quoth the Raven

herbedroomeyes @ 2008-08-29T22:28:00

2008-08-30T02:29:15Z

I just grow my hair for the drastic chopping off of it.

herbedroomeyes @ 2008-03-09T20:33:00

2008-03-10T00:40:46Z

I realize I never finished a christmas story I started on January 13th.

I suppose with the daylight savings and the noah's ark amount of rain

not snow

it's a little dated.
but maybe it will translate better on a sunday night in march then it would have during My winter hibernation.
I don't claim to be numb.
but eventually, events situations happenings turn to fact.

My own personal fucking history book, if you will.
or maybe more of an ann frank sort of deal.

maybe.

I don't feel it's of any interest to anyone really but loose ends lead to conclusions that I never spoke.
or wrote.

to sum it up:

all of my presents were returned because I bought her a pair of cartoon underwear.

so that's that.

but right now I'm wondering if I have never spent anytime in any home

if you care to call it that

alone will that fuck Me up in the future?

questions are best left unanswered if there is no experience behind the guess that becomes the answer.

herbedroomeyes @ 2008-02-06T00:50:00

2008-02-06T05:53:35Z

i am alive,

whatever.

i'll be back.

she stole my spacebar.

nolie.

herbedroomeyes @ 2008-01-13T16:12:00

2008-01-13T21:53:34Z

it has been long enough to lift the emotional lens and now see such atrocious holiday "traditions" as facts.
and only as facts.

I don't have a job. I don't even have a career in mind.
Therefore, My employment lies within the tone of My voice when I call him and say coyly

"Pleaaaase?"

this is how I buy presents for joyous occasions such as christmas.
ever year he gives me a decent wad
to blow on
people
I don't like and don't think deserve the economy boost wrapped in some tacky snow scene with a bow.
but I am a product of my environment and if butter wants that video game, butter must get that video game or My worth as DNA will decrease in value rapidly.

and so on and so forth.

I spent every penny on presents that I put a whole day's worth of thought in.
so you can understand why I was particularly excited to see the snow scenes ripped to fucking shreds
and to be rewarded more self worth via smile.

what a love-ly holiday.

butter and I couldn't afford everything she wanted.
we are 13 and 16
and we not only don't have employment-we are not allowed by her to apply for such a necessity.

zoom in on christmas eve. 6 vodka and gingerales in.
crankin' the bing and and the king like we are having some sort of grand event.

there are three (3) of us.

before I take off with him for My usual christmas eve escape from the drunken grinch of the east
presents must be opened.
and she MUST get all of hers.

I spent the majority of My hardly earned flow on her
anything to shut her the fuck up.
anything.

every snow scene torn
ten (10)
ten snow scenes and some glorified shoe laces
and not one (1)
one
smile.

every rip, tear and reveal made her sip a little harder
her comments
oh, excuse me, her thank you's
a little more bitter

butter gets her a giftcard and she seems the most pleased with this

"at least now i can get something i actually want."

butter and I get three presents each.
santa ho-ho will provide us with the rest.
one of My gifts is a re-used christmas bag with a handful of .99 toiletries from the pharmacy down the street.

because I always love a bottle of shampoo that lasts 2 fucking days.
thanks!

another is a tacky, awful bath set by calgon.
also, from the pharmacy down the street.
retail value: about $10.

now, the price of the gifts is not what matters to Me, not at all
but I am hoping you are catching My drift on how amazingly thoughtful and sweet the gifts given to Me were.

I spent about $100 and managed to purchase six (6) things that I truly believed she would love

or at least fucking like.

the final gift is one that she calls "the heart gift"
butter and I have been receiving a "heart gift" every christmas since we were small

butter gets a teddy bear or some creative variation of the fictional animal.
this is because he is adorable and blah blah blah blah

Raven gets a clown.

this has resulted in a subconscious predisposed self image that I suppose I am starting to finally embrace.
this has also resulted in a fucking TON of porcelain, hideous fucking clowns posed facing My bed, watching Me sleep.

