. housing.. see if i can get someone to email me my resume so i can get this motherfucking show on the goddamn road. Current Mood: pissed off
|Monday, August 13th, 2007|
|freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
so i got an i.d.
i need to get a job (probably will at either the kennel or the pizza shop)
but first i need to kick dope and that starts tomorrow
can't get out any books at the library because of $75 owed since trevor never returned my books.
my mother totally blows my mind.
sorry if i have seemed uncaring towards any of you guys in the past year... i've been homeless a year just yesterday. and according to my mother now i don't care about anything.
|Wednesday, June 13th, 2007|
i got a cool picture of me from senior year.. baked as shit in d.c.
makes me miss myself.
i really have no idea who i am except for heroin and i love her... i'm reading carl sandburg's harvest poems and it's the shit..
bought it for fitty cent.
|Monday, June 11th, 2007|
|if i had a little money it would be funny
strung out agin...
writin emails nodding my face a centimeter from the keyboard.
funny how a get a lot higher when me and mitch are split up.
he hit me so we're not doing that anymore. he hit me, we split up but still camped together and he hit me again so now i'm taking my shit to my friend's camp.
i dyed my hair purple.
i REALLY REALLY want to talk to my brother on the phone.
if someone just gave me $200 i could buy a bunch of dope, sell it, have money for a hotel room and more dope which i would sell and get an id so i could work a real job and buy more dope.
think of it this way.
dope has never let me down. it does everything it's supposed to. it makes me feel good.
p.s. mallory, junkies can't feel suboxone... they use it to kick but my friends have tried to get high off of it and couldn't feel shit... and they've got smaller habits than me. you should really stop beating around the bush and just do some fucking heroin. with me.
you can smoke it.
|Friday, May 18th, 2007|
butter is better on the bottom of the bread
butter battle seuss shit
on the flip side.. some would same i'm doing better.. still haven't gotten into the mental health place so i'm sure the next time i'm at the hospital they'll send me to the nut hatchery.. i really need to do this though cause i'll get free drugs out of it
me and mitchell are fighting less/more... should be going to his dad's in tennessee for christmas or his mom's in texas.
I"m up to a gram or two a day now...
just enough to ease my mind.
gonna detox and get my tolerance back and maybe a job too.
gotta go make some money off of unsuspecting passers-by.
|Saturday, April 21st, 2007|
been fuckin up
got strung out again
tried to kill myself and failed
killed myself on accident (o.d.)
and now i'm thinking of moving to cali
love and peace to all my bros
|Tuesday, February 20th, 2007|
|through any ends ie: something trevor wrote.. whys there so many cops here
I may be a rare sight, an odd sight, by myself, but here at the soup kitchen I blend right in. I am not just at my own machine like I would appear to what I imagine to be the eye-ball-brains of the half-shuttered unimaginative or sober-not-crazy masses as normaly strange. The eye-ball-brain of the blinds-drawn ordinary people see a lovesick messy drug addict before a glowing glass monitor screen, chain smoking menthol rollies, smoking weed, and drinking chocolate milk. The majority would agree that this is a perfectly accurate description of my present environment and is absolutely real. They would see that I am very tired. They would see my sandles, one yellow argyle and one black cotton. They would see my strap-on sandals. THey would see my blue sweatpants, hastily put over my jeans, the jeans from that year with and without Mikaela, the sweatpants from earlier tonight keeping me warm for an emergency trip to the payphone outside. They would see that I am depressed and anxious, nervous and apathetic.ok now i am totally stoned. i am pretty happy about that. I may be a rare sight, an odd sight, by myself, but here at the soup kitchen I blend right in. I am not just at my own machine like I would appear to what I imagine to be the eye-ball-brains of the half-shuttered unimaginative or sober-not-crazy masses as normaly strange. The eye-ball-brain of the blinds-drawn ordinary people see a lovesick messy drug addict before a glowing glass monitor screen, chain smoking menthol rollies, smoking weed, and drinking chocolate milk. The majority would agree that this is a perfectly accurate description of my present environment and is absolutely real. They would see that I am very tired. They would see my sandles, one yellow argyle and one black cotton. They would see my strap-on sandals. THey would see my blue sweatpants, hastily put over my jeans, the jeans from that year