suicide and music
i suppose i should thank all who have recently sent me kind words trying to dissuade me from killing myself. to clarify, suicide is not something i want to do. it's a way to escape. it's a sort of final exit should life ever get too painful to bear.

if i wanted to kill myself, i would have never left new york to try to make a new life for myself here. however if i had to wager a guess, i'd bet that at some point it will come down to weighing the pain of life against the fear of death at some point in my future. although, lately, i've been having dreams about dying alone on a dark, icy highway. who knows?

at least for the moment, however, i feel like i have something to live for. i am completely in love with the lead singer of lust and envy. he's got such a brilliant, dark outlook on life, and he really understands the world. he sent me some of their mp3's and it's all genius, so i'm literally counting down minutes until their show on saturday. i'm so enraged with myself for telling him my true age, i can't even begin to explain. maybe i can lie my way out of it.

life is pain. this doesn't change, and lust and envy understands that.

drugs, music, and lust

so i went to a big, all-day rock show on saturday and i'm finally on the verge of finding a few bands to love here it seems. in an of itself, the show was a pretty good time and a few of the bands, particularly hermanos, were very awesome. i also met a cool chick there and partied harder than i have in a while. we had a fun encounter in the women's room where we did a line and made out for a while. random kissing in bar bathrooms on coke truly is hot.

i think the highlight, though, was meeting the lead singer for another band, lust and envy. the guy was angry, brilliant, and well-read, which made him the hottest man i've met in a long time. i accidentally told him my real age which threw him off a bit, but no matter. i still will find a way to fuck his brains out.

the band seems like exactly what i love as well. the fliers for their next show have nude photographs of women on them (i think the guitarist whom i also met took the pictures), and it was the coolest promo i've seen. i can't wait to see them play next weekend.

life is pain. lust and envy realize that, and you should too.

ten secrets
so sometimes when i'm sipping on bourbon and a little too exhausted mentally to deal with the russian literature, i look at the craigslist rants and raves. it's probably just as intellectually worthless as watching tv. i suppose it's a guilty pleasure.

over the past few days an interesting thread has popped up. people have been posting ten "truths" about themselves - basically, lists of confessions or just shit they hate about themselves. many were trite, but some were very dark and revealing. child molestation, disloyalty,and other dark, dark shit. i momentarily thought about posting my own list of ten here. no doubt if i incorporated the new york stories, most people's lists would look like a fairy tale, but when i came here, i said that the new york cassandra was dead. i'm sticking to that.

still, though, it's nice to know that i'm not the only person harboring dark skeletons from the past. the only thing i wonder is this: does everybody you run into have secrets like the ones i read there, or is there something about the rnr on craigslist that draws people whom are just as fucked in the head as i am?

music
i'm back in the mindset today where i'm obsessing over music. it was a day off of work so i spent most of the day drinking bourbon and listening to cds. i still haven't discovered any music here in dc that i connect with.

the music scene here seems like it's much smaller and clique-y than i expected. i know it's not new york, but there must be more than i'm seeing. it is a big city after all. and everything i've found so far seems to be soft and wussy. i thought dc was supposed to be all about the hardcore. where is the next fugazi?

in any case, i'm actively looking for bands now and i will keep doing so until i find one or two that consistently write hard, angry songs and give passionate, high energy shows. wish me luck; i may need a lot of it in this town.

life, with or without music, is pain.

fetishes
building on my last post, i've found myself wondering if i have any fetishes. i don't think i do, but who knows.

a lot of the girls at the club have some odd ones. bdsm, golden showers, the lot. none of that really appeals to me. i suppose the only "fetishy" behavior i've engaged in and really liked is having my asshole licked. is there a term for that? there must be, but i don't know it.

the thing is, i don't know that being on the receiving end of that is a fetish. i think it's something that's universally enjoyable, whereas the fetish is being on the licking side of things. as much as i like having my ass eaten, the thought of doing it to somebody else is revolting. maybe one of the girls, knowing that they have ready access to a duvet, but only with great reluctance.

so i guess i have no fetishes. i should go get myself a few, to spice things up.

even without fetishes, life is pain.

bisexuality
lately i've found myself wondering more and more if i'm actually bisexual. in the past i've been attracted to women and fucked women, but that's always been something done for the sake of variety. i always considered myself straight.

since i moved to dc though, i don't think i've seen a single man i wanted to fuck, but i've been lusting after women quite frequently. perhaps it is because at the club the women are all naked and beautiful and the men are all on their worst, most disgusting behavior, or perhaps it's something more.

what does it take to be bisexual? better stated, what is the definition? does the occassional attraction to the less preferred sex make one bisexual, or do the attractions have to be in roughly equal proportions? or is it all just a matter of how one views onesself?

life is pain.

urges
i woke up this morning sweating and crying at four in the morning. i don't know why. maybe it was a dream, maybe the flu i'm getting over screwing with me, maybe the chemicals in my brain deciding they'd be particularly disagreeable. the urge to kill myself was strong, certainly stronger than it's been since i moved here, perhaps stronget than ever.

i had the knife in my hand, but i couldn't do it. that sickens me. i want to know i can do it when it becomes time. the fact that i lack the courage makes me want to die even more. it's a catch-22.

i need to practice cutting myself more. i want to be comfortable taking a knife to my skin, inflicting physical pain on myself to echo the emotional pain. i need to be comfortable with it so that when the pain of life outweighs the fear of darkness, i can, without hesitation, take my life.

after all, life is pain.

stripping
so i survived my frist few nights as a stripper and the money is certainly good. i think it will amount to quite a fine living once i can get past the fact that it's so demeaning.

the clientele was even sleazier than i'd expected. it was a white collar crowd and i frequently found myself wondering who among them might be powerful and important men, this being the nation's capitol and all. more frequently, i wondered who might be revolted and who would be even more turned on if they were to find out it was a sixteen year old girl on their lap. i guess i'll never know the answer to either question.

always remember, life is pain.

self importance
it seems like everybody i've run into over the last few days has been some self important asshole.

i hate self-important people. hate `em. more than liars, thieves, or hypocrites. more than pedophiles or serial killers. more than lawyers. it's not an annoyance, not a mere distaste. it's a hatred.

yeah, you're important, all right. you're one of six billion people, each of whom could, given the right training and socioeconomic upbringing, do everything that you do, and a billion or two could even do it better. one of six billion people on a planet that's one of nine revolving around a mediocre little star that's one of a hundred million in a galaxy that's one of countless billions in a universe that will eventually morph into a soup of subatomic particles and then collapse into nothing, which is how it will remain forever and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it. but you're important.

look, you're the product of an orgasm. nature kept fucking up the DNA of a bacterium for four billion years, and then you popped up. some chick knelt on a bed, ass in the air, cunt open to fumigate the room, they way she wished she could nightly and for anybody willing if only society would allow it. a dude sees the chick, thinks to himself, "man, i wanna shoot a wad of cum all up inside that," and then nine months later you grace us all with your important fucking presence.

i hate self important people.

they don't realize that life is pain.

life at last
well i finally got a job today. i'm a stripper, and i start on saturday. i'm a bit nervous about it, but i think i'll handle it all right. of course i can't tell you which club i'm at. you can easily learn from my profile that i'm not quite 17 yet, and i don't need my new employer finding that information out.

i also went to an open mic at a place called staccato on tuesday. i didn't play, but it was a nice atmosphere. none of the talent there impressed me too much, and it was all far too acoustic and folky for my tastes. but it is always a treat to see live music, it is one of the only times when people are truly themselves.

so finally i think i am starting to craft a life for myself here.

still though, life is pain.