I never had the heart to tell her that I fucking hate clows, I hate her, and I hate christmas.
and I hate that she thinks she can give away "heart gifts" when she has no fucking heart.

whatever.

facts, Raven
stick to the facts

well, this year
last year rather
I receive a small stuffed ball that resembles a snowman and a penguin
confused I stare at it quietly until she notices that she must explain her abomination of a "heart gift"

" it's wearing a silly hat. like a clown."

it ain't no fucking clown.
it was also purchased at the pharmacy down the street.

I am so confused and hurt that I don't notice that butter has opened his gifts
a beautiful porcelain teddy
a new video game
and two (2) action figures

"exactly what i wanted!"
exactly what he wanted,

exactly.

so she's in the corner pursing her lips and muttering insults to everything that we
well,
mostly I,
gave to her.

I stare at the calgon cheap shit crap and then peer over the lip of the christmas bag

the fucking price tags still on, read .99 and glow a mocking orange hue.

I have had it

bing starts to tell Me to have a holly jolly...

"you are a fucking ungrateful bitch."

stomp stomp
slam
scream scream
stomp
smash

blah blah blah

what a love-ly holiday.

this is just christmas eve.
and only the beginning.

but if you'll excuse Me, I need to get away
and take a fucking calgon induced bath

I will return with more facts when I smash more of the lens.

smelling of carribean bullshit coolness.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-12-29T09:42:00

2007-12-29T14:43:57Z

I didn't get presents from "santa" this year

the fucked up thing is "santa' bought them and then threw them away in front of Me

because I bought "santa" underwear with snoopy on it...

more later.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-12-13T02:54:00

2007-12-13T07:58:28Z

if future Me
could talk to
little Me
she'd say:

"do it
You're not missing anything.

a few fingers in Your pussy.
a dick or two in there too.
(or eleven)

it's nothing but a cheap fix for You.
it's nothing but something crave-able after a few green bottles
it's nothing
it's nothing.

You're something
but
You'll never be enough to avoid being
nothing.

(but drunk and a hole or two)

get married young
and just do
what
You've
got
to
do.

(to save Yourself from what I've done)"

if you only knew,

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-12-10T01:53:00

2007-12-10T07:10:38Z

these are silly-but I never "do" silly. so I will...

2727 songs. 11.24 gb.

How does the world see you?
"Roses", Outkast
I know you like to think your shit don't stink...

Will I have a happy life?
"Beautiful Things Can Come From the Dark", Azure Ray
Someone else’s boy, I have hope for you, that you will keep your love for the world, even though it beats you down, every day, for the rest of your stay....

What do my friends really think of me?
"Disenchanted Lullaby", Foo Fighters
I may scattered. A little shattered. What does it matter? No one has a fit like I do.

Do people secretly lust after me?
"You're So Last Summer", Taking Back Sunday
You're a touch overrated. You're a lush and I hate it...but these grass stains on my knees? They don't mean a thing...
I'd never lie to you-unless I had to-I do what I've got to.

How can I make myself happy?
"The Sharpest Lives", My Chemical Romance
If I crash on the couch can I sleep in my clothes? 'Cause I spent the night dancing-I'm drunk I suppose.
You need a shot to remember.

What should I do with my life?
"Build God, Then We'll Talk", Panic! At the Disco
Tonight tenants range from: a lawyer and a virgin. Accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie. She's getting a job at the firm come Monday. The Mrs. will stay with the cheating attorney moonlighting aside, she really needs his money. Oh, wonderful caricature of intimacy.

Will I ever have children?
"Gravel", Ani Difranco
You were never a good lay. And you were never a good friend. But what can I say? I adore you.

What is some good advice for me?
"The New Year" Death Cab For Cutie
So everybody put your best suit or dress on. Let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once. Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn as thirty dialogues bleed into one

How will I be remembered?
"I Miss You" Incubus
You did something to me that I can't explain. So would I be out of line if I said "I miss you"?

What is my signature dancing song?
"Pool Shark," Sublime
I like lying naked in my bedroom

What do I think is my current theme song?
"I'm Not Your Girlfriend"-Aimee Allen
I use you everyday and I know I'm getting played but I'm having fun-let's have some fun. I'm not your girlfriend.

