Choose this day whom you will serve.

The following is in response to someone saying that Music isn't that powerful, that Homosexuality is wrong and some misguided things about Suicide. Unfortunately, she removed the comments so I can't post them here. However, you get to read my reply anyway! (Also, I apologize for how NOT stream-lined this is. It was a stream of consciousness rant to my phone and I have copied it... Verbatim)

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That's why we still listen to Gregorian chants from the 1100's. That's why we still have hymns from the 1700's.That's why we still listen to Beethoven and Bach and Mozart. You can't say that music has NO lasting power when, in fact, its been proven, over several centuries, to, in fact, have lasting power. The other thing is, even if, a person does not have a physical hand in a suicide, they have a hand in a suicide. There are always reasons and its not always a cry for help and its not always for attention. And its not always for selfish reasons. Some times its selfish; a good portion of the time its selfish, but some times its not.

And your articles are just, you went and looked for something to support your opinion. Not any actual, real leg-work, as far as finding things to support it. Just... things that coincide with what you believe. Which, I mean, most people do and that's fine, but you shouldn't do that.

Also, if we're going to get into the biblical side of things here: we have to go with either the New testament or the whole bible. Now, if we're going with the new testament, we have to admit that Jesus never said anything about homosexuality, abortions or sex outside of marriage. The biggest commandment that Jesus gave to us was "Love thy neighbor as thyself" and "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." And we, as Christians, seem to have forgotten how to "do unto others." Especially as we want them to do unto us.

You have to ask yourself the question: "Would I want somebody to come in and tell me that my marriage isn't valid just because they disagree with how I live MY life?"

No.

"Would I want somebody to come in and tell me that I can't have a life-saving abortion because they disagree with it?"

No.

The truth of the matter is that there are a lot of Christians who have had abortions because they're "life-saving." And then we argue about that some more too.

The point is that you either have to go with the whole book or the new testament. And if we're going with the new testament you have to admit that Jesus never said anything about homosexuality. Nothing. Not one verse.

Jesus devoted absolutely no time to sexuality. Paul, on the other hand, devoted lots of time to it. And, I would like to point out that, Paul is not the best example of humanity, just throwing it out there.

If we're going to go with the whole bible, then we have to look at the point of fact that we wear clothes that are of mixed texture, eat we shellfish, we eat pork, we touch pork skins when we play football, we gossip about celebrities. Because it is gossip. We're talking about them out of turn. We don't even know them. We're gossiping.

Its just... And we have to say that we're women but we don't actually leave our family home when we start our periods. We don't, you know... and if you tell me that those laws are out dated; those laws are the same laws that you find along with homosexuality. You can't say that homosexuality is NOT outdated, but everything else is. That's not the way it works.

So. Either you have to follow the whole book or you have to, or you can cherry pick. Which, I mean, is what a lot of Christians do. Which is really sad. So, if we're going to cherry pick, the whole bible, we're going to pick verses like homosexuality is wrong.

We're not going to cherry pick the verses that say that children who speak out of turn to their parents should be stoned to death. Or anything like that. You know, because that would just be silly! That law's outdated; you know, "thou shalt not murder." Okay, but God said to...

You can't really reconcile the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament, because Jesus was a fun loving hippie. You know, peace, love and... you know, apple juice. Not really apple juice, but peace, love and wine.

God was all "destroy everything!" That's, that's where I get a little bit sketchy about Christianity, its because I, personally, cannot look at the bible and say "God and Jesus are the same being." Can't do it. Because God of the bible says that he is a "jealous God." But jealousy is listed as being an incredibly evil and wicked thing.

If God is jealous that means he's sinning, but God can't sin because God is... God. Okay...

So then we look at Jesus, who is the perfect example of someone who loves everyone, regardless. God, on the other hand, not so much.

God's like "Kill this," "Kill that."

"What's that? You defeated this army? Kill their children!" That's in the Bible. Go look it up. I can point out verses.

Its just like... Then we get onto the topic of sex.

Again, we can go to the bible and sex, sex, sex. Everywhere. We're sexual beings. We were created to be sexual beings. So, when you look at the bible you've got: people going out and raping, you've got people going out and having sex with prostitutes who turn out to be their daughter-in-law.

You know, you go into this, I mean... The bible is chock full of sex. But its not "bad." Okay, so how is it any different than what's going on now-a-days? Its, its not. People don't really change. Sex is a big thing and will always be a big thing. And the only people trying to suppress it are the church. I don't feel like God wanted us to suppress sex, but that's just me. Especially since he "created" us for it. Its just like...

You also have to think about the fact that, you know, Adam and Eve were probably having sex in the garden and God was watching. There's that. And, technically speaking, they weren't married. Just want to throw that out there. If you want to get really technical, they weren't married.

