[ words : same ] [ sound : the.cure,depeche.mode ]

" i think i've reached that point
where every wish has come true
and tired disguised oblivion
is everything i do

please stop loving me
i am none of these things"
~end, r.smith

I think I've been avoiding writing on here for a bit now..

something just bothering me and I don't really have words for it.. frustration I'm sure has a lot to do with it. My memory hasn't been bad, but my 'caring' level has dropped.. over cooking food is a bad sign for me.. means I'm not paying attention to my actions.. grrrr I'd rather not be on meds.. so I'm just fighting that again I suppose..

I'm trying to convince myself that I'm just tired and need a break, but a break from what I'm not sure.. life is not hard.. seriously, it takes some effort some days.. but I still know I have choices.. like waking up to run, or chosing to be in bed early to read.. its a choice thats large enough to satisfy, yet some how its not filling me up at all..

... and I think I've lost feeling in my left ventricle ...

+lost.laine+

[ .seems.in.your.skin. ]

under eternal twilight
star shine pisses down
to put out the fires
glowing in our hot
incandescant bellies

hundreds of riddles glow
off your seething skin
and your tempered hands
washing over me again
nudging at my tendrils
protruding from my core

angry with your smashed
lamplight & sundered skin
pouring from your frothing lips
limbs still splintered
in your empty alleyways
ocipitals crumpled at the frame
moths lying like burnt panels
against the seems in your skin

© B McLean, April 22 2007
notations from: x.days

[ words : castenada, j.morrison ]
[ sound : j.blunt, blue.october ]

" wandering, wandering in hopeless night
out here in the perimeter there are no stars "
~stoned immaculate, the doors

I know I've not been around this last bit..
setting up new comp, and it takes a bloodly long time...
no sound atm either.. so I'm going a bit loopy

Regardless, things have been good and busy.
Promotions at work equal a 'different' kind of stress...

sufficed to say, I'm no displeased with the changes,
but I am seriously disspointed with our internal communication.

I understand things change rapidly sometimes,
but it would be best to make a solid decision 'before' acting upon it..
instead of just deciding day to day how things will operate.

I know I should go to be, especially if I am getting up to run
in the bad weather tomorrow, but I'm just not tired this time of nite any longer.

I'm exhausted in different ways, that's for sure..

*sigh*
well finishing a brief story and off to crash

+lost.laine+

.fiction.notes :

   samae| i

.... at forty seven teréz körút, budapest, hungry .. may thirteenth, nineteen forty one ...

Isabol tramples down the stairs on a broken right heel.. shifting as silent as she can. The cover of night still handy at this late hour. The knife tossed and burried into some trash, her skirt and hair straightened. Its well passed curfew, and certainly patrol or the sentries will be smoking and waiting with their hounds leashed, and telling stories about polish hookers.

she turns down the emptied cobble stone alley and cautiously makes her return to a small apartment above a bistro, all the while scrubbing her hands precisely, and pulling on black wool gloves.

the patrol is thin and returning to her post is easy enough in the light morning drizzle... she carefuly climbs her studio stairs and closes her door with ease. she strips down, throwing every article of clothing into a bucket, scrubs it clean again, washes her hands and face four times, before checking her necklace and then passing out on her tiny cot.

....

" Isabol! " Duartes yells, " Isabol!! Are you listening to me?" She startles and nearly drops the note pad she is writing on..

"I pay you to take notes, not day dream as a seceratary! "

Smoke fills the studio where the tiny newpaper makes its editorial selections. Mister Duartes puts out a cigarillo and leans forward at his desk. "Did you get all that? Three Officers, each of their throats slashed visciously, with clean percision by the assasin.. "

Isabol starts to nod saying, Yes, and just continues jotting words on the page.

Duartes grumbles, clearing his foggy throat before continuing,"This is an upsetting event for the army settled here, after such a peaceful and understanding transitional state the city has been going through. This is the same assasin suspected of eight political murders between Budapest and Krakow. Officials have tagged the same name, Samael, to this case, yet the suspect remains at large... Are you getting this, Isabol? I will not repeat this twice for you.."

" Yes, Mister Duartes, I'm not missing a single thing. I'll get this to Print right away, if thats what you want. " 

The cheif journalist nods affirmatively before lighting another cigar, and waving her out of his office..

Isabol jots the final scribblings before heading towards the editors office with the article, calmly and coldly smiling down the hallway.

