the silent machine

bleh

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 13:56:04 GMT

I popped an Adderall without really wanting to. I only had a couple hours to study for my philosophy midterm before work so...here I am, functioning on three and a half hours of sleep and anxious as hell. I started at 4:30 am...

Stupid me and my perfectionistic tendencies.

I must get A's!

truce

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 16:36:59 GMT

"and if we should meet through some misunderstanding
I'll be very sweet, very patient, and forgiving
now get off my side of the state

and if we should meet one another in passing
despite these techniques there is sometimes no avoiding
(there must be some kind of mistake)"

-The Dresden Dolls, "Truce"

- - -

In just one week...
-the only girl I talk to in my acting class, with whom I had an instant connection, is an active participant in the BDSM scene.

-I bump into Goddess Soma, one of my ex's best friends and partners in crime, at a Chevron in LA CANADA FLINTRIDGE.

What is God trying to tell me?

Why am I being reminded of my past?

Stay, I say, on your side of this state, at least until I pack my things and abandon this god-forsaken heat of hell until further notice....

bored in the college library

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 16:42:19 GMT

How far away are you from the person you like?
-Mmmmm about a two minute drive.

Do you remember the first time you kissed the last person you kissed?
-I mean, I should. It was last night.

Do you have any empty alcohol bottles hidden somewhere in your room?
-I wish I had a little mini fridge with Malibu Rum, orange juice, pineapple juice, and cherries.

Do you like watching scary movies?
-The REALLY old ones. Alfred Hitchcock.

When is the last time you were at the beach?
-I went to Santa Monica about a week ago. That's about as close to the beach as I can handle. (sand T__T)

Your ex calls wanting to hang out, what do you say?
-"How did you get this number?"

Do you want your tongue pierced?
-Not really. My tongue isn't very pretty.

If you had to delete one year of your life completely, which would it be?
-2006, definitely.

Have you ever met a gay person?
-Who hasn't?

Why did you kiss the last person you did?
-Because he's my boyfriend!

What color is your room?
-I have dark finshed wood paneling (it looks better than it sounds)

What was your last dream about?
-twins, apple juice, and Muslim-Americans (seriously!)

Who was the first person you told about your first kiss?
-Sheesh who knows. Probably Matt.

Do you have a picture of you kissing someone?
-NO! I should!

Do you know anyone with such a terribly annoying voice that you can't even stand?
-YES. Sarah Sardo.

When was the last time you told someone you loved them? Mean it?
-Yesterday and HELL YES. I love my baby Aries.

Do you love someone?
-This is getting redundant, but yes. With all my heart.

Do you ever delete people off your myspace?
-Who has THAT kind of time?

When was the last time you saw someone attractive?
-Last night. He was in my bed.

Do you think you'll be married in 5 years?
-I hope not...

Would you go out with someone right now if they asked right now?
-NO.

Do you think someone has feelings for you?
-I think this guy in my Speech class does.

Are you anything like you were at this point last year?
-God no. So much has changed.

Think a lot before you fall asleep?
-LMAO. It takes me two minutes to fall asleep.

Could you see yourself with someone forever?
-Maybe. :) But we both prefer to live in the present.

Do you know anyone who's having a baby?
-My Speech teacher is pregnant...

Have you ever been called heartless?
-Yes...

Who was the last person to give you a hug?
-My stepmom?

Are you in a good mood?
-Have ta poop.

Are you excited for something?
-One year anniversay with tha boyfriend. OH and my 21st birthday.

Will you talk to the person you like tonight?
-Every night.

Do you like your bed?
-it's alright. It's kind of cramped.

Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?
-Hell yeah. They're ALL skinny jeans.

What are you looking forward to the most?
-My 21st birthday.

Did the last guy/girl you kissed have any tattoos?
-Nope. He should get some, though!

Do you think you could live with your best friend?
-HAHA been there done that. It was horrible, no?

When was the last time you laughed?
-This morning.

score one for the karma police

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Mon, 18 May 2009 16:00:34 GMT

My ex's loft burned down.