They were the only two people alive, but they weren't married because, according to a lot of people now-a-days, marriage involves having a certificate. You can't be "married" otherwise. So, Adam and Eve didn't have a certificate of marriage, so they weren't married.

"Joining as one flesh," yeah, that's sex. Just FYI.

2014

Happy New Year!

Let's take a moment to look back at the last moments of 2013:
Last food eaten: Chocolate
Last movie watched: "Bunraku" (Starring the beautiful Gackt and the sexy Josh Hartnett)
Last song listened to: "Eden" by Sara Bareilles
Last book read: "The Unscary Scarecrow" by John Patience

And now, some of the firsts of 2014:
First thing done: Kissed my husband.
First song: "High Society" by Betty Who
First website visited: Facebook (duh!)
First food: Pumpkin Spice & Caramel Ghiradelli Chocolate Square (I'm a fancy bitch)
First drink: Smirnoff Ice Screwdriver
First text received: From Kid (Happy New Year!)

Here's to all the firsts and the lasts!

Welcome 2014!

My Heart

Gorgeous Cover of a Paramore song by a lovely young soul named Gabrielle Alpin. Enjoy!

America

"Why did you even come here?" she snarled, her lips twisting in anger. "You don't belong. None of you do."

"I've come, looking for America." I replied, my English pained and stilted. How could I ever explain that my dreams were filled with this place, filled with all the joys and dreams of generations? How could I explain her own great-grandparents' joy and desperation as they crossed the waters, their eyes searching for the bright torch of Liberty?

This land, soaked with dreams and tears, the hopes of generations drenching the earth until it is burgeoning with it. Like a rose in full bloom. And, like a rose, the thorns of prejudice pierce my fragile skin. They all stare at me, their eyes full of hatred and bias. I can't describe the dream that I followed here. The belief that I fought so hard to maintain.

The dream that America is a mother with her arms flung open wide to embrace her weary children. The torch of home burning through the mists and the fog, the moon competing with it. With this belief, we ran and fought, screaming and dying for the dream of America. A dream of freedom and liberty. A dream of acceptance and love beyond our faults. The dreams being crushed in the fists of the woman in front of me.

She hates me, for no reason other than I am different. I am not from here. I am not "American." I've lived here for five years now, I'm only a short way away from being a full citizen, but I'll never be "American." I'll never be what she believes I should be because I am different, because I was not born here.

I ignore her, my eyes straying toward the torch held aloft. I smile, though the tears are dripping down my face, stung by her words and the dreams that slowly die. The light I followed here, to escape the starvation and the crush of dreams deferred, has been burnt out for years. The America I dreamed is a dream that has died. I close my eyes and feel the incessant throb in my chest, my broken heart refusing to give up on this dream.

I look into the eyes of Liberty, her torch held aloft. Her words echo in the still waters of my mind. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, Tempest-tossed to me I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I've gone to look for America.

Wicked Games we play

Wicked games we play with each other's hearts. Isn't it funny? Isn't it rich? You tell me you love me, but you never really meant it. We never meant the things we said, but those are the wicked games we play. Like hearts aren't fragile, like falling in love is easy and falling out of love even easier. I didn't want to fall in love with you. I didn't want to turn my heart inside out and show all of its contents to you.

I am ablaze and you are the only saviour from this devastatingly beautiful madness. Its a wicked game, sweetheart, the lies we tell. What an evil thing to do, letting me believe you could ever love me the way I love you. What tangled webs we weaved playing these games of heart and heart-break. I'm losing, but I feel like I've won the whole world in a paper cup.

The moon is on fire, a jewel on the neck of the sky, surrounded by diamonds. You are my moon, my sun, my beginning and my end. The wicked games we played, no longer pretend. Save me, save me from you. Save me from this breathtaking insanity. I don't want to be in love with you. I don't want to bathe in your scent, like it is frankincense or myrrh. I don't want to drink you down as though I was lost in the desert with no water. Yet, you are the sweetest thing I've ever tasted and yours is the only perfume I want.

I don't want to fall in love with you and the wicked games we played, knowing they could never be true.

Trying.

Marriage is hard. Relationships are hard. Love is hard. If you love someone you have to work at your relationship with them.

I once wrote a blog about Love. It's one of the few things I am very proud of, actually, because I wrote about what I see as a basic truth. You have to give all the parts of yourself to a relationship before you can truly have a relationship. So, what happens after you are in love?

That's when the work begins. Being in love is so much harder than most people realize. It's easy to play at love when you think there is no work to it. Its easy to use someone and play with their feelings. It takes real strength of character to make a relationship last.

