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Previous - this entry written on January 11, 2004 at 5:57 pm - Next you'll be given love you'll be taken care of you'll be given love you have to trust it maybe not from the sources you have poured yours maybe not from the directions you are staring at trust your head around it's all around you all is full of love all around you all is full of love you just ain't receiving all is full of love your phone is off the hook all is full of love your doors are all shut all is full of love! all is full of love all is full of love all is full of love all is full of love all is full of love... ...yeah. I'm kind of floating right now. There's no celexa in my system. No amatryptaline. No tylenol. No alieve. No antihistamines. No opiates. No food. Nothing but water and half-remembered dreams and a deep-seated ache that leaves me nearly vibrating with - and this is what's confusing me - something that is either lust or agony or just sleepiness and I honestly can't tell which. *twitches slightly, slowly* ...until then, you have to live with yourself... I really don't know what left me in this place but it feels startlingly akin to 'getting back to my roots'. Tomorrow I see the doctor... I'm going to catalog every ache, every shade of depression, and still I will be pill-free. It's a frightening state not because it's a lack of medication but because all the deepest cracks in my sanity start splitting wider and the levels of pain that are starting to build only help force them open. There's music, and I thank the gods and Ryan for Winamp and a decent MP3 collection or I would, I think, be going quite mad right now. The music at least helps keep things flowing properly. Right now I desperately want enough money to Go Out, a CD player with a decent set of headphones, and a pawful of hours to kill hanging out with Scott. Right now... right now I think he's one of the only people who doesn't frighten me away and who I'd trust to listen. Find some dinky coffeeshop, kick back, just talk. Talk. Funny, that. I don't even entirely know why talking with him seems like such a comforting and interesting prospect, or why it frustrates me so much that the closest I can come is Trillian right now. I really do wish I knew - I suspect it'd give me a decent insight into why I'm in this mood at all. *shrugs* Bug just suggested that my current head trip could be simple withdrawal... but it doesn't feel like it. I don't WANT medications. I don't want any of it, just music and conversation and something to sip, nowhere to be and nothing to do but think about existance and talk about anything and everything and wander home late, sleepy, to curl up and dream of ocean waves and libraries that stretch for miles. The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor And the highwayman came riding, Riding, riding, The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door He'd a french cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's blackeyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by the moonlight, Watch for me by the moonlight, I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way" He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand But she loosened her hair I' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, And galloped away to the west He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon, And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching, Marching, marching King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door The said no word to the landlord, the drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every windows, And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement The road that he would ride They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" And they kissed her She heard the dead man say Look for me by the moonlight Watch for me by the moonlight I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat of blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years! Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs were ringing clear Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still! Tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moolight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death! He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket Drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear How bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight And died in the darkness there Back,he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were the spurs I' the golden noon; Wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway With the bunch of lace at his throat. Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor A highwayman comes riding, Riding, riding, A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Hosted by Diaryland - All Rights Reserved - Image, Layout, and Content copyright Jax Raven - - Do Not Feed The Moose - |
