A Couple A' Buttholes

[voicesounds-blog]

Ok, cut.

Stop reading my tumblr, get out of my soul.  Swallow your own first.

[voicesounds-blog]

So Uncontrol

I don't know what to think about writing this.

I've been trying to explain to anyone what my disposition is right now.  Well, kind of.  I always assume they can't help, or don't want to hear it.  I've been desperate for human contact, I feel like an alien- which is why it confuses me that I disconnect from people.

All of my stupid fascination with numerology..astrology..  It's made everything kind of black and white, and I feel like I'm watching some weird movie with characters, and I'm just the nonessential audience.  I've given up believing I'm worth listening to, and I don't want to be around people at all.  I don't get how I'm supposed to act to make them respond to me- or why I would want that in the first place.  Whatever I'm feeling, I'm convinced it will go away with time, with maturity- whatever.

I label my traits all the time, and sometimes it feels like I know it all- but feeling that is terrifying because I know it isn't true.  The cockiness really puts me at a distance from people, and I've been feeling like I'm missing something.  Like, I want to forget everything and be stupid and emotional.

My parents have both told me that it seems like I don't care..  Do I?  I don't know.  I don't want them to hate me, and the thought of not having a home/family life makes me want to hyperventilate.  I love them, but we fight, and I can never seem to say the right thing.  I'm convinced I need to let go of all this ego, and just do what everyone wants and admit that I'm nothing.  As soon as I follow some trend of life, and start wanting normal things like an education and hope, then I'll feel accepted.  Maybe that's the point in all of this.  I don't know.

It's a train of thought reminding me that suicide rates are high in my family.  I'm stubborn as fuck, and I'm convinced no emotion can destroy me.  On the other hand, I'm waiting to snap completely.  Actually, I'm HOPING I'll snap.  Maybe then I'll relax.  I guess I'll relax when I'm dead?  Who knows, maybe I'm being too frighteningly black and white about all of this.

I don't let myself think of anything but the van.  The move.  As soon as I get away, I'll be able to relax.  Who knows, maybe I'm right, and if I actually do everything I'm planning, I'll be more than fine eventually.

Holly says there's never any reason not to feel good, and I believe her.  So feeling bad is wrong?  Sadness, and nostalgia, and frustration, and anxiety, and loneliness are wrong?  There's no reason to feel any of these things?  So why do I feel them.  Why do I feel at all.

I'm always resorting to reading my birth chart to figure out why I'm feeling the way I do.  Or hell, maybe I just like reading about myself.  Anyway, I end up reading the same thing over and over again, which is cool from some perspective because I've never studied anything with genuine interest in my life.  Everything has always been an obligation, never what I wanted.  God, what do I want even.  To be some kind of perfect, I think.  Or distracted.  Or figuring out the equation of how to be happy because apparently I can't just be that.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm happy and I just don't know it.  I really just don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

Donovan said that adventure fills the gap in your soul.  I don't believe EVERYTHING he says, but I agree with that.  In a constant state of movement, I won't have to stop.  I hate stopping.  It makes me want to break things.  Or break people.

Sometimes I feel like I'm one of the columbine kids- looking for love in destruction, separation, even though it doesn't feel natural, and I'm terrified.  I wish everyone would stop looking at me, and I want to explode.  How do I explode- am I a freak for asking that.

I want to figure out exactly what emotion is so I can control it.  Is that even possible?  I'm only human.  We're all born with some weird disposition making us who we are.  So if I don't feel, do I even exist?  I don't feel like I exist.

I feel guilty writing this because there's no way anyone could be interested in all of this bullshit.  I actually think I'm writing because I'm hoping my best friend doesn't hate me for ignoring her, and I'm trying to explain that I don't mean any of it, I'm just confused, and being close to anyone right now seems impossible and annoying.  It's like I can never win.  And how can I make people understand.  And why am I so control.  I hate being so control.

[voicesounds-blog]

Kill This Fucking Rabbit

I literally asked google why people hate happy people.  The answers included, "They're jealous." "They're negative.  Neg + Pos = Neg." <-- That's my favorite. "They're idiots." <-- I made this one up right now.

