Oh but have I been wondering lately...

I had a kind of fight this morning with one of my best friends Becky. We were both frustrated and she wasn't feeling well and she totally murdered my good mood. I was angry and glaring at her, she at me, we didn't say anything.

Though I love Becky her tendency for honesty get mixed up with her believing she can say whatever she wants and it is 'TRUTH'. Center-of-the-world-complex, but like me, she just wants to help everyone, she thinks everyone in the realm of touch is her responsibility. Unlike her I know how to dissasociate myself from such feelings that I know are unhealthy, but she just freaks out about them and trivializes my thoughts and feelings.

I was prepared to walk away forever from the entire thing, tuck that bit of information into my head and bring it up again for later review. Becky though surprised me and gave me the one thing I always want from a friend.

SHE CAME TO ME.

No words needed to be exchanged. Becky walked to me, opened her arms and we embraced as close friends do. We held each other tightly before she said something like, "This is kind of retarded". I understood her entirely.

Then I just had to kiss her forehead, cheeks and nose because that's what I wanted to do.

I am calm now that the book reading has calmed.

I've been reading for hours... but I'll be back later.

More word vomit, goddamn Roxxy you're on a roll.

Odds bopkins I'm tired. I've wrung out the emotional rag, the tears have fallen, and now I'm trying to catch my breath. Really, it's like a weight has been lifted off my chest and I can finally lie back and relax. 

This has been building up about all month. It'll continue I'm sure, but for now I can rest. At least for a little while.

Pisces does not allow for a rest though, little four year old 'Roxy' needs to be heard.

*looks at the old spelling of my name*.

Roxy is gone, Roxxy is in her place. The name Roxy scares me actually. She was ugly, not liked, stupid, confused. Roxxy is self-assured, confident, humorous, adult.

Roxxy is who I am, I can never revert back to Roxy.

Now I'm really getting sick...

It's amazing how real raw emotions, your receptor cells getting flooded with really disgusting pain, can make you feel physically ill. And you darlings that are reading this at the moment, let me tell you, I feel sick to my stomach.

This is how I felt when I read darling Miranda's diary entry on llllllove. It was all about the confusion surrounding love, something I had experienced when I was in the seventh and eighth grade. It made me truly ill that someone so beautiful, so truly stunning could be so naive and selfish.

I'm not much to look at, I don't catch the eye like some certain indvidual's do. Sure I could doll myself up, which might be nice, it could improve my self confidence, but why can't I be gorgeous wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt? Everyone's always going on about my looks...

Fuck.

Mr. Chollet especially made me uncomfortable with that. I had to wear a salmon pink monstrosity (AKA my business suit which made me look like I was about forty something) for the play, "Crimes of the Heart" as the highpower woman lawyer defending Babe. Mr. Chollet said that I hid under my clothes and that some individual's were commenting on how lovely I looked, with my hair out of my face, with my legs long looking and such.

Fuckers.

Everyone's always trying to change me so the rest of the world will notice me. Well, I'm going to continue to be who I am, because I don't need to strive for the attention of other people.

One of these days, you'll all see my true self, and I hope that it is something so beautiful and radiant that it will bring tears to your eyes. I'm not the average girl, I'm below standards for beauty, but I can put an A+ on my soul. How about you?

I've been having dreams of blood lately. Last night I dreamt I was communicating with a kitten, it was Aidan except female, and only half of it was a kitten. The rest was some other creature, with different organs. We were descending into a world of dark and unknown, with the kitten in toe. We didn't want her there. She would get in the way, but she whined and told us that she wanted to come, so she did.

I don't remember what happened, which is terribly frustrating, but I do remember the end.

The end was horrible. The kitten creature was lying side by side with another of it's kind, and it was me. We were both bleeding from the eyes and nose, the parts where we were pieced together oozing with blood. We were both crying, crying silently, unable to move, unable to comfort each other. Someone was stroking us both... stroking our bloody but sleek bodies. The other kitten had startlingly blue eyes that tore into me like daggers.

This is unusual, because the last dream I remember that I had had with blood in it was... no, I've had two dreams in which there was blood. Even when there was war, there was no blood.

That was an odd dream.

My subconscious is going a bit nuts, but the basic gist and nub of it is that I'm feeling insane.

