My god, I’ve been crying for–almost an hour. I stopped a while ago. I couldn’t stop crying–every time I thought about the possibility of Taggart fucking someone else, every time I thought about my mother saying I’m going to get AIDS and die, every time I thought about her insinuating that she would love me if I was straight–it all just culmanated tonight. I couldn’t deal with it any more. I feel so much better. I hadn’t cried without a movie to lead me into it in years. I feel so refreshed. Kathy was so loving, she came out and comforted me three times. She is the mother I never had. I called my mom this morning, due to the time difference she was out walking the dog, it was seven there where it was four here. I poured out all my feelings, how I felt that she didn’t love me because I was gay, how I felt she didn’t love me because of my freakish fashions, just everything–I discussed everything with her and I feel much, much better. All that’s left is for me to talk to Taggart about our end and I’ll be emotionally complete, for the first time in ages. But I fear that it won’t last long. Taggart is the weakest link in the chain of my emotions. He could effortlessly destroy my entire world with the simple phrase: “I just wanted to fuck you.” Like a feather falling from the sky the words would leisurely tumble down, obliterating all. Colonnaded halls festering with disease, raining titanic volumes of death and destruction, perfectly planned, the semantics of perfect hatred executed–a legion of hatred, the architect of the obliteration of my world. God. My own destruction is one of the few things that can inspire me to abstractions. For the first time in so long, I feel completely at peace. I think I have an eyelash in my eye. I’m going to check it in the bathroom. I think I’ll brush my teeth too, I drank a Pepsi in the depths of my despair. Maybe it was the caffiene that made me feel better. I’m beginning to blame everything on drugs. Taggart and Jared, on new years’ eve, were talking about all the psychoactive drugs they’d been on and how differently they’d acted. Marilyn Manson is perfectly right: “A pill to make you numb / A pill to make you dumb/ A pill to make you anybody else / But all the drugs in this world / Won’t save her from herself” We are all machines, so easily changed. Personality is fleeting, it is nothing. Simply ornate masks that we try so hard to put masks over. But when we peel away the layers and stare into the deepest depths of the “core,” nothing is what we see. Nothing at all.

> OKGO - You’re So Damn Hot

I’m trying to cheer myself up by listening to OKGO. I tried to go to sleep again but it didn’t work. I kept thinking about Taggart, about the end, about him fucking girls. To slightly misquote Manson “I don’t need a reason to hate him the way that I do.” I need to talk with him tomorrow about the future. I need to know how he feels before I try to alter my moods. The world is shit. I should take some NyQuil, but it’s in Kelly’s room and she’s asleep. I’m hungry and tired and depressed and slightly sick, compounding it all. With the malaise I’m feeling is the voice of my mother that’s always in the back of my head “you’re going to get AIDS, You’re going to get AIDS and die.” I FUCKING HATE HER MORE THAN ANYONE ON THIS PLANET. MORE THAN GEORGE BUSH, MORE THAN REPUBLICANS, MORE THAN CENSORS, MORE THAN FUCKING DR. MENGELE. WHY DOES THIS WORLD HAVE TO BE SO CRUEL? WHY DO I HAVE TO FEEL SUCH PAIN? I never get any pleasure that lasts as long as this pain does. I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD. More shit like this and I think I actually will be depressed enough to attempt suicide. I wrote another one of those little daydream screenplays in my head tonight as I was trying to fall asleep.

[fadein on hospital room and bed]
I’m on the hospital bed covered in tubes and everything. I’m dying of AIDS. I requested to see Taggart, and he comes (I’m a dreamer, aren’t I).

Taggart: Hello?
Me: “Hi,” I croak.
[Taggart's eyes roam over that apparatuses keeping me alive]
Me: “Could you do me a favor?
Him: “Sure.”
Me: “Just tell me you love me, even though I know you don’t mean it.”
Him: [emotionlessly] “I love you.”

[the heart monitor starts beeping crazily, they drag everyone out of the room, and then there's the scene with the paddles to try to revive me, but I'm gone, I'm dead.]

In my version, my father and grandmother cry, and finally embrace the crying Kathy and Kelly, Taggart stands alone. He goes outside to smoke, and walks home. Right before I typed the last sentence I started to cry. I’m still crying, I don’t know why. It’s either the thought of Taggart leaving me or the thought of me dying. I think it’s the thought of Taggart leaving me. This is such a postive step for me, I’ve never cried except for at the end of movies in years, even when I’m so depressed and just need to. I’m glad I can open up now. I need to cry. I’ve been hurt so many times and in so many ways–I just can’t keep it all bottled up any more.

Kathy just came out, she hugged me and everything, I felt better. But now she left and I’m crying again. I don’t even know why. It’s just everything–my mother–she doesn’t love me, my dad doesn’t care if I die–god I’m crying. I should go out on the patio. I feel so horrible but it feels good at the same time. I love my mother and it hurts so much that she doesn’t love me. I could never cry before, I just had to keep it all inside, like men are supposed to do–oh god I’m so sad. I think I’m going to go out onto the patio and cry.

“Well, you’re either lovers or you’re wanting to be lovers or you’re trying not to be lovers so you can be friends, but any way you look at it, sex is always looming in the picture like a shadow, like an undertow.”

–Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Get Real, 1991

“To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don’t want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.”

Madonna (1958 - ), O Magazine, January 2004

“Art is merely the refuge which the ingenious have invented, when they were supplied with food and women, to escape the tediousness of life.”

–W. Somerset Maugham, ‘Of Human Bondage’, 1915

“Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem.”

–W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence

Met a cool guy named antisuperboy, he gave me his blogaddress, I should post it.

http://www.livejournal.com/~antisuperboy/

This is the best song ever, “Para-Noir” by Marilyn Manson. It’s so what I’m feeling right now.

[Dita]I’d fuck you because you are famous
I’d fuck you for your money
I’d fuck you to control you
I’d fuck you so someday I can have half of everything you own
I’d fuck you to fuck you over
I’d fuck you until I find someone better
Then fuck you in secret
I’d fuck you because I can’t remember if I’d already fucked you before
I’d fuck you out of boredom
I’d fuck you because I can’t feel anything anyways
I’d fuck you to make the pain go away

[Manson:]
Fuck you because I loved you
Fuck you for loving it, too
I don’t need a reason to hate you the way I do

[Dita:]
I’d fuck you so I could feel something instead of nothing at all
I’d fuck you because you are beautiful
I’d fuck you because you are my cigarette
I’d fuck you because I am your whore
I’d fuck you because you are a whore
I’d fuck you for fun
I’d fuck you because I can’t
I’d fuck you so I have a place to stay
I’d fuck you so you will protect me

[Manson:]
Fuck you because I loved you
Fuck you for loving it, too
I don’t need a reason to hate you the way I do