with and without Mikaela, the sweatpants from earlier tonight keeping me warm for an emergency trip to the payphone outside. They would see that I am depressed and anxious, nervous and impatient, a masochistc emotion junkie fiending for a fix, feinding hard for familiar flows in my veins like angry heroin. My jeans aren't actually the jeans from the year with and without Mikaela, but they look close enough and I lost the real pants so I pretend. Reality can be manipulated a little, as long as I am able to believe anything, reality can be anything. If I pretend a thing is real long enough, sometimes I eye-ball-brainwash myself to believe unreal things. "Thing" is a great noun, especially useful for those times when one is too tired to dig in a brain-file for a prettier word and wants to go to bed instead but feels compelled to finish this stupid cleverly engineered to be both a private letter to a former lover and a short story acceptable for his blog page as the author has been a lazy ass as of late and needs to get something on there and why not kill two birds with one stone, eh? Run-on sentences are an easy way to finger-tip type thoughts without thinking too much, but a bad habit. Sometimes, with a little extra effort, but still easier than doing it right, it is possible to make poetry out of this, albeit bad poetry. Who can tell the difference between a good and bad poem, anyway? The world's notepads, diaries, books, and hard-drives are full of poetry, good and bad, so much poetry that it is impossible to even know how to tell the difference. An awful poem is still a poem, thus making me a poet. What you are reading is not poetry. This is a rant, and it is getting a little out of hand, keeping pace with the hour hand, I seem to have my hands full. Right hand wants to digress, left feels in the dark for the right digression. Left direction. Digression. Oh my indigestion. The ey-ball-brain voyeur sees computer monitor amusing confusion. 2006. 2006 was a terrible year, a wonderful and scary year, like Josef Stalin, unreal, adoring, afraid, intense, terrible. 2006 was so fucked-up that it was over early, long before new years eve. This seems impossible, but my eye-ball-brain witnessed the proof on new years eve, at the base of the Space Needle, surrounded by many people. Many people did not do exactly the same thing: count down the new year. All of the many people with me at the base of the Space Needle did not count down the new year. I have seen 25 new year's eves first hand, and there is always a countdown, the last ceremonious ten of the previous 31,556,926 seconds, or at least some kind of definitave explosion or something, markin the exact becinning. a brand new calander. the exact moment when the new cycle starts over. Calendar cycles have been with people for a long, long time, though periodically changing with ages and societies. Human habits are notoriously difficult to change. Tradition. My culture counts down to the new year, every year, for many, many years. There was no countdown at Seattle Center on new years' eve. There was no definitive explosion or single marking moment. The fireworks were beautiful, the prettiest new year's fireworks I have ever seen. They kind iof started calm, got really bad-ass, and calmed out again. These were not fireworks for a new year, these were fireworks for oohs and ahhs. I have seen both kinds and can tell the difference. I had the idea that I would start my watch at the exact beginning of 2007, so it would always be perfectly on time, and hopefully I would not have any problems waking up in the morning. I stood looking up at the firey Space Needle, and at the people around me, every sixth holding a little blue square light before them. The scene was so pretty that those with camera phones were compelled to digitally record the moment. Does this new behaviour make it easier for eye-ball-brains to forget? We have little machines to remember things for us, will we forget to remember if we fall out of practice? I was soaked in beer and pretty well plastered. Plastered! Hah! I did not got plastered I was STUCCOED. (I love this line, I stole it from a folk singer I heard on television, so I didnt really steal anything anyway because the nature of folk music is to share it with folk, we learn folk songs and share them) I had hauled a few cans of Blue-Ribbon Beer out there with me and spilled half of it on myself. I was pretty drunk, and was going to get drunker. I am certain of a few things: There was no count down, the fireworks were pretty. I cannot explain why the fireworks were so pretty. I cannot explain how I was able to spill so much beer on myself. I cannot explain where all the vodka martinis came from. I can explain the anomoly of the absense of a count down: 2006 ended early. 