air thick with doubt,
lungs sticky with presperation and smaoke.
blood poisoning setting in
the narcotics kicking off
her lazy head
drooping
dragging
the wall-tarnished brick-
the floor- cracked. broken-
scarring up her lipsticked mask
her mascara smile twisting. twisting.

where is your heart? (broken)
where does your mind go once you've lost it?

5.20.11.

You struck me so hard.(5) There's a leak in my heart that I just can't stop and blood pours out in a fountain of love.(20) Mend the hole with kisses and maybe I'll forgive you, baby.(11)

The Jeffersons

There was once a family by the name of Jefferson. They lived at the corner of 4th and Vine in a 3&1/2 story house painted a rather off-putting shade of mauve. The neighbors hated mauve and were convinced that Mr. Jefferson was partial to the color for that reason. he was just a spiteful man like that. A pipesmoking, tweed wearing, walking ego. One may say that his head was so big that he had to get his hats special ordered from a shop in India that specialized in elephant attire. As a result, he had a rather eclectic headdress collection.

Mrs. Jefferson died in a house fire back in '83, reportedly started by a malfunctioning electrical socket. Though the family of poor Matilda Jefferson knew in their hearts that it was a lie, for the Mrs. had an unparelelled passion for matches.

Bat Romance: a Batman Fan Fiction (preview)

BATMAN- GOTHAM CENTRAL- ROOFTOP:

I feel my soul die, watching- horrified- as the jagged blade plunges deep into Joker's chest. Suddenly my little Joke isn't so funny anymore, his oh-so-familiar grin twisting to a grimace giving way to shock. And his eyes... goddammit...

His eyes cry out for me:

B- BATman...

His complete vulnerability in this moment tears my heart in two.
I didn't mean those words, Joker. Dammit! What if the last thing he ever hears from me is that I don't need him? That I don't want him? That I don't want him? They were LIES.

He. Completes. ME.

Please, God, let me go back and replace those lies with the words: I love you. I love you because you bring out the best in me. You bring out what I love about myself. you give me the strength to carry on day after day. You are my EVERYTHING.

...

yer.very.nonversational.

Where's the monster under yer bed now mutha---- give me a reason to shoot and loose my head from all the----  oh hey there yuh lost me in the limelight of yer reddened lips sticked for other people (when the sad track hits rock bottom there's no turning back till the bassline) an' I told you NO NO NO NO yes as a matter o' fact I DO have a wicked foothold on my monkeybars for it's only noon o'clock and tea is after supper and my mother wants me home before yesterday so take me to the lake and push till the melody goes all wonky and junk.

Pulchritudinous.

what is beauty?
am I beauty?
give me a reason to believe that you give a-

your not the first to tell me half the things you say.
in fact I'm sure it's all been said before,
so just give up
go home
and have a wonderful day.

Hitherto.

Henceforth and hitherto
where did the good go?
my Marry has an awful ache
for her Heart is full of blood.

Without the dreadful stench of dead
I don't know what to do.
The time has come to tear apart all that has been whole
and break away for something new
something blue
and something borrowed.

Can't we Kiss and Makeup?
Can we just forget and regret?
my martyrdom has run it's course
run through the motions with a pike
and run away with the spoon.

Give me a chance to redeem myself,
my brain is merely a bundle of cells -> atoms -> electrons, neutrons, protons
you can't expect much from a man with no soul.

Henceforth and hitherto.
where did the good go?

April 13th 2011 (continuation of March 24th 2011)

Goddamn Batman...

And then there's Harley, my temptress, my suffocating Succubus. Her hips sway through the winding smoke and pressing blackness. Harlequin red and black abandoned on the floor for something a bit more bare and pink. Golden curls fall to cover her.

Trying to be seductive.
My tounge writhes with nicotine and anger, growling in peels of hate:

My heart is far too busy with other matters.
Goddamn Batman...

Her expression drops into a dainty frown, feet turned inward, shoulders limp and helpless as she sways back- forth- back- forth-

"Come on Puddin'"

This started as a poem about how Andrew Brockman was flying at Airband and then it evolved into greatness (read it as one big sentence):

When Angels fall from Heaven-sent the messager of Hades fire-the guns of nuclear War-heads of soldiers roll like the th-underneath the skin there's secrets to be-hold the wrath of God is more dangerous than good-ridence.