Is it wrong that I can't stop smiling?

after months of silence

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 15:59:27 GMT

I'm not quite sure why I'm writing in this thing, but I think it has something to do with my being incredibly anxious and being trapped at the college library.

So, for what seems like the third or forth time in a row (meaning four pay periods of two weeks), I find myself without a cent to my name. Zero. I keep overdrafting my account with one or two dollar purchases and, by the time Friday rolls around, I'm unable to recover. I've been busting my ass at work lately and have been compensated with almost nothing for the last three months. I owe people money and favors left and right, but have nothing to offer. My boyfriend's birthday is ten days, and I can't even afford to get him a card.

I feel worn down and restless. My two endeavors (college and work) have been taking up every gram of my energy and it's starting to make me dull and listless. I'm exhausted and edgy and guilty and anxious. I don't know what's wrong with me.

I'm so distracted.

hm.

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 19:59:11 GMT

It's cold.

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 18:26:00 GMT

ART SHOW

450 MAIN STREET
LOS ANGELES, CA 90013

THRUSDAY, NOVEMBER 13
ART WALK

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15

- - -

Send a heartbeat to
The void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
For now we stand alone
The world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate
With no more to hate

Is it bright where you are
And Have the people changed
Does it make you happy you're so strange
And in your darkest hour
And I hold secrets flame
We can watch the world devoured in its pain

Delivered from the blast
The last of a line of lasts
The pale princess of a palace cracked
And now the kingdom comes
Crashing down undone
And I am a master of a nothing place
Of recoil and grace

Is it bright where you are
And Have the people changed
Does it make you happy you're so strange
And in your darkest hour
And I hold secrets flame
We can watch the world devoured in its pain

Time has stopped before us
The sky cannot ignore us
No one can separate us
For we are all that is left
The echo bounces off me
The shadow lost beside me
There's no more need to pretend
Cause now I can begin again

Is it bright where you are
And Have the people changed
Does it make you happy you're so strange
And in your darkest hour
And I hold secrets flame
We can watch the world devoured in its pain

wood panel

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 03:16:32 GMT

starbucks barista-customer dialogue

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 00:12:57 GMT

Me: Hi, how are you today?

Customer: You don't care! :smiles:

Me: Haha! Well, you're the first person to have said that to me, so now I really care.

Customer: Well.

Me: So how are you, really?

Customer: Do you think that porn ruins marriages?

Me: I've never been married, but I'd assume that pornography ruins a marriage.

Customer: Oh, it does! It ruins them!

Me: Yeah. You know. Porn instills high expectations.

Customer: Do you believe in God? What are your beliefs?

Me: I'm agnostic.

Customer: Well, He believes in you.

Me: Well. Good.

Customer: Can I have a tall half-caff cappucino?

Me: Of course. And that pumpkin cream cheese muffin?

Customer. Hah. No.

[add]
I stalked Brawley and found out he's seeing a girl named Lila.
My stomach hurts.

cal trans building

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 05:17:35 GMT

November 15th.
Be there.
Art exhibit of PJ Cybulski's work.
Of me.

kthanks.

this music video makes me wet

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 16:31:30 GMT

In other news- -
-my car's about to explode
-i hate my humanities class
-i'm going to watch star wars with matt (not the stink-nosed one)

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 19:53:10 GMT

FUCK.
THIS.
SHIT.

from the ceiling downward

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 03:54:33 GMT

www.phillipjohnphotography.com

a survey because i can't sleep

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 08:52:03 GMT

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Evelyn
2. enigma (sometime ago)
3. Pearl

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. junk_sour
2. paranoiaxpink
3. (don't remember!)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. broad, meaty shoulders
2. giant hands
3. ivory skin

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. fatty nose
2. jaw line (lack thereof)
3. acne-prone cheeks

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. polish
2. japanese
3. french

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. high-higher education
2. girls who look/act like i do
3. relationship dynamics