Quite literally. Challenges in my dreams, torture, oppression, pain, horrible and unending pain.

I'm pursuing something, something I shouldn't.

What is it though?

What the hell is it...

I am losing my grip on this or that. At least for this month. Next month I predict it will be different but things that brought me great pleasure are fading, like Girl's Group. Once an exciting observatory of life has become a program on the path to self-discovery.


Drama, I don't have drama. I've not acted in about a year now.

I don't have fucking friends!

I don't have anything.

Shawney said that I had a Bat somewhere, that I had Bat. Bat is a clever fantasy, she's out there, yes, but she's smoke. She's nothing. She's something so impossible she's entitled "Bat with Butterfly Wings".

Something so painfully beautiful, it can't be real.

That's the pain of it.

Which is why she's Bat. I know she's out there somewhere...

I know she's there.

She's just not here, and I really, really need her to be.

So, speaking plainly


I want to be able to Eskimo kiss my Bat. I want to tell her she's beautiful. I want to hold her in my arms and be totally amazed at everything she is. I want to feel her heartbeat steadily thumping and think about how marvelous such a thing is.

Is it such a difficult thing? Is it such a selfish request.

Apparently, according to one, I am an overanalyzing Virgo. She doesn't know nothing.

I am also interesting to another, only because I speak to her in riddles so that I can avoid spilling my secret heart.

She doesn't know anything either.

I've been told I'm something else, something good and pure. Is it true? I just want to love and smile, but is it selfishness?

I picture my Bat, picture the smile, know the feeling I'll get when we kiss, know the feeling I'll get when her smile fills me entirely.

I've nearly crashed my car twice doing so. I get drunk off of her, whoever she is.

Does this make me selfish? Does this make me pure?

Then again, if I am such a unique individual, I will never find anyone who will be able to understand the complicated simplicity of my life.

It is so simple though. I live simply. I live with the Earth. You think the Earth thinks about theories or muses? Well, I muse, but I muse purely for the romantic sport of it. I suppose the Earth does too. Of course, I cannot begin to comprehend the mass complexity of the Earth. She is simpler than anything, so very simple. I'm birthed of the Earth, I do not hold any of the Earth's qualities.

Except I think I may have been a tree in my past life. Which is why, as a human, I run away from dirt so much, I relish the fact that I am no longer rooted to the ground. I walk, I run, I feel, I'm human.

I think, I never know. How can I know anything? The only thing I know is something so vastly complex it's unexplainable, but there's one word for it, emotion. Chemical reactions within my brain, sending chemical signals to receptors. I've narrowed my perception so much that negativity is a romantic thing. Everything I do is romanticized, because it's so much more beautiful that way.

Oh Bat, will you ever be able to understand?

I just don't know.

*Laughs* I bare myself naked to the world and they see me only unclothed. That is irony.

It's funny because I've never gotten irony, still don't, it's a tricky concept.

I'm so simple. So very basic, in touch with my inner child, whatever you want to call it. This is my mind though, as it is, flowing, airy thought written down to paper. Anything else I try to write is something painful and embarrassing for me. Really it is. I despise it.

Trolly Wood.... Oh hallelujah.

I fill myself with me. I let my soul flow freely, bound only to the scar on my arm that lets me know I'm real. That's how I got it you know, I was lost, my soul slipping from me faster than I could handle. So I cut a line in my arm, making me and my soul feel the pain, binding my soul to me with pain. Funny thing is, it didn't even bleed. It was just puffy and sore, a long line of openess. Afterwards though, the blood that wasn't even there clotted over and I ripped it out, examining the stuff in my fingers. It was how I knew I was still here though. My soul had a marker to return to. No longer lost. I've never had the urge to mark myself again.

Life is truly wonderful.

So... I was thinking about a this and a that. FUCKING PEOPLE DISGUST ME. Not all of them, but in general, people are disgusting creatures motivated by things that I cannot understand. I especially hate classists.

I don't know, for years I've understood that I do not belong and am not welcome amongst this environment. The people I meet, though they are lovely, are too enclosed for me. I'm the type of person who stands out especially when she doesn't want to and I need to blend in with other freaks and weirdos. Sounds kind of odd but it's true.