April 19th 2011

Heart throb
Oxymoron
Maryrdom
Mixed feelings.



I am horrified of myself.

March 29, 2011

Duct tape scars
reddened rings wrap wrists
lovingly <3
------------------------------
be the Batman to my joker
the Batsy to my jay man
without you I'm just a
joke without a opunchline
a trick without a treat
just a stupid clown...
playing stupid games
with a deck of cards
       missing his King of Hearts <3
-------------------------------
Everyone knows I can't live without you.
you are the last piece to my puzzle
the puzzle that's my
little
giggling
heart <3

Self.

Self.

Indigo Jackson

            Everyone wants to be accepted, right? It's one stereotype about teenagers that just may prove to be accurate. All of the hokey superstitions about peer pressure, as well as the oh-so-familiar rant about how “the media is poisoning the minds of our children by brain-washing them with the idea that girls should look like walking twigs and boys should look like they're on steroids,” are all true. That's right. It's a legit problem, people. I see 12 year old girls that look like Snooki walkin' around the hallways it's so bad. It's January, people, the sun doesn't shine enough for you to have a tan like that yet! And, of course, the ultimate challenge is to be accepted for who you really are, because, as the Snooki lookalikes demonstrate, anyone can create a false image to hide behind (with enough spray-tan and bumpits). To take it to the next level, it's an even more daunting challenge to accept yourself for who you really are. Because, sometimes, deep, deep inside the walls of our disheartened souls, we feel the urge to search for something greater than what the eye can see. We feel there is something to ourselves that is bigger and better than we give ourselves credit for, we just can't quite put our finger on it yet. But it's definitely there, waiting to be found and embraced. And it scares the living daylights out of us, not because it's dangerous or bad, per se, just because we know that making this new discovery about ourselves will signal a change in our self perception. I can tell you from experience that revelations can be painful and sickening and life altering all at once. The only thing that keeps me going is the understanding that I'll love myself after enduring all of the trials and tribulations of coming out as my true self.

            I've lived the past 5 years of my life as a Lesbian. That's right, I said it. L-E-S-B-I-A-N. Lesbian. I figured that to be a “true Lesbian” I had to follow the stereotype to a tee. I was a man-hating feminist rebel against everything that had to do with testosterone- a “true” short hair, bra-bashing, makeup-boycotting dyke. I even went to an Ani Difranco concert, who, for those of you that don't know, is the biggest name in feminist folk rock (and a total lesbo magnet). Anyone with a half-way rational gaydar could pick me out of a crowd in no time flat. Along the way I picked up a beautiful girlfriend, an affinity for plaid, and a head full of sexism, bias and bullcrap:

You are a male and you are talking to a female? You must want in her pants!

You are a Republican? You must be a stuck-in-your-ways conservative bigot!

You are a flamboyant guy? You are flaming GAY!

You are a girl with short hair? You are such a LESBIAN!

            Looking back on how I used to think I am ashamed of myself. How did I justify fighting sexism against women with sexism against men? How do I have room to talk about politics, economy, and social issues when I don't know more about them than the man on the moon? And, above all, how can I as a member of the LGBT community myself, make degrading assumptions about other people's identity based on physical appearance? As I rounded the corner of 17 and left the horrors of sweet 16 behind, I started to realize how terribly, hypocritically, judgmentally wrong I was and how twisted my ideas about my society and humanity were. This was my first revelation.

            After a long bout of soul-searching and heart-to-heart talks with my girlfriend (which usually ended in tears), I realized I wasn't a Lesbian, but instead a Pansexual. This was my second life-altering revelation. I discovered a part of myself that was attracted to men, women and anything in between. Yes, I said in between. Because gender isn't a binary, there is more than black and white, male and female. There is the obvious physical “in between” of the intersex (a person with gender ambiguous “parts”) but then there are those of us who were born in a gender specific body that just don't feel like their gender identity in their head matches their physical sex. This is called being Transgendered. And here comes the third earth-shattering realization: I am Transgendered. I am a man living in the body of a woman. There are more of us out there then you could ever imagine. We put the “T” in “LGBT,” and we are the unspoken minority. While there is the “L” for “Lesbian,” the “G” for “Gay,” and the “B” for “Bisexual,” “T” for “Transgender” doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the group. You see, all of the other words describe sexuality while Trans describes gender identity. We are like the kids in the back of the class that no one talks to but are always forced to do group work with the popular kids when it's time for a project. Though the idea of being an outcast worried me, it wasn't this change in social class (“popular” Lesbian to misunderstood, “unpopular” Trans guy) that scared me. It was the fact that I am the thing that I have dreaded for so long. I am my own sworn enemy. I am a man at heart. And no matter how hard I try to fit my male role, I will never physically be male. No matter how much testosterone I shoot up, no matter how far I go with surgery, or how tightly I bind down my chest, or how much body hair I acquire, or the muscle mass I gain, I will never be born with a male body. Because you are only born once. And I was born wrong. This was my latest, most heartbreaking revelation, and I can feel in the pit of my stomach that it won't be my last.