2006 must have been a terrible year for everyone else, too. The collective, unconcious feeling I got from the croud was that 2006 had been so bad that it had to be cancelled early, got over and left behind like it was a speed bump. The best thing to do with 2006 was to forget 2006. 2006 was a bad year for lots of peoples, everywhere. In 2006 there seemed to be more war, more misery, more madness. In 2006 the planet saw more disease, disaster, destruction, and death. We finally admitted that the Earth itself was dying in 2006, no denying it now, we were killing her, and likely nothing we could do about it-- without a radical and wholesale change in our society, our way of life, our human habits. In 2006 it was pretty clear that that was never happening, not in time anyway. In 2006 there was finally enough proof, there was so much shit in our back yard the smell had become unbearable, and everybody could smell it-- the stench engulfed the neiborhood, the town, the entire community. And we cant clean it for some reason. The greatest nation in the world with its popularily elected leadership had shit all over, can not stop shitting and shat so much there was no room for any more shit and in 2006 the earth had been completely covered in a thick stinking layer of shit. There are indicators of how awful 2006 everywhere one looks. The music in 2006 stank. The only good stuff on tv is on the sci-fi channel. In 2006 the U.S.A., with her great and democratic ideals, hated every culture alternative to itself; there was no people left to hate, and Amreica in 2006 we were hating eachother, more than ever, and suddenly more apparent and clear and maybe Some Americans at least were finally sick of it and wanted to maybe start fresh. Maybe 2007 would be nicer than 2006. Maybe we couldnt wait. 2006 was a bad one for everybody, everybody having some kind of feeling they wanted to leave behind. The first thing I did in 2006 was to fall in love with Mikaela. This was a very foolish thing for me to do, I fall in love easily, and this girl was perfect love, I loved every part of her, she was perfect in every way. I will not get int details, the details are for a book, too much for this rant. I fell all year long, and somewhere near the end of that wretched year I hit the bottom. hard. 2006 revolved around Mikaela, my every thought for the entire year involved Mikaela. First there was the uncontrollable and intense adoration, then the long distance loyalty and dreams, and the plans, then drugs, manipulation, depression, irritation, possesion, madness, and finally hatred and destruction. I know when 2006 ended. 2006 ended when Mikaela ended. My eye-ball-brain believed some of its own make-believe. My view of reality was not correct. My disease clashed with my love's. My memories were too much for my emotion circuits to handle. Perfect bliss and perfect nightmares. I clung to memories and remembered them wrong. My pants arent even real. And this is my shit, in my backyard, stinking up the block. I ruined a beautiful thing. I love that word, there is no other at this time of night. Eye-ball-brain, see Trevor at his machine. See his depression? Trevor thought he had killed somebody, that he had stolen a soul. Trevor thought he was over it, but the more time passed the more Trevor realised what was real of that year with Mikaela reality. Trev needed a new girlfriend, and found a few. Trevor found a girl he could love... Trevor iis remembering a little at a time of love. Trevor is scared to death, and does not know what to do. Shit all over, most likely, human habit. I hope this is gettin close to being over. (the letter thingy, anyway) Eye-ball-brain, look at this room. But take away one layer, and there is not just me. See Steve, he looks just like me. See Kevin... a facsimile. Strawberry too, and whoever else is here. THey are all me, I am all them. take away a layer, then another, simplify the equations, strip the bullshit off. Underneath are the elements the ordinaries the regular the common. we are all strange by ourselves, but see through the crap and see normal. Invisible are the real differences, what is really real and especially special. to find this you must love, and the more you love the more you find. You dont see it, you feel it. the eye-ball-brain becomes worthless, the heart is how you feel. In 2006 I felt too much to quick and my heart broke. If 2006 ended early, why is soo much of it still here?
|Saturday, February 17th, 2007|
|let these guns... choose to
i want to go thieving but know i do not want 13 months jail either so i'll not
i have a bisexual guy named "slayer" in love with me.
he took my n ife.
i talk to cops when i'm high all the time.. it's funny
shits getting stale here. i wanna go back to seattle (legally or not) but i wanna see my mitchell first.
it feels like blasphemy with ian.