I discovered the other day while bussing tables at a cafe in my town that as happy and agreeable as I appeared, the more I was condescended upon and criticized I was.  At least, I felt like that.  The cafe owner pulled my complacent ass aside and told me the waitresses were complaining I wasn't doing a good enough job.  So.  In response, I literally wiped the smile off of my face, but definitely did a better job at cleaning tables, pouring coffee, watching fat people eat and making sure they didn't wait more than 5 seconds to have their plate taken away.  But, I stopped trying to make eye contact, and stopped trying to make friends.  Fuck them.  I feel like I've regressed/progressed into goth hood.  I have a bubbling urge to burn every colorful piece of clothing I have and spend a day making insulting, black tee shirts with scissors and spray paint.

Yeah, yeah.  People love that negative bullshit.  As long as I'm a woman, and I'm happy, and single, and NOT BEING FUCKED at the same time, there is apparently no reason to be happy.  I'm man enough not to need a man, and I can be happy without one.  And not like I can't have cock if I want it.  People don't really care.  Men won't even respond to me if I'm smiling.  They assume that because I'm happy- I don't need them.  As if I will ever need them.

Anyway, I'm really excited to start this new goth lifestyle.  I bought a new pet rabbit, and I'm going to slaughter it later and film it, then eat it's heart and scream at the top of my lungs.  Then, in all of my very visible pain and anguish, everyone around me will be happy.  You'd never think the girl who is the portrait of self-disrespect would be the one to love everyone the most.  Odd.

It's the beautiful ones you have to watch out for.  It's not my responsibility to love or hate the physically blessed.  They're like decoration, incapable of love, only able to receive.  Maybe that's why they're labeled sluts.  Fuck, I had to WORK for my slutty reputation   Those fucking hot assholes don't deserve that title, but I'd be much quicker to visit them.  A natural resource easily found in the nearest national park, full of extrinsicity.  They're essence is reflective, they are what you make them.  Hense the public appeal.  They have no substance, no direction.  A piece of the moon reflects the sun, but orbits the earth as nothing more than what it seems.

Where dwells hate, lies love.  Waiting patiently, poised, stimulating.  A commodity. Pleasure.  Pain.  Feeling, and so much of it.  So much I have to offer.  So brings me to this rabbit I'm stroking in my lap- wondering if it knows.

[voicesounds-blog]

Kill This Fucking Rabbit

I literally asked google why people hate happy people.  The answers included, "They're jealous." "They're negative.  Neg + Pos = Neg." <-- That's my favorite. "They're idiots." <-- I made this one up right now.

I discovered the other day while bussing tables at a cafe in my town that as happy and agreeable as I appeared, the more I was condescended upon and criticized I was.  At least, I felt like that.  The cafe owner pulled my complacent ass aside and told me the waitresses were complaining I wasn't doing a good enough job.  So.  In response, I literally wiped the smile off of my face, but definitely did a better job at cleaning tables, pouring coffee, watching fat people eat and making sure they didn't wait more than 5 seconds to have their plate taken away.  But, I stopped trying to make eye contact, and stopped trying to make friends.  Fuck them.  I feel like I've regressed/progressed into goth hood.  I have a bubbling urge to burn every colorful piece of clothing I have and spend a day making insulting, black tee shirts with scissors and spray paint.

Yeah, yeah.  People love that negative bullshit.  As long as I'm a woman, and I'm happy, and single, and NOT BEING FUCKED at the same time, there is apparently no reason to be happy.  I'm man enough not to need a man, and I can be happy without one.  And not like I can't have cock if I want it.  People don't really care.  Men won't even respond to me if I'm smiling.  They assume that because I'm happy- I don't need them.  As if I will ever need them.

Anyway, I'm really excited to start this new goth lifestyle.  I bought a new pet rabbit, and I'm going to slaughter it later and film it, then eat it's heart and scream at the top of my lungs.  Then, in all of my very visible pain and anguish, everyone around me will be happy.  You'd never think the girl who is the portrait of self-disrespect would be the one to love everyone the most.  Odd.