What does everyone think my current theme song is? HA! (I didn't want to interrupt but these random song choices are really starting to get to me....)
"Tomorrow I'll Be You" Thursday
Tomorrow I'll be you-just pick up the phone. I'm calling from your house, in your room, in your name, lyding in your bed, following your dream. I listen to your voice get caught in My throat as I scream "This is all a Dream"

What song will play at my funeral?
"Thank You For The Venom," My Chemical Romance
So give me all your poison and give me all your pills and give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill. you're running after something
that you'll never kill. If this is what you want-then fire at will

What type of men / women do you like?
"Soco Amaretto Lime", Brand New
You're just jealous 'cause we're young and in love...

What is my day going to be like?
"Rompe", Daddy Yankee

Ahahahaha-that was a quality time waster-I didn't even skip songs!

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-12-07T14:31:00

2007-12-07T19:54:29Z

I've been spending nights under the duvet
and days on the 22

sometimes when I have a minute I wonder how I get away with this.
(because people are stupid and My eyes can be honest)

I'm not writing enough. not in here necessarily but in general.

I write papers and essays and am force fed topics and thesis statements.

here's a good one: this cheesecake factory is a fucking joke and a half.

You have a flair for writing. i want you to focus more on the subject of the paper.
Your style and creative execution is impeccable.

creative execution?
who would have thought going to a factory for the creative arts
would execute My creativity.

I should write back

you have a flair for teaching. I want you to focus more on the subject in your class.
your style makes Me nauseous and this creative execution is suffocating.

I am like this everywhere I go.
how many more transfers will it take to prove to them that I am not factory material.
institution-I may let you argue
but factory? no.

this cheesecake palace is pumping out the same citizens as the others
but because we are learning "art" and "expressing ourselves"
we have the right to walk away with our slips of paper claiming to be artists
and rockstars
and guitar heroes
and break dancers.

this is nothing but the ghetto with extra funding for paint brushes and sheet music.
the supply of marijuana is endless.

I haven't made many...if any "friends" here.
I haven't tried to
nor
have I wanted to.

same story, new building, same attitude, new year.
same ideas, new journal, same lack in willingness to take the cap off the pen and
execute My creativity onto a page that won't get graded
or seen.

I don't have many true aspirations.
probably only one of them is honest.

I laugh when I say it
when I think it
and when I dare utter it to another ear.

but, I guess writing a novel
a memoir
a something some young dumb thing would write a report on
and get red pen scrawled on every page

shattering their dreams of
ever
being a valuable contribution to the american literary cannon.

a something someone will mass produce
and make people read it
would be nice.

whatever.

until I realize how irrelevant my aspirations are
to what actual cog I am supposed to be in the system

I'll keep writing a sentence or two
and the scribbling over it

like My very own personal fucking professor.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-11-12T15:21:00

2007-11-12T20:38:51Z

this fucking weather gets Me every fucking time.
every
fucking
time.

I am not one for sentimentality.

I just needed to get that statement out of the way.

I saw weld and he cut his hair.
this would normally not even matter to Me
but
it's forty degrees and I was wearing the sweater with the thumb holders
and a scarf
and he was just walking up the avenue
and I was just walking down the avenue

running around making people feel stupid
holding hands because the BFF factor is always a good excuse

an excuse

any excuse

the taste of cocoa and black and mild tobacco

the subway stairs and the over held stares

using the temperature as an excuse to be held
tighter
closer

drinking more
and more
and more
to

make it happen
make it
make sense

I don't like feeling this way.
I feel idiotic.
I feel blinded.

I feel good.

bittersweet but

good.

to begin to write it now...

where is this going?

how long will this last?

this dive into some sort of sense making sobriety

I never knew what a duvet was until I was under your's.

the feathers make Me sneeze.

My fall shape taking form-skin and bones-fur on My face
My throat burnt from the acid

shaking
shaking

weather or not
whether or not

orange little tablets of destruction and fucking freedom

anything for Me to notice.

escape the fucking reality of a feeling stronger than Me.

this is going to be a fucking struggle. a back and forth back and forth back and forth
fight after argument after disagreement after fight after fight

if I could hold this moment, jar that moment, stay forever
if I just knew what would come and what is coming
how it would (never) end

I won't stop loving. and only I know that.

years, honey, years.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-11-02T23:39:00

2007-11-03T03:39:49Z

I wore the obligatory fishnets.

no razors in the candy, just calories.

survival.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-10-22T22:49:00

2007-10-23T03:20:37Z

I wish I knew what moments have defined me.
and what moments will.