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. caffeine
2. cigarettes
3. four sources of daily news

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING NOW:
1. stripy tank top
2. stinky black socks
3. huge, obnoxious belt with sequency buckle

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:
1. The Kills
2. Gram Rabbit
3. I AM X

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS (RIGHT NOW):
1. The Kills-Last Day of Magic
2. The Cardigans-Erase and Rewind
3. Bauhaus-In Fear of Fear

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. spiritual exploration
2. absolute monogamy
3. endless and unconditional amounts of love

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
1. i don't ever want to be in love again
2. i passed a sobierity test while rolling
3. i love the smell of my own stinky feet

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. swarthiness, above all else
2. tattoos, and many of them
3. right now, i've really been into blondes...

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. masturbating
2. smoking while staring into space
3. reading, reading, reading everything and anything

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. fuck Thomas :D
2. silence my roommates iTunes gangsta rap playlist
3. get some french fries

THREE CAREERS YOU’RE CONSIDERING/YOU’VE CONSIDERED:
1. market researcher
2. advertising CEO
3. make up artist (what the hell was I thinking?)

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. North Korea
2. Germany
3. Czech Republic

THREE NAMES YOU LIKE:
1. Alexis
2. Chloe
3. Brody

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. visit every remaining Communist country
2. publish research on sociological studies
3. find my male counterpart

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
1. i LOVE hello kitty
2. my favorite color is pink
3. i can be hopelessly needy and co-dependant

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE NOT STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
1. i hate ALL television
2. i'd shave my head on a whim
3. i can't cum doing the "girl-on-top" sex position

THREE PEOPLE THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE TAKE THIS QUIZ NOW:
1. Elisa
2. meh
3. meh

a meeting of sorts

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 00:09:41 GMT

I had a semi-serious case of shakes while waiting for him, moving nervously and aimlessly in my seat, trying to focus on the articles in the newspaper. Teeth to nail, holding my arm across my stomach to contain the fluttering, trembling gusts of an internal storm. I knew it was a bad idea. Anybody I had informed about it knew it was a bad idea; we’d all know the outcome of such a meeting. From experience or assumption, everybody knew that I’d come out of it feeling hungry and lost, leaving ground zero with my mouth gaping open and my skin stale and crawling from sitting too close to him. Why in the world would I want to speak or see him again?

The truth is, everything was fine. Painfully normal, exceptionally fine. It was okay. He was late---I was about to leave and there he was, skin shining and smooth in the sun, and we embraced. Awkwardly and unnaturally, we embraced. We walked side by side for a moment, not saying a word. My heart quivered and shrank; I wanted to hold his hand, but I couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eye.

We sat in the shade and both leaned back, waiting for something to happen. All I could think to do was grin at him, revealing nothing as I do. I let him do most of the talking, asked most of the questions, mimicking his body language by accident or not. I’d assumed he’d have little interest in what I was doing or how’d I have been: this whole thing was my idea. He spoke as he always does---with blinders on---talking about BDSM and nothing else. Not much, relatively speaking, has changed on his end. Lots of parties, lots of girls, lots of beatings, all of it wrapped up pretty in an earsplitting red ribbon at his feet. Talk of doing porn in Florida and everything else he’d always talked about.

I couldn’t really think how to respond. All of it seemed so far away, distant from what we used to call our life journeys, what we used to make of this phenomenal messiness called kink. He resides in the house of sex as I do, but I’ve forgotten exactly what he achieves from all this. It sounds like mindless self-promotion, the illusion of self-control disguising excess, and, again and again and again, the enabling of some serious psychological disorders. Sadism and masochism and voyeurism and narcissism, all at the same time. I’m no better, but he seems happy enough.

So, I ask him, how many sixes are on your forehead now?

He’s amused by the question and smiles, says, three.

They’re all there now.

I don’t know what to make of that.

i'm not going to think about him

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 03:53:12 GMT

I’m not going to think about him.
I’m not going to think about him.
I’m not going to think about him.
I’m not going to think about him.