I feel like this is what this video is about by P!nk. It's a good video. I don't like the song as much as some of her other's, but I adore this video because it is about working through the shit and working through the hard and the terrible and trying even when you feel like giving up.

Where there is a flame someone is bound to be burned.

Being a Lover of Strings

Whilst dawdling on YouTube, I somehow managed to stumble upon this Violinist named Lindsey Stirling. She isn't just any violinist however, she is a "dubstep" violinist. And her music is AMAZING! So have a listen to my newest favorite song, even if it is violin instead of cello!

Gotye Kick...

I am SO in love with Gotye! And I have been a massive kick recently, just listening to his awesomeness over and over. I just discovered this one and I love the video and the song itself. Such awesome stuff!

The Velvet Goldmine

When I was younger I used to babysit my cousins all the time. I didn't mind this because I could watch what I wanted on TV after they went to sleep and I had an available assortment of snacks and what not at my Aunt's. It is on one such evening of babysitting that I discovered a movie called "Velvet Goldmine."

I didn't actually watch the whole thing at the time. Just bits and pieces of it. I couldn't get into it and, admittedly, the only reason I watched it was for promised sex scenes. I was approximately sixteen so I hadn't really figured sex out just yet. I was, however, overtly curious.







The other day I was thinking about it, out of nowhere mind you, and I decided to procure a copy of it. And the other night I watched the whole thing. THE WHOLE THING.

Worst decision ever, mind you. I stayed up until after 1AM watching a movie that I really had a hard time getting into. And it wasn't that good of a movie. Personally speaking of course.

There are a few things I have figured out from this film:
1. Lady Gaga is just a copy of Brian Slade/Maxwell Demon
2. Jeffree Starr is a poor imitation of Jack Fairy.
3. Jonathan Rhys Meyers looks like Fawn when he has longer reddish hair...

The story revolves around Brian Slade, a bisexual glam-rocker in the 70's loosely based on David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust; Arthur Stuart, a British journalist, closeted homosexual and glam-rock fan; and Curt Wild, a garage band singer on the edge. Also starring: copious amounts of Homosexual and Heterosexual sex and Ewan McGregor's penis.

Of course there are a few other intriguing characters such as Mandy Slade (played by Toni Collette) and Jerry Divine (played by my favorite comedian Eddie Izzard!). But they aren't nearly as interesting as the main characters.

Overall, I didn't like the film. I didn't like how they filmed it, though it renewed my appreciation of nude Ewan McGregor and Jonathan Rhys Meyers as a whole... But that was it.

If you read the synopsis of the film it actually sounds really interesting and very psychedelic. Which it is very psychedelic. But not really in a good way.

The lines purloined from Oscar Wilde are thrown in haphazardly, dialogue is practically non-existent. The music isn't very good. The whole thing felt like it was trying really hard to be deep and intense. It came off as being faker than fake.

On a scale of 10, I would rate this a 2. Ewan's penis is about the only thing that made this for me. That and Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

Welcome to the Deluge

Things have been a little crazy recently, due to work and trying to have a personal life (which is still mostly non-existent by the way). I was working a lot. Emphasis on WAS.

Today I am going to work on my resume, have lunch with my husband, watch my brother perform in the cursed Scottish play, pay my car insurance, listen to music, read and talk to Fawn. Sounds like a busy day for me!

Anywho, into the fray of this day I would like to interject this song.

I love it. The whole thing. The song, the video, the singer. It is a gorgeously done video.

Cocoon by Alpines

Do You Remember?

I stumbled upon this song whilst exploring a side of YouTube I've never been to before.

In many ways this experience is like stumbling into an older section of a magnificent library and suddenly discovering thousands of books you want to read. You are lost in this wonderland with absolutely no desire to leave it.

That's what happened when I came across this little appreciated part of YouTube.

How did I find these songs, you may ask? By following a friend of mine through the proverbial rabbit hole. She posted a song. A song by the young woman that I am about to post. I listened to it and liked it. I then clicked on like videos and the next thing I knew I was lost and in love with the feeling.

I found a group called Starfucker and one called Hungry Ghosts (which inspired a poem for my previous post). I have fallen in love with this little niche of music, so the next few days expect music you've probably never heard (unless you are my little sister who digs the indie scene).

For now, I would like to present Ane Brun with the song "Do You Remember?"

The Hungry Ghost

I stood alone. Drifting, dreamily sleeping, careening.
A hungry ghost asked me to dance, taking my hand in his.
He kissed me. Softly, hungrily tasting, touching.
A hungry ghost asked for my heart, touching my chest.
I gasped. A pretty face, twirling in a crowded place.
A hungry ghost asked me to love him, enchanting me.
He kissed me. Longingly, slowly taking, everything.
I did not deny him. I let him in. I gave what I could to him.
A hungry ghost devoured me, so lovingly and with care.
And so I became a hungry ghost, caught in sweet oblivion.