I wish I could see what's going to add up and make Me a fucked up adult doing fucked up shit while running around blaming it on so-and-so or what's-his-name or him or her or the mean man who left Me on My bedroom floor age three....

facts learned in hospital rooms...twelve years too old to be anything more than a blip on the page
but the blip is there...

"that's very uncommon at that age."

huh, gee...I wonder what that could mean.

let's poke and prod and see what she says.

oh.

there's not some explainable bubble bath reaction or some "okay i need to break something to you."

no...just a

"Gee...they still have that on file? That's surprising."

well, what the fuck happened? how am I supposed to remember scratching and itching, complaining and whining at age three
who remembers age three
besides what's documented in pictures..
and then you're just guessing how to feel and how it was and you hear stories and you're practically there.

this was one of the only situations
one of the only stories
that I cannot place an actual Raven at.

"Well, You kept itching and complaining that it hurt down there. i didn't think it was anything but sensitive skin. we brought You in to the er and they kept telling me it was abnormal and had anything happened. and i didn't fully understand what they meant until there was a police officer in the room screaming at him and trying to accuse him of such a thing. so we just grabbed You up and brought You home."

oh, okay.

SO WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

"i don't know. but a few nights before we went out and Cat was in charge of watching You. well, she had people over and when we came home we found You in Your bedroom all curled up in the floor. oh, and a pane of glass on the french doors was broken."

THAT'S IT? THAT'S ALL yOU HAVE?

wow.
just.
wow.

three year old girl
screaming
crying
itching
burning
in places as undeveloped as her mind
and then cops
and doctors
and accusations
and fleeing the scene
to go back to the scene of the crime
where no questions are asked
and nothing is said

until Her legs are spread wide and held high in the gyno office

and the nurse firmly puckers her lips
and reads from My file
a story I was never meant to discover
or know of
and
yet
there
I am
legs spread
just like when it happened.

I'd like to say I'm thankful for not remembering.
And I was
until I was told there was something to remember.

shit's gotta be layered on somewhere in that sub conscious.
always wanted an explanation
as to why
I constantly felt

dirty.

there's more to know.
there's more to say.

and I just don't want any part of it.

it wasn't the happening
it was the knowing

twelve years too late
(and 15 too early)

now thats

D E F I N I N G.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-10-11T23:48:00

2007-10-12T04:00:11Z

I skip classes consistently.

but I am still at the Cheesecake Factory everyday (unfortunately)

(mostly to see that guy)

that guy is nothing but attractive.
and I mean

NOTHING.

there's a gaping hole between the front of the head and the back of his head

(you know, where the brain goes)

he is predictable
he is emotionless

and he's always hard.

you win some
and
you lose some.

he listens to absolute drivel for music.
screaming noises and throaty growls.

none of the words are actually audible.

I pretend I understand and I bop along accordingly.

he is "straight edge"
he is a "scenester"
he is "fucking cool"

like I said,
I bop along accordingly

and by bop

I mean fuck.

I appreciate the fact that his clothing fits me.
and
that these "scenester" folk have "impeccable style".

so, you know, I got a new wardrobe out of the deal.

oh

and he pays
for
EVERYTHING.

I would rather have someone I wasn't insane about
paying for everything
than
someone I really enjoy
but
is poor

(I don't give a FUCK how that souds)

so I have a supremely attractive, well endowed, douche bag, robot to pay for things and fuck Me.

I'd say things are looking up for Raven.

(up and down up and down up and down)

I wish I enjoyed fornicating more.
but
it really does pass the time.

To be totally honest:

I just like making out with an incredibly gorgeous person...

that's
like...

it.

SEX does nothing for me.
SEX
actually
hurts.
and SEX is just a way for me to exercise My power a$ a woman.
plus
when I fuck someone
the entire event is
carefully scripted
(by Me)
(in My head)

and it makes it ~~exciting~~ satisfying
the scene going from
start to
finish

without breaking the script or the character.

but, whatever.

it's not like a shrink would
have a field day with that

or anything...

