It's been driving me nuts, who left this message on my phone (I could not for the life of my place the voice)?:

listen mister, I hate to leave messages, so get a new phone.

ah, server logs, they give such interesting information...

Great escape:: my own prison
Cluster:: fuck
Wrong place, wrong time:: Barry Manilow
Guided:: missile
Forensics:: science
Pros:: cons
Safety deposit box:: wrong key (*shhh!*)
Quadrant:: Star Fox
Precisely:: Presley
Who are you?:: demented

I'm going to need some help keeping it that way, at some point.

It's days like this I'm happy to be alive.

People don't change. I'm still pretty certain about that statement, but like a lot of things in my life that I've been re-evaluating of late - I see it's a little more complicated than that. The one detail even I never saw is that they can remember the people they always wanted to be - or started to become a lifetime ago - they can start living up to their ideals instead of just living, so I guess if you want to call that changing, then well, I guess maybe they can. And maybe, I was wrong.

slow, sliding inside, then pulling gently to the right with a sharp sting, building up so much your body goes off the charts and shuts down, it's all the way across now and all you feel is a sense of loss, emptiness, your limbs have no more life in them, the corners of your eyes start growing dark, and you feel as if you're about to slip into a dream. then it slides out just as slow as it came in - and your body wakes up. the overwhelming pain rushes over you, like all the blood pooled up in your lap, all your nerves are set on fire, you scream but make no sound, blood and saliva speckle your face, then it happens all over again. and again, and again.

I am hating life right about now.

everything is fine. put down the phone, my blood is staying right where it belongs - in my veins. I am peechy keen, the picture of mental and emotional health, I can leap tall buildings with a single bound... okay well the at least the part about the veins is accurate.

we're all part of the big white blanket, I may need to hit myself in the head with a rubber ball a few times but I'll get a handle on it.

The most uncertain - and critical - period of your pc's life is it's first few boots. It's within that period you can tell if you put the fucker together properly, and tell if any components are failing. Usually, if you get through that period unscathed the only thing you have left to worry about is eventual component failure from wear and tear, but even then it's usually only a hard drive - easily replaced once you kept up with your backups. The mobo and processor are usually there until the end.

heh.

felt too much, said too much, wrote too much, hurt too much, cried too much, lost too much. it's still not enough.

why? because I was weak, selfish, fucked up, and the bottom line is I just didn't get it; I didn't get the dynamics, I didn't understand the person and the things that made her tick - the things that made her hurt. I'm really good at throwing all this emotion out, in such huge waves you drown in it, but it's the constant steady supply I guess I have trouble with. I figure that goes for the understanding too. I don't know why though, because I know I'm smarter than this.

love is a many splendored thing. yes, yes it is, that's why you've got to pop 2 sleeping pills and pray to a God that's probably forgotten you just to forget how splendid it really is.

no more of this here though, no, not here... well, not past this post...

the attempted calls from across the pond, the text messages, Stef actually entertaining the thought I'd start slicing and dicing, you guys... there are no words. thanks for giving a damn.

sitting there, staring at me, the hooks might as well be in my eyes.

and my mind wonders. my heart slows down for a second as the sickness in my gut does it's periodic swirl, then speeds up fast enough to catch up to all the thoughts now flooding in.

fuck being broken, fuck the bastards that break you, those that stain you with their words and their touch, their evil and their lies, so much so their smell is burnt into your nostrils - like brimstone - and no matter how many years pass all you have to do is look down and see the parts of you strewn about the floor, most missing altogether. not only did they poison your past, they poison your future. they fucked you, and they fucked you good.

no amount of counsel can repair it, no amount of reason can overcome it, the only thing that can even come close is to see them suffer, see them suffer and laugh, bathe yourself in their misery the way they drowned you in yours. you all deserve to die.

heh, I might even deserve it myself.

when all the words have run out I'll have only to spill my blood on the page, because I know it holds my love for her, and it's my love I want her to feel.

from this, I will never recover.

never.