It's the beautiful ones you have to watch out for.  It's not my responsibility to love or hate the physically blessed.  They're like decoration, incapable of love, only able to receive.  Maybe that's why they're labeled sluts.  Fuck, I had to WORK for my slutty reputation   Those fucking hot assholes don't deserve that title, but I'd be much quicker to visit them.  A natural resource easily found in the nearest national park, full of extrinsicity.  They're essence is reflective, they are what you make them.  Hense the public appeal.  They have no substance, no direction.  A piece of the moon reflects the sun, but orbits the earth as nothing more than what it seems.

Where dwells hate, lies love.  Waiting patiently, poised, stimulating.  A commodity. Pleasure.  Pain.  Feeling, and so much of it.  So much I have to offer.  So brings me to this rabbit I'm stroking in my lap- wondering if it knows.

[voicesounds-blog]

How to Exist my Way

A very serious individual indeed with a personality a little on the heavy side.  Likely to have a heart of gold, there is a somewhat rigid and unbending nature, demanding realism, truth and facts, rejecting anything that is superficial or frivolous. Ambition is powerful and self-control is almost a fetish. There is a good deal of character, but can be single-minded in achieving goals and ambitions.  Not a humanitarian by nature, it can almost be said that the drive for power and status create self-centeredness and perhaps even a little selfishness. There is a cold, hard, invulnerable streak that resists personal associations, though there's general appeal to others.

A bit cold and calculating. Unlikely to be any less emotional, but simply aren't comfortable "letting go" when it comes to emotions, keeping their emotions under control. There is a desire for structure and control, and the world of emotions are well-managed and handled in an efficient and practical manner. There is also a powerful need to feel worthwhile in the real world, and respectability with a big attachment to the world of the senses. There's a lot of value in all things tangible and real, and a need to be respected by others in order to feel secure. 

Difficult to make friends, and may be a loner socially, but still wanting to be a part of a group. It is difficult to be accepted because they can't help the superiority complex they exude.

[voicesounds-blog]

This and That Half

Some are born with nothing.  Some are born with everything.

Dear myself. You have to get away.

As we have recently learned, confidence is tangible.  I've actually been calling confidence "intrinsic motive."  Some people are born to be leaders, and are made of 100% intrinsic motivation.  The 1's.  The cold.  The emotionless.  The see-nothings, know-everythings.  The feel-less.  Yes, I know you know one.  You hate them because they're in charge, and they deserve to be.  They can't love, I repeat:  They are led strictly by obligation, reputation, money..sex..  People with more of these qualities tend to be more masculine.

Then, there's the other half of the population, the "extrinsics."  I like to think of these people as more earth than machine.  They can commune, feel, crave, relate.  They strive for other things besides money, fame, and fortune.  Seeking more spiritual, social things.  They are born with perspective and maturity- something intrinsic people want.  Intrinsic people are like children: Never understanding, just confident knowing what they know based on their effort.  And their effort is effortless- therefore they were designed to work- in fact, to work FOR the earth dwellers.  Their detail and nuances in life fills the gaps in society.  They work in hopes of one day understanding what extrinsic people see, and feel.  The more recognition they are able to gain from earth dwellers, the more successful they feel.  The earth dwellers tend to be more feminine.

Intrinsic people often take to looking down upon extrinsic people as a means of self-defense.  They have an opinion for everything, and their weakness is their negativity.  Because they see nothing, they fear everything.  Everything must be taken up with caution and precision.  These are the people in the dark, craving light.

Extrinsic people are born with light inside of them, and are more often than not more beautiful and graceful than people born in the dark.  A weakness of extrinsic people is their inability to trust intrinsic people.  They are born leaders- only learning what's right for their own benefit.  An extrinsic person who doesn't recognize intrinsic values in other people is likely to get trodden on in the material world.

Anyway, my sister is 100% intrinsic.  She has always been common, and done what she think she needs to do to be successful and happy.  I don't doubt that her hard work will earn her a good living.  We share the same birthday, she is 3 years younger than me.

