33 1/3: Rotations of a BROKEN RECORD

[brokenrecord3313-blog]

Bottles

You're all living in the human realm

In your human houses 

With your human objects

That you can buy at the store

Bottles of soda, bottles of juice

Bottles of cough syrup, bottles of vitamins

Bottles of dish soap, bottles of laundry detergent

I am living in the devil-verse

the double-verse

because I see Lactulose everywhere

In bottles of soda, bottles of juice

Bottles of ketchup, bottles of vitamins

Bottles of dish soap, bottles of laundry detergent

----

I was afraid of chemicals and fragrances

and long lists of unfamiliar ingredients

I bought natural products from the health food store

Local, organic, no artificial ingredients Bottles of oil, bottles of vinegar

Bottles of shampoo, bottles of conditioner

Bottles of tooth powder, bottles of facial cleanser

I was afraid of conventional products

Bottles of neon dish soap, bottles of dark green cleaning products

Bottles of metallic nail polish, bottles of liquid foundation

Toxic, smelly, dangerous

I used to be afraid to go out into the world

But the most dangerous thing in the world

Was right inside my house

------

I believe a portal from hell opened up

And let in the devil's medicine into my human realm

Through the hospital, through the pharmacy, into my home

Bottles of Lactulose, bottles of Lactulose

Bottles of Lactulose, bottles of Lactulose

Bottles of Lactulose, bottles of Lactulose

When I swallowed a spoonful of Lactulose

and new branch of hell opened up inside me

Now I am possessed by demons

And I am plagued by devil pain

Now I can't handle all these human objects

That I have to organize and manage

Collect and carry around with me

Bottles of water, bottles of tea

Bottles of body wash, bottles of shampoo

Bottles of lotion, bottles of sunscreen

-----

I would trade them all in

I would swallow everything

If I could undo that one spoonful of Lactulose

A tablespoon of prevention 

Would have been worth a hundred bottles of cure

But there is no bottle of cure

[brokenrecord3313-blog]

Do You Remember?

(December 2016)

Do you remember when I was anorexic? Now I am a maniac-kleptic I steal junk food to chew and spit I collect cups into which I spit

Do you remember when I was healthy? Now I’m so sick no one can help me The pain’s so bad, it makes me cry I tried everything, I even tried to die

Thank you, Stanford Hospital I got fat but I will never get full Thank you, Lactulose medication You finally cured my constipation

Now I need a cure for Lactulose ‘Cause I’m sick to death of feeling gross Until they find a magic bullet for pain In this torture chamber I remain

Every night before I go to bed I curse myself for taking it off the shelf Every morning when I wake up I plot how to kill myself

They say mistakes aren’t made by God But Lactulose was a man-made job They say that “to err is human” I made an error that made me feel subhuman

They say everything happens for a reason I say when shit happens, find a reason for pleasin’ God gave me a message in the wild He said Lactulose is not his child

God told me not to take my life and leave Lactulose to ruin others’ lives God told me to tell the world That Lactulose broke a beautiful girl

[brokenrecord3313-blog]

One Night / Last Year

(December 2016) 

One night / last year I lost / my fear How hard / I fell Woke up / in hell

Let me / tell you I had / no clue I got / so schooled Like a / fat fool

Now I’m / in pain Life’s down / the drain Lost ev- / rything Thanks for / nothing

Now it’s / too late I sealed / my fate Took a / big hit Forfeit / for shit

Good times / are gone Still I / live on Since I / survived I may / change lives

If not / oh well I’m still / in hell I won’t / long last Hope to / die fast

Last year / one night I lost / the fight Fell through / the crack I can’t / go back

[brokenrecord3313-blog]

Life No Longer

(November 2016)

life no longer seems like a succession of days and nights

a rhythm of rituals and graces from god

that are accumulating into something special

building towards a better future

but rather like twenty-four hour cycles

of a lifelong marathon of misery and pain

in which the only thing to look forward to

is death at the finish line

[brokenrecord3313-blog]

I’m Never Happy

(October 2016)

I'm sad

I'm sick

I'm shitty

I'm sick of this shit

I'm tired

I'm tortured

I'm triggered

I'm tricked

I'm bitchy

I'm broke

I'm broken

I'm broken-hearted

I'm crying

I'm closing down

I'm breaking down

I'm blocking out

I'm lost

I'm losing

I'm hiding

I'm hideous

I'm pretty on the outside

I'm ugly on the inside

I'm normal on the outside

I'm mutant on the inside

I'm miserable

I'm missing everything

I'm giving up

I'm not forgiving yet

I'm hurting

I'm hurtful

I'm hating

I'm hateful

I'm disabled

I'm disappointed

I'm disgusting

I'm disordered eating

I'm well-fed but

I'm hungry

I'm craving candy

I'm starving for sustenance

I'm artsy

I'm fartsy

I'm frustrated

I'm fibromyalgic

I'm tragicomic

I'm Lactuloosic

I'm losing

I'm loony

I'm locked up

I'm fucked up

I'm isolated

I'm violated

I’m hopeless

I’m helpless

I’m less than I was

I’m here nonetheless

I'm doing a drama

I'm putting on a play

I'm acting if

I'm smiling

I'm writing a note

I'm hanging a rope

I'm drinking 'til drunk

I'm hoping to choke

I'm dying to die

I'm sorry for trying

I'm sorry for lying

I'm sorry for failing

I'm sorry for scaring

I'm sorry for not caring

I'm sorry for being mean

I'm sorry for being me

I'm pushing through this pain

I'm transcending these troubles

I'm producing projects

I'm contributing creativity

I'm surviving this huge loss

I'm claiming this half-life

I'm hugging this hurt self

I'm climbing this hard hill

I'm hearing stories of struggle

I'm heart-aching for sweethearts

I'm supporting sad souls

I'm helping healers heal

I'm generating new ideas

I'm manifesting masterpieces

I'm making people laugh

I'm making people happy even if

I'm never happy

I’m never happy

I’m never happy

I’m never happy

[brokenrecord3313-blog]

Obsessions

My obsessions used to be:

indie rock music and all-girl bands

feminism

books and magazines 

photography of dolls and stuffed animals

nutrition and yoga

thrift shopping and personal style

filmmaking

pen pals and postal mail

Now my obsessions are:

Lactulose

chewing and spitting (eating disorder)

suicide and death

physical pain and disability

regret and loss

People get tired of hearing me talk about the same tired subjects, so I take my talking to notebooks, computers, and art materials. I express and explore my sick obsessions by writing poetry and essays and blogs, making art, and writing and singing songs. Unfortunately, no matter how much I let it out, it keeps on regurgitating. I’m tired of it, too.

I call it word vomit or thought vomit. It’s gross. My boyfriend calls it “33 1/3″-- meaning I’m a broken record that always thinks about and talks about the same thing. When he asks me what I’m thinking or what’s wrong, I just say “33 1/3.″ Something is always wrong, and it’s always the same thing. Sometimes it’s other things on top of it. What is written here is what “33 1/3″ represents. I don’t know if anyone will want to read it, but unwanted thoughts and feelings must go somewhere. Why not put them in a dark corner of the internet that no one has to go to?