Placebo - Slackerbitch
Starchaser - Jambe Myth
Orbital - Meltdown
I’ve been listening to Placebo obsessively tonight. I am so painfully depressed. Saw the end of Y tu mama, tambien, it made me want to cry in someone’s arms so bad. But I have no arms. I’m armless. I miss Mindy so bad. I had this system going a long time ago, Mindy would fulfill my emotional needs (we’d cuddle and have great conversations) and guys would fulfill my physical needs (sex). I miss Mindy so bad. Or just anyone to be (as Freud would probably say) my ersatz mother. I want to cry so bad but crying by oneself is just stupid. And I can’t cry in front of others. I just want to cry, I’ll feel so much better afterwards. Or just to love someone, like I loved Mindy. Complete platonic love. I wonder if Taggart would ever confess to such desires. I was so depressed I had to paint this horribly scary and depressed painting of us. I’ll let anyone see it that wants to. I’m scared of it though. I just can’t put my pain onto a canvas that small. I used my big canvas on Kelly’s present (a portrait of our god, her DVD player screensaver). I hung out with Daniela today before and after art. She is so amazingly cool. We watched this play that she’d helped with, it was so funny with her explanations of the goings-on backstage. Well anyway, when I got home I was just charged with this creative Daniela energy and I felt so inspired, so I went and took my canvas, easel, paints, etc. and moved them into my room to paint the painting I’m giving Kelly. It came out okay–I don’t really like God’s color–but that’s beside the point. I got really angry making Kelly’s painting, it wasn’t doing what I wanted, but I figured out how to make the paint work. I’d never done detail in oil before. Anyway, after I finished it I watched that movie Y tu mama tambien–then I got depressed and did some sketches for the uber-depressed Taggart painting, then I painted it. I wish there was some way I could trascribe my profound sadness. I guess listening to all this Placebo isn’t helping. Placebo is like–hard to describe. Every song that I love by Placebo I hated when I first heard it. Then I’d look up the lyrics and listen to it a million times and stuff and go OMG this is so great. Weird. But it’s like glam rock–it’s pretty much unclassifiable. And I’m in love with the lead singer Brian Molko–well until he cut his hair for their new album, which makes him look like a washed-out drag queen. But I still love him. I miss Mindy. Even though she’s married and I know we’ll never be like we used to be, the carefree teenagers–I miss those years. I loved those years. She helped me come out of the closet, she helped me to get over Richard–I just miss her so much–but the Mindy I loved doesn’t exist any more. That makes me want to cry even more. Must switch CDs–but I don’t want to listen to “happy” music. It would just sicken me. But I suppose I should anyway. Popping in my trance/techno CD. Actually it is cheering me up. Starchaser is the best band ever. Mmm…Jambe Myth. Hmm. Still just as depressed, but now I feel like I should be in some uber-stylish club in Ibiza dancing my depression away surrounded by cute raver bois. Puke. Make that to Industrial club, being stabbed by the spikes of hot guys surrounding me. But cute in an Industrial way. But one would never hear Starchaser in an industrial club, there’d be Ministry or something playing. Grr. I need to buy a Ministry CD, I’ve only heard one of their songs, and I can’t download them off the Net, I keep getting Ministry Of Sound songs–which are completely different. Ministry of sound is like, techno, and Ministry is supposed to be hardcore industrial. Hmm. This diversion is kind of keeping me not depressed. Oh yeah, another depressing topic. My mother. I want to e-mail her and ask her if she really loves me, but she never checks her e-mail. I was thinking of sending her a letter, but that would be so trite. I wholeheartedly hate myself. I hate who I was, who I am, who I’ve become. I’ve never moved on. I’ve never stood up for myself. I’ve never learned not to only see my flaws. I’m so lucky, but I squander everything. There are budreds of millions of people who will never even see a computer, let alone learn to use one. There are hundreds of millions of people who would consider my life the life of a KING. But what do I care–I just take it all for granted. There are people a million times uglier than me, people that have diabilities, people who would love to have my body–but all I am is dissatisfied with it. I’m such a pessimist. No, a realist. I expect the best in people and am always disapponted, I expect the worst from myself and am always disappointed. It’s just this cycle. I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand anything any more. I NEED TO MOVE TO A CITY. THIS PLACE IS SUCKING THE LIFE OUT OF MY SOUL. Fuck. This music really isn’t cheering me up. Nobody is online that has a brain that I could talk to. I could talk to Jon, but all he cares about is getting fucked and buying things. I value intelligence and thought over everything else. The universe is secondary to the pursuit of reason and intellect. But who do I know my age that shares this passion? As I tell people when they ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend, “I’ve never even met a girl that was dateable, a guy–impossible.” I don’t know what Taggart values. He’s not a communicator and neither am I–well in a “relationship.” I don’t even know what to call me and Taggart’s relationship. It would best be described as a bodily fluid exchange. I’m so pessimistic, I need to go to sleep and cry in my dreams because I can’t cry in reality. I think I had a dream about having sex with someone last night and I remember being covered in bodily fluids and going GOD! I’M GOING TO GET AIDS. Or something like that. It’s all my mom’s fault. I hate her. I can’t even love myself, how could I ever love another. My eyes are getting watery–no–it’s going away. I can’t even cry. How fucking lame is that. I want to disappear.