            Life is a maze that we must fight to navigate sometimes. We find ourselves at dead ends and obstacles more often than we'd like and it's discouraging to say the least. But, through the heartbreak and the turmoil we all end up fighting our way out eventually, only coming to a complete understanding of this labyrinth after we've untangled ourselves from it's thorns and hedges. So take time to enjoy the journey and remember that it'll all make sense in the end, even if you're enduring roller-coasters and closed doors. The pain of the revelations are what prove them to be true. The tears are what make the little facets of our personalities glisten and shine. But, most of all, the promise of self acceptance and understanding is what makes all of the torture bearable.

dis. ease

fallen to dis. ease
once easy to give in to the morning light
(now harder than ever.)

March 24, 2011

Sour smoke rolls off his tongue. Stale. Frustrated, Jay mashes the cigarette to the ashtray, crumpling its paper shell. His restless, white hands writhe, finger roughly and unsteadily gripping at thin air.

Nothing. I have NOTHING...

Years of toiling over this... this man... (cuz that must be what it is...) for nothing...

That Goddamn Batman...

March 23, 2011

licking the lip of a broken bottle.
splitting the skin of an overused muscle.
beading up like the pearls rolling down your neck.
smile of rubies
            like diamonds
                 like coal

throw your head back and drink from the fountain...

Murder Mystery: mirrored picture frame, Judge, Hair salon

The taint of velvet stands dormant on my fingertips. The girl lays lifeless in my arms, a reminder of how fragile these bodies are. Paper flesh. Glass bones. Rigid. Breakable. She's been missing for weeks. Her family's struggling with the loss. They insist she'll be back.
"She always comes back... she's run away before- but she ALWAYS comes back!"
Sorry, Mrs. Johnson, your daughter's gone for good.

  This used to be a hair salon back in the 20s. Since then it's been everything from a 7/11 to a whorehouse (come to think of it, there isn't much difference...) But now... now it's just an empty box. Lined with cobwebs and rat's nests, no one's been in here for decades. No one except predator and prey...

   No blood. A mirror at her side. She's always been known for her beauty, her vanity. Blonde wisps of hair cover her neck- cover her wounds. Teeth wounds. Claw marks on her arms. Bruises. No blood. A hot, sweet breeze caresses my bare back. The feel of fluttering wings and the scent of hungry fangs. The succubus Queen: Judge of the Underworld. She harvests the lives of young girls to keep her soul alight- a licking flame af hate and sizzling jealousy.

   The succubus rises, baring her fangs. The demon's red eyes gleam in the gunfire. *brakka! brakka! brakka!* of my automatic fire. In one clip, the goddess of lust lies dead in a pool of the blood she's stolen from countless beauties laid to rest. May they finally find peace.

March 9th 2011

Fading like a lover's dying passion.
Fading like a child's respect for innocence.
Fading like a soldiers hope for survival.
Fading like the life in the eyes of an old man.
Fading like the lust at dawn.
Fading like the pain of loss.
Out of control.
Out of my mind.
Out of patience.
Out of time.
Spiraling, dwindling, spinning, falling, falling past the point of no return.
Where did I go wrong?
Where do I go now?
What is left for this empty shell?
What is left of this ghost blows, blows
down, down, down,
to the furthest reaches of outerspace.
Out of time.

March 7th 2011

A swirling cloud of silver hair gilded her, floating as if the atmosphere had liquified. Her eyes locked on ome invisible spot, transfixed...