YOU'RE NOT HIM
i'm engaged to HIM. i'm in love with HIM. he is my medicine my oxygen.. my bo.
i don't know... all my addictions piled in one. (food/sex/cigarettes/beer/drugs/sleep/dr
suck me dry
oh yeah and trevor's still in love with me?
|Tuesday, February 13th, 2007|
|how about you suck my dick?
my fuckin mother.. my fuckin mother..
she always sees right through me... i mean, i didn't expect anyone could tell that my email to my family was some ungrateful hippie bullshit.. but she called me out on it. she's right though.. i'm egocentric and spiteful. i love heroin. more than anything.
|Tuesday, February 6th, 2007|
|10th and taylor
bottle up and explode over and over
hey i just did 32 days in inverness jail. portland.
I'll be here a whole minute. on the topic of holes.. i was sent to the hole for hitting someone across the face with a phonebook. 5 days.
i'm learning to enjoy elliott's city.
probation says no contact w/mitchell for 18 months. YEAH RIGHT.
i love all of you (hurt by the cold mallory??)
|Tuesday, December 26th, 2006|
|merry fuckin shit
my christmas sucked total fuckin balls. I split permanently/temporarily with my boyfriend. I got a fever and ulcers. I sat in the park listening to grateful dead, missing my brother and crying. I didn't get to eat a single fucking thing. I fucked a sid vicious lookalike and slept on cold concrete.
My boyfriend thinks "i am in a lot of pain right now and just want to die" means that i want more heroin. that's only cause he's in love with the needle in his arm.
i think i'm going to go and abuse people's like for me so that perhaps i can get high and NOT want to shoot myself cause i can't afford a gun. and mitchell took my cd player. cause it was a gift, but it's his.
I'M MISS WORLD. SOMEBODY KILL ME.
|Friday, November 17th, 2006|
|he's got mushrooms
so if jimmy's not going to take me back it's no big heartbreak
i'll take my laptop back..
but i decided i'm not giving up..
living on the streets for the winter will be a definite physical and emotional test and i definitely want to take it
I've gone sex-less for 3 or 4 days and it feels great
i've been doing black maybe once or twice a day and it feels great
all in all i'm doing better than ever mentally and that is all i've ever wanted
|Monday, November 6th, 2006|
so i've decided as a way to punish my mother for being such a retarded bitch i will not communicate with her for periods of time. kind of like when she used to ground me for no reason.
livin with jimbizzle... lets see how long it lasts (again).
i haven't done any drugs in maybe 4 days and no heroin for almost 3 weeks. i'm not going to say "be proud". i'm going to say "get me a fix mother fucker".
anyway... reeling...about to tip Current Mood: pessimistic
|Wednesday, October 25th, 2006|
things look different from the ceeeliing
hopefully a high
i've given up on accomplishments
i'm focussing on myself since i spent the last 9 months on trevor
who i (THANKFULLY) dumped on friday
too many boys want to spend their life with me
i'm not done being a hedon yet
monogamy's for bitches
maybe move to austin
probably just stay here and freeze
|Saturday, September 23rd, 2006|
|seattle is the west is the best
so nothing i can do is good enough. i try to console my mother with an email and she has 501 things to bitch at me about.
pretty much accused me of prostituting myself and totally put her foot in her mouth when i directly told her it really hurt my feelings.
i'm doing pretty well. I'm going to get a job once my foot heals. I went to the e.r. yesterday and apparently the whole goddamn thing is sprained, but I've got a little goofy boot i wear to help it heal faster.
trevor's in jail, but i think i've been getting by even better since he went in. Nathan is apparently my boyfriend now (the one guitarist guy that i made out with last halloween to piss rattboy off). but we've got our differences (i like a good high.. but he thinks it's eating me alive. I'm not strung out. i do it maybe twice a week)
anyway, all's well that ends well. someone stole most of my shit out of my stash spot, so the rest is in a duffelbag in nathan's house.
he's the epitome of my dream boyfriend: musician, kind, totally obsessed with my pleasure/satisfaction/happiness, doesn't want me to get hurt by anyone/thing.
i've been hanging out and spare-changing with this guy mark though and i could get to like him. i think i already do. bright blue eyes and the same color as mine. we get along great and make champ money.
he's gotta use the computer so i gotta scat.