ummm....i'm not sure what to say about this, mostly i just write and write till im done and i either end up with something like this, or with something like the poems....Back
Random thoughts of nothing… of suicide… of the ironic world I which I live. I have noticed that I quite often write and draw about suicide, death, god and Christianity. I suppose I am bitter, but it is with good reason. I have been abandoned, again and again. I have had my heart ripped out. I have been stabbed in the back. Very few people understand true pain. Most people think a little down is a deep depression, but they are wrong. They go through life taking their happiness, and everything else, for granted, and they never know who they are; they are a copy of an imitation… nothing more… they live the life of a parent who lived the life of their own parent. They never know themselves, they never know anyone, or anything. Human sheep, who follow the herd… and that is all. I know too many human sheep… but they don’t realize they are what they are… they are brainwashed by the media: no thought of their own. No wonder the world is such a mess. There is not enough independent thought, and the little that there is, is stifled by society. Great minds are put into a box, and locked in. 666, 6(sic)6, humanity… sucks… People = shit… though most people fail to realize it, lyrics that are seemingly pointless have great truth to them… it is more than a way to sell records, it is a way to say what people already know, but fear to say themselves… but that is part of society’s box… society is the reason I prefer my dream world… my dream world is the only reason I am able to stay alive. If I lived in reality I would go crazy… people would drive me to insanity and eventually suicide. I don’t want to grow up and lose my fantasy world. Damn life… I want to stay a little girl… I don’t want to grow up… let me have my childhood. Apparently I have issues with my past… mainly being forced to growing up to fast, and being deprived of my childhood. Damn my life… I would not wish it on anyone… too much pain. Most people would have killed themselves by now… but then again, I’m the one that has a abnormal fixation with death and suicide. I’ve got a very morbid, perverse mind.
Jazzmine N. Rosales,
5/9/03
Random thoughts of everything; suicide, big fluffy pink elephants, kill yourself to kill the pain, love hate indifference, the last is the worst, the first does not exist, the hate feeds the pain. What the fuck? Do you think I'm sane? I am unstable, are you? Who decides what is normal? what is insane? what is right or wrong? why do we feed ourselves lies? Drugs to numb, masks to hide? Why are we alive? Is there a purpose to existence? I hate, myself, my life, my friends, my family, my love, everything. I am depressed, I am angry, am I the stereotype of a goth teenager? I am? I’m not? Does it matter? Who cares? No One? Then why does everyone? Damn it all… free association, Sigmund Freud… psycho-sexual, psycho-social, Erik H. Erikson. What is that? Am I normal? Am I odd? Who decides? I want to kill, I want to hurt, myself, everyone. Fuck them all, fuck everything. I hate it all, I hate you. Am I you? Or are you I? What would happen if we switched places? Would you feel this way to? Would I feel the way you do? Who is I? Who is them? They? He? She? Anyone? No one? Everyone? Does it matter? Does anything matter? Does anyone care? Does anyone give a fuck? Black nail polish, on my hands… graphite lead, and carbon from playing with burning candles and other such shit. Cuts from glass containers breaking when they get too hot. There is a tiny shard of glass, I can’t feel, but I see… glitter. Pink ‘shroom ring, Plastic pimp Mexican flag ring. On my hands. Random thoughts in my mind, free association, release the Id, let it control, damn the super ego! I want to feel the most basic of instincts. No social order. Anarchy to the extreme. Is this what I really think? or is this just what I write? I don’t know. That scares me. What I want, what I feel? Can anyone help me? I don’t think they can? What brought this on? CiCi, Shawn, my dad? Chad, Darin, Angel, Zack, Josh? Anyone? No one? Everyone? Is my whole life just leading to this? The pure psychotic ramblings in my math class? The unknowns, the questions? Are there any answers? Am I dirty? Am I dirt? Do I want to be pretty? Who decides? My mother is beautiful, Marilyn Manson is to…?I love, even though I don’t believe in it. Lost loves, forever bitter, never again sane. What the hell is wrong with me? Anything? Everything? Nothing? Lettie my gorgeous love, Josh my best friend, Fred, my savior, Taylor my unknown, Darin the one who will never be. Shawn? Richard the bastard, yet somehow I am still drawn to him? Why? It is not sexual or love? It is almost hate, but it is a different way than I hate anyone else. What about my dad? I hate, I push away, but I know I need him. But why? I don’t know. I don’t know. I want to know. Tilly? Why? I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate I hate I hate I hate. I want to kill. Scary, I can’t stop. I can’t I can’t Why am I repeating? I must control myself, but I don’t want to. Total anarchy to the extreme. The universe in chaos. Total chaos, totally unruled. No social order, no rules, no regulations, why am I not breathing? Why do I feel empty, like my heart stopped beating? Sheep, Human sheep, I don’t want to be a human sheep. What am I? Who am I? What do I want? What do I need? Why? Why don’t I know? Do you? Why do they love me? I don’t want to be loved. I want to be free, no strings attached. But I have them… Ian, Hannah, Mama, Dre, Shuane, Shawn, CiCi, Matt. If I die who would cry? They would? Yes. Betty, Gabby? Oscar? Rosalba, but not for real. Diana? Jose? I wonder who would mean it? Who would cry just for show? Who would cry behind closed doors? I don’t cry, I should, but I don’t. Crying is good for the soul, but mine is only a hole. HHART, the dream will never be… civil rights? will die under the straight male white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, WASP. Government is an interesting thing. Doesn’t work the way it is supposed to. Anarchy is appealing but we would kill each other to quickly, life as we know it would cease to exist. Is that bad? Maybe not, but it would not be so pleasant once the novelty wore off. I’m cold. I’m shaking. Mind blank. Others around me in their own little world. Interacting, but what do they do when no one is looking? When they are all alone? Damn them all. Soon the bell will ring and my bubble will be broken. It has been partially invaded already, but it will slowly reform. I want to go, where no one knows me. I want to live alone, I want to talk to no one. I want to watch, from my own little bubble. As little interaction as possible. I want to write, to draw, express, photography, art, theater, computers, web design, multimedia, make up, hair, cosmetics, my hand is in control I don’t know why I don’t want it to be like this, but it is. It stopped. It wants to start again, but about what? Bubble invaded, must build up again. So cold, so empty, so dead. Is this really me? Is this really what I feel? This isn’t "normal," this isn’t "stable." Is it suppressed? Do I push it down? Yes, but to this extreme? To the point where I don’t know what is real, and what is artistic expression? It scares me. I don’t want this to be what I feel. What I think. My existence. My essence. I want this to be something I just write, but you write best what you know. You write what is true to you. I don’t want it. Let it be artistic expression. Please? Who am I asking? God? Does he exist? Does he care? Does he even know? Who is to say one god is the true god? Who is to say you are right and I am wrong? I still don’t know who is you? is it me? Is it the super ego? Is it someone else? I don’t know who I am writing to. Do I know you? do you know me? The true me? Or the happy hyper lil' girl I project myself to be? I want to be her. I want to be a child. I grew up to fast. I want to play.
-Jazzmine N. Rosales, 3/27/03
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