A Passage From"Body Traps"

Music. It's the only thing in this world that keeps me going. Calloused fingertips strum, pluck, pick shining guitar strings. Acoustic. Vintage. My caramel-finished, wooden miracle. The evening December breeze carries my voice away like silver ashes, scattering them amongst the rushing yellow cabs and the streetlamps slowly, slowly flickering to life. New York City rings with my song- or at least this corner of Manhattan. Cigarette butt tornadoes start to collect at my feet, harsh wind licks my face. Taunting. Disheartening. No one's listening. Empty bodies pass, their eyes blank and bored. Oblivious. My willpower to continue playing dwindles. Calloused fingers go limp, my last chord lingering, heavy, dissipating. My coffee can sits- empty- at my feet. Another evening of petty begging and heartless passers by. At least I earned some alone time... it's hard to come by lately.

            And so returns the cacophony of tires over broken glass clashing with the calls and cries of angry men clashing with the thousand tiny beads of light rushing at me clashing with the clak clak clak of heels on frozen pavement. Smog and noise are the lifeblood of my little corner of Manhattan- my little slice of heaven- but they're not the reason my heart is dragged back here night after night. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts from the shop I share my heaven with. I know that every night, like clockwork, I can catch a glimpse of her face. Cinnamon mocha beauty. I swear, her chocolate eyes lock with my own brassy, amber and- I know it sounds odd but, I feel with every timid glance she sees deep into the depths of my spirit and... and she understands. She understands me like no other. Yet we haven't breathed a single word. The clak clak clak of her heels. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. This is my moment to break our silence.

Rising Action practice

Indigo:

A tiny room.Locked. Filled to overflow with filthy people. Eventually, the conversation gets boring and the bodies quiet down. Silence so deep that they're no longer human. Just bodies. Flesh with no meaning. The carcassess of the memories of the people that used to live in these shells. Long, Long Forgotten. Dust falls quietly from the rotting rafters like black snow. It covers the flesh in a thick crust, layer after layer, creating a second skin.

Body Traps (back of the book.)

Born Michelle Moore, transgendered musician and hopeless romantic, Micheal, desperately longs for two things: a male body and a lover that will accept him for who he is. For the first time in his life, Micheal feels that he has found "the one." Angel is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and, little does he know, she understands his problems more than he realizes. Happily ever after, right? Not with Derek around. Micheal's possessive boyfriend is dead set on making "Michelle's" life miserable. If Derek isn't happy, no one is. Will Micheal overcome Derek's abusive nature and be with the one he truly loves? What will Micheal do when he is faced with a life altering decision, an overwhelming feeling of acceptance, and a jaw dropping, earth shattering encounter?...

Goddess. Mother.

Her violent awakening shakes her to the core. Flytrap eyes writhing in their dry sockets, wanting, ready to latch on to something- anything. Surgical steel wire entraps her lips in a sickeningly woven mass. The tension of the sutures as she fights against them summons beads of hot blood to her tongue, down her chin.
Strung Up.
She hangs
          hangs
              hangs
limps in some demented marionette stance. Shoulders buckled. Hips twisted. Knees brushing the cold, white tile ans she gently swings- back- forth- back- forth- by her pierced wrists.
Naked body once on pins and needles, now blissfully numb. Latex gloves slowly snip the stitches. Slowly, tediously, pulling, tugging loose skin. Dutifully releasing her from this deep, breathless sleep.

Apophenia;

I don't quite know why I like the word "Apophenia." Perhaps it's because I learned it from a graphic novel :/ hmm... I don't even think it's in the dictionary.
It's a condition where you see things that aren't really there (not like ghosts and stuff... more like optical illusions. Confusing? Yeah. I know. Eh... it's a psychology word... and a crazy confusing concept.). As human beings, we all have degrees of Apophenia. for example, when I draw this

:)

what do we all see?
a face of course. But what is it really?
it's just a colon and a parenthesis.
and what are the colon and parenthesis really?
just pixels on a screen lighting up in a specific order.
and what are pixels?
...
it goes on and on and on.
it really makes me feel like an absurdist or a nihilist (or that might just be Mr. Mau's class XD). Because nothing is ever just what it seems,. Everything has some deeper particles of existence that are altogether meaningless by themselves, though crucial to the make up of the whole idea, principle, object as a whole.

