Memoirs of Maniacs
(Written in a composition notebook)
Saturday: Things are quiet here. On the street, I mean. I'm sitting at one of those classy tables outside the bookstore/coffee shop, watching people walk by. This really is the city of the night; it's more alive once the sun sets.
I've seen vampires, mummies, and even a very handsome looking zombie pass me by, and I must say…these are some fantastic looking creatures. I wonder if, I put on some of that eyeliner I have in my bag, if I'll fit in and get into a club. Who the hell would want to, anyway?
(Written in red ink)
Dear Die-ary,
I think she's gone. I mean, for good. I looked around today for her and for once, I truly couldn't find her. The mattress was there, so I know I didn't imagine her, I think.
(Written in a composition notebook)
Monday: My shoe box runs low. By low, I mean a few hundred. I think I may need to find a place to stay. I got myself a newspaper to check the personals for some place to go. Guess whose name I found? Guess who's looking for a "quiet roommate, barely acknowledgeable"? Guess!
Tuesday: Got a nice shower (paid for thankyouverymuch) and some Salvation Army duds, brushed my kind-a hair, did my makeup, applied that shimmery lotion stuff from CVS that smells like coconuts, and I am so fuckin ready for it. I have my room mate interview today, and if I promise the first few months rent, I'll at least be promised a place to stay for a while. Until I decide to like…leave someplace.
I write this on the bus, which is shaking so badly I doubt I'll be able to reread this later. Ooh, I cant wait!
Wednesday: Score! She told me to come back tomorrow with my stuff and I agreed, I just have to buy some stuff first. I need, in a list:
Shampoo and Conditioner. Not in the same bottle, that stuff sucks.
Deodorant. Something that doesn't smell like cardboard flowers.
Hairbrush.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. Vanilla mint.
Face wash and cream. Something cleansing and anti-acne is possible.
Some more undies. And socks. I have plenty of clothes that I stole from Nny's house but I need to get some detergent and wash everything one by one.
This is going to fuckin rock.
(written in red ink)
Dear Die-ary,
"In 24 hours, they'll be laying flowers on my life, it's over tonight. No, I'm not messing, I need your blessing and your promise to live free, please do it for me."
The house is becoming a mess again, and its getting to be much too quiet. Meat stays quiet now. I wondering if maybe, I made her vanish, and where I put her if I did. Did I do it? Did I listen?
Did I finally kill BatGirl?
(written in a composition notebook)
Friday: Had Jem stuck in my head all day. Don't know why. My hair is now a loverly shade of green; I had some extra money (my very last bit, actually) and dyed myself. No, I had my room mate do it, cuz she's an artist. I have both neon green and some awesome neon yellow bits sticking up funny, because my hair doesn't grow in evenly. She didn't ask me why I'm a bit cut up. I know I look pretty bad, but I'm healing now! We moved me in last night and I'm all settled in my very own clean bed with a nice little room with no curtains and some hand painted artwork decorating the walls, that looks like a bunch of creepy little girls.
Yes, my roommate is a little goth.
Saturday: Lovely little place with lovely walls and lovely art work and lovely everything, but you know…I miss my home. I miss my mattress. I miss the white noise of a television left on all night to static because he's asleep and forgot to turn it off. I miss the waking up in the middle of the night to yelling and screaming. I miss the angry days and deranged nights. I miss so much! I am a pathetic human being who deserves to burn in hell for everything I've done! And yes somehow I don't think hell would be nearly as horrible as Johnny's house.
Roommates home. We are watching some movies tonight. Johnny and me used to do that. Sometimes when he'd be half asleep I'd stretch across the couch and lay my feet on his lap and wake up the next morning stiff as hell, and he'd always be gone. Off to sulk somewhere like a baby. Like a whinny little baby. Fuckin emo.
But he was my whinny little baby.
(written in red ink)
Dear Die-ary,
Meat spoke today and whispered things to me when I slept. He spoke of the guilt I am supposed to be feeling. And the regret. I don't feel any of that, really. Fuck!
I did, however, bring home this lovely girl with shit-brown hair and a really nice smile, and I kept that smile forever when I sliced off her lips and nailed them to wall. I can almost imagine them moving now, singing along to my MP3 player that isn't mine, but I borrowed from the Bat.
The girl looked a little like her, when bleeding. That's not the healthiest way to remember people is it?
(written in a composition notebook)
Sunday: So there's this neighbor downstairs, that black chick from the club a few weeks back. Tonja was it? Why do I wanna keep calling her that? I know that's not right.
Tenna, that's it. She keeps a cat down there. Oh, I had one, didn't I? Where'd the fuck it go?
Anyway, Devi hates her. Kind of. Love-hate relationship. Hates her because she's that thing we call a "free spirit" whereas Devi is a stick in the mud. She has thus far influenced me to do bad things. I have a tongue ring.
I have not eaten in two days, and I did not lose weight. I did lose some blood, but that doesn't concern me at all. The fact that I'm going to chip a tooth and I have no dental insurance, that concerns me. I couldn't talk for those two days either, and my mouth really hurt but…I dunno. I think it looks kinda hip. I have metal in my mouth. Lalala.
(written in red ink)
Dear Die-Ary,
Translation of a Polish pop song from the 80's:
"Don't do what you're doing, I don't even want to care anymore…break the mirrors, maybe something will change…"
The theory that nothing exists without the knowledge of it is called the Quantum Theory, or something like that. In the book, "Girl, Interrupted", Ms. Kaysen states that "you can't call an apple and apple when you want to eat it, and a dandelion when you don't. A fruit is a fruit no matter what your intentions towards it."
There is conflict here. Mostly because I didn't get to finish the book before setting it on fire, by accident, or not. But it was definitely in a fit of rage. I have a mass of blond hair down here to contend with, and Im wondering what to do with it.
I'm having issues thinking.
(written in a composition notebook)
Monday: Cenobites. Exactly. Torture as an art form. Extreme pain. Fucked with fish hooks.
I believe that Johnny was actually Pinhead without the pins. This idea intrigues me to no end and I feel I must do something to prove this. Except…I can't because Devi dated him and that grosses me out horribly. I bet she saw him naked OH GOD IT BURNS!
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I have plans for this. Bare with me until I develop the idea a bit more. I promise more Nny-goodness. Hellraiser was a fuckin AWESOME movie.
Also, the song he translates (loosely) is called "Podworkowa Kalkomania" by Urszula. Download it, it's a really funky song. The song before that was called "24" by Jem. The book refence is self explanitory.