See, I'm not the lovable weirdo, because I do not make a conscious effort to try to be weird. I'm not trying to be an amusing weird either, and when I am, I get uncomfortable, which is awkward as ass for everyone. A lot of people think of me as something extraordinarily exceptional, which I am, I know I am, but so is everyone else. I want to find myself a group of friends that are as loyal as I am, who think the same way I do, who do the things I do, without feeling odd about it.

Take Germaine for instance. I click with her, even though I know for a fact I might be a bit afraid of her. I just have a huge attraction to her that is very platonic. I love Germaine so very much. I'd give anything for her to see her happy. I look forward to reading what she might wish to send me because I know she will send me a logical response in return.

*Shakes head*.

I don't know. I've found such marvelous people but they're broken. Wrung too tight, thrown against the social walls and now are too jaded.

I want to be Ceci's knight in shining armor. I want to take her from that abhorred environment she is in, take her somewhere where she can be safe, happy and healthy. She is such a wonderful individual that is constantly being dragged to the dregs by environmental influences. I know of course that I cannot be her knight, I cannot go and rescue her, I'm just a dumb kid who happens to be her friend. At times my concern for her can be misenterpreted as me being mad at her but I love her so very much...

I just feel so rejected, detested. So charming I can be but then I withdraw only the slightest into myself and I'm walked all over by a lot of people. I never get to spend time with the people I wish to and in the way I wish to. It seems like everybody's looking to get their next fix, whether it be drugs or attention.

Aubrey is pissing me off to no end. She's a child but adamantly re-enstates that she is a 'mature adult' as well as a loving hippie that wants to give the world a hug. Hippies like Aubrey represent a burnt-out age of youth, striving to be something they're not, fighting the conformity of society because if they don't fight for it, they tend to blend into the background as just another face. What's so wrong with community? 

She idolizes people from another age that she learns about yet she cannot hold true to their values because Aubrey is very ordinary, someone who was born into a happy life. She's had a lot of things happen to her but so have I. The difference is I just wanted to have the attention off of me, where Aubrey needs that attention, craves it like no one I've ever seen. She's also a very publically self-motivated individual. Selfish is the word that comes to mind, but we're all selfish. It's only that Aubrey broadcasts it to the world.

Fuck, I'm seen as such and outsider to them, someone so young. I'm angry I tell you. I'm fucking tired of being seen as an amusement for about two minutes and discarded by those who are UNWORTHY OF MY TIME. They are truly unworthy. I'm not better than them, they just don't fit with me. They can tell you themselves. They'll claim love and loyalty but they don't know anything about the subject. Virgo's by nature are very loyal to those they care about, the difference with me is that I no longer have blind love. My eyes were wrenched open and I was forced to see that not everyone in the world is as nice as I thought they might be. This only happened like a year or two ago. How fucked up is that? I really assumed that everyone is nice and wants to help me, as I want to help them. I keep seeing such ugliness of spirit, petty bull shit that makes me see people with decaying holes in them.

I see people whole, they have all the proper organs and facial features, but I can feel that they have no solidarity. A gaping hole where the heart is supposed to be, a decayed mind. Warped and distorted faces with people who appear beautiful.

Fuck the beautiful people. I'm not an exceptional beauty or brain, but I am myself and in that I am glorious! Really I am. If anyone claims to think they can call me anything at all, they know nothing.

I love my friends, really I do. But they cannot claim me to be anything. Especially not Aubrey. I am who I am, no labels, except for Roxxy. It's odd that people I barely know (Kaspar and Jon) could sum me up better than a thousand people that have tried to do so.

I am Roxxy, infinitely complex but infinitely simple. I am no complicated being, but the fact that I am a thinking being makes me so complicated it's not even funny.

When I meet my lady love, my Bat with Butterfly Wings, I know I will revert back to my innocent days free of bitterness and vile intentions. I will care for nothing except her and being happy. I know because that's how I felt with Garrett. Even at the most complex times everything was in a fuzzy haze, an impenetrable fog where nothing mattered but me and him. Of course, Garrett is a bastard and I'm smarter than that now. 

You can call me a romantic and you'd be right. Nothing matters to me as long as I have validation, love and comfort from people who know and care about me.