I was born with roughly 30% intrinsic value.  I am 30% reptile.  And intrinsic by definition.  Luckily for me, that's more than enough to make a living, and make art.  Extrinsic people are good like that.  They're able to see broadly and brake it down for those who are blind.  We sell our perspective, our knowing.  What's especially lucky is that a person can only express if they contain enough intrinsic value to do so.  If everything I did was according to feeling, I'd get nothing done, and have nothing to show for it.  Instead, I'm able to produce and work.  The result is music I've written, and will one day be massaged into the cracks of society with care unknown to reptiles.

Intrinsic value cultivates in self-care, and routine.  In other words, loving your mortal self enough to want things that have material value.  House.  Money.  Nice car.  Actually, intrinsic people definitely love to own extrinsic people (anything to make them believe they have lack sight, but they don't).  Hence, slaves.  They strive to be a boss of something because, obviously, control goes to those who take baby steps.  For an intrinsically motivated person, life is a math equation.  One thing leading to another.  They push the dominoes.  The extrinsic people are able to watch them all fall.

[voicesounds-blog]

A Whole Person

It is undoubtedly a man's world.  When I say "man" I mean natural leaders, the strong ones.  The ones who seek out beauty because it offers to them what they don't have.  They are full of life, game, hunt, build, existence, rationality, God. Men are solid by nature.  Women, by nature, are beauty.  Beauty is death, love, art, comfort, intuition.  Women are for sale.

Beauty and life blend together.  Men fluster over beauty's unattainability.  Women cope with men.  The ultimate reward is a woman's admiration, a man's love.

A human with something that someone else wants.  Then frustration.  Then resentment.  Then fear.  Repeat.

In attempt to capture beauty, a man lines up all the women he owns to face a much greater woman if effort to show his own worthiness.  A greater woman may appreciate the women, but a truly great woman is unimpressed.  An endless void needs to be filled with life, and a excess of beauty is only performance.  Theater.

Literally, there are men who are born with a larger amount of beauty than life in which case he would seek out a woman born with more life than beauty to feel complete inside himself.  He chooses a woman full of life, or a beautiful man with an unnatural amount of vigor and flavor.

A woman born full of life finds a beautiful man who adores her.  She becomes his God- his life.

Regardless of all this, the two will complete each other like prince and princesses, and any later dispute will put them in position of queen and king.

A balanced person is meant to be a tool of God.  Balance is not normal.

[voicesounds-blog]

Yet Another Explanation

The more and more I think about my own need to change my attitude and how, the more a task it seems like.  Like, being comfortable is a task.  Being present is a task.  It's kind of weird.  I'm kind of weird.  So much so that I've shut up completely.  I want to blame the long periods of time I've been spending alone, but I feel disconnect and invisible to people.  I'm not sure what to say out loud, and what to keep to myself in fear of some nonexistent anger.  The thought is that I already feel so islandized that I've forgotten how to communicate completely, and I'll be here typing the same thing years from now.  I stretch, but that is the pit of nerves I feel about being alone.. that it will last forever, though- and I tell myself this all the time, I know it won't.  These phases happen all the time, and why does it seem that I need to improve.  I worry nonsensically.

I wonder all the time what other people are feeling.  Maybe trying to understand, maybe.  More-like trying to analyze.  I get the sense that people think I'm picking them apart.  All these numbers and all this organizing is creating a tumultion of loneliness.  I want to be comfortable, and be more attractive than a manic creep can feel regularly.

My mom randomly asked me if I needed to by stimulated to feel OK.  I answered yes.  I've been thinking about that.

I've been wondering who's right enough to listen to, but people have become numbers, and it is freaking me out.  I realize I need to abandon numerology as it's driving me insane.  All the truth makes me feel like I have some control.  Then I have none at all.  Then I'm nothing.  It's all very confusing and I wonder if I should just get professional help and forget everything.  But I'm not bored yet.

