Apr 10 - ?:00am

So birds really do chirp at night.

I'm sitting here on the cold earth... It's all. cold.
I can see my breath in the air, illuminated
by the candle in front of me. My nose
is too stuffed to smell the inseanse. I can
catch bare whiffs of it. To my right, a
few meters over, is the smoldering remains
of a fire. Someone was here before me tonight.
They're long gone now.
An insect crawls down my arm. I don't shoo it
away.
I was so terrified, before, of meeting someone
malicious. In vain. There's no one here but
the ghosts and spirits.
The wind keeps changing. Is this normal?
# All I can hear is a nearby stream, the crackling
of the embers, and the faroff sounds of human life.
My # sense of danger is ringing alarms and bells and
klaxons and generally going bugfuck.
One sole bird is awake.
Every sound gives me a start. I hate it. Why do we
live in a world where we're afraid of everything? 
It can happen to you. Everything can. We're all

---

			con't

going to get cancer while being raped while being 
mugged while... I dunno. You get the point. And
by you, I of course mean me, because if you
are not me, you should not be reading this
journal.
The wind has been consistent for some time now.
It's strong enough to make my candles flicker.
Gods, it's cold. I love it.
# Another thing that makes me sad is the lack
of sanctuary. I'm sitting here, in# in the middle-
nay, the _back_ of a forest, yet I still see elec-
trical lights, I still hear cars and the omnipresent 
hum of electricity... The one we only hear when
we're not concentrating. 
White noise... White noise... White noise...
It's starting to hail... Interesting. I'll have to
go now.

April 12
###		I'M SO FUCKING		###
###			LONELY		###

Apr 12 - Still.

How much do I really have to live for? A
fucked up future? At this rate I'll end up
a crack whore. No education, shitty job, pills
for the rest of my life, Surgery - 15 grand, baby.
Where the fuck do I get that kind of money?
Why do I hate myself so much right now?
###		WHAT THE		###
###		FUCK?!			###
		
		##Image of	## I'm sorry...
		##a crying girl	## I'm sorry...
				   I'm sorry...
				   I'm sorry...
				Please forgive me.
				I love you.
				I love you so much.
				Please forgive me.
				Don't leave me.
				Please don't leave me.
				I love you.	i was 13

---

		That's what calendars are for.
-I don't have a clue w-
	It's the 28th. 2:00pm...

You have to know her to understand her. If understanding
her is really possible. You have to know her to under-
stand her _motives_. If she has any. You just have to
know her.
One look at her and you can guess her psyche.
# Cuts on her #arms. The whole 'goth` look. She sits
on her knees, leashed to another woman.
Low self esteem. Deprived for attention. Desperate need
of companionship.
Unless, of course, she lookks you in the eyes. Then
it really hits you. The determination. She bleeds
confidence. The smirk on her face makes you wonder
if she really is a fragile little lost girl. 
No.
She couldn't think higher of herself. She loves being a
paradox. She can taste your doubt, self-doubt, and
stares at you as if to say "poor you". She doesn't
crave attention. She demands it. She isn't another soul, 
lost in a mishmash of others. She forces you to
look at her. To acknowledge she exists. You ponder
and can't help but believe the unlikely conclusion; she
sits at her lovers' feet not for the companionship. She

---

			con't

sits there because and only because she feels like it.
And at any whim, she could unhook herself. She isn't
bound. She binds.
And then she looks away and closes her eyes, nuzzling
at the hand scratching behind her ears.
And you wonder if what you saw- and what you thought,
as a result - was real and true.
And you wonder if she really is revelling in your 
self-doubt.