I find myself enjoying the company of our Girls Group leader Susan Groh. She's a sweet ex-hippie Pisces, and my moon, my child reflects her. I don't see her as a threatening adult, I see her as a peer, a friend. If we were the same age I could imagine going out for drinks. If we were children together we'd be best pals, I'm sure. Both of us the sensitive bookish types.

I don't know.

Fuck off, everyone who reads this.

001: Name: Roxanne
002: Nickname: Roxxy, Tok, Fag, Love Nacho, Pocket Pancake
003: Country of living: USA
004: Birthdate: August 27 1988
005: Height: 5'6"
006: Shoesize: 8 and one half
007: Hair Color: At the moment... black-ish.
008: Eye color: Brown
009: You smoke: When you throw water on me. *Laughs at my own witty joke*.
010: Hobbies: I make pornographic films with my friends, write, make music. And I really, really mean it about the porno part. Don't you wish you were as cool as me to have tons of attractive young individual's at your sexual disposal.
011: Brothers/Sisters: Sisters, two.
012:Relationship: Single.
013: Piercing(s): Ears, getting a bunch more in about a year.
014: Tattoo: Have to be eighteen to do that silly fucks.
015: Fave country to go to: Oh yes, I totally go to different countries. Though I would like to travel everywhere.
016: Are there people you wont reply to: Yes. Mainly perverts, usually male. Female, there are female perverts out there, but I just hope they're not nasty until I find out otherwise, then I just stop writing to them.
017: Nicest person(s) you met this year: Nicest? James.
018: Person you rather have not met this year: Um.... I don't know, I was already acquainted with the people I didn't like.
019: Who would you like to meet: Germaine and Miranda.
020: Who do you admire most: Aubrey Hepburn, she was a charming individual.
021: Most sexy person: Truthfully? Ceci. In my little fantasy world... *Thinks*. No, can't admit anything, it can be incriminating. Like Sarah Riolino, that's incriminating.
023: Favorite Car: Volkswagen Van
030: Favorite sound: A woman responding to your touch, how about that sound?
024: Favorite Movie: Pretty in Pink
025: Favorite Country: USA
026: Favorite Music: All types, except Broadway musicals are pretty neat.
027: Favorite Stuffed Toy: Froot Loop, the stuffed bear I gave to Ceci. It has meaning.
031: Favorite Tv Show: America's Next Top Model, Starting Over House.
033: Favorite Nickname: Tok
034: What is on your mouse pad: Nothing, no mouse pad.
035: What is under your bed: Carpet.
036: Favorite color: Black, red (so cliche) and true sapphire.
038: Favorite song at this moment: Jack Off Jill, Witch Hunt
040: Favorite class in school: Construction I guess, it's the only real class I have.
041: Favorite drink: Chocolate milk.
042: Lucky number(s): 27, 7, 13
043: What do you think is the greatest thing about yourself: My genuine sense of person, I try to be as genuine as possible.
046: What time do you go to bed on weekdays: Nine o'clock to around ten, depending. I have to get up at five o'clock in the morning and I'm still getting into my sleep schedule.
047: What word do you use most: The usual ones we have to have in a conversation, the most common, conjunctions.
050: You spend your time outside or inside: Well, it's both, since I don't live in a tree, and I must go out sometime.
051: What do you do on the weekends: Depends. I can have lovely weekends with friends going out to dinner, seeing a good Independent flick, talking all night. Or I can get stupendously intoxicated, make-out with random individual's. Or more commonly, I do nothing.
052: What class in school do you dislike most: Algebra. Construction. Construction involves a lot of hard physical labor boiling under the sun.
054: What do you really, really dislike to eat: Shrimp or mashed potatos, both disgust me.
055: Pets: 3 dogs, 2 rats, 2 guinea pigs, 6 cats and a tank full of fish.
056: Laugh or dream: What the fuck kind of question is this? I laugh about dreaming, I dream about laughing, fucking retards.
057: Serious or funny: I laugh about being serious, I am seriously funny.
058: Fast or slow: Depends on your situation gov'nor. Idiots...
059: You prefer being alone or have relationship: it all depends on where you are in life, and who you're dating, but generally I would prefer having a relationship.
060: Simple or complicated: I'm so simplistically complicated it's not funny.
063: Stay up late or go to bed early: Depends on your situation.
064: Light or dark: Definitely dark for those sensual moments of profound thoughtfulness, and light for sunny spring time's of no thought whatsoever.
065: Speak or Silence: Speak, always speaking.
066: Tall or small man/woman: Either way, as long as they're not taller than me, I can't stand that, makes me feel young, which I am.
067: Newspaper or Television: Well, it kind of hurts to urinate on televisions, so I'll opt for newspaper.
068: Hug or kiss: Kiss while hugging.
069: Happy or Sad: Happy, but contemplative.
070: Life or Death: LIFE, death is my phobia.
071: Gig or Disco: Gig.
072: Left or Right: Right
073: Sausages on top, or on the side: Meat is revolting.
074: Brunets or Blondes: MMM, both. Together. Making out. Naked.
076: You believe in reincarnation: Yes, I'm serverally incarnated.
077: You believe in Aliens: Aliens in the traditional, sci-fi word, no. Aliens in the sense that there are sentient beings that are in essence, alive, yes.
082: Best feeling: Love, and being loved in return. 
083: Worst feeling in the world: Being isolated.
084: What are you afraid of: Death, ending up with someone I'm unhappy with, strange men.
085: Are you an emotional person: Yes.
086: Do you ever cry during a movie: I can, if it's a good story.
087: Your goal in life: Be happy.
088: What was the promise you made to yourself at New Years Eve: Next New Year's, kiss someone on midnight.
091: What is the most beautiful part on the female body: Hips, the curve of her breast, neck, etc. Everything about women is beautiful really.
092: Most original place to ask your love to marry you: Fuck that.
093:What do you think of Elftown: It's filled with too many moronic individual's and pretentious bastards, just like everywhere else.
094: Is there something you miss about elftown: Yeah... But I won't mention that as it will give me nothing.
095: Where did you get this question list: Found it on a stupid girl's profile.
096: Besides elftown, what do you do most on your PC: I write.
097: Is there a question you missed in this all: no, I think I'm good.
099: Do you get in trouble a lot: YES
100: Star sign: Virgo, Leo, Pisces
101: Who are you?: I am a girl, a daughter, a lover and a writer.

