kim_reaper

death to the worm

2005-07-17T16:17:23Z

I hate my rommmate's pug. With pure, unadulterated, seething hatred. She is a filthy little shit-machine, whose face can't properly function. If it were up to me, I'd send her to the glue factory faster than you can say "animal farm." On the rare occaisions when I walk her, purely out of pity, I feel like Tom Cruise in "Rainman." And amazingly enough, there are people who appear out of thin air to make a fuss over her. I watch this in amazement -- there are actually people who like these dogs. Is it possible? I sometimes fantasize about Ben's throwing star landing right between her eyes, or a homemade trebuchet hurling her across the fence. Or a mountain lion comes and snatches her away. I wouldnt actually cause her harm, of course, but it's lovely to think about. The worst part is that we have bred these animals to look like this. Its our fault that Irma cant breathe through her face and makes this horrible, digusting slurping sound when she eats. So I do feel sorry for her. And...okay, so I lied. there are rare moments when I do like her. Just a little. That doesnt mean I wouldnt pass up a catapult offer. Speaking of CAT-apults, there is a really annoying cat that lives here too....

oh god, more crap

2005-07-17T05:06:52Z

This was a fun exercise one crappy afternoon last fall...(did I mention that fall was a little difficult last year?) I think its really interesting to look with brutal honesty at the things we tell ourselves in oder to make life more bearable. I wish I had kept a more complete catalogue year by year -- might make an interesting film project someday....

Lies I’ve Told Myself:
(this is by no means a comprehensive list)

If anybody else had left the room during the unauthorized viewing of “Sex Games of the Very Rich” at L.A’s birthday party, I would have also left the room because I think pornography is sick and wrong and I don’t find it arousing at all. (age 9)

I can stop masturbating any time I want to. (age 10)

I can lose ten pounds and become really cool before high school. (age 13)

I can lose ten pounds and become really cool before sophomore year. (age 14)

I can lose ten pounds and become really cool before junior year. (age 15)

I can lose ten pounds and become really cool before senior year. (age 16)

I can lose ten pounds and become really cool before college. Oh, and I can stop throwing up anytime I want to. (age 17)

I ‘m sleeping with S. because I want to and not because sleeping with him will make me look cool. (It didn’t.) (age 18)

I really like smoking pot. A lot. (age 19)

I really like E. She is one of my best friends. (age 19)

I’m sleeping with C. because I want to and not because without him I don’t think I have any friends. (age 20)

I’m moving to London for a semester abroad because I think it will be educational and not because I don’t have anyone to live with at school. (age 20)

I’m leaving NYC and changing careers because I need to get out of the city and do something that feels more worthwhile with my time, not because I’m scared that I’ll fail as an assistant editor and fuck up someone’s project. (age 23)

I’m sleeping with M. because I want to and not because I’m scared of being alone. (age 24)

Wearing shitty, dirty clothes, not bathing and drinking cheap beer makes me really punk rock. (age 24)

I really like the taste of Red Dog. (age 24)

I can stop throwing up anytime I want to. (age 24)

Event though I have a grand in the bank, a usable credit card, and parents who will bail me out at a moment’s notice, traveling for eight months out west and drinking cheap beer makes me really punk rock. (age 25)

I have no problem with A. having three kids by three different women because having a problem with that makes me a judgmental bitch. (age 25)

I’m sleeping with W. because I want to and not because I don’t know where else I will sleep tonight. (age 26

I have no problem with W. having three kids that he hasn’t seen in five years because having a problem with that makes me a judgmental bitch. (age 26)

I really don’t want W. to hit me. (age 26)

Okay, enough livejournal for today. Its Saturday night... What knd of a loser is sitting in front of the computer on a Saturday night? Well, the kind of loser who has early roller derby practice Sunday morning...Besides, there's not really anything I want to go do tonight...I tried to go see the Epoxies and the Aquabats last night, but it was sold out. dont really feel like a movie...Oh, well, I guess early-to-bed will only make me that much more lethal on the rink. Heh.

crap I found on the computer

2005-07-17T04:59:06Z

Something I had written during a particularly dark spell. In the clear light of improved mental health, I find it amusing...Like most creative projects of mine it is unfinshed...I think it was inspired by the vitriolic tone of Vice magazine, which I was obsessively reading every back issue of last fall....I mean "of which I was obsessively reading every back issue last fall." Stupid split infinitive.