The One Hundred Years of Titanic

One hundred years ago today the RMS Titanic departed on a maiden voyage from Southampton, England, on a fated journey to New York City, New York. It never reached it's destination, colliding with an iceberg in the North Atlantic Ocean killing 1,514 people.

Now, if you grew up in the 1990's at all, then you are probably aware of Titanic, if only for the movie starring Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Or the song from the movie by Celine Dion (which I'm going to post because of the following: 1. The video makes me cry every time, just like the actual movie and 2. I actually really like the song. Views not shared with me by my husband OR Ms. Winslet).

For me, I have a variety of sweet and interesting memories related to RMS Titanic.

The very first memory I have of Titanic is seeing the movie when I was ten. The year would've been 1998 by my recollection. My younger brother was eight and my little sister was a two-year-old Shirley Temple look-a-like. The reason that we ended up seeing this movie (because all three of us did) was because my mother had a migraine headache.

When I was younger my mom was prone to debilitating migraines. This would induce nausea, tremendous sensitivity to light and sound, and sometimes the only cure was for her to try and sleep it off. This often left me in charge (as my sister's father was never around) and us to our own devices.

At this time we lived just down a dirt and gravel path from my step-father's mother's house. I would go there for knitting lessons or to play with Brutus, one of the Cocker Spaniel dogs kept by Nana and Grand-dad (aka: My step-grandparents). On one such day, being bored, we children walked down to Nana's. When she got tired of us (which was quickly that day) she handed me a video cassette (yes, we had VCR's then!) and told me to take it home and watch it with my siblings so as to give my mother a break.

Have you ever tried explaining a sex scene to a two-year-old and an eight-year-old? Or why the pretty lady is naked? And why is that guy drawing her? What is happening to the ship? What is happening to Jack (Leo's character)? Let's just say it was VERY interesting for everyone involved because my siblings and I had many questions regarding the film, which neither of my parents had seen.

After this I became intrigued with the Titanic disaster. I read a few different books on the subject (it was one of my top ten most checked out subjects besides Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden and anything by Edgar Allan Poe. I was a rather morbid child). One of my favorites being "Voyage on the Great Titanic" by Ellen Emerson White as part of the "Dear America" series.

The next encounter I remember with Titanic was in Middle School at 14. In my reading class (the sole purpose of this class was to encourage reading, which I already did copious amounts of) we had a Titanic themed reading party. The classroom was transformed into the North Atlantic Ocean, we were all assigned an actual passenger from RMS Titanic's passenger list, we were visited by an author and we ate food similar to what was eaten on Titanic. And we read a book on it as well. Obviously.

Part of the reason this sticks out in my head is for petty reasons. I can't quite remember who I was on the Titanic, but I was married. And I was married to someone I couldn't actually stand. Hilarious, looking back at it now. It wasn't that he had ever been mean to me, but I was a teenage girl. We hate people because we can, not for any logical reason.

Also during that time a friend made a bet with me that I couldn't watch "Titanic" all the way to the credits without crying. I made it, barely. She didn't. I almost lost it during the part where the elderly couple is in bed, holding each other as the water rushes up to claim them. I remember thinking I wanted a love like that. Of course, part of the reason we were friends was because of our things in common. That was where she lost the bet.

I had an elderly gentleman friend when I was young, a friend of the family. His name was Mr. S. He was born the year the Titanic was launched and, subsequently, sank. He was born in July of that year. He would've been 100. And, on days like this where I am thinking about him, I miss him deeply.

One of the most recent memories I have of "Titanic" is sitting in the hotel room in Virginia, on our first trip to DC. L.E.D wasn't feeling well so Kid and I had gone to get Chinese food. When we got back we caught the last half hour of "Titanic." We quoted lines, making fun of Rose and Jack in their final moments. We laughed and laughed. Even though L.E.D didn't feel well we still had fun.

Another recent memory is from our second trip to DC, when L.E.D and I toured the National Museum of History. There was an exhibit partially dedicated to Titanic, with a reproduction of a skylight and some trunks with period clothing. It was interesting to look up and pretend that I was on the ocean, in Titanic, so near to fate and disaster I could taste it.

These memories are beloved, held close to my heart. They may not be the most beautiful or the most interesting, but they are my memories and, to me, it proves the lasting power of RMS Titanic through the years. Titanic has long outlived her passengers, in our imaginations and our memories. She has made her everlasting stamp on history. And a stamp on my memories.

Rest in Peace Passengers and Crew of the RMS Titanic, lost to the waters of the North Atlantic, April 15th 1912.

Do You Ever Wonder?