[colourcharcoal]

[voicesounds-blog]

Sitting in MacDonald's

I am sitting in MacDonald's because it has free wi-fi.  I am high on pain kills my mom gave me for my period.  I wish I had another one, or maybe some more weed, or some more wine.  There's more at my dad's house, but because I still have an ounce of dignity, I didn't bring the whole bottle.  Instead, I'm watching a little girl try to stare at me and eat her burger at the same time.  There's a play area in this MacDonald's, so a lot of kids come through here.  It's also right by a high school, so I get a lot of teenagers coming in to make themselves too comfortable and too loud for no reason.  Like I can talk.

I've been reading about numerology and the significance of numbers.  It's almost as if it has consumed my life.  I can no longer have a normal conversation with anyone.  All I have to contribute would be your personal year number.  And here's the math.  And the useless information that is behind it.

I'm worried I will be shut up in here with numbers forever, and be completely happy about it.  Do many people worry about being too happy?  There is an artist in the make of me saying that happiness accomplishes nothing.  But isn't that what I want?  Seriously.

I plan thoroughly more out of obsession than efficiency.  I want to make a van into a home, and drive it across the country.  Maybe I'll find myself in populated cities and endless concerts.

I am sitting in MacDonald's.  I want to eat more fries.  Endless fries.

The cashier girl doesn't like me, or she does- how do I know.  It doesn't matter, she's just another one of those people who can't decide.

Everyone is saying that medication numbs your mind.

My mind is so factual there isn't enough room for detail.

[voicesounds-blog]

My Personal Panera Experience

I am sitting in Panera Bread, thinking I'm going to be fired.  Why else would they have me come in for an hour when the district manager is here.  Oh (I just glanced up), Lisa is here, one of the managers.  Lisa yells at everyone when we're busy- and we get busy.  Line to the door, everyone's sweating, and wondering why no one else is freaking out.  Truth is, everyone's freaking out, Lisa in particular.  It's quite obvious when she's under stress because she has some sort of emotional reaction that echoes through the associates like a tearing, terrifying wave.  You can hear it projecting vividly from her smoker's throat- which she extends to the loudest possible grunt without having to consider it yelling.  She doesn't need to yell, because her verbal etiquette suggests she's going to backhand you if you disagree.  Disagreeing is something I've been doing lately.

Pardon my hero attitude, but the store circulates fluidly when a manager can consider themselves part of the team, not above the team.  The only difference between a manager and an associate is that they have to do much more work than we do, and we are supposed to do exactly as they say.

I find it difficult to follow instructions when the "instruction" in question is posed in rhetoric, and sounds more like you are a little kid smudging paint on the walls for the third time in the same day.

Her method: (Sees that something is out of place/Messy/Not up to Corporate Standard)

Lisa, "What is this?" Associate, "What is what?" Lisa, "Come on, seriously?  You think people want to look at that?" Associate realizes what she could be talking about and cleans/fixes it.

Later, tension building:

Lisa, "Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?" Everyone ignores her, but an obvious tension has entered the scene. Lisa, "I can't even believe this." We're all hoping she goes into the office so we can handle the dinner rush.  She doesn't, she tries to help- messing up our system.

On a side note, I completely understand that managers feel obligated to help, and it probably looks horrible if they hide in their office.

Speak of the devil, she just texted me, telling me she doesn't need me after all.  I've been sitting here for no reason.

I understand her kind.  Will take what they want, and cushion the blow by making everyone else work harder- or "better."  I don't think managers should be negative to their employees.  I've lost respect for her.  I can't wait to quit. 

[voicesounds-blog]

Exerpt from My Mind before Psyche Class

She wouldn’t let just anyone lie in front of and look at her face.  I kept that in mind when I did so.  Though I kept my head lower than hers to mask what I wanted to do.  I touched her lightly, enough where she didn’t feel like I was touching her for my sake, but for hers.  I won’t even get close if I don’t respect her. 

