The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

I am a spinning top on the spiral, waiting for some big kid to pick me up like a little toy. A shiny object.
 
I am not sure if this is therapeutic. According to him: I am fucked up and nuts (and he doesn't 'need' that).
I might be, but the questions remains: Why does he claim to still want me then?

I am shouting from the top of the mountain, but I have no idea what I am saying.
----
 
I got rusty, so I scrubbed myself, locked the door, jerked off, and gave myself a glossy coat.
 
There is a certain draw, an attraction, to this thread, similar to but definitely not the same as watching a trainwreck. Or perhaps a better metaphor would be ... I don't know. What *would* a better metaphor be?

It's not anticipating a crash, but anticipating the *avoidance* of the crash that seems ALMOST inevitable, having hope and faith, and knowing that the driver will pull it out in a screech and smoke of brakes, sliding to a halt just before running over the twins' pram. Yeah, that's sort of it.

It's too early in the morning for my metaphor engine to be up to full steam yet. I think you get what I mean, though.
 
There is a certain draw, an attraction, to this thread, similar to but definitely not the same as watching a trainwreck. Or perhaps a better metaphor would be ... I don't know. What *would* a better metaphor be?

It's not anticipating a crash, but anticipating the *avoidance* of the crash that seems ALMOST inevitable, having hope and faith, and knowing that the driver will pull it out in a screech and smoke of brakes, sliding to a halt just before running over the twins' pram. Yeah, that's sort of it.

It's too early in the morning for my metaphor engine to be up to full steam yet. I think you get what I mean, though.

I understand the feeling, but I can't steam engine an analogy either. I sense what you are typing. I haven't been able to write much. Any involvement sucks the words right out of my head: it is both a reprieve and a loss at the same time. I haven't found balance, and the absurd attempts end like a comedy-- I find myself at the bottom of my own own mountain, climbing back up to top myself.
 
I understand the feeling, but I can't steam engine an analogy either. I sense what you are typing. I haven't been able to write much. Any involvement sucks the words right out of my head: it is both a reprieve and a loss at the same time. I haven't found balance, and the absurd attempts end like a comedy-- I find myself at the bottom of my own own mountain, climbing back up to top myself.
Topping yourself, I'm led to believe, can be rather difficult because it also means that part of you is bottoming to yourself, and the resultant confusion can make you unsure as to whether you're flagellating yourself or being flagellated... :rolleyes:
 
...part of you is bottoming to yourself, and the resultant confusion can make you unsure as to whether you're flagellating yourself or being flagellated... :rolleyes:

...to flagellate or be flagellated, that is the question. Or as Walter in The Big Lebowski put it, "Ahhh, fuck it, let's go bowling."
 
...to flagellate or be flagellated, that is the question. Or as Walter in The Big Lebowski put it, "Ahhh, fuck it, let's go bowling."
I love bowling. Unfortunately, the nearest lanes are 35-45 miles away. <le sigh>
 
I understand the feeling, but I can't steam engine an analogy either. I sense what you are typing. I haven't been able to write much. Any involvement sucks the words right out of my head: it is both a reprieve and a loss at the same time. I haven't found balance, and the absurd attempts end like a comedy-- I find myself at the bottom of my own own mountain, climbing back up to top myself.

You always have head wounds. You just got to find the right one, orbito frontal damage.

;)
 
Topping yourself, I'm led to believe, can be rather difficult because it also means that part of you is bottoming to yourself, and the resultant confusion can make you unsure as to whether you're flagellating yourself or being flagellated... :rolleyes:
It is exhausting and sneaky work.
 
Me waiting around for him to do what he did that ‘one-time’ is like a junky standing on the corner, waiting for the dope-dealer that never shows up.
 
It is hot and humid and the bugs are everywhere. My house is covered in ivy and the good mantis lives in the kitchen. The shower is filthy so I took a ride to my old empty house. I got inside the clean white tub and cried. I wanted to hurt myself somehow, but I whispered to mind: You are sick, stop being sick.

I didn’t have any soap but I felt cleaner. I got on the bed wet drip drying my heart on the top sheet. I miss my bed, but I will never get it up the steps to my new home. It is big and hard like a cock and it will never turn the bend at the top of the steps.

He won’t fuck me or beat me, but every once in a while he lets me suck it. I am pathetic and he is so nice about it. ‘This food is delish honey.’

And I don’t know how to get back to healthy.
 
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