| Another excellent reason to loathe the French |
[29 Oct 2006|02:13pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 nostalgic |
] |
 A memory of summer
It didn’t matter to the nuns of my convent that the heat outside was scarcely bearable, we had no choice but to stay clad in our cotton pinafores and pleated skirts during Sunday mass albeit it was already summer. Once I had been deported by my whore of a mother from New York City to Paris, I did what I could to make the best of the situation I was in, that situation being enrollment in an all-girls Catholic lycée.
The school I was unfortunate enough to be placed into was ridiculously strict and religious as well as high in academic standards, which customarily led to acts of insurrection (and varying degrees of rebellion) that were carefully covered up by the students themselves; enabling them to project a chaste appearance and a mask of moral austerity to not only the school’s administration, but also outsiders .
This should have been my kind of people, and they would have been, if only their infamous deeds extended further than just taking an extra bowl of pudding in the lunch line and sneaking out in the middle of the night from our quarters to meet boys from surrounding lycées in front of the Hôtel de Crillon. They were the kind who played Spin the Bottle secretly behind the neighbouring chapel and giggled when boys walked past the institution’s gates during break time. Essentially, I wanted to stand on one of the pews and blow my brains out.
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| They can't take away your truth - and neither can you. |
[08 Sep 2006|06:47pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 irate |
] |
 Name one thing about human nature that puzzles you
Life’s a loaded gun, you cretins. Just because it’s secured, duct taped, locked in a safe, chained to a steel ball and dumped into an ocean, it doesn’t become any less loaded. All that is left to be done is to pull the trigger.
But no, society is far too concerned with being respectable. Being honourable. Colouring inside the lines. Being humane. It’s disgusting.
Open your eyes you cunts. You’re all consumed with this sick idea that one good favour deserves another. Wrapped up in the demented fantasy that is the laws of karma. I have lived a fraction of the years that great gurus and wise men have and I can already tell you that there’s nothing more satisfying than sinking a blade into flesh. You do that when you’re born. You spend the rest of your life twisting that blade and pulverizing what is left of every unfortunate soul you encounter. Once you’ve taken the first step, you realize how little you really have to lose. You’re kidding yourselves, you silly rabbits. I can see the venom in your eyes.
So put down your Bibles, unlock your daughter’s chastity belts and pour the cheap champagne already. Watch humanity settle as residue on the bottom of the lightbulbs you use to snort that first grade meth you pilfered from momma’s stash. Don’t be afraid of the world. Once you’ve gotten hold of that loaded gun, the world will be afraid of you.
And if you’re anything like me, you’ll bring extra ammo.
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| Mine for a reason |
[25 Jul 2006|05:47pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 listless |
] |
 Something you've inherited
Question # 47: What have you inherited?
The only thing I inherited that is of value is money, and I would have to be mortifyingly stupid in order to present anyone with even an estimate value of my worth. Stupid enough to retain the practice of repositing my coke stash in a crucifix that dangles visibly around my neck.
Let me assure you, my salvation lies safely nestled within a hollowed Bible.
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| As a proud reserve of the Justice Army |
[25 Jul 2006|05:29pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 indifferent |
] |
 If...
If I were to draw a linear parallel between all of my law school lectures and another activity which bore the same attributes in order to make some fog clearing analogy so that non-law reading individuals could possible fathom what we I go through, it would be to that of a characteristic Sunday morning mass.
I’d like to think of myself as an interpretive person, but the imaginary thick black line from the entrance of Columbia to the Catholic church on Park and 72nd is about as literal as it gets.
Without going too much into details, suffice to say that in both cases balding old men with a maximum of two sexual partners in their entire lifetimes step on their soap boxes and get all ‘preachy’. Those in the audience nod their heads fervently, and at the end of the lecture/mass we all go outside thoroughly enlightened and indulge in all forms of debauchery known to man and animals. To us law students, ‘the end of mass’ refers to when the fallacy of justice is unveiled; reality and temptation pulling us in and sucking us through. The period where ethics is in buying a three thousand dollar Ermenegildo Zegna suit, right before the point where the proverbial shit hits the fan. When the crap does fly, no one takes notice because we’re already spewing it from every orifice. What difference does it make when you’re already waist deep in it?
For now though, it is incontestable that the disciples/students will resume their feverish head-nodding duties. When we’re particularly motivated and feel like spreading our dementia packaged in utopia-seeking ideals, we’ll all join together for rousing renditions of ‘Glory Hallelujah’ as we dance around a statue of the blindfolded lady with the scales. Or’God’. Or’Gods’. Or whatever.
The only real doubt that remains and no one seems to ever address is who the hell is going to pay for the 35 member black gospel choir that seems to be singing along with us? It’s the debt that is owed, and no matter how much you pray Christ’s rays of sunshine ain’t gonna shine down on you babe. Jesus only deals in sins.
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| Are you fucking kidding me? |
[24 Jun 2006|12:50pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 surprised |
] |
| You Are The Godfather Ice Cream | 
Someone crosses you, and they'll end up with a scoop of this in their bed |
In some retarded way, this fits.
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| Loyalty is the proverbial syringe I use to literally inject myself into your veins. |
[24 Jun 2006|11:55am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 devious |
] |
 Loyalty
“Ah, so nice of you to meet me Blaine”. I smiled, a little too widely as I walked towards him. He hadn’t changed much since I had last seen him, not that I had seen much of him in the past in the first place. Oh well, time to turn on the Merteuil charm.
He looked at me and smiled back meekly as I sat down across him. A waitress rushed forward, desperate to take my order.” I waved her away with a flick. Blaine watched me and furrowed his brow. “Glad to see you haven’t changed one bit” he muttered. “And the food here is crappy” he added. I ignored him.
“Nice to see that you are well, Blaine”
“Nice to see you’re still a brunette”
“Now, come on Blaine. You’re talking to me as if I have wronged you”. His rigidity didn’t sit well with me. Anyway, I did need his loyalty to accomplish what I wanted. Only then would I spit in his face.
“Wronged me?”, he laughs “Incase you aren’t aware of what happened in the last year, Kathryn, le-“
I cut him off “Would you stop behaving like Sebastian’s death is my fault? I didn’t make him fall in front of that moving car. I didn’t get him into a fight with Ronald”. Actually, I did, but no one knew that. I opened my eyes wider and softly said “You of all people should know that I never meant for him to die”.
The last sentence I had said begun to take the desired effect. His eyes hardened, and he looked away. “ I know, I know. I guess... I dunno, I’m just a little surprised that you called so suddenly. I mean you and I, even when he was alive, I mean, we barely spoke-“. When his eyes met mine again I smiled again, the fake beam plastered on my face not reaching my eyes. He understood immediately. He threw his head back and laughed.
( Read more... )
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| The Bitch Is Back |
[16 Jun 2006|07:25pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 determined |
] |
 When I awoke the next morning...
You need to fall asleep in order to wake up.If I have ‘awoken’ at all during this flight it was probably when the plane hit mild turbulence and I was rudely jolted out of my own thoughts. I was too awake to be asleep. That, and the disgusting hairy French guy next to me was snoring with the sound and force of a blowhorn.
( Read more... )
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