(Not sure why I feel the need to post my creative writing exercises -- feels a bit like forcing people to read your bad poetry... "Here, read this thing I wrote and tell me what you think..." ...What does everyone else write in their livejournal? What they do each day? Or self-examinatory navel-gazing? I think I will fall into the latter category.)

Some reasons not to kill yourself:

Yeah, I know you’re huddled there in the shower crying your eyes out, scalding water pouring down on you, dry-heaving until only snot comes up, thinking about how great it would be to take that X-acto knife you bought for the art projects you never did and slice right through those little blue veins in your wrists. How romantic would it be for someone to find you in an old-fashioned claw-foot tub full of red water, peaceful and brave to the last, your eyes closed in relief that the agony of living is now over. I call bullshit. Here’s why:

1. You’re not sixteen anymore. It’s just pathetic for anyone over sixteen to try and kill themselves. Okay, I’ll raise it to twenty-one because being nineteen really sucks. At sixteen you’re supposed to want to kill yourself. I spent that entire year listening to the Cure and Nine Inch Nails and fantasizing about attending my own funeral, but guess what, I GOT OVER IT. And so should you.

2. Wanting to kill yourself and not actually doing it is a great way to lose all inhibition, because you can just say “Fuck it. If it doesn’t work out I can always kill yourself.” But then don’t. Just keep telling yourself that. It pretty much makes you into a god plus a court jester who doesn’t give a fuck. Because who cares what everyone says or think or how much of an ass you make of yourself, you can always finish yourself off later. But then don’t.

3. No one will really care that much except your parents, and if they’re old, you will ruin the rest of their lives and probably give them cancer. Unless they don’t give a shit about you and then skip to rule #4. All your friends will be sad for a little while but then it won’t really matter except as a way to get sympathy fucks. So it’s really not worth doing if all you want is for everyone to regret not treating you better while you were alive.

4. Your pets will eat you after you’re dead. Having developed a taste for human flesh they will roam the streets hunting more meat. Then they will be taken down in a hail of bullets by some specialist the city brings in.

5. The most pathetic thing is trying to kill yourself without really meaning to kill yourself to get attention because “Oh poor me, I’m so sad and my life sucks.” Everyone’s life sucks. If you want attention, staple your balls to your leg like a normal person. Or flash your tits at people with video cameras. There. Don’t you feel better now?

6. Pills make you choke on your own vomit. Guns leave half your head on the wall. Knives fucking hurt. Hanging doesn’t always work right away. Plus then you shit yourself. Its gross. Maybe if there was a way to clean yourself up before anyone found you, but I don’t know. The thought of having some stranger pull my shit-packed panties off in a morgue is enough to keep me around.

7. That’s great, you cut open one wrist. Now how’re you going to do the other? You stupid cunt, you slipped and cut tendon. Now that hand doesn’t work. Nice going, amateur.

self-indulgence feels real nice

2005-07-17T04:50:07Z

I think I have fully reached the zenith of my personal self-indulgence by joining livejournal...The opportunity to splatter page after page with deep personal longings and un/truths had frankly become too tempting to resist. I'm sure it was prompted by the preparatory work I've been doing for a "personal essay" film I'll be making the fall -- the first film I've been able to bear to make in seven years. This film will focus on the failure of my childhood promise -- how a straight-A student with a high IQ and scholarships managed to almost turn 30 without having done anything of great importance. But its a comedy. Really. It's about how the perceptions of others in childhood shape our perceptions of ourselves, often in negative ways. And I dont really believe I'm a failure -- not at all. I have an amazing boyfriend who loves me despite all my shortcomings, I'm doing work on several films besides my own, and I'm a pretty decent jammer on the roller derby rink. And since roller derby is more important than God, I think I'm doing alright.