anyways, Our brains make connections to things subconciously. FASCINATING! (I wanna take psychology)

Harlequin Checkerboard Snakeskin

The Joker from Batman R.I.P. is one of the creepiest you'll ever see. that's why he's one of my very favorites. <3

I love the images that Grant Morrison and Tony S. Daniel portray in Batman R.I.P. One comes to realize that Batman is just as crazy and broken has his nemesis. Not to mention the  awesome dialog they give joker. Some of my favorite Joker quotes come from this comic:

When shown an inkblot test, Joker sees himself slaughtering his enemies with a razor. Blood is everywhere. Gotham's gone mad with Joker toxin... the doctor asks him what he sees: "another pretty flower... another pretty flower."

When told that Batman is on his way to see him, Joker replies: "he's not here yet, is he? i don't want him to be here yet. my nails are still drying." He holds up his hands. He's painted them in alternating red and black. In this book, red is a symbol for life and black for death.

Batman finally confronts the Joker and he says:"... you got yourself into this whole horrible mess because you wanted to understand what it was like to be me *haha*. you think it all breaks down into symbolism and structures and hints and clues. no, batman, that's just wikipedia. you actually believed all it would take is a few chemicals a couple of days in a drug induced isolation and a cheap little mental breakdown and you'd have me all figured out? like there was some rabbit hole you could follow me down to understanding? *HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!* welcome to where your soul dies!" Batman attacks him: "i.... i only want to help you understand... see, it's everything... *ghakk*... mom, dad, the job... oh batman, batman... let go... it's si simple... life... death... it's all a big joke. a dead man's hand and I hold the winning card! you really want to know how it feels to be the clown at midnight? where there's only ever one joke and it's always on you? well, here you are. now do you get it?"

Talking about batman: "every single time I try to think outside his toybox, he builds a new box around me. apophenia. I've been driven literally in.sane. trying to get him to loosen up. well, now... now it's your turn..."

Desperation:

                     to need to the point of hallucination; to want beyond the farthest reaches of human possibility; to hunger for something more; foolishness; hopelessness; starting to get careless; violently convulsing; on the floor; withdraws; too many deposits; bankrupt heart; slowing; slowing; deoxygenized lungs; can't breathe; can't breathe; my violet-ice bloodstream; nicotine; nicotine; no use; tears too dry to count.

Feb. 25 2011 (Pie.)

I have very strong feelings about pie.I hate pie. No- I LOATHE it. CRUST is NASTY. It just tastes like soggy crackers (I hate crackers, too.) In general, I don't like bready things at all. Yes, crackers and pie crust count as bread. The only bread I really like in the european stuff, or the kind with all the special healthy junk my mom buys (but that's too expensive so it doesn't really count.) Anyways, pie crust is nasty. I'd be fine with pie if it didn't have crust. But then it wouldn't be pie, I guess... it'd just be filling... but it's not filling unless it's inside crust... so I guess it'd just be sugary mush-stuff. Which I'm okay with as long as it's not paired with CRUST. Of course, graham cracker crust is okay- like on cheesecake and things (but that's not pie anyways...)- and oreo crust is great with chocolate pie :) But, overall, if I have to eat fruity sugary mush-stuff, I'd take cobbler over pie any day. Or cake. cake is amazing. <3

Feb. 23 2011

The world is hushed in the throws of love and cotton. Ringing ears and heads mean nothing when the mind goes deaf. The essence of silence rolls in as a choking sweetness. Takes the breath. The skin goes numb. The bandages unravel and the wound is revealed in the earth shaking sobs of a woman coming undone in her lover's arms.

I feel like an idiot...

Today, as i'm sure someof you have noticed, I attract alot of attention. My hair is not only green but is sticking straight up in a 6inch tall mohawk. I get some looks. and i get some comments... like this guy in the hallway that made me feel like an idiot.
He was a freshman (I could tell because he was half my size, had no facial hair and his voice was still a little squeaky) he said:"What's up, MAN?" His girl friends watching gasped in shock and awe. OMG (they were thinking) He's talkin' to that trans freak! I couldn't help but let a huge grin spread across my face. You could literally see all of my teeth. I kept walking... turned around (still walking - now backwards) and yelled "THANK YOU!"

