openwound tetracycline and you fall into my arms, just like i want you to you're a perfect fit yeah, you fit real snug when you sting me with your poison it's just like alcohol on an open wound then i catch you checking out another guy i can tell you're mentally undressing him with your eyes and when you tell me that it's nothing, it stings like alcohol on an open wound you were unhappy, but i never knew you never told me anything you didn't want to and i poured my guts out i poured my guts out how does it feel to be on the receiving end? you fall into my arms, even though i don't want you to and though you try so hard, now you don't fit so good and when you tell me that you love me, it's just like alcohol on an open wound 011108 ... dying girl marry me. 011108 ... silentbob Sensitive to everything that touches it 011109 ... tetracycline hey, dying girl - does that mean you liked it? 011109 ... dying girl it means i want you to marry me. 011109 ... tetracycline just based on what i posted? 011110 ... dying girl you have a problem with that? ;) 011110 ... dying girl in actuality, i'm only kidding. but, i do find you intriguing. 011110 ... tetracycline me? intriguing? i'm flattered. i didn't think what i had posted was all that special. who are you? i don't know if you'd be comfortable giving me your email address over blather. but, if you'd like, send me an email at: john107@sympatico.ca giving you my email address sort of kills this pseudonym, but i wasn't planning on using it again, anyway. now i'm a little intrigued myself. 011110 ... dying girl? well, i'm not really a dying girl, for starters. i just think i am. it's really quite funny, actually. but anyway. 011110 ... dying girl where've you gone, my blue-eyed son? no......i mean, uh.....yeah. where have you gone? 011112 ... dying girl where've you BEEN, to stick with the proper dylan lyrics. sorry bob! 011113 ... neolar I'm going to vomit now. 011113 ... silent bob dylan lay lay dying girl lay lay across my big brass bed 011113 ... dying girl are you making fun of me? 011113 ... tetracycline i've been singing that thing i posted at the top of this page, and watching a lot of things get skewed. i didn't know so many strange things could possibly occur simultaneously, piling on top of one another. not only that, but these kinds of things never happen to me. it's all too strange. 011114 ... dying girl hmmmmmm.... intrigue 011114 ... Cold I've no openwound, exactly, but I do have a big brassbed, really, and it does have room to spare for the timebeing, actually, and you're welcome warmly. 011122 ... dying girl i still want you, john. 011204 ... yesh My entire being. 011205 ... snarf get a room 011205 ... blather memory shades of rhin and peyton 011205 ... dying girl this IS a room. 011205 ... tetracycline curious. i find it strange that i posted some throwaway thing, never expecting anything to be posted in response, and it's turned into this. 011210 ... dying girl yeah well, oh well. i have a feeling you should like yourself more. 011210 ... tetracycline i've been told that i should, but i don't know. i find it too difficult attempting to cultivate an ego, or whatever it would like to be called. i guess i just decided a long time ago that it (or, perhaps, i) wasn't worth the effort. you know, you could email me if you wanted to know more. unless, that is, you prefer the vague annotations i've offered here. 011210 ... dying girl what would emailing do but create torture and a false sense of hope? you are far away . 011210 ... tetracycline decay holes burning fun this is all i ever seem to inspire in people -- intrigue. "i'm so interested in you, but no follow-through will be offered." hooray it's been a beautiful day i like the way you look more now that i've rearranged your face and more stupifying interludes that have nothing to do with anything. don't say you want me when you know you don't. violently shaking head shaking explosion release mm-hmm. 020615 ... myra ellen I'll offer you a follow through, John. I've got my 9 iron, in the back seat, just in case... 020616 ... raze the irony of all of this, a decade and change on the other side, is impossible not to laugh at. "i have a feeling you should like yourself more," says the person who slaps me away when i try to make a real connection beyond the vague, unexpected flirting. how did you know i was far away? you had no idea where i was. i had no idea where you were. we might not have been so far away from each other after all, in terms of feeling of geography. and physical distance does not preclude emotional intimacy. some of my dearest friends are people who live very far away from me. i felt so alone back then, i could taste it. i was looking for a friend to hold onto. i didn't expect it to grow out of some lyrics i wrote, but you chose to turn them into a vehicle for personal interaction. i took the bait, you kept me on the hook for a while, and then once you'd had your fun, you pulled the plug. you preferred to swim around in the illusory, where there was nothing on the line. no risk. no reward. none of this matters anymore. you probably left this place long ago and never came back, whoever you were. you'll probably never see this. well, i'm still here. my name has changed, and i've changed (and continue to change), but i'm still here. i choose not to live inside my own head, where nothing can hurt me. i choose to care. i choose to try, even if i'm doomed to fail. i choose to keep screaming into the void until something other than the sound of my own voice comes back. false hope is a misnomer. without hope, we might as well bury our heads in the fucking sand and wait for the tide to fill our lungs. in that light, maybe your name was more appropriate than i thought at the time. i hope you're a living girl, wherever and whoever you are now. live, and hope, and be open. otherwise, you're not just dying; you're already dead. 121219 ... oh typos that was meant to read "in terms of feeling *or* geography". 