I’m not going to think about the way he smelled.
I’m not going to think about the way his skin felt.
I’m not going to think about how much I liked his thin hips and waist.
I’m not going to think about how he liked to smoke Newports.
I’m not going to think about his dragon tattoo, after years, still doesn’t have eyes.
I’m not going to think about how he could finish an entire bag of peanut butter pretzels by himself.
I’m not going to think about how we always shared a bag of chocolate cherries on the way home from grocery shopping.
I’m not going to think about how our pillows smelled after we’d made love.
I’m not going to think about how he made me stand on my toes for twenty minutes.
I’m not going to think about the way he danced at Das Bunker.
I’m not going to think about how fast he liked to exit Highland off the 101 freeway.
I’m not going to think about how he could only really sleep on his stomach.
I’m not going to think about how profusely sweaty he was when he slept.
I’m not going to think about the time he told me he has a daughter.
I’m not going to think about the pinkish spots that wrapped around his body.
I’m not going to think about how we took a bath in the summer and shared a carton of ice cream.
I’m not going to think about how his tattoo seemed to melt off his arm when we were tripping acid.
I’m not going to think about the way he looked in a suit.
I’m not going to think about how his face looked when he dropped me head first into the concrete.
I’m not going to think about how much my tears aroused him.
I’m not going to think about how he once peed on my hand.
I’m not going to think about how he liked it when I had a shaved head.
I’m not going to think about the way he held me the only time I saw him cry.
I’m not going to think about the time he lifted me off the ground.
I’m not going to think about how cute he looked while on ecstasy.
I’m not going to think about how we planned our hook suspensions.
I’m not going to think about how he once surprised me with a dozen pink roses.
I’m not going to think about how he looked at her.
I’m not going to think about seeing him walk in my neighborhood with other girls.
I’m not going to think about him when I see a black Subaru like the one he drives.

I’m not going to think about how I used to do his laundry and buy his cigarettes and wash his hair and hold his hand and make him breakfast and rub his hair, and that I don’t do those things anymore because somebody’s taken my place.

I’m not going think about him.

cold hands, warm heart

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 18:34:18 GMT

second street tunnel,
3:00 am.

http://www.phillipjohnphotography.com/

the eye of a storm in a single room

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 21:58:32 GMT

A little tornado.

a bad slave

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 06:29:29 GMT

Two weeks ago my longest standing, most intense relationship came to an end. We had agreed, prior to the more recent blow-up, that neither of us could sustain the psychological demands of a twenty four-seven Master/slave dynamic; I was to move out. In addition, I had slowly and gently informed him that I wasn’t just moving out---I was moving on. I was leaving the BDSM scene, I was leaving the lifestyle, I had decided that I would never again participate in the existence we had devoted ourselves to, together, for the last year. Our priorities and desires are different and, despite our love for one another, we understood that we could not flourish in an environment that was, in any respect, a dominant and submissive dynamic. By the time I had found myself a place to live, the two of us were surviving on the very edges of patience and emotional injury. We were growing restless and impatient and, by a series of many misunderstandings and miscommunications, we ended our relationship permanently on bad terms. He asked me to leave within three days times and I, eager to disappear, gathered my belongings within a matter of hours. He was finished, and so was I.

I won’t deny that since I left I haven’t had nightmares and restless evenings. I’ve been living in a sort of self-depravation characterized by ignoring my groceries and investing in twice my normal cigarette consumption. I’ve been without him the longest I have in a year’s time, wandering around my urban neighborhood slowly and aimlessly. I’ve buried myself in college assignments and unsettling existential literature. I’ve been living in a state of silence and severe isolation. The sense of needing to explain myself is a hungry ghost at my side, urging me to tell the world what happened and why. For the most part, I understand that the acquaintances I made within the BDSM scene perhaps have very little interest in this. I can boldly admit that my lack of friendliness or politeness will probably not be rewarded with sympathy or attention. I understand that many of my previous master’s mentors and friends will continue to support the negatively he currently feels for me now. Regardless, this entry will perhaps live unnoticed, but the notion of its mere existence for any audience eases my mind.