What?
What did I say?
Why did I say "thank you" to "what's up, man?"
>.> umm... I feel like an idiot.
now this freshman thinks I'm completely incompetent...
and I probably spelled that wrong XP
anyways..

I said "Thank You" because that boy has no IDEA what the word "man" means to me. Even if it was just an accident or an insult or a conversation starter... IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME <3

Head Talk

Gas station. Perfect. How long's it been since it was in workin' order? Let's see... bombs hit in '58... I've seen at least 17 winters... Hell, 's been nearly 2 decades! Good thing petroleum don't go bad.
Sh*t! What-if the tank's done pumped dry?! Damn outsiders... hoarders, fear mongers, filthy rats hole'n up in their filthy shacks...
car needs gas... car needs gas...
Why'd I have to end up with this hunk'a metal? Junk. That's what it is... and it sucks up the fuel like nobody's business...
Damn car. Damn gas...

F**K! Damn thing's bone dry! Bastards! No good bastards! What the HELL am I supposed to do with this pile of scrap metal with 'n empty tank?!

...this sh*thole got any liquor...

Feb. 16 2011

Softly. Softly.
Quietly. Quietly.
Secretly.
Silently.
Hush.

(hush.)

Time like sweet honey
dripping from the mouth of a sweet stranger
as if you don't have a care in the world.

Butterfly kisses.
Rasberry-bloodstain lipstick.
10 talons.
Thousands of tiny little razors...

Feb. 18 2011 "Guns and Flowers"

Was it Watchmen that had the opening scene with the hippie putting the flowers in the barrel of a rifle? Yeah, it was. It's such a powerful image. It always makes my heart jump when the shots ring out and the flower bursts. It makes me want to cry. I've thought about getting it tattooed on me but I don't know how it would be placed to look right. Maybe an AK-47 with a daisy on my ribcage going down past my hip too? idk... I've always wanted a hippie tattoo on me cuz I grew up as one (lol, I'm still a hippie!) XD I love the movie Hair:the musical, but the play is SSOoOOooo much better. "Let the Sunshine In" always makes me cry (it's the main song at the end of the play). I thought about getting some of the lyrics from it on me too. Come to think of it, the flower/rifle & quote combo would look great together. :) here's some possible quotes:

-"Let the Sunshine In"
-"Let the Sun shine"
-"facing a dying nation of moving paper fantasy"
-"listening to the new told lies of supreme visions of lonely tunes."

Rain.

Paradise is in her arms- the girl with sunshine in her eyes. Promises of her warm embrace are the only things that beckon me out of my solemn silence:
She's ot there, Bullets.
The acid-rain clouds whisper secrets- dropping bittersweet kisses down from heaven. The poison burn lingers on the skin. Scarring. Tastes like a mix of sugar and cyanide. The soft *tink! tink!* of the drizzle (so familiar) accompanied by the unsettling sizzle of eroding flesh and metal.

(Rain, rain. Go away. Come again another day...)

I swore I'd save her...
The rain may persist, but I'll never back down.

Love may be a crazy thing, but PROMISES, PASSION, and PERSISTENCE are what will kill m in the end.
The Devil's tears burn like Hellfire.

(Rain, rain. Go away... Let the sun come out to play...)

Bullets.

Clostrophobia. You've never experienced it 'til you've been roped to a table- gagged- and left to await your fate. Walls closing in. Dark. Hands at my sides writhing. Lungs betraying me- constricted. Heart pounding- failing.
PANIC! PANIC! PANIC!
panic to your heart's content, but you're never getting out alive!
(Quiet, you lunatic piece of sh*t...)
Movement past a door. that faceless bastard...
*click!click!click!* of boots on concrete. Sounds like more than two feet. 4 maybe 6 boots...
louder. Louder. LOUDER. until-
*BOOM!* the door goes down in a cloud of dust and the light rolls in like smoke.
"How's our little angel?" grizzly growls from behind dark masks. Three monster carrying pistols and hungry stomachs. The gag dislodges from my jaw and out stream the threats... stupid!
"FILTHY RATS! GET ME THE F**K OUT OF HERE OR, I SWEAR, I'LL-"
"You'll WHAT, honey?" The faceless one that dragged me here seems to be the only one with a voice. He cocks his gun, spreads my left hand out on the table beside me. His cold, meetal weapon pins down my palm, "You'll KILL us?"
*BANG* Flames lick at my throbbing nerves- taunting.
(I'm so F**KING stupid!)
Blood gushes from the wound. I bite my lip in agony.
Laughter ensues from the mouths of the monsters. Barking hyenas...
This is their idea of a good time. And their not-so-harmless fun mixed with my uncanny ability to offend makes for the battle-scar of a lifetime.
(Jesus... why?)
You don't know pain 'til you've been mauled by a bullet...
I'm made of bullets.
I AM PAIN.

