on my body, again. on the material world.

 in my mind these days are my organs sitting on top of each other and against my pelvic floor, i imagine my viscera glowing pinkish plastic red like the cough syrup i used to take as a child. i imagine the wrestling that goes on in there. and i say in there instead of in here because something still compels me to this strange compulsion, to think that its like an exodimensional mind that is connected to me through wrinkles and cavities within time and space, then through the sky and into my stem. they are, however, in here as i speak and since before i was born. and until i die, then after. 

i can feel them squirm. i treat my internal world so badly. but it is me who i am trying to keep safe. they are as i am, their individual needs are not met so they hurt me, and mine are not either so i continue to deprive and punish them as i deem necessary. because thats what i need to do in the name of self preservation. 

my womb, my reproduction, my centers are all corrupted and blemished by necrosis inside my head. inside my head, i smell of the disgusting sweetness of mold and toxic gas like an oven. i put my finger in my mouth and it feels hot. my insides are hot. every mouth on me, hot, wet, slippery, soft walls. if i removed my teeth, the mouths that held them would be the same. if i made a hole in my stomach, if i slit into my leg and i put my finger in it. all the same. its not about the erotic, its the erotic within the body. it is a sensual machine, made to suffer and be tricked into destruction with the allure of a promise of pleasure.

im a cold, frigid prude and i am cruel because i am so angry at this body. i wish i could love it. hated always my openings, never wanted to smile, never liked the idea of having holes within my own mass, some that would pierce me. i have a hole that pierces me that i cannot find and thus cannot fill. i am trapped in the body of an animal that is mine to work with but not mine to love. i hated my breasts, i wanted so bad and still want so bad to starve them into my ribs. hated my figure, loved my concave waist when it used to be concave and sank deep into my muscular tissue, sank into itself.

i feel my body yell and scream and want and even when i slap its little head and scold it for doing what it does it cannot stand still. its an abused cat that has reverted into kitten behaviors now that it feels death coming in near, bringing me toys, asking for play. i feel this pity but it also is so disgusting, makes me do disgusting things, begs for them, runs and tramples over me, blacks me out into the ether and by the time im back its too late and the deed is done, and im left with a bag of flesh and stray bones to take care of and put back together. 

im still this and i will be until it dies, then i will stay here as i go under the shallow earth and will be there within each and every last maggot that fed on me only to do it all over again. at least them i can scream woeful, muted yells into my mouth and drag myself into an early grave, into the beak of a bird that will feed the flowers on my gave.

Prostitution and Male Supremacy - Andrea Dworkin

"I want to bring us back to basics. Prostitution: what is it? It is the use of a woman's body for sex by a man, he pays money, he does what he wants. The minute you move away from what it really is, you move away from prostitution into the world of ideas. You will feel better; you will have a better time; it is more fun; there is plenty to discuss, but you will be discussing ideas, not prostitution. Prostitution is not an idea. It is the mouth, the vagina, the rectum, penetrated usually by a penis, sometimes hands, sometimes objects, by one man and then another and then another and then another and then another. That's what it is.
I ask you to think about your own bodies—if you can do so outside the world that the pornographers have created in your minds, the flat, dead, floating mouths and vaginas and anuses of women. I ask you to think concretely about your own bodies used that way. How sexy is it? Is it fun? The people who defend prostitution and pornography want you to feel a kinky little thrill every time you think of something being stuck in a woman. I want you to feel the delicate tissues in her body that are being misused. I want you to feel what it feels like when it happens over and over and over and over and over and over and over again: because that is what prostitution is.
Which is why—from the perspective of a woman in prostitution or a woman who has been in prostitution—the distinctions other people make between whether the event took place in the Plaza Hotel or somewhere more inelegant are not the distinctions that matter. These are irreconcilable perceptions, with irreconcilable premises. Of course the circumstances must matter, you say. No, they do not, because we are talking about the use of the mouth, the vagina, and the rectum. The circumstances don't mitigate or modify what prostitution is.
And so, many of us are saying that prostitution is intrinsically abusive. Let me be clear. I am talking to you about prostitution per se, without more violence, without extra violence, without a woman being hit, without a woman being pushed. Prostitution in and of itself is an abuse of a woman's body. Those of us who say this are accused of being simple-minded. But prostitution is very simple. And if you are not simple-minded, you will never understand it. The more complex you manage to be, the further away from the reality you will be—the safer you will be, the happier you will be, the more fun you will have discussing the issue of prostitution. In prostitution, no woman stays whole. It is impossible to use a human body in the way women's bodies are used in prostitution and to have a whole human being at the end of it, or in the middle of it, or close to the beginning of it. It's impossible. And no woman gets whole again later, after. Women who have been abused in prostitution have some choices to make. You have seen very brave women here make some very important choices: to use what they know; to try to communicate to you what they know. But nobody gets whole, because too much is taken away when the invasion is inside you, when the brutality is inside your skin. We try so hard to communicate, all of us to each other, the pain. We plead, we make analogies. The only analogy I can think of concerning prostitution is that it is more like gang rape than it is like anything else."