I want to marry the Brawny man. While dancing to the Cucaracha.

*Sways hips to the unseen music*

*Sniffs*

I hope I'm not imagining things. People seem to disappear when I come to depend on them. So I'm all paranoid, thinking that these people like, aren't real, you know? That my mind created a clever fantasy so that I wouldn't go completely nuts, even though I already was.

There is one person that I know is real! Ceci. She's real. I'm very sure of this.

That or she's a phycologist, like the Scarecrow kind of, and she created this image that I'd be comfortable with so that I would tell her things. 

*Becomes afraid*

No though. She's real. I know she's real. Aubrey's real too. Thank goddish she only got fined $900!!! Poor dear. I heart her grand style.

Kj is real. Other than that, I'm not quite sure.

It's kind of like feeling my way through a completely dark tunnel. I imagine I feel something... fuzzy? At the end of my fingertips and then I have to figure out if I'm just feeling things because I need stimulation in the dark.

What if that fuzzy thing turned out to be someone's hand, and they were holding mine. Then I know that the scary things in the dark are gone.
Wouldn't that be nice.

Is it a little strange that I'm afraid to go into my room until I look around and make sure there's not something creepy crouching in the dark? I can never just go into my room and flop upon the bed. I'm terrified of doing so in fact.

What if there's something in the closet...

I can handle a monster. In fact I'd be probably too astonished to care. What I can't think of is someone, a real someone, a person type item, crouching in the dark, looking, watching, waiting for me to be unsuspecting and fall asleep. *Gets totally creeped*.

I think that would be the worst thing that could happen to me, because of a certain instance...

Oh I should stop thinking now.

I'm creating so many things! I have a wonderful plan for a story, and I know that whatever I do I totally want to see the people come to life, so it's a film.

In this film, there is a four year old girl in a beautiful garden. She reaches up, trying to get a peach. The film is all old like, black and white, and you can hear the film reel and everything. So she's trying to reach this beautiful succulent peach, but she's too short. Another little girl, hiding behind the trunk, hands the little girl another peach exactly like it. The first little girl smiles, taking a bite of the perfectly ripe peach. Juice runs down her cheek, smearing on her face in a very four-year old manner. The first little girl, Rebecca, hands the second little girl the peach, offering a bite of it. The second little girl, Morgan, takes a bite, smearing juice all over her face and hands, again like a four-year old.