February 11th 2011

Quietly. Silently.
Inching. Inching forward. (floor-tile by floor-tile.)
Step on a crack, break you mother's back...
Quicken your pace.
Feel you heart racing. Racing.
Caffinated blood-flow pumping. Pumping.
Through nicotine-constricted roadways...
Filling up that empty space you once called a body.
Head spinning.
Spinning.
Spinning out of control...

February 9th 2011

This school is a wasp nest, populated with drones of blood thirsty, ruthless fiends waiting for the littlest disturbance to make them uncomfortable so they have an excuse to attack. Dive in for the kill. 5 thousand stingers come to tear my goodwill down. But I WON'T STAND DOWN. WE WON'T BREAK DOWN. (cuz we fight back.) Who hates me enough to mock me like this? They're out there... in here... walking these halls... furious for some reason locked up deep inside themselves, unapparent to the naked eye... Who's to tell me I can't be me? That I can't hope for people to understand?
Disrespectful.
Bias.
Closed Minded.
Control Freaks.
Are you telling me that I'm inappropriate?
Am I offensive to you?
Well, I'm not going to appologize for your own arrogance if that's what you want.
Ignorance.

We stand together in the name of TRUTH & ACCEPTANCE.
(what do you stand for? HATE?)

Dexter is pretty much my favorite TV show :)

Write a letter to yourself in 10 years:

Dear self (it's weird to call yourself "dear"),
... goodness, there are so many questions to ask... uh, how's 27 treatin' yuh? >_> hmm... this is kinda awkward. Anyway, I guess I should ask some deep, thought provoking questions that remind you/me of how lame I was/am as a teenager. Did the world end in 2012? Are you currently fighting to survive a nuclear winter? Not gunna lie, that'd be pretty awesome. Have you killed any zombies yet? No? Hmm, bummer... have you at least gotten a tattoo? I'd think so because I'm planning on gettiong one before the apocolypse. Do you still obsess over the Joker? Oh! was the third Nolan Batman movie any count?! I don't think he can ever top the Dark Knight. And how about Mass Effect 3? Does Commander Sheparddefest the Reapers and save Earth? Do you get the option to pursue a lesbian romance with Jack, or is Bioware still a bunch of heartless sons-of-witches? How's the progress on the whole "trans*" thing? Am I a boy yet? (Please say yes)... How's Niki? Is she out of school yet? I love her so much <3. Did we ever move to Boston? Please tell me we're not still stuckin Kentucky! That's the one thing I want to do as soon as possible: move. There's no opportunity here. Please get me out of here... Please, I'm begging you- get me to a place with more people like me/us/YOU! It's for our own good, you know.

With Love,
Indigo (but you already knew that)

February 4th 2011

A natural born survivalist. (like you've gotta be when you're born into this sh*thole) Ever viglilant. (I'm impressed) She is rough, perhaps even more so than me. And,God, she's beautiful... just like her mother. But her face is tougher, jaw tighter- on edge. A tarit she has inherited from this wasteland wilderness... and probably from my genetic arrogance. She has a mouth on her. Quiet, but when she does speak she doesn'ttake any sh*t. Not for me. Not from anyone.
Pale hair whiplash. Calloused fingers caress a trigger. Wreckless, loaded barrel pressed nearly into my brains- threatening.
"What the F**K do you want, old man?!"
Spit sprays my cheek. (Furious.)
Sunshine and Bullets.
I could get used to this.

February 3rd 2011

Tonight the sun goes dark around the world. Radio-static clouds blur the senses. we've been blinded- muted- deafened... our perception slaughtered in the onslaught of perpetual thunder. In this new, tainted world, all you've got is your own thoughts- cuz we can't just talk- we've gotta be virtual, don't we? And so we're left to our dwindling, dishevelled imaginations. Have to build them up, I guess- fill out our brains again. Re-learn to think for ourselves. So hard, since we've been sucking endless information through a straw from the day they could pry our jaws apart.

