The Components of Hell

"Self improvement is masteurbation. Now, self destruction..." - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

It's the rain and this afternoon's procurement of Gerard Way's "The Umbrella Academy" that's put me in this lovely mood. And they say I wouldn't love Seattle. I feel like knitting some black, webby garment and watching something haunting. I wish I had Donnie Darko. (I did once, but I threw it away after a particularly painful inful break-up. Stupid. Well, I figured I wasn't going to live too long, so what was the use of hanging onto material possessions?) I feel like painting in blacks and greys so heavy with water, they just drip down the canvas like tears. I feel like creating something subtly disturbing.

After a few martinis, I don't really feel like spending a thousand bucks on a personal trainer was the right move. Eventually, I hope, I'll be rail-thin like I used to be. I miss those days. Funny how you don't realize things until it's too late. Too bad the heroin diet isn't an option. I don't want to fuck up my life that badly (again).

It's not that I feel so dramatic as to throw myself off of something high. I just fell a comfortable ease and a longing for shadows. It's familiar and welcome. I'm thinking of slipping into something comfortable with webbed stockings, painting my nails black...hiding myself for a while in my personal tomb..giving birth to something awful and mysterious.

The eve of the DNC and static electricity in the air. Watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, I felt sure that something dreadful was going to happen. It was the same feeling driving home tonight, but much closer to home. As if something with inky black tentacles was lurking in the drain, thinking how nice it would be to eat something young and tender. Not me of course, for I'm neither young nor tender anymore. I'd marry it and help it feed. (smile)