I’ll begin by mentioning that I do not wish to place any judgment on any of the individuals who continue to participate in the BDSM scene. I can understand that such a lifestyle appeals to many of them on a series of many unique levels. Many of them are capable of living a meaningful, fulfilling, and functioning existence within the lifestyle spectrum. Your kink is okay. When I communicate any negativity about the scene itself, I mean to illustrate how and why it does not specifically work for me or address my personal needs.

From the beginning, there were a lot of things within my own relationship that I failed to understand and comprehend. First and foremost, I walked into a contract and collar apprehensively and nervously. Unlike many submissives within the scene, slave hood was not a cultivation I had ever pursued or necessarily desired. I’ll admit that I received a certain amount of pressure from my dominant to begin a twenty four-seven relationship, and I consented. At the time, I believed and trusted that he understood what was good for me and that he was prepared to assume the responsibility of controlling and caring for another human being. I was kinky and I thoroughly enjoyed serving him, in many respects, and thought that such a black-white code of existence would bring a sense of structure and stability to my life. I thought it was something I would passionately cultivate within myself. I thought I had the maturity, drive, and desire to fulfill the responsibilities of a slave. I didn’t. Many of us can understand that love, in its majesty and mystery, stimulates a blind confidence in wild, peculiar decisions.

Over a short amount of time, there were too many things I did not understand about the protocols he had set forth in our relationship. The concept of one-sided transparency was especially something I couldn’t comprehend. In order to preserve the vulnerability of my submissiveness, he insisted that I remain completely nude within the vicinity of his home. In addition to showcasing his sexual desires, I was stripped of my immediate defenses. It was difficult to ignore the uncomfortable feelings of objectification and dehumanization. The transparency concept was more pronounced within the protocols of my slave journal. He had pronounced that privacy was a privilege to which I was no longer gratified. I understood that his intentions were good (he simply wanted information from which to base his slave training regime); I didn’t believe them to be malicious or manipulative. However, I felt that despite my efforts within transparency I wasn’t taken seriously. I never received feedback on many of my entries. He, whether or not he was joking, had pronounced numerous times that everything I said would be used against me. He instilled a (perhaps illogical) fear within me that my emotional candidness would be used to hurt or disturb me. The concept of this transparency made me increasingly anxious. He was learning far more about me than I was he, and he had more material to judge whether or not I was desirable. I began to fear that he had fallen in love with somebody he didn’t know, and the information he gathered from my journal would disrupt his feelings for me. I did my best to write with transparency, but over time I’d grown frustrated by his lack of reciprocation. Without any feedback from which to gauge whether or not he absorbed my writing, I began to dissociate and fall into my own mind, away from him. Logically or illogically, I couldn’t shake the fear that my internal thoughts would make him think me less a slave and more importantly, less worthy an individual to which he dedicated his time.

Many of his strategies for adjusting my insecure and dejected behavior began to feel like punishment. He was referring to numerous amounts of literature dedicated to the subject of dealing with resistant slaves, but failed to look for answers at the root of the problem (me). With the intention of motivating me with a little competition, he experimented with the inclusion of other submissives. He took them under his wing and decided to train us side by side. My confidence shook because the arrival of these new submissives made me feel like he was giving up on me, that I had failed. I was being compared to other women who were embarking on a submissive life journey. My own intentions within the submission process were solely personal to him; I had proclaimed that I never before had I held such desires. I was supposed to be competing with women who were, arguably, striving to take my place, striving to win his love and affections. At least a few of them succeeded; they were naturally inclined to be submissive. I saw his focus leave me, and I became even more discouraged and less motivated. Polyamory was not something I could handle. It began to feel less like the growth of his mastery skills and more like an excuse not to commit to me entirely.