---

just some fast material I've had on my mind for some time.. enjoy.
love, laine
   copyright B. McLean 20070420

[ .tonite, I. ]

the keys are tracking
pulling strings
hum & echo uniquely gliding
mostly shaping their
rotting tune or tone
where we rub eyes
at the stinging hours
pounding out the notes
left open and wanting
doors that close
or rub our knuckles bare

skin curvaceous, supple
pulling strings
our valves smashing
sussing out en route
every endevor
that devours
our leaking hours
leaking lines down
your scrubby bare faces
and raving stark stares
glaring back out from
behind glass encampments
and thin lined kitchenettes

knees, bent to begging
pulling strings
hands holding heads
in weeping motions
that our bodies are inclined to
naturally our gravity
curves our bending spines
the marching anti-bodies
no, body
grinding
down to nine and five
& my cutting skills
demeaned, pander-less
underneath this place
but I'm so uneasy
with your daunting faces
glaring back at me

© Bryan McLean, April 13 2007

[ words : castenada, j.morrison ]
[ sound : pure, vnv.nation ]

" i wake up wanting you
but you are rarely there...
I can't get anything done
with you shaking around like that"
~animal, prick

its odd not having to track the date... I'd count how long I've been off my meds, but I think thats either rundundant or counter-productive..

I'm still stressed.. work, oddly enough seems rather fruitless currently.. most issues I'm given to normally resolve simply, can't be due to system limits or errors..

beyond that, i'm pretty disinterested in looking for company... its been too time consuming and no one has time for me, so I don't see the point in struggling or putting so much effort into something that's not rewarding..

really no one knows me, minou is the only person that seems to understand me fully or at least well rounded, I still do things that make no sense to her either.. but I'm just exhausted from trying to be open, when its seems like I'm too complicated to explain.. I'm not shallow, and there is no going back when you sink in your own depths...

tired.. need to crash..
*shakes.head*

+lost.laine+

Drugs sex drunkenness battle
return to the water-world
Sea-belly
Mother of man
Monstrous sleep-waking gentle swarming
 atomic world
Anomie in social life

how can we hate or love or judge
 in the sea-swarm world of atoms
 All one, one All
How can we play or not play
How can we put one foot before us
 or revolutionize or write

________________

Does the house burn? So be it.
The World, a film which men devise.
Smoke drifts thru these chambers
Murders occur in a bedroom.
Mummers chant, birds hush & coo.

Will this do?
Take Two.

________________
Sirens

Midnight
criminal metabolism of guilt forest
Rattlesnakes whistles castanets

Remove me from this hall of mirrors
This filthy glass

Are you her
Do you look like that
How could you be when
no one ever could

Jim Morrison

James Douglas Morrison (8 December 1943 – 3 July 1971) was an American singer, songwriter, writer, and poet.

He was best known as the lead singer and lyricist of the popular American rock band The Doors, and is considered to be one of the most charismatic frontmen in the history of rock music. He was also an author of several poetry books, a documentary, short film, and three early music videos.

Morrison's death at the age of 27 in Paris stunned his fans; the circumstances of his death and secret burial have been the subject of endless rumours and play a significant part in the mystique that continues to surround him.

we miss you jim

we cannot know
every rain drop's destiny,
we can merely hold
only a few in our hand.

[ .untitled.070409. ]
[ © Bryan McLean ]

[ .cccxxxv. : three hundred and thirty-five days ]

" there is no sense in crying
only liquid running from my eyes
and all the feelings I restrain
are the remainders that survived "
~beborn.beton

took the last of my meds tonight.. not sure what that means really...

well I suppose it means my count is done.. not quite a year as well..

I just have to watch myself I guess. I'm frustrated lately no matter what I do, so its difficult to tell if its my attitude with less meds, or just the situation thats not normal and things just are not going the way I want.

Its terribly frustrating trying to make plans and they continutually do not work out. just feels like the universe is saying not to make plans, but what is the point in living when you have no direction and everything is just day to day affairs..

I'm tired of not having physical company, I'm tired of looking, I'm tired of having any expectations at all..

regardless, I work soon and should get some sleep anyways..

*shakes.head* just one more nite, like everyother nite..

+lost.laine+

[ .cccxxxii. : three hundred and thirty-two days ]

" and your love's a gathered storm
I chased acrossed the sky
a moment in your arms
became the reason why "
ggdolls

busy, 6.5k sunday, weather sucks, projects, etc

just broke up with dl, not sure how I feel about that yet.. the distance has been pointless and certainly not a relationship at all... its more of a mutual thing, we're great at friends, so that will just have to do for now.

some very old friends finally found me online this week... very strange to hear from them, but I'm looking forward to catching up with them..

space exchange, I've only got so much room free in my life I guess =S

too tired to think perhaps.. crashing..

+lost.laine+