imaginary_dead_girls one of the imaginary dead girls pain pain go away come again another day 020619 ... who was she and they will come soon to resuce me. i know they will. they will rend and tear and rip and harm, more than she has done to me. i will hear her screams soaring up the walls to nest with my own under the eves. why havent they come? please? father? please come soon. i can no longer walk on my own. 020619 ... she died no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. more. no. 020619 ... they all died i have nothing left to give 020619 ... . i know you work in mysterious ways god, but i cant find a reason for this 020619 ... . she screams. were i a thousand feet below the earth i would still hear those screams 020619 ... . behind rthis house they have their eternal rest. mostly young women, raped and slaughtered, blood drained -- theyre just bones now 020619 ... . i didnt want to be here. i rememeber... i remember... i wish i remembered something else 020619 ... . this will come back. these crimes will return to haunt you. one day, you will be as you have made us - close to death.l the terror. how will you combat the terror then? there will be no girls for you then. how will you survive when all you have is you, countess? 020619 ... . it didnt have to end like this 020619 ... . i never knew you could see pain 020619 ... . i want it back. it was mine to give to whom i choose. not hers, never hers to take 020619 ... . are you afraid to die? is that why you are doing this? are you afriad we will be waiting for you? 020619 ... . WHY? WHY MUST THESE THINGS BE DONE TO ME? 020619 ... . i dont remember my life before here. i dont remember my life before her. all i have is this cell, this broken body. maybe all i ever had was this. i have lost who i am between visits to her dungeon 020619 ... . my fatehr used to scare us with tales of the monsters who lived in the forest my father used to tell us of the witches and devils who dwelt there. my fatehr never knew he was telling us the truth my fatehr always told us tales that ended in hideous deaths. my father never knew that i would end up in his tales. 020619 ... . i just want to go home 020619 ... farmfish with eyebrows riaised very trippy. nice work whoere' you is bein'. this is thee shit. 020619 ... . some days i think i hear voices urging me on. some days i think i can see the sun. some days i think she might not come for me again. some days i hope to die 020619 ... sabbie thank you farmfishlet! let me explain the game: we are working on a play about history's first female serial killer, countess bathory. the play itself is a museuem| haunted house expereince that instead of the seats| audience| stage/actors, we have created a museum filled with torture impliments, boxes she made of her victims, artworks from skins, a_bone_flute and rusty_chain_bamboo_and_bone_wind_chimes (to make noises outside) and heaps of other fun shit to play with. the audience will be lead from room to room by the actors who are telling the story. there are two cells, one filled with photography (of bloody scenes interspersed with photocopies of bits of girls bodies and scanned in scars (remember sabbie_needs_your_scanners_n_scars ?)) and one is an isolation cell that the girls have graffittied. these are their words, blathed for all to see. 020619 ... sabbie i would be honoured if other people felt the urge to contrubute to this particular artwork 020619 ... . lizzy borden took an axe and gave her mother fourty whacks and when she saw what she had done she gave her mother fouty one 020619 ... . turn up the lights. i dont want to go home in the dark 020619 ... . how did i end up like this? what did i do to deserve her? 020619 ... Mahayana the criminal does not make beauty he himself is the authentic beauty -- Jean-Paul Sartre 020619 ... . i have seen the glassy cold eyes of death. i realize that shortly they will be mine. my soul is like a quiet lake but still my hands tremble. 020619 ... . i wonder who i could have been if i had not been here 020620 ... gilles de rais countess_bathory 020620 ... reitoei thier bodies lie on the grass intertwined with gnomes and pink flamingos and croquet sets. the add another symbol to land of suburbia, one that no one would pull off the shelves of the garden store and setup on an idyllic saturday afternoon. the plastic hummingbird's wings pick up speed in a sudden heated gust. it's trapped here. faster and faster it spins and still it's trapped. the wing patterns make a blur, the outline of an eye. someone's in there, trapped, quivering on the edges of escape brought by the wind. i look into the glassy eyes of the nearest girl. i wonder what life lay there and what those eyes have seen. there is something odd about the eye, the sun glints off unnaturally. i realize that the glazed eye of the dead is indeed glass and "made in china" is stamped on the forehead. just another lawn ornament. 020620 ... god dead girls of london 020621 ... Aimee so much prettier than the real live ones.... 021210 ... egger . 040129 ... epitome of incomprehensibility A few days ago I felt sad about the music composer I'm writing about who died when she was 21. A fictional character. Whom I invented. But sometimes it comforts me to have some imaginary sadness to distract myself from the real/current world. 200428 what's it to you? who go blather from