I put her hand over my ribs.  She stroked me lightly, and moved her finger to let me know where her hand was: approval of my want for her to touch me.  After a while of this, in one swift deliberate motion I slip my head up to the pillow next to her, and got close enough to where I couldn’t expect her to talk, and she didn’t feel pressured to talk.  I pushed her hand all the way up the back of my shirt, and she scratched me with delicious vigor.  I kissed her slowly so she didn’t think I was giving in completely, and put my hand around her head to kiss farther. 

She pulled away, sucking on my lip, and bit my neck.  Her hand circled to the front and grabbed my chest hard.  What more encouragement did I need anyway? because I was very close to letting her take over.  I decided to ask one more time for what I wanted, and like a magnet pressed very close to her, showing where the highest temperature on my body was.  She smiled, and her hand shot down and stroked me like you wouldn’t stroke a pet. 

I liked the pressure that much was obvious.  I breathed in her, drunk completely.  She was listening to me, trying to figure out what I liked.  “Everything” was the answer.  I cream if she looks at me the right way, but she doesn’t know that.  If she did, I wasn’t surprised.  My hand was holding myself still on the wall, and she was inside me, my hand tangled in her hair.  And then I was on my back, and where was my shirt- I didn’t care.  It didn’t take long because she was biting my chest, and going ridiculously slow.  I kissed her, and gave her what she wanted.

[voicesounds-blog]

The Potential Scale

This is the scale showing POTENTIAL.

Rate yourself on a scale from.

10 - Scary 9 - Gross 8 - Creepy 7 - Odd 6 - Weird 5 - Interesting 4 - Cool 3 - Plain 2 - Simple 1 - Retarded

I personally rate myself a 7.25.  Odd, with a hint of eager creepiness.

[velodeath]

[voicesounds-blog]

Damnit, Control

I was stupid, and I forgot my place.  I panic, I stretch, I yearn, I am disappointed.

Dear God.  Please.  Humble me.  Let me breathe in the crowd.  Let me breathe under her.

Rape me.  Shake the shame out of me, and remind me that I deserve it.

One minute, I'm on top of the world, the next I'm looking for ways to put the world first.  It's very confusing, and these waves go in months.  I want to do what's right, and where do I draw the line.

Please beat respect into me.  Open my eyes.  Pry them open if you have to.

"If you don't respect it, you don't get to use it."

Am I crazy.  How many damn times have I asked myself this question.

One way or the other, and I am being ripped apart.

I'd much rather be content with my own insanity.  Like most people.

But, oh no.  I just haaavvveee to be "Control."  Ugh.  I don't even listen to MYSELF.  I am so Control, and it really isn't that great.

I don't want this control, but here I am.

[voicesounds-blog]

Ground Up

Band:  She's So Control Album:  Not Pretty Year:  2012 Genre:  Post-Punk/Hard Rock Shows:  Local Label:  Unsigned Contact:  Facebook, Myspace, Local Bands' Website(s)

Lead Vocals/Guitar: Claude Lou Guitar/Slide: TBA Bass: TBA Drums: TBA

1.  Your Parts 2.  Clutter 3.  Not Pretty (to me) 4.  Knows Blows 5.  More 6.  Sky High 7.  Sour Power 8.  No 9.  Queen of Bourgeois 10.  Fine 11.  Rockstar Skinny 12.  Un 13.  Confess, Undress 14.  Shutup Paintface B-SIDES (Bonus)  15.  Foreign Frown (Bonus)  16.  Virtigo (Bonus)  17.  Boy Day (Bonus)  18.  Bitch (Bonus)  19.  Portland (Cover) by the Soviettes (Bonus)  20.  Royally Fucked (Cover) by Mindless Self Indulgence (Bonus)  21.  Gravity (Cover) by The Dresden Dolls (Bonus)  22.  Innocent (Cover) by Veruca Salt (Bonus)  23.  Simple Man (Cover) by Girl in a Coma

[voicesounds-blog]

I, Rock

I am a rock with no hands.

I am the rock with the answer, so come to me. I am a rock of all rock, and inside me there is only rock. I am a rock held still in your warms hands, until I melt in your hands.

Lava is too hot too hold.

I am a rock.