So I am on a Gotye kick right now. Don't know why, but it happened so innocently. I was listening to a song by VAST called "Pretty When You Cry" and then I started thinking about a song by Gotye I had been meaning to listen to that I hadn't. Next thing you know I found this song called "Wonder Why You Want Her." It is surreal. It is deep. It is sexually charged. And it kind of makes me think of Fawn. Don't know why. Well, except that Fawn and I are girlfriends maybe... Could that be the tenuous link?

At any rate, it is a great song. Deep, sexually surreal and I love it. And I love Fawn. That's all.

An Experiment

In her song, "Xizi She Knows," Imogen Heap says something that resonates with me every time.

You're pretty damn good as you are.
That is something that seems to get lost in the shuffle of things sometimes. Like romantic relationships or friendships. We are never made to believe that we are "damn good" as we are. We are, in fact, made to believe that we aren't good enough. Ever. Because we aren't beautiful. Because we aren't smart enough. Because we aren't what someone wants.

Xizi, she knows, that once its gone, then its gone.
I think that is a metaphor for being damn good as you are. Once you change for someone else and you completely lose yourself, its gone. You may get back some modicum of what you were, but you'll never be fully YOU again. You've lost it. You've let it go.

You may be wondering what this has to do with the title of this blog, but bear with me a moment.

I talked about being hit on, in my last blog. About not being hit on because I'm intelligent or well-read (which, as Donnie pointed out, is never the reason anyone is hit on), but because I have rather large breasts and a so-so face (at least, in my opinion). About how it must be freeing to be completely covered, so that someone has no choice but to get to know you for who you are, instead of how you look.

Can you imagine, for a moment, what it would be like for no one to think your hair is a mess or your make-up is wrong? Or that you aren't wearing the latest styles, your butt is too big or too flat? Can imagine how nice that would be? Not to feel the pressure to please with skin and fashion?

I was talking to Donnie about it and he suggested I try it. Though, he did say he thinks I'll get ignored more than anything.

He suggested I try being covered and then write about the experience. And I think I'm going to do it. It falls into my desire to experiment with different religions as well. I am both excited and trepidatious.

Pros:
1. I'll get to experience a culture other than my own. One that I actually know a fair bit about.

2. I can write about the experiences, because I'll have a rather constant inspiration.

3. My husband supports me in whatever I choose to do.

Cons:
1. The last time I dressed as an Islamic woman (back when I was in high school) I brought the Klan out of hiding.

2. This experiment may have serious ramifications regarding my job, my social life and my family life.

3. I am really shy, so I may very well not gain anything from this experiment except heartache from all the ignorance and stupidity around me.

'Tis better to try and to fail, than to never try at all. How will I know what happens until I try it? Well, I can't. I can't know what will happen or who I will meet unless I try it.

This experiment will take preparation. Partially because I do not currently own a burqa, niqab, hijab or any other such covering. Partially because I need to define the boundaries for myself and a time frame. This experiment is going to take longer than a week or two. And partially, because this is going to take my full concentration and desire. I can't go into this experiment half-heartedly. I have to be fully behind it and fully invested before it will work.

In the meantime, I think I should do some more research into Islam. I need to re-read the Qur'an. I need to slowly wean myself away from Alcohol... Unfortunately. I need to re-read the Bible. If you are wondering about that please refer to my blog "The Christianity/Islam Dichotomy" (which you can find at the following link: http://saraicrazyblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/christianityislam-dichotomy.html). And I need to re-affirm who I am.

I am still searching for who I am, in the midst of all the insanity that is called Life. I am still young, so I have time to figure it out. Maybe this will change me. Maybe this experience will change who and what I am. Maybe it won't. I guess I won't find out until I do it.

I feel like I'm rambling a little so I will stop for now. Expect updates sometime in the near (or far) future.

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

It becomes obvious that I am not the only one in a spiral of self-destruction about half way through my second week with Annabelle. I come home to find her lying in my bed with bloody arms and an empty bottle of vodka. The razor she used is still sticking out of her skin. I try not to panic, but it is hard seeing her arms slit to ribbons and a bloody straight razor still planted in her flesh. She has so little flesh as it is. She begs me not to call 911, promises to never do it again and we bandage her up.

Once we have cleaned her up with rubbing alcohol and cloth bandages, she kisses me. The next thing I know we are back in my bed, blood and all. I never understand how we get to this point.

One night, I wake up and see her sitting on the windowsill, the window open and a cigarette in her mouth. She takes a slow drag and just stares.

"Bellie, what are you doing?" I ask, sleepily.

"Thinking about jumping." she says, nonchalantly.

"Jumping where?" I ask, sitting up slowly.

"Into the wide open blue of the sky. I'm so tired of it all." She takes another drag off of her cigarette before flicking the butt out the window.