121219 ... raze i figured out who you were. it should have been pretty clear to me to begin with. i've just never been that adept at untangling all the different pseudonyms of 'skites. i've had my good days and my bad days where that sort of thing is concerned. i don't know why i'm dredging this blathe up again. it's not something that haunts me, exactly. i roll these things around sometimes in idle moments, and maybe i feel a need to make sure they're buried properly, with all the trinkets their cadavers would want to keep with them arranged just so. do you know that i would have written you letters by hand? long, rambling letters, in black ink, on beige paper. i would have mailed them to you, folded over once. not twice. no staples or paperclips or page numbers. the pages kept together by their shared crease. i would have sent you music. music i've made. music that is me. music with much better lyrics than the lovelorn dreck that started this whole thing all those years ago. i'd probably still be writing you letters and sending you music today, if you'd let me. but i understand people and the choices they make no better now than i did when i was swimming in amniotic fluid, blind and deaf to the world. sometimes i think i'd like to go back to that place. at least then i wouldn't have had to contend with this life-long impulse to reach out to people unable or unwilling to reach back. if i could surgically remove one part of myself, that would be it. that one impulse. for the most part, it hasn't been worth the trouble. nothing i can do about it. i am who i am, and i can only make so many alterations without the whole thing short-circuiting. it all seems funny now. so funny i could cry. but that isn't going to happen either. so instead i'll go on singing. what else is there to do? 130202 ... raze my best guess was dead wrong, as it turns out. and here i thought i'd cracked it. i'm back to having no idea who you were, assuming you ever used any other name(s) here. for all i know, you were a lurker who never blathed anywhere else but in this one place. or else you were the same person who blathed as "strangled" on "raze". or just a figment of my imagination. maybe some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. well, one last thing, before i let this blathe get buried again and then let it stay buried. as a sidenote, i'm sure this makes me look like a bit of a sad sack who can't let the past stay in the past. but if i don't try one last time to get across what i really want to say here, it's always going to bother me on some level. besides, i've already done a pretty stellar job of embarrassing myself on a consistent basis over the past almost thirty years i've been alive. a little more isn't really going to matter now, is it? so if you ever do find yourself back here, mystery girl, i'd like to apologize for the angry words above. when i found myself back on this blathe for the first time in a decade, i felt that old sting resurface, and i said what i felt in the moment. that anger is gone now, and all that's left is some regret, and some questions that will never be answered. i wish you'd dropped your mask when i dropped mine. and i wish you had talked to me, one human being to another, outside of this red sea. i was in a dark place at the time. there aren't words for how much it would have meant to me to even just exchange a few emails with someone who seemed to have some interest in me, however tenuous it was. maybe we would have been friends. maybe it would have meant something. maybe we would still be friends today. or maybe once the mystery was gone, whatever interest you had would have dried up. i have no idea. i wish i'd had the chance to get to know you. to find out who you were. what you cared about. what it was in my angsty teenage words that resonated with you. why you thought you were dying, when you weren't really. maybe if i'd said something different, i might have been able to break through. or maybe there was nothing i could have done to get you to let your guard down. i guess you're destined to remain a blurry shape i'll never be able to bring into sharper focus. i tried. still, i can't help feeling like i didn't try hard enough when it mattered most. and i'm sorry for that. you probably needed a friend as badly as i did at the time, and i'm sorry if i let you down. somewhere in the back of my head, i'll always wonder who you were, and i'll hope you're doing well. and that's about all there is left to say, except to add: "i've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains i've walked and i've crawled on six crooked highways i've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests i've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans i've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard and it's a hard it's a hard it's a hard it's a hard it's a hard rain a-gonna fall" 130205 what's it to you? who go blather from