realization

I've come to the realization that I have to actually work at interpersonal relationships. Not in the way that I don't want them and have to consciously make them work because of that, though. I want them. They just don't seem to come naturally. In my natural state, I would be living in my isolated bubble, waiting for people to approach me. With effort. I have to actually think about contacting people, and become determined to do it, in order for it to work. Most times I'm rewarded for this. It doesn't make it any less difficult, though. I suppose it's just a personality quirk. Believe me, though, it's nothing personal when I make myself unavailable. It's just a natural state. Not that I don't want to be disturbed; it's just easier that way. Sometimes you'll have to shake me out of it. I'll be grateful eventually, I promise.

You'll have to excuse me. I'm slightly drunk in addition to having difficulty keeping my eyes open. It's rather amazing that I managed to say something in as articulate a manner as I did, with minimal typos. Current non-controlled typing status: i shwer that i can sya things wihtous mainf a mistake. yed.

Hurray for lackings of restraint. Yes.

tonight

Haven't posted in a while. But we're talking very well tonight. Bunnyman has finally admitted his depression, and we can go from there. As if no one I'd ever talked to hadn't figured out his state of mind previously... I guess it's a bit like the "You always knew I was gay? Why didn't you tell me?" kind of thing. Anyway...

"Sometimes, the rain makes no sound.

I wear a glove made of your skin. It’s the colour of rain, soft and grey. It makes no sound, now, as I flex my fingers inside it. I want to touch myself and pretend it’s your hand. Love as leather. But I know I’m too far gone even for that now. I’m just a human bin filled with prescription pills, rinsed down with rainwater mixed with stolen medical alcohol and served in old vegetable tins.

Sometimes, the jagged edge of the tin cuts my lip. I look in the window and the only colour in the world is the red in my reflection.

The me you used to kiss thrashes like a cat in a sack, somewhere in the back of my head. Trying to get its claws through thick lithium. You wouldn’t know it to look at me. I am perfect and still. Moving only to swig more rainwater and alcohol from torn grey tin, looking out of the grey window at the grey world. Moving only to stroke your skin.

Sometimes, living makes no sound."

- (c) Warren Ellis

Just what I'm feeling...