I began to really hate interacting with others in the scene because my attempts to be transparent to him were counteracted in public. I was required to be open and sincere within the vicinity of his home, but I felt inhibited and handicapped at BDSM events and gatherings. The laws of his public protocol required my passiveness and timidity. For the most part, I wasn’t allowed to speak until spoken to, and I began to feel a slight loss of identity. Although I was expected to connect with other slaves and submissives on a personal level, I had difficultly finding anything in common with them. Their conversations never seemed to surpass BDSM-related topics and, especially, the year- long manifestos about their “good slave/bad slave/good master/bad master” philosophies. I felt unable to exhibit myself in an interesting or assertive manner because they (including my master) expected me to interact as they did. I was walking around in a demeanor that wasn’t mine. I became ashamed of my characteristic strong, forceful, and opinionated personality. Those seemed to be unacceptable traits of a respectable dominant’s slave. My interactions began to feel forced and superficial, and, while under the brown-nosing attitude of many dominants and submissives, I began to feel isolated and scrutinized.

More and more, I became ashamed of my public displays of kink and submission. There were parts of me that felt comfortable with it within the privacy of our personal and sexual life, but I couldn’t adjust to appearing submissive in front of others. My deepest personal secrets and desires were on display for the world to see, judge, and criticize. In public, I felt patronized and humiliated. The constant requirement of almost nakedness, of being mindlessly sexualized, made me embarrassed and insecure about my sexuality. Like most people (vanilla people), the majority of my sexual fantasies have very little to do with how I function and reside in real life. Hence the term “fantasy.” I began to confuse my sexuality with my natural temperament and personality. I was in an environment of self-proclaimed misogynists and dominants, feeling as if I was reinforcing their ideas of natural, idealized female roles and submission. I felt like an appendage, an accessory, for the amusement and satisfaction of others. In this way, I could not find it within myself to physically demonstrate my respect for them.

I watched him experiment with various techniques of controlling me, based on what he had learned from books, forums, and his peers. My master had good intentions, strong incentive, and many resources, but no experience owning a full-time slave and dealing with the volatile process of slave hood. I was a science experiment, a lab rat, and his controlling methods were inconsistent and irresponsible. Initially, he had demanded my unquestioned trust and dependence and, using my own internal resources, did everything I could to rely on him. He and I, respectively, were a bad combination. I really had no idea whether or not I even wanted to be controlled, and he had no idea how to execute a responsible, logical, subjective regime of executing this control. All he knew, really, was that he was dominant and required absolute compliance with his personal views and ethics. I began to lose confidence in his guidance because, despite his determined efforts, I felt lost and abandoned. I was not emotionally capable of dedicating myself to his needs because I had lost faith in his leadership. His attempts to understand me seemed to confuse him. His attempts in motivation made me indifferent and discouraged. He was barking orders and I wasn’t following them; I was looking for help and he, purposely or not, couldn’t help me.

The termination of our relationship, regardless of the immediate benefits of our separation, has left me in a state of emptiness and disorientation. During the day, when the demands of work and school require that I am efficient and functional, I do see, rationally, why the relationship crumbled. I walked into his life advertising, boldly and confidently, that I was mature enough to withstand the requirements of slave hood. I convinced him that it was genuinely what I wanted out of our relationship. At the time, there was no possibility that, as a lifelong masochist, I would only be perpetuating a self-destructive cycle. There was no possibility that he wasn’t mentally prepared to take on a task as large as “fixing” me. There was no possibility that I wouldn’t be selfless, that I wouldn’t unquestionably self-sacrifice. I had my usual doubts and negative speculations (like I have within many areas of my life), but chose to fearfully lie and cheat myself into believing that I was somebody I was not. I’m in a state of self-reflection, but mostly, self-criticism. I’ve learned my lessons, released my regrets, found forgiveness, but the reality is I am still in a state of mourning.