I get up and go to her, holding her in the waning moonlight. She never looks at me, always staring into the night sky.

"Come back to bed, love." I say, softly. I gently pull her away from the window. "Come back to bed."

She comes off of the windowsill and obediently lies down. She lets me pull the covers over her and tuck her in, before ensconcing myself as well. She lets me hold her tightly, she doesn't resist, but she isn't there. Not mentally. She is thinking. Always far away from me, no matter how hard I try to keep her near.

I wonder sometimes if she is thinking of her dead son, the one she gave birth to when she was still a child herself. She hasn't spoken of it since that day in the kitchen. She never speaks of herself. She never seems to want more from me than my body and my incessant rambling. For the first time, in a long time, I want more than just sex from someone. I want to be able to talk with her on more than just which positions we've tried or me just talking to fill the silence. I realize I'm falling in love with a broken porcelain doll. Against my will and she doesn't even notice.

We are sitting on the floor, playing chess on the coffee table. Snuggles is curled up on the couch watching our battle of wits. She moves slowly, decidedly. I move too quickly and without thought. She laughs, easily and without pain, when she wins. I don't see her happy like this often, her eyes sparkling like diamonds. I smile and reset the board.

When she loses, she is furious and she wipes all the pieces off the board in a fit. The cat, frightened by her erratic behaviour, leaps off the couch and runs off. She throws the board on the floor and storms out of the apartment. I follow her, not even bothering to put on shoes.

"It's just a game, Bellie! What the hell are you doing?" I shout, slamming the door behind me and tripping down the stairs after her.

"It's never just a game!" She shouts over her shoulder. She keeps walking, barefoot and trying to light her cigarette.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I cry, trying to catch up. She pulls up short, abruptly stopping, and staring at me, her eyes wide in fear and anguish.

"My mind is slipping." she says, a tear rolling down her face and blue smoke drifting up and away from her mouth.

"Honey, come back inside. Your mind isn't slipping. Its just a game. A game, honey. We don't have to play anymore if you don't want to." I finally reach her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. She is trembling, even though it isn't cold, and her cigarette dangles from her fingers. She allows me to lead her back to the apartment, but we don't talk for the rest of the day.

She drifts in and out of this world only she sees. I watch her light another cigarette, but she quickly puts it out again. She hates smoking, she says. Its a dirty habit that she can't quite get rid of. She's not even sure why she started it in the first place. Then she looks off into the distance, a horizon only she knows.

I know this isn't going to end well, but I want it to work. I want to help her, though I can't even help myself. I care about her, enough to try harder than I ever did with Jahan or Adam or even David.

"I love you." I blurt, one day after we have finished having sex. She smiles at me, a wistful glance at my face, and lights a cigarette.

"I will love you too." she says, quietly, and takes a drag of smoke. We don't talk about it again.

We go to the theatre often. We sit through three different versions of the same Shakespeare play, just for the hell of it. We never eat at our apartments. We always go out to eat. We never talk on the phone or really talk at all for that matter. Sometimes she screams in her sleep and I can't wake her. All I can do is hold her closely, rocking her gently. What happened to her?

We are almost complete strangers even after a month and a half of dating.

"My son was named Sebastian Alexandre. A rather austere name for a malformed and deceased infant. It almost sounds as if he was a prince in some beautiful European country long ago. I suppose that is what I wanted for him. Of course, what does a thirteen year old child know about babies?"

I blink, once, twice. She hasn't spoken of her son since that first day in the kitchen, it feels so long ago now. I don't press her to speak further. She is staring through space. It is as if I don't exist and she is merely speaking to the air or herself. She comes out of it after a moment, a sad smile spreading across her face.

"Do you want to talk about him? Or anything in particular?" I say, a little hesitantly.

"No. Yes. Someday, maybe." She smiles that sad smile again, kisses me and lights another cigarette. She sits with her arms resting on her knees, smoking. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, her lavender tank top and white boy shorts hiding nothing. I know that we won't speak further about Sebastian. She may never speak of him again for all I know.

Some days she is fine. We make love, we slow dance in the kitchen, we go out to the movies and read bad webcomics. We cook, but we never eat what we make, and play with the cat. We play scrabble. Sometimes she knits while I play air cello to a Metallica cover. On these days she practically lives at my place and I don't care. We hold hands everywhere we go and its a sweeter romance than I've ever had.

On her bad days I usually can't get a hold of her. She locks herself up in her apartment. I worry because she won't answer her phone. If she does come over, she is withdrawn. We have sex, but it is frenzied. Like she is trying to exorcise a demon with every orgasm. If she even has an orgasm. Half the time she dissolves into tears before we can finish and I hold her, shaking and sobbing.