hai hallo :3

 im doing what i can, i think its rough still. my digestion is better. i havent seen my friends but i did get my nails done super long for a lot of money and got a tattoo on my foot. im adding to it soon as well as one on my womb. im still delusional and schizo about feeling like maybe im pregnant and that my very painful period which lasted about three days (wtf ik) was implantation bleeding since the blood was sparce and dark. i know im paranoid and thats impossible. but i have ocd. im also a virgin. but i do have memory loss on traumatic events like anything remotely sexual gets deleted and abstracted as im living it and then even worse after. 

i talk too much about myself on here but i dont talk about anything much outside. i feel lonely and isolated, kind of. life just doesnt feel exciting. the world is not really welcoming i think. i feel alien. navel is healing .. fine ..... its been a rough journey and if it ends up migrating or rejecting i will kill myself. nipple piercings healing fine. wish things could just be easier. i just wanna finish my studies man i hate my school and psychology is a pseudoscience at this point in time. i wish these hoes took the psych in psychology more seriously. it feels like the kind of thing people.

anyway im going to a death concert soon. i loved suffocation in november, i am not as into death metal as i am into black metal. my project is going well enough. the nails are staggering. i AM excited for the release of rumination! itll be a beautiful project.

i did not get all the way here just to get all the way here. ill be better. stopped eating meat for lent, thats about it. im praying everyday.

i wish for better things constantly. i want a spoonful of honey and good coffee and red wine, i want a hearty soup, i want a big traditional american tattoo. im gonna get the bathory logo very big on my calf, from my knee to my ankle. idk. 

kanyes vultures

 ive been home for a while. my digestion has been so bad lately. i have been doing not much. colonics, very painful. intrusive. i feel less naked with my inks than i did last time i did it. cant wait for my next sessions. but i feel miserable. theres a vision of my doing stuff outside of the house, maybe yoga and parties and boxing classes and french lessons and piano. so much that i cant do. its right outside. i feel awful.

my hair is bothering me. my stomach hurts. i wanna go shopping. i want new earrings. i want new nails, i want my parents to love me, i want someone to talk to, yesterday i had a meeting with a psychoanalyst on zoom and i hated it. i have parasites! im taking an anti parasite drug. i hate it. parasites are my biggest phobia. its not a phobia, its not irrational. hate maggots and im grossed out to an intense amount by parasite stuff. oh my God! youre joking!

backbreaking. im out of my head right now. im not delusional, i think im in purgatory. literally, not metaphorically. maybe God is punishing me. im waiting to die practically. praying the rosary. i broke into a hellish panic attack then remembered i needed to get my ass in church so i did. tons of people. i feel stupid. God i wish i died. im not motivated. maybe its the parasites speaking. my parents left me alone last weekend and i started hallucinating. maybe the parasites are doing some damage to my poor glossy shiny soft pink brain.

new project, eater of worlds, will be releasing. an ep maybe. 

OOOHHHHHHH!!1

keep having dreams of my boyfriend being mad at me, like, breaking up with me. being stern and cold. dreams of my parents doing the same. people i like a lot, whose approval i seek. 

dreamt of a cougar outside of my room trying to kill me and a regular sized black scorpion annihilating it, tearing it to small pieces.

dreamt of ville valo being irritated at me again.

dreamt of killing myself with a beautiful kitchen knife.

i wanna be with friends! its friday and i wanna get drunk.

i luv the valley, oh!

 haii hai :3 hai haii hai :3

i am currently in neuro class i am suffering and i am losing my mind i am tired i am weary i could sleep for a thousand years a thousand dreams that would awake me different colors made of tears

saturday classes area actually going to kill me im not even like kidding my free days are wednesday and sunday and nobodys free on tuesday to play i cant stay up on wednesday to play and sunday is for gloomy feelings not fun with friends.

as i have said i understand the impulsion to do heroin I WONT but i understand why someone would do that i only would if i were dying but not WHEN im dying. like the days before just so i can live it. but. i want to be sober and awake when i die and i want it to be semi slow (10 minutes) but not super gruesome (want an open casket funeral as soon as possible after death) maybe just like peaceful and mostly painless but i do want to be awake. i dont want to pass in my sleep or of old age. i want to die at about 28. i think its a good age to go for someone like me. at least that would be the case if i was a superstar which i deserve but i wont be one. maybe one day people will find me music projects and i will become so successful and so ingrained into the public subconsciousness that everyone will know my name and face and art without seeking it out.