Cold Blooded Murder

I found a monologue and I read it to my family because I really felt a connection to it. They were really scared because there's a part that the character says something that I've been saying my entire life.
So this monologue (series of 3 actually) is Cold Blooded Murder by Pen Wilson (PD piece)

There's always that moment of acknowledgement between a killer and their victim. That instant when she realizes your power, and she looks at you and you look at her, and she pleads with her eyes. She begs for mercy, for her life. And you have a split second to decide: To save her, well that's great. You could give her her life back, give her back to her family and friends, the people that love her. But to kill her... That's something different. To remove her from this earth, to take away the thing that most value above all: Her life. Now that's real power. None of these girls deserved their lives. Look at them! The musician, the actor, the writer, the dancer, the artist, the model. None of them appreciated what they had. They were the best. And that meant nothing to them. I've never been the best. Always smart, but never the smartest. Pretty, but never the prettiest. Talented, but never the most talented. But despite all this, I always thought I was special. I thought there was something inside me, lurking within, that would make me great. I've never been content with the idea of simply living my life, dieing, and being forgotten. That's just not me. I want to be remembered for my achievements. And I will be, won't I? sure, you're disgusted by what I've done. You're horrified, you think I'm a monster. But I can guarantee that you're not going to go home to your boring lives and just forget me. Oh no. I'm willing to bet I'll be on your mind for quite some time.

I used to think I could find other ways to be recognized. I wanted to be famous for a while. But then I realized how stupid that is. People would want to be me, without really knowing what that means. Then I thought of being a lawyer... Me! I thought, 'if I save lives, people will worship me.' But I realized, not long ago now, not long before I killed for the first time, that saving people isn't enough. I could save the lives of one hundred people, and they would be grateful, and so would their families and friends. But what about everyone else? They'd see me on the news and think, 'Huh. That's nice.' Then change the channel to something else. But what if I killed just one person . and not just kill them, brutally murder them. With my bare hands, staring them right in the eye. Not for revenge, not for personal gain, because I like killing. People would pay attention then. The whole world would stop, with me in the center. Everyone looking at me.

And I know what you're all thinking. I can see the looks on your faces. You think I'm just an attention seeking little kid, but I'm not. I just want someone to notice me. All my life I've stayed in the background. There's always been that one student who gets better marks than me, That one teacher who makes me feel stupid, that one friend who always shuts me down, that one parent who's not interested, that one sibling who overshadows my achievements with theirs. And nobody even cares. I just want you to think. And don't act like this doesn't apply to you, sergeant, cause it does. You're just the sort to do it. You've done it to me... Next time you're going to put someone down, point out their faults, make them feel stupid, be-little them, think about me, then think about them, and what they could do to you. How much would you respect them if they had their hands around your neck, and they had the choice: To release their grip on your throat, or to just keep pressing. Think about it.

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So to my friends...does this sound like me? Do I sound like a murder? God I hope not. Too much mess and liability.

Listening to: Weird by Hanson (OMG I <3 TAYLYOR HANSON)

Why Greed Exists

There's a hole in the head where the emptiness lives
so we devour books and poems for the comfort it gives
but then we count...1..2..3 and we are homeless again

There's a hole in the soul where the emptiness feeds
so we prey upon saints and gods on our knees
but then we count...1...2...3 and we are hungry again

There's a hole in the pocket where the emptiness grows
so we sell and buy and sell and buy and stick up our nose
but then we count...1...2...3 and we are small again

Exquisite Corpse

My new favourite author is Poppy Z Brite. I have read only 2 of her books and I can't wait to get a hold of more. The first would be Exquisite Corpse. I had known about the game beforehand and when my friend had loaned me this during a boring class, I thought it might have something to do with it. It did in some sort of fucked up poetic way. But before I explain that; Exquisite Corpse by PZB is about a murderer from London, Andrew Compton, who fakes his own death to get out of jail free. He flees to Louisiana where he meets Jay Byrne, a man whose murders are even more gruesome than his own. In each other they find company in flesh both living, freshly murdered (you know, when body is still pliable and that pungent smell of blood and shit is still wafting through the air?), and even bodies that have been sitting in the freezer for a few days. Together, they poetically, and almost sacrilegiously, consume the flesh and blood of the beautiful youth infesting the streets of the French Quarter. Brite makes you the voyeur to her killing game. She draws you in with the first act of violence that implants a small tremor at the base of your spine that spreads throughout your body until the last act where you will choose either to read on to the conclusion, or set it down because its descriptions get to be too much. Either way, it’s a novel of violence to a pornographic extent that will forever be ingrained in your mind no matter if you want it there or not. However, there are a few underlying themes involving AIDS, drugs, and war. (I’ll see if I can post the monologue WHIV for all which was absolutely hilarious and sad.)
So the title Exquisite Corpse should be clear to you now, right?
Well, Exquisite Corpse is also the title of a surrealist literary game played by a large group of people who take turns passing a piece of paper with the product being a sentence written by several individuals. The first sentence that gave this name went like this: "Le cadavre / exquis / boira / le vin / nouveau" (The exquisite corpse will drink the young wine). The exquisite corpse (Andrew Compton) will drink the young wine (blood of youth). It’s just a little something to think about.

Soon, mes Amis, I will sing the praises for another one of her books entitled Lost Souls. Until Then!

A World of My Own

From our wooden world, I hear the bell that signals your entry. My head turns towards the green sky as I watch your dark, winking stars come closer and closer until they crash right next to me with a sigh. You grin because you escape wandering the universe for a while. I grin just because you don't know. This is the world we've created, a wholly magical place where smiles breathe laughter into the atmosphere to mix with the smell of coffee. It's as blissful as if sin and no more than the gentlest of grief had ever been. It's a place of dreams.

Hope and Absurdity

It was as absurd as to expecta beauty to search for his likeness on the back of a mirror. At least, I thought it was. On the 5th, however, you said a single line that gave me hope. "Age doesn't really matter," you said, "It only maters the experiences you've had." It was a small line, but enough to make me high on the words.

Fucking room (NOT fucking room)

I'm in a sterile room
With no inspiration or doors
I'm in a fucking room
With fucking knowledge whores
They scribble their equations
A pointless treasure hunt
Then they turn the pages
From the backside to the front
I'm in a sterile room
With blank papers and faces
I'm in a fucking room
With fucking basket cases