What order of madness is this????!!!

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I almost shot myself in the face with my father's gun.

My father taught me how to shoot guns at a very young age.
We'd go to the firing range--
I'd use his collapsible rifle,
when I was ten, he bought me one of my own
He said I was "a natural."

If he only knew.

He let me shoot his 357 once--
scared the shit out of me.
I remember being shocked by the kick on that thing--
tried hard to hide my tears
in front of the other men.

I was amazed that Dad could handle the kick;
so loud.
So strong.
He must have been used to it.

He used to tell me over and over:
"Jenn, you can't call back a bullet."
and:
"Someday, all these guns will belong to you.

He was right about so much-
I thought he knew everything.

So when I almost shot myself:
I was playing with Dad's guns.
I was old enough to know they weren't mine to play with;
dumb enough to do it anyway.

I opened up the case where he kept them
he never really hid them from me or my sister
and my mother had always known.
(Secret only to everyone outside of the family).

And I took them outside
Fired off a few rounds--
into some useless objects at first;
the ground,
a piece of wood,
an old rag-doll that only looked like me.

It seemed important at the time
to familiarize myself with the weapon-
to become accustomed to its kick
like Dad was
So I wouldn't cry anymore in front of grown men.

Then I became brave.

I started firing off rounds into more important shit:
Brand-new roller skates,
a notebook where I wrote important things.
my shoe.

I started having "accidents."
I'd shoot the thing off into the sky

for no reason at all.

I grazed my skin a few times-
even have scars to prove it.

Then I shot you.

I didn't even realize it at first.
I popped off a few into your leg,
your arm,
your chest.

Then I turned the gun on myself.

I pulled the trigger...and nothing happened.
Finally out of bullets.

And I realized what I'd almost done;
saw you lying there,
and I put the guns back.

"These are your guns, Dad."

I don't want them.

Your bean-bag monkey stares at me from atop a stack of Happy Hardcore CDs
I still can't believe I'm sitting in this chair,
sitting in this chair,

sitting in this chair.

It never mattered where I was;
I could always smell your pomade on my clothes,
kept your worn shirts in a ziploc bag hidden in the closet where he couldn't see.

Not that he ever looked.

And I would crawl into the dark--
hide in small places and hold you.

(You never knew)

A scared, little girl, so far from home,
choking on stale bread I continued to force-feed myself.

If we had a rewind button--a chance to reclaim time wasted...
If it were as easy as photoshop
as a text-editor
what would you delete?

Could you blur the edges to make it fit?

Maybe this is our chance--
this is our rewind
Our one shot.

Because against all the odds,
here I am,

Sitting in this chair.

The happiest I have ever been in my entire life was the summer of 2001 in Phoenix, AZ.

Driving 95 MPH in my Civic EX Coupe on Loop 101, stereo blasting The Pixies, top and windows open, AC full-on to counteract the heat...

That was before the world fell apart.

              
                                                          Frylock: All commercial flights
                                                          Master Shake: Everything else

A person can survive almost anything--even loss becomes a relative thing after enough time.

Horrors melt and become less horrible, the mind forgets.

So why do I fear future regret? Why do I weigh things as I do--with an eye towards the sense of loss I *might* feel at some future, unknown date? Why don't I just live for today?

Somewhere along the line, I've learned not to bother "reaching for the stars," because the stars can only hurt you when they inevitably shy from your touch. It's gotten so that I don't even know what I want anymore; I've learned to look at everything as temporary--as disposable. I'm attached to everything and nothing at the same time because what I want, I covet and what I have; I pretty much assume that it's going away and I spend all my time/energy in fear of and in preparation for that eventuality.

I sometimes mourn the loss of dreams I never even tried to realize, and I never tried to realize those dreams because I was afraid I'd fail and mourn the loss plus the losses incurred by trying.

So life has become a lusterless glob of moving from one impulse to the next. I am operating with a mind no better than that of an animal's.

So how to enlighten?
How do I break this conditioning?
Pavlov's dogs can no more control their impulse to salivate when they hear the bell than they can control their need to breathe air. I'm trying to undo 30 years of classical conditioning that started with my father when I was very young ("Don't bother, Don't waste your breath, Be realistic, Enough with these crazy, bullshit plans of yours, Stupid.") and ended with me carrying on the tradition ("It'll never work, you'll get into trouble, Yr going to mess something up, You'll lose money, You'll get *hurt."). So how does one break that? I'm working against myself here because even the breaking of that habit has become a fearsome task, subject to its own logic; like a snake eating its tail (You can't do it, it's been too long, don't even bother). All I want to do is quit and go to sleep and not value anything until it's time for me to go into a box.

What am I trying to say here?
I just needed to put this rambling somewhere before I let it too, slip from my head and become part of the blob.

It'd be awesome if a huge bolt of fucking kharmic lightening or some shit would come down from the sky and fuck some shit up.

Shit just keeps dragging on. Stuff breaks but nothing really changes, you know? Sometimes I wish for everything to be destroyed utterly just so I could feel some sense of permanence.


Then I freak out because of that whole "be careful what you wish for" thing that kicks in.

(No whammies!)

Drag, drag, draaaag, man.

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Invalid video URL.

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And here's the original site:
http://www.weiner-tea.com/weinertea.html

that you people know the "truth."

Chk this shit out:

http://community.livejournal.com/edm_mixes/

Anyone can join, anyone can post. Pls chk the rules on the usrinfo before posting.
thx.

My constant neurosis and paranoia is sucking every last bit of life and colour from stuff lately. I spend days at a time alternating back and forth between wishes/hopes and bitterly contrived ambivalence.

Sometimes love means doing something difficult and selfless because it's healthier for them...even if it's not what they specifically asked for.

How did we get here?
I just can't make myself believe that the most innocent pumkin seeds could have grown
such a wicked, wicked vine

Chokes out everything
squeezes out the sunlight.

This was fertile ground- we used to laugh so much at the feel
of soil between our toes.
There was so much of it everywhere.

Nothing grows here now
and I am burried in grief.

(for Jay 02JUL06)