morbidhippie's Diaryland Diary

..maybe just happy 2004-10-23 8:12 p.m. yeah fuck it, i don't know

d's that used to be s's

half my mothers daughter.

black coffee and real cigarettes


i haven't been stoned in a month

killer headache

dull throbbing, like the handle of a knife

four days in a row, semi inseperable nobody wants to hear about that

an undeniable craving for bourbon

'please don't become a raging alchoholic' he says

my coin operated boy (automatic joy)

the dresden dolls are fucking fantastic everybody..who could ever ever ask for more?! (love without complications galore)

well fuck it. fuck you. i'll say what i want to, a montage of quotes..

adam sandler is not funny. rammstein and keanu reeves on the other hand, are funny like a car crash

move in together, i'll leave it at that

to make you feel smitten

can hardly move do not change a thing all of my good karma the reason that

the internet

was invented beautifully pretentious why do condoms smell like that things that linger five am goodbye kisses

lovely girls at train stations 'sugar boy it's all over now' doesn't mean to be cruel have you ever read it out in front of people spoken word nights such a sweet little voice blonde hair even just lovely, lovely

don't touch her she said i didn't mind he only wanted to shake my hand talking on an imaginary phone i wonder whose voice he was having a conversation with, get your hand out of your pants

good man. good man.


yeah i wanted to laugh hysterically until i hit the concrete below the balcony or to just slice myself up, you know how it goes but i slept it off surprisingly and it hasn't really surfaced

i read the bell jar cover to cover today

and sunbaked, totally went through the motions with sylvia started getting a little depressed and angsty with her and all...little dissociated

i just said to someone 'i am quite smitten with life at the moment'

i said last night to be wary because in a couple of months i'll probably be due for some kind of breakdown again which is completely understandable

it may hit when it's time to relocate again and cass is moving back to queensland and i will be unemployed again perhaps and blah blah blah

but hey, being suicidal is fun!

no, it may not even happen like that we'll see, we'll see


and nightmares, nightmares about benny (concrete juuuuuuuuunglist) of all people, always when i'm sleeping right beside him

trying to kill me he is, going to run the car off the road and verbally abusing me

and i never realise that i'm dreaming until i wake up, i feel my heart breaking, kick him away cannot sleep next to that creature and then his sleeping body reaches out for me and tucks my chin into his shoulder and his chin into my hair and well, exhale, it's ok

(her smile is wide and her legs are spread wider)

don't worry. i've got you.

don't worry. i've got you.


i want a triangle of flesh that i could cook up perhaps i think it would be easier to chew that way i imagine i'd develop quite a taste for it but we would have to be discreet i would like to start on the fleshy part of his left wrist. i love the little bits of hair down the bottom of his back and the fact that i never thought i really cared about arm size, muscle arms and that i would always prefer fragile anorexic breakable looking skinny junky arms but these nice strong arms make me feel like a wonderful lady (woman) and beautifully protected and Fragile. Breakable. Anorexic.

(we can split germany right down the middle)

and to drink his crimson life blood really, what a rush once again perhaps i would develop a dangerous taste for it (just say we were lovers)

i want desperately to get wrapped up in something to have emotion spill through me, overtake me in waves, to drown me to be drowning the way we do in sadness instead i am feeling slightly empty i am not sure if i am happy or numb i do not recognise myself anymore and although i am not lacking in a real sense and i not wanting for something physically that i do not have and i am content in my surroundings and this amazing gift

i feel

as though i miss the comfort in falling, the heightened awareness, whether that was from the pot or whatever else i don't know but everything was overwhelming and even as a zombie i felt driven in my emptiness moments i was overflowing

maybe just happy

boring. she says she's missing drama i realise she is not open to what she's asking for would not be receptive full of doubts and suspicions and i am thankful to not be like that

grounded soul we say, what do you desire most? comfort i say, love was her answer

comfort. comfort, i want nothing more


days where all i wanted, all i really needed was to wake up late feeling terribly groggy and have two cigarettes and a couple of pipes before even getting out of bed and coffee and more cigarettes and then parking myself in front of the computer with some good music and not really moving unless it was to get food or maybe watch some tv for a while

the way you got quotes wrong all the time as well. it's not a sin you know. there are worse things people could do. it's not like i killed someone.

you make me sick these days. so many levels fucking recycled words

it's so easy to slip into self loathing like it is always waiting and with what i just said, no thats not what i'm looking for i still have plenty of that constantly walking down the street beating the shit of myself with words. thoughts.

'excuse me i have to ask, what were you doing catching those raindrops in that bowl?'

i do not feel lost.


cannot decide if i feel hopeless. sick.

sometimes i still feel desperate. i believe it is stupidly transparent how desperate i can be.

i still sit in the lotus position quite a bit.

in alot of ways i miss my old world. it was so completely lacking in any other kind of outside stimulation that it really was full of endless possibilities.

and look, i am still writing saturday night diary entries.

for those of you who don't know and have read this far down the page and may be semi interested i have been writing at

yes i know it doesn't take much to make a link but i can't be fucked. you can all copy and paste i'm sure.

the man who sold the world.


ugly fat and unworthy.

these are the things i fill myself with,

awkward and an eternal spot of bleach on that lovely black t-shirt.

the one sporting the name of your favourite band. the one that smells like that person you most recently loved the one with all the fond fond memories

when i went out of my way to say that wasn't a typo but it actually was. oh. someone might say irony.

the fact that maybe she leaves a string of broken promises everywhere and you were never that good a catch yourself you know and yes i always did wonder why on earth she bothered but i can't help but be surprised (i'm not like them) no. i'm not.

really surprised and still a litle hurt and definitely angry and definitely bitter. like i could leave horrible little notes like i know and you're a fraud i do not believe in you

definitely or definately.

who the fuck cares.

the clock says 9:12

i am worried that i will grow old and feel robbed of my youth.

thats such a stupid statement isn't it, considering the fact that i have that fear of course i've all these perfect opportunities to erase any chance of that.

i don't know if i have ever been totally honest.

it makes me doubt if anybody has. thats much to intense a trail of thought to wander down, i still have this headache..the whole truth thing, what is truth blah blah blah it's probably time for me to shut up now but i do not feel fulfilled.


yeah i

am not a vegetarian and have no intention of becoming one.

here's some snapshots of what the scenery's like.

"where do bad folks go when they die, don't go to heaven where the angels fly..."


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