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-10-01T01:54:00

2007-10-01T05:55:12Z

I had a birthday.
I'm sixteen now.

Once I finish coping with whatever that means I will smoke a joint and write.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-09-25T21:46:00

2007-09-26T02:15:58Z

"I adapt to my surroundings easily.

I just need a sense of what color My chameleon hair turns
and
what form of camouflage I need to
cover
My
ass.

there's a part of me that is shameful
and yet
             being ashamed is far better than
             being
                         ....
                         ?

and I can't really mean it.
No way I could mean.
Only fools mean it.

reassure yourself now we can't have any of that

...do I mean it?

that is a question that has plagued
is plaguing
and will forever fucking plague

this unfeathered avian

I can only distinguish the lines from the lies from the truths from the tales

during the monologue mirror rehearsals
Alone.

This isn't trying to sound glamorous
or haughty
or hol-ie-r than thou

but I just can't say what I mean
to whoever inquires
about anything in particular.

I have some sick fetish
some twisted
fucking
desire
to lie

without lying

fib

without fibbing

be

fake
                            vague
                                                                                                secretive
                                                ~~manipulative~~

without being caught.

I pride myself
(I think)
in what I am capable of getting away with

with everyone....

This actually, while seems like it is an aspiring writer/singer/songstress/actress/tabloid item/asshole/millionaire
's
dream,

leaves you quite empty
and unsure
of what in the hell it is you are doing.

~~reassure yourself now we can't have any of that."~~

this is what I think
when I have "boyfriend"
this is not normal
16 year old
behavior
?

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-09-11T22:50:00

2007-09-12T03:28:04Z

I go back to La(t)La(t) land almost everyday.

that has to s-t-o-p.

I don't have very many ~~pals~~ ~~chums~~ people that I can stand at the cheesecake factory.

I am the minority...
how curious.

there are 12 caucasian kids-really-in the entire school.
and
then those 12 are divided by
                                                    major and
                                                    high shcool clique

so here                                                                                                                                                                                                                             I end up with the five most immature and
fucking idiotic boners that
I have encountered while in high school.

(one of them I am fucking out of sheer boredom for everything else)

good lord...the students here are nothing like the freaks at La(t) La(t) Land.

I am already consistently skipping a concert choir class.
I am already being sent to the office.
I am already fucking.

bored.

I haven't even been singing as much as I was promised.
(perhaps, the mouth must open for that to happen)

It's hard to emote and hit nothing higher than a b
while chanting about
chillens'
runnin'
from dah devil

uh huh.

I sing Bach.
I sing Haydn.

oh, who am I kidding, I knew this singing thing was never right.

doing it forever
never
makes it right.

when I was younger she would put on bahhhbrahhh

she would sip a few vodka and gin ger ales
       the lights
dim

and eventually, I would be called upon
to sing bahhhbrahhh
perfectly
for hours.
while stopping and starting the old 45
over again when I didn't
hit a note
or
get a minor bit of blocking
right
or didn't give it enough

"umph"

for hours.

the same song too,
never another.

I'm wearing second hand hats
Second hand clothes
That's why they call me
Second hand Rose

she never came to any of the performances
but
she made me think she would be there

so I always had to be perfect.

it is impossible
im
poss
ib
le

to be a perfect. singer.

I don't care how hopeful you are.

I hear the same about writing.
acting.
making art.
dancing....

I'm sensing a pattern the cheesecake factory hasn't...

exit stage left
real
soon.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-31T01:11:00

2007-08-31T05:35:06Z

I haven't mentioned that I met a boy at ~~freedom week~~ orientation.

I guess, these sorts of "normal" teenager activity get left out when, deep down, you don't really care.

it'll be something to occupy My time as a sophmore.

he's really attractive.
definetly a nice piece of arm candy.
a little too quiet...

but that means they're easy to walk all over.
which, when I am ready to take this pseudo coupling to the next level...

I will do.

I am a terrible, terrible person to be in a relationship with.
seriously,

awful.

if you haven't thought of me as a bitch yet, you may......
....
....

now.