I have yet to find my happy ending.

okayso in INDUSTRIAL NEWS TODAY

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Mon, 15 Jan 2007 23:31:44 GMT

-SO on 2/2/07 Joelle and I will be going to Bunker to be in the new Combichrist video and I'm thinking, what the hell, let's get dressed up. After this next paycheck, I'll be getting some incredible avant-garde outfit with some incredible avant-garde idea that'll blow away Pico Blvd. itself. I'll bring hand cuffs and chain myself to Andy and then probably get herpes and be harrassed by his supposedly psychotic wife.

-SO speaking of Das Bunker, Nazi Man and Giggles have officially become my dancing buddies. They dance around me at ALL TIMES at very close proximities and it weirds me out a little. Not only this, but it's come to the point where Nazi Man FOLLOWS me now. Even in my dreams. I dreamt that he introduced himself as "Logan." SO I'm hoping I'll get some balls and finally just introduce myself and see what this person is all about. As far as Giggles, I don't care, but her new hair looks nice.

-SO last week I talked to this girl about her authentic dreads, and I've made some plans. In February, Yasmin, Joelle, and I will go to Daniel's house and have a dread party in which they'll all take turns back-combing my hair. If the dreads are too short and end up looking shitty, I'll just shave the right side of my head and proceed from there. You have NO FUCKING IDEA how tired I am of this blonde hair business.

-SO my next paycheck will be split these ways:
$100 for Joelle because she's been buying me cigarettes and food for two months

$85 in parking violations

$50 in new music [including the new Psyclon Nine CD] because I haven't had new music in who knows how long.

AND THEN hopefully the rest will go to my new tattoo, which will be on the back of my calf.

-SO I'm fucking off My Ruin this Friday because I've had SO much fun clubbing the last few weeks. I don't know what it is about that place, but everytime I leave, I feel accomplished, sensual, and relieved beyond belief. IKNOWIKNOW I'm obsessed but, hey, I can't help it. o.o

GOD I'M HYPER TOO MUCH ESPRESSO AT WHEATBERRY TODAY.

brah.

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 12 Jan 2007 20:14:09 GMT

-Joelle got her nipples pierced :o

-Couldn't sleep last night so, on a whim [at 12:00 am], I hung out with Rio. He told me he only washes his hair once or twice a month.

-Hanging out with Anthony today for one reason or another. I need a panic button on my pussy that calls Joelle IMMEDIATELY. Myra had a miscarriage.

-My Ruin is playing at the Whisky next Friday and I think I'm going to go. I haven't seen them in over a year...

-Das Bunker tonight to blow off some steam.

nazi man!

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Sun, 07 Jan 2007 21:02:23 GMT

Nazi man is a Taurus!!

The wondering is over!

changes

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 09:54:22 GMT

In the year 2006 I:

-met a dominatrix
-discovered a passion for photography
-had dyed my hair green
-ditched more classes in a very short time period
-found and read my favorite novels
-had clubbed illegally
-accumulated many insignificant club acquaintances
-went to my first high school dance
-had a best friend who came close to death
-did not go to Senior Activity day or prom
-graduated high school
-temporarily became promiscuous...and fucked a dozen or more complete strangers
-lived in three different locations
-tried ecstasy for the first time
-roomed with my best friend
-had lost and gained 20 pounds
-got my first job
-lost my best friend
-had my first serious boyfriend
-become pregnant
-had a surgical abortion at two months pregnant
-received birth control
-turned 18-years-old
-began to club legally
-had my first serious girlfriend
-had bleached my hair blonde
-shaved the bottom half of my head
-bought a strap-on dildo
-went to my first strip club
-attended and graduated make-up school
-drove illegally all year

"the god"

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 07:57:38 GMT

So, on Wednesday I did this photo set with Alex. We went up to the "Los Angeles" spot in a neighborhood in Glendale...but didn't end up getting too many shots of the city [aka it was too bright to really see any of it].

Afterworld, Swork coffee and miscellaneous comments about how I should put a lemon air-freshener up my pussy. o.x

And then we had sex.

I'm kidding!

That was a long time ago... ;D

radi_isotope@yahoo.com — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 22:25:06 GMT

'Ey.

New Year's Eve at the Knitting Factory.

Be there.