Placebo is once again filling me with sound and emotion. Amazing how easily some songs slip their way into the cracks in my mind, flooding me with everything I'd tried to stifle and everything I'd struggled to drag out into the half-light of day. Music matters to me, as a tool, as a form of self-expression, as a means of self-torture. It's the only form of art that can rip me apart this consistantly and this deeply.

...I'll be yours...

I'm discovering that my moods seem to be adjusted to time-of-day of late. Apparently late afternoon is a bad time to be me. *shrugs* Not that I'm quite capable of caring, other than to wish my loves here, to watch the clock waiting for one of them to return from work, to count the hours until I can talk to two of them on the phone, to stretch and prowl within the confines of my mind and the glorious but tightly-bound strands of music that try so fiercely to draw me out of myself.

Raven wanders.

There's no reason for me to feel the way I do sometimes. I know that, I am quite aware that my emotions don't match my reality, not the moment-I-exist reality. The past, definitely. Some forms of the future, certainly. But the Now that I live in is not the Now everyone else seems to see, apparently. I need to find the door to their reality.

Need to nail it shut.

I don't like it there. My own, fragmented as it is, is far more beautiful and far more alive than anything the stupid faceless whining screaming stuttering consumers and preachers and mothers and machine-driven human insects seem to see.

...I just want to be...

Tempting to write elsewhere again, to let loose the flow of voices that is almost strong enough to escape the confines of my mind. They speak so loudly, and only one voice at a time can project itself onto this particular page. Better to be elsewhere, another journal, another life, another reality where I am I, the sum total of everything within myself.

...give me a reason to be...

Yeah. *sighs* I know. Less drama, more rational thought. Less stubbornness, more cooperation. Less insanity, more careful.

Screw that.

Don't care about anyone save myself, my boys, and a pawful of my friends. The rest of the world can go hang itself from the world-tree and NOT come back down. Don't want to cooperate with anyone who doesn't recognize ~me~. Don't feel like living up to the world's version of rational; I prefer my own.

...what in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue...

This two-dimensional mirror of my self has just become a tad too close to claustrophobia. I'm going elsewhere.

We are going elsewhere.

Yes, we'll be back.