The movie starts after that. The house that owns the garden is Rebecca's family's summer home, where they reside during summer's obviously. It's Rebecca's first time she can remember being at the house and she's met her new little friend. Morgan is the daughter of the gardener that tends to the house year-round. Her mother is dead. Will (The gardener) let's his daughter play in the gardens while he's there, and so it was inevitable that Rebecca and Morgan would meet. The two play in the gardens together, laughing and stuff.

At each summer's end, the family leaves the summer home to go to the city, to their real home, Rebecca at boarding school, Morgan in the public educational system of the town. At each summer's beginning, the family returns, both of the girl's one year older.

At seven years old, the girls are playing a game of Prince and Princess. Morgan being the Prince and Rebecca being the Princess. They have to get married, at Rebecca's insistence. So they do. They have to have a honeymoon, where Morgan takes Rebecca by the hand to a certain tree. She pushes her against the tree, in a hidden spot, and kisses her. They run off to beside the lake, where a butterfly lands in Morgan's palm. Rebecca tries to touch it but Morgan urges against such a thing, for fear of hurting the butterfly. They watch it for awhile. Once it leaves, Morgan tells Rebecca that she is her butterfly, because she goes away every year (like the butterfly) and returns every summer. They tell each other I love you in a seven year old fashion, and call each other Butterfly, and they part ways.

That was the last they'd see of each other in nine years, neither knowing what had happened to each other.

Rebecca comes like usual to the summer home, once again missing her friend. She walks along the lake, thinking about her life, and then she hear's a noise on the water. A boat pulls up, and a sixteen year old Morgan steps onto the shore, hands in her pockets sullenly. 

That's where I'll leave you for now, chicks. The story continues later. You'll find out why Morgan was gone for nine years, and what else will happen too.

I spent all morning coughing up blood and trying to stem the bleeding from my nose.

This is what constitutes of my life. I have no one.

I am no one.

I feel like crawling into a hole and not coming out for a very long time.

Even now I can't possibly express anything.

My stomach is trying to eat me. I'm wandring round like the general B'day. 

Look at my shit and smile fuckers. I am so happy with my new profile, because it expresses many things. 

Damn dude. Twelve year old's sporting the 'gothic' look and thinking that they're fucking awesome because they can spout off bull shit, "I'm depressed, I want to kill myself, NO (HAHA) I don't want to cyber..." Fuck, I'm never letting my children get that stupid.

First of all, they are twelve. What the hell do they know of sexual encounters, and anyone who attempts it, you fucking whack ass, it's a twelve year old.

Second, gothic? Does anyone really know what gothic is? No, it's not wearing black or any of the other fifty helpful signs (Including being gay), it's a lifestyle as well as a state of mind. I don't like gothics, they are generally snobby, sporting their eighteenth century wears, and I really don't like fashion-goths. My message to anyone sporting 'gothic' is, FUCK YOURSELF. In the eye, using, I don't know, pepper spray for lubricant. I know it's a lame sentence, but fuck, shut the hell up.

I want to cut myself, I'm so depressed and suicidal. If you're really suicidal, you most likely would NOT talk about it. You most likely would have been hospitilized for trying to kill yourself. That or you'd be dead. So to all those fourteen and ups who are goddamn morons, stop bitching and whining. It's called cutting. Who the fuck cares.

I certianly don't.

Cutting is a form of release, blood-letting, pain. Much like fat people eat. Are fat people going to go around saying, "I'm depressed, I'm gothic, I'm suicidal, so I'm trying to give myself heart disease." 

How aboot, no. They're going to hide it. I sympathize more with someone who struggles with weight problems than a cutter. Cutting is hardly dangerous. It's actually a rather tame form of self-mutilation. I'll get worried when I see things burned into the skin, objects being lost in one's body, and needles. Fuck needles... Fuck gothics.

Apparently there are people in love with me.

How aboot, no.

I have to go hold Calix. I think he is feeling lonely in his new shirt. I have a sudden inspirational thing to do with it too, if I can find Lara's Sharpies.