i can never understand what's going on around me. there are all these noises and pictures and i can't tell the difference between what i see and what you see and it's loud and chaotic and everything's happening all at once and i can't deal with it anymore and i don't know what's going on. i can't tell what things actually look like or sound like because the world is always changing and i just. don't. know.

but i always see you. and i always hear you. you are warm, and constant, and you show your feelings on your face so that i can see them. most of the bad things go away when you're near me, and i just want to hold your hand.

it doesn't have to be in a romantic way. i don't ever want to make you angry or uncomfortable, i just can't handle what's happening to me, and i want something stable to hold on to, and i know that your hand won't twist into claws beneath mine.

and if it does, it's okay if you hurt me.

i don't think i'd mind.

i am full of peace.

sometimes i get terrified for no particular reason. my heart pounds and my chest feels tight and i can't breathe right and adrenaline courses through my veins. and whenever this happens, i get this feeling in my gut that tells me to scream. something tells me that i should scream hard and loud, that i should rip my vocal chords apart with this scream. my gut says it will help. my mind says that it won't, though. so i don't. instead i bite my tongue and concentrate on my breathing and work. i write or draw or sing or clean or fold or organize or recite poetry from memory until i feel calm enough to stop. i spent the past two hours folding and singing to myself. it's 3:10 in the morning. i'm writing because it feels like there are words banging around in my body, bouncing off of my bones and circling my ribcage, and if i don't get them out, all they will do is give me bad dreams. i can't find the words though. they are there, but i just can't make them out.

i have recently gotten into a band called Perfect Pussy. they have a song called "I" and near the endo of it, the lead singer just keeps on repeating

i am full of light.
i am full of light. 
i am full of light. 
i am full of light. 
i am filled with joy. 
i am filled with joy. 
i am filled with joy.
i am filled with joy. 
i am full of peace. 
i am full of peace. 
i am full of peace.
i am full of peace.
i am full of peace.
i had this dream that i forgave my enemies.

i find that if i repeat this to myself before i sleep, my dreams are not so grim. 

it was very warm today in California. 

xoxo

all in a week's work.

my feet are covered in bandages
my knees are mottled purple and yellow and green from bruises new and old
my thighs ache from over use

there are deep circles under my eyes that are purple around the edges
the nail polish i applied the other day in a fit of boredom is pink and sparkly and chipped
my knuckles look strange in this light
scarred and bruised and knobbly

what remains of my eyeliner is smudged up to all hell
my stomach hurts
it's so fucking quiet tonight

earlier i got angry
i swilled coca cola like whiskey
paced a divot into my carpet
and drew until ink and graphite stained my fingertips
and my heart felt like it would burst.

and now i want to be angry
like i so often am
but i just don't have the energy to feel much at all

i am fucking sick of the world we live in. i am sick of this fucking 50's mentality of what womanhood should be, i am sick of the people who surround me, i am fucking sick of it all. i am fucking sick of the fact that because of my genitals, anything i say can be written off as the ravings of a mad woman. i am sick of being helpless, being pushed down, muted, put on hold. i fucking hate that no matter what i do or what i say on here, i'm just screaming into the faceless void of the internet and hoping that what i hear is something more than the echo of my own voice. i hate that i don't change anything, i hate that the world is not on my side, and i hate that all the same i will scream until my voice is hoarse and my lungs give out and i will bang my fists against the table until they bruise and bleed to try and be heard. i fucking hate that i will die before i quit because there is an optimist inside of me that refuses to give up hope that maybe one day, someone will scream back.

there's just something about the stars tonight
that i can't put my finger on
i'll chase and chase it while it flits away
as soon as i touch it, it's gone

there's just something about the stars tonight
that's making me feel awful sad
it's rhyme without reason, it blooms out of season
it's enough to make someone go mad

there's just something about the stars tonight
that's making the sky seem so blue
there's just something about the stars tonight
and it somehow reminds me of you.

i wanna sing one for the cars that are right now headed silent towards the highway, abd it's dark, and there is nobody driving, and something has got to give.

so yesterday i went to my first ever proper gig. it was the Mountain Goats playing at Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco, and it was fucking awesome. it wasn't a really big venue, and all the people there were fans and it just had this sense of... camaraderie. there's just something about being smushed into a small space with a hundred other people, all in varying states of intoxication, and all singing the lyrics to the same song. i don't know what it is, but i definitely like it.

and right now, it's 2:06 in the morning and in the small amount of light coming from my screen, i can still see the fading X's of sobriety on the backs of my hands. and nobody else in the house is awake. and i can hear the cars speeding towards the never-ending Somewhere on the highway. the crickets are chirping, but never as happily as they once did. the moon is waning, the clocks tick on, and it is a very, very big universe we live in.

the night is warm in California.

xoxo

for those who think this is going to be entertaining, fuck off.

so more and more often lately, i've been avoiding writing about things that happen in my life because i'm afraid that you won't want to hear about my sad, depressing emo rambles. i have also come to the conclusion that this is faintly ridiculous. if you don't want to read my sad, depressing emo rambles, then fuck off. seriously. you are completely delusional if you think this blog is about anything other than me. i write what i want to write, you can read if you want to read. if you don't, then don't because i could honestly not give a flying fuck on a stick. this isn't about you. none of this is about you. this blog is a completely selfish, whiny, bitchy, depressing, piece of shit. you are here purely of your own free will. this is the textual equivalent of you sitting in while i ramble enthusiastically at a wall. you can leave at anytime, ridiculing or insulting me will do nothing, and you can do whatever the fuck you want because you know what? i am going to ramble at my fucking wall and nothing you can do will stop me. you want to be entertained? fuck off. you think i'm awful for not entertaining you? fuck off and die. i am a selfish fucking bitch, go find your own goddam wall. you need it.

diddly bobbity diddly doo
i fucked your dad in the ass 'till 2

boppity poppity diddly dee
eat shit.

love,
Frank.