(I call it realism)

I am, according to the average high school student standards of beauty:

"drop dead fucking gorgeous"

well, in La(t)La(t) Land they knew how to compliment a gal with three words

at the Cheesecake Factory it's just

"sexy."

this high school super power has gotten Me pretty fucking far.
I haven't been "picked on" since the sixth grade.
and it's not because I "became cool".

I hated "being picked on" so fucking, fucking, fucking much that by the next year, at the new school I knew exactly how to not be "picked on."

being "hot" was luck. no thanks to her. but she is a pretty decent looking broad.

so by eighth grade I had a pretty good run of the class
(300+ students!)

but I digress...

so, yes, I am "hot" and in high school that gets the boys to become so engourged the zipper flies of their jeans begin to rub against them and leave marks resembling burns.

or, boners.

boners and the ability to have all of your boner getting friends see you with a boner giving (and hopefully relieving) girl...

well, you're fucking royalty if you can find said coveted treasure.

and being king is good.
so
you want to be king for as long as you can and hold onto the crown any way you can.

this includes but is not limited to:
spending all of your money, allowing yourself to be primped and fussed with (extra points if it's in front of the boner getters), getting a car and becoming somewhat of a teenage limosine, pumpin' iron to keep that lean, fit 125 lb. teenage frame of your's....

eventually, from My experience, there is a new shiney crown that the king needs in order to stay the king.
this sometimes results in wearing two crowns,
which, blinds the boner getters and makes you even MORE of a king
but,
also makes you look very silly to everyone else.

so, what I do, as a well educated somewhat heartless teenage boner giver
is
reap in the benefits of sitting atop that fuckers head for as long as I can
and
find other potential kings along the way and make them princes.

honestly, no one really gets hurt in high school.
when you're 20 if you're hung up on so-and-so "cheating" on you in eighth grade...

something is seriously fucking wrong with you.

I don't want you to think that I am above all of this teenage pageantry.

I am not even close to 20 yet.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-26T00:39:00

2007-08-26T05:03:51Z

I am sixteen in about a month.
I'm not sure what that entails. (Probably, absolutely nothing.)

the only birthday that I will ever look forward to is eighteen.

and, I guess, twenty-one..but who knows how long that will take Me to see.
(Ha.)

the past week I've been at orientation for My new, improved...easy as FUCK high school.
you know how people will say someone's class is "a piece of cake"?
or teacher

well, I was lucky enough to be accepted to an institution made up of cake.
delicious.
easy.
cake.

I guess it pays to be the most talented kids in the city
but
there a lot of kids that are there that will definetly still be C-D-F students.

I'm one of three people there who has attended La(t)La(t) Land.

the vocal classes are intensive...

for gospel singers.

hmm...inner city school
and
every song is gospel?

well, slap My ass and call Me Sister Act Two.

this little light of Mine...

the instrctor insists on putting our section through bootcamp.
we are forced to run a circle of 4 blocks.
I stop at about block 2 and smoke cigarettes with one of the only other caucasian girls who "got" that this was an easy ride and a load of bullshit.

I'm making an attempt to do some hard workin'
but we'll see how long that lasts.
although,
the writing classes and requirements here are pretty interesting for high school classes.

orientation consisted of a scavanger hunt through the city.
embarassing,
awful, boring,
but insanely refreshing to the view outside My bedroom.

i stayed in the city as long as I could every day after "bootcamp".

"studying at the library"

yeah, in August.

I hung at the church steps for hours running into people with no running whatsoever eating fast food and smoking snipes while we kicked around the sack.

you would think she wouldn't believe Me when I tell her My new school is so intense it runs from 10am-5:30pm.

(10am-1pm)

For once, I truely believe I am going to enjoy something.
and
All in all, I am excited to be going to a brand new place with brand new hopes and goals and dreams and enthusiasm

for skippin' school in tha' ci-tay.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-21T19:23:00

2007-08-21T23:46:54Z

I know, I know, 2 entries in 1 day.
(it takes a lot out of Me too)
but I went on the hunt today for some valuable (yet free) reading material
and acquired a solid amount of 'friends'

so I feel I should do the rundown entry.
before I get ahead of Myself.

A lot of the times I don't want you to fully understand what I am saying or what I mean.

nothing