January 18th, 2011

I keep a journal of everytime I talk to you
-everytime I see your face-
and I cry

and I cry

I cry and I pray
to wake up and be you.
to open my eyes and be
beautiful.

You are my only wish.

Why can't you be true?
and the sad part is,
it can never be so.
not because I don't try.
not because I can't dream
and beg and plead- and want and NEED-
but...................... because it's FRAKING physically impossible and it wouldn't ever be right..... wouldn't EVER be BETTER....
I'll never be better.
will this sickness ever get better?
I don't think so.
because it's not a frakin' sickness.
it's not a disease or a disorder.
just a deformity.

my head doesn't quite match my body.
I never asked for this.

I look at him and I cry - sob - bawl- - -
envy. jealousy. wanting. longing. (crying)

(shh... it's a secret)

Danger Days

Joker (again)

"Killing is making a choice."

I love the way his face glows with the passion of the fight, giving into his anger. With each hit I take, his fists become more heated. maybe he'll man up and DO IT already!

"I want you to do it, I want you to do it. I want you to do it... come on... hit me. HIT ME!"
-THWAK-

My giddy giggles gush out with the blood. All the while I know my sick grimace only urges him on. I can't help but smile. For onlookers, bystanders, our mutual hatred of eacother may look manic, but there's a method to our madness...

"Bats *hehe*..."
-THUNK-
"Ahhhahaha..."
-WHACK-
"Oh... Bats, I want you to know something about me- something... personal."

He pauses his onslaught to listen, still furious- fists clenching. Fingers restless with unquenchable hatred.

*hehe*
"I want you to know, Bats baby...
that I don't HATE you becaue I'm CRAZY...
I'm CRAZY because I HATE you!"

As the rain of fists comes so does an anguised scream of hysteria.

"I LOVE YOU, BATS!"

January 13, 2011

The bodies were packed in tight. Not only because there were alot of us, but mostly because the room was so small- clostrophobic. No windows. One door. One way in and one way out, for some of the more talkative of us maybe not even that much. We could very well die in here. That's the problem with living this life- a life of thugs, sometimes we just can't shut our fat mouths.
Everyone here wants this gig, but I think I'm the most passionate... or maybe just the most desperarte. He's a Joker, boss is. Wouldn't hesitate to slaughter the lot of us. May even enjoy it... LAUGH about it. (hehe) A guy like me has to admire a guy like him- being the coward I am. Weel, not a coward, persay, more like a guy who likes to lay low... take the safe way out- not the easy way- just the safe one. I've been taking alot of flak from my crew lately about it. I've gotta show 'em that I got what it takes to survive in this town. Cuz Gotham's tough. Tougher than what most people see... because they don't live on the inside... they can't see beyond the surface.
The florescent light flickers, dimming. BANG. A shot through the door, buckshot sprays, catches a few of us but misses me. They go down hard. I like the way this guy plays. The door creaks open as the main attraction walks in, suave- an oddly innocent grin.

"Evening, Ladies."

His chelsea grin eerily inviting.
I like this guy.
Joker...

January 10, 2011

my mother was a carpenter
my father was a saint
I give you everything you want
but still you feel the same
my cousin was a big bad wolf
my baby sister
a red balloon.
who would know
what I think
cuz I'm just as confused as you.
I love the way you look at me
with those blue canary eyes
I love the way you talk to me
in your clarinet romantic voice
clearly I'm out of my mind
my green and pink and black-and-blue
mind...
red and black
and purple
and blue
and black blood
running
running
spilling over
over the edge...
clearly I'm a little off
a little out of touch
but without you you know that I wouldn't even
be that much.
out of touch
out of my mind
out of my head,
my wounds scream with joy
my hatred with a smile
a greedy grin and
a smirk
my hands lead me on
but my eyes are blind to the things that I've done- the places I've been- the people I've seen.
yes. seen. I have seen through her invisible tainted red lipsticked smile.
a greed grin and
a smirk...

My Favorite Joker

this is the best piece of digital art I've ever made. it's painted in photoshop ^_^ enjoy