Her nightmares start to come every night. On nights that she has these nightmares, if she wakes up from screaming, she will curl up in the bathtub until I am able to coax her back to bed. Once back in bed she tries to seduce me. This never works. As soon as I begin to give in she will break down and begin to cry again.

I try to encourage her to get counseling. But I feel hypocritical doing so. I am not as self-destructive, but I could probably use a therapist myself.

We have been together three months now. Her spiral dipping deeper and deeper below a range I can handle. I don't know her, I can't figure her out. I try and all I do is make things worse. We stop having sex after one incident where she began screaming as if I was raping her. This seems to help for a while, but then she begins pushing for it.

I come home from the book store late. I don't even think about why the door is locked when I find I have to unlock it. When I come in, I set my bag on the couch and kick off my shoes. Annabelle and Snuggles are nowhere to be found.

"Bellie?" I call. "I'm home, honey. Where are you?"

I pull off my shirt, depositing it in the washer as I pass it. Maybe Annabelle had a moment and decided to leave? Sometimes I come home and she is gone. Often she has returned to her place to water her plants or to just get away. I usually don't question it. Its just that everything is eerily quiet and I am still unnerved by the lack of cat and girlfriend.

"Annabelle? Are you here babe?"

I hear a slight scratching noise coming from the bathroom and a distressed meowing. I open the door and Snuggles rushes out. When I look over I see that Annabelle has hung herself in the shower. I hesitate only a moment before I am struggling to lift her while trying to loosen the noose around her pale throat. I can't get her down. I panic and try to find a pair of scissors or anything that I can use to cut the rope. I eventually get her down and begin CPR. I don't get any response. I call 911 and continue trying CPR. All to no avail really.

The paramedics arrive and they take her in a body bag, pronounced dead at the scene.

I sit, slumped in the bathtub, staring at the frayed pieces of rope. The EMTs ask if I am okay, they take my blood pressure and try to coax me out of the tub. The police try to be kind as they ask me questions. I am catatonic. I can't think, let alone speak. They ask if I noticed a suicide note somewhere. They ask if they need to escort me to the hospital. Is there someone they can call?

They find a note. All it says is "You're pretty damn good as you are."

Once I have assured them that I am fine, once I have gone down to the station to answer questions, once I have come home to my empty apartment, I find more notes. There are notes tucked into my pajama drawer. The majority of them say "I love you. I'm sorry." There is a longer one, folded in half with a small red heart on it. In her spidery handwriting is my name.

"You said you loved me once," it says. "I said I would love you. And I do. More than I suppose I was willing to admit. I can't continue. So many times I think of jumping from the tallest building and all my, so-called, beauty being splashed against the pavement like copious amounts of red paint. I can't live without Sebastian. I can't live without that poor deformed infant that never saw the sunshine. I can't live with how he was conceived. Don't cry for me. Don't worry. Don't change. You're pretty damn good as you are. I love you. I'm sorry."

Against her wishes, I cry. I cry for this girl that I never got a real chance to know. A young woman that I was slowly falling in love with. A young woman that took her life for reasons that I will never fully understand.

When no family comes to claim her, I dip way into my savings to give her a proper funeral. My mother and Brad help me pay and plan it, not knowing all the details. They don't ask me any questions, out of respect I think. A few people come, no one that I know. She is buried in a small cemetery just outside of town with no real ceremony. The funeral home reverend says a few words regarding shepherds and the valley of Death. He speaks of not being afraid. He speaks of the arms of God wrapping about her to cradle her close.

Once everyone is gone, and I am left standing by her freshly filled grave, I collapse. I cry like I've never cried before. Not as I cried at my father's funeral or my grandparents'. Not when David left me. Not when Liam practically raped me. Not when I ruined everything with Jahan. I cry because I have let her down. I couldn't save her, no matter how I might've tried. I can't save myself, why would I ever think I could save her?

I'm not sure how long I kneel by her grave, wishing I could've done more than I did. A hand suddenly, gently, rests on my shoulder. I look up and into the eyes of my Korean gentleman. Jae, I think.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asks. He doesn't try to flirt and he doesn't smile. He is wearing a three piece suit and a vivid tie. I don't even wonder why he is there. Though part of me suspects that I should wonder how he always shows up when I need him most.

"Yes." I say, wiping away a few stray tears and holding the rest in. He helps me stand up, I wipe off the dirt and grass from my knees. He puts an arm around my shoulders as he leads me to his car.

We don't talk during the car ride back to my apartment. I don't even ask how he knows where I live. I just stare out the window, watching the scenery blur and blend like fruit in a blender. Some of the blurring is from tears. Every once in a while, Jae will reach out and pat my knee. I don't look at him, I can't look at him.

