---

kick
twist
spin
the milky way rotates, you know
the universe revolves
and the man on the screen is moving
waterfall perfect
cycle, repeat
when he flies I believe
just for that moment
that the world is indeed circling
that it flexes, pulses
revolves around me
his eyes show his feelings
drama
an actor
but the movements are real
wires giving life
to the dream in his mind
to the visions he sees
and he kicks out again
soars
spirals up
dances down
and I swear I am moving with him

---

Techno music, tonight... techno, and music from "Lost Boys", and the song "Trip Like I Do", and just a bit of Velvet Underground... can you tell I'm angry? Can you tell I thirst?

---

Pepper, now... such a sweet song.

I can hear her voice inside this thing I call my mind, screaming to me loudly when I finally think I find something I can trust, something I can call my own, chasing me from sanity, driving me from home. Then again, I know I say a home is never mine, but how do you expect me, with this voice, to ever find somewhere safe to claim, to live, somewhere to exist... after all, I find someplace, but end up getting pissed, getting drunk, getting depressed, finally spiraling down... and in my thoughts, I'm still locked in that tiny little town. Beach and night and wind and her, my Angel, nightmare, dream. Despite her form and flesh and life, she's still the only thing that keeps me going, some long nights, when rage begins to flow. The funny thing? I just don't think that she will ever know.

---

I'm playing the music so loud I'm nearly deafened. My second diary entry in the last what, ten, fifteen minutes? And already I've turned up the music to the point where on the really loud bits the entire desk is vibrating. I can feel it more than hear it, now. Loud. Angry. Hurtful. This is one of those times when I NEED that pain, need it in others, or myself, it stops mattering who or where.

One of those nights when I need to, what is the phrase he used... oh. Open up on someone.

And still the thirst is there. Odd. I thought I'd gotten rid of it. Must just be a flashback or something, not real. Not real. Gods, don't let this be real. I don't want it to be real.

What is it I'm talking about? Oh, some of you out there know. You've seen the way I start to tremble. The way my lips part, quivering. My eyes... you've seen that look in my eyes, as if you had promised me the world, or before that, as if I'd truly been thrown out of heaven, destroyed, destruction personified, so full of hate for myself and my weakness. You've felt that kiss, my lips against your skin, the desperation in my touch.

Thirst.

Yeah, call it goth angst, call it a psychoses, call it whatever the fuck you want to. I thought I'd gotten rid of it, finally. Thought the addiction was over.

Then this. THIS.

Why?

Oh, I actually know why... the only part of this troup in my head who literally needed it, who literally needs it. The only part that ever burns herself so badly that she becomes this needy, this drowned in her own craving. The only part of me that hates ~me~ enough to not care how it makes me seem.

Aye, the Raven has enough on her mind, actually, this is her as well and I know it, but dammit, let me blame the water bearer, let me blame her for this thirst.

Blaming her is surprisingly easy tonight... after all, she's sitting there, laughing.

She knows exactly what's going on. What I'll do if this lasts, if I don't feed it or wear it out. If I don't do something about it.

She knows damned well, she's been through it all before.

---

You didn't think you'd be looking into the mind of a lunatic tonight, did you? Aren't you lucky?

---

Masochist Pop - think that Britney Spears song, "Hit Me One More Time", or Tina Arena singing "Chains"... I love Masochist Pop. It's addictive. It helps. It hurts. It builds and builds and then drops me, a roller-coaster.

---

- Lyrics from a Songbird's song -

alone
doors slam
pound the frame
touch
fingertips trace the thin, thin line
eyes wait, looking for a sign
nothing answers, I never find
the key to my prison
the lock to this door
a way through this forest
a path 'cross the floor

I die
I ache
I exist
dream
writhing serpent shadows reach
hands, so angry, try to teach
I saw this word, dead word, a leech
drinking me up
draining my voice
leaving me empty
leaving no choice

---

Mercyful Fate.. ever heard of them? No? Yes? Either way... violent. Shrieking. Horrible. Wonderful. Good music, for my mood. Nice guitar work, actually... and you can barely understand one word in ten. I just turned the music, listening to "#1 Crush" again instead. More fitting.

Gods... too many people to miss.

---

It's 11:25 by my clock... according to D-land, I started typing this entry at 11:08. I'll keep going for a while longer, a half-hour's work to fill this page, drown my feelings in text, pouring out my anger... and leaving behind what?

Craving.

Thirst.

Hunger.

Need.

I use those words a lot, don't I? You see, I know what addiction feels like. I know it because I'm used to it. Used to the cravings. The need. The little ache that starts in the back of your mind and the pit of your stomach and that warm, dark place between your thighs, and it builds, getting hotter, getting stronger, getting deeper, until it's almost orgasmic, but so, so cold... it turns into hate.

Hate for yourself, for the thing you need, for the world that's made your addiction a crime...

Hate is not a pleasant withdrawal symptom, but it's the first one to show up, it's the guest who is always there a few minutes early.

Bastard.

---

I think that's about enough typing.

Enough words.

I need to go Out... and for that, I need a shower. Lotion. Tempted to put on makeup, but with any luck, it'd just get smeared all to hell, beaten off me, licked off me, sweat and bedsheets and grass and water erasing it as if it had never been.

Then again... I've not had that happen in a while.

It might be fun.

I'm dressing up. Getting ready.

I'm going Out tonight... anyone know where a girl can go to have a good time?