When we get to my apartment, he walks me to the door. I unlock the door and stare into the emptiness. I can't cross the threshold. I am afraid that I will find Annabelle dead in my shower. Or her ghost wandering about the house, smoking her cigarettes. In fact, I haven't spent the night here since she died. I have stayed mostly with Mom and Noah, twice with Clark, once with Anna and once with Kevin. Snuggles isn't even here to welcome me. After I was steady enough to drive I took him with me to my mother's. He is probably busy catching a plump mouse or bird now that he is able to frolic outside.

"What's wrong?" asks Jae, gently placing a hand on the small of my back.

"I can't go in." I say, still staring straight ahead. "What if she is in there? What if her ghost is wandering in her tank top and boy shorts, smoking those fancy French cigarettes she loves so much? What if her final thoughts are written out in my pajamas? What if she blue in the bathtub? I can't face her."

I pull the door closed and re-lock it. I turn to Jae and drop the key in his hand. His hand closes on it, briefly, before slipping it into his trouser pocket. He holds his hand out to me and I take it. I allow him to lead me back down the stairs and back to his car. When we get to his car I stop so that he stops as well, turning to look at me. I kiss him, impetuously. This is how I've learned to deal with my problems. With sex and a new boy/girlfriend. With alcohol and random strangers who become lovers who become nothing.

I try to undo his trouser button, but he stops me. He doesn't shove me off, instead trying to gently disentangle me. I resist and kiss him harder. He has no recourse but to push me away.

"This isn't going to help." he says, quietly, as I collapse against him. "Sex isn't a magic medicine you can use to cure every ailment."

"What does it matter?" I ask, getting mascara and snot on his black jacket. "Nothing matters now. I just need it. I'm a whore, after all."

He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back so that I am looking into his eyes.

"You are not a whore. You are confused and lost. You can't keep doing this to yourself. When are you going to realize you can't keep doing this?"

"When I'm dead, like the young woman I buried today." I shake him off and begin walking toward a bus stop. He follows me, like I knew he would. He hasn't figured out that I am not worth the saving yet. He will.

"Will you just listen, for just a moment?" he calls. I stop and turn to face him.

"What do you want to say?"

"Talk to me. Let me in, for just a moment. What can it hurt if you reveal something of yourself to a stranger?"

"There is nothing to talk about."

"There is so much to talk about, you are just in denial." I watch him clench and un-clench his fists. I wonder, momentarily, if he wants to hit me.

"I can't." I leave him standing there. I don't look back, but get on the bus and stare out the window, crying for a dead girl.

Leonard Nimoy FTW

The following video is riotously funny and once again Leonard Nimoy has proved why he is one of my favorite people of all time. ^_^

Lazy Song by Bruno Mars. Video starring Leonard Nimoy in his pj's.

Zero Gravity

I believe I have blogged about Kerli before... At least, I think I have. Yes? Who knows! Anywho, I'm going to now!

Kerli is a singer from Estonia. As she points out in one of her songs "Nobody knows where its at," which is unfortunately rather true. Anyone out there ever heard of Estonia before now? No? Okay, brief, but necessary, geography lesson to commence in 3... 2... 1...

Estonia is located in the Baltic region of Northern Europe. Yep, its a European country. So whatever you were thinking it was before, wipe it out and try again. Finland is north of it and Sweden lies just across the Baltic from it. So now you know where it is.

Anyway, beside the point, Kerli is pretty cool. She has a very interesting vocal style as well as fashion style... I read a lot (A LOT) of comments about how she is like Lady Gaga in this particular video. I disagree, because she isn't nearly Lady Gaga outrageous. Plus I like her music a lot more than Gaga's. No offense, of course. I like Mother Monster as much as the next idiot, but I hate her videos. She isn't real in them. At all. Not even a little bit. She is just shock value. Which wears off after a while.

Once again, beside the point. I love the sound of this song and am meh about the video itself. I love being on an odyssey with Kerli, weightless in Zero Gravity.



If you find that you enjoyed this song, you should also check out "Love is Dead."

Take it all away

Today's song is one that my sister introduced me to. I really enjoy its soft lilt and the lyrics. Plus the male and female vocals blend and compliment each other so beautifully. At any rate, I just like it a lot.

"I don't feel it anymore" by William Fitzsimmons feat. Priscilla Ahn

She Knows

I follow Imogen Heap on Twitter, but apparently wasn't paying close enough attention to her musical posts. I discovered a few new songs from her and this has quickly become my favorite. I love the Chinese aspect to it. I love the sound of Imogen's voice. I love this one line "Pretty Damn Good As You Are." Why did I capitalize every word there? I don't know, I felt it all needed to be emphasized.

I wish I felt that I was pretty damn good as I am. All I know is that I am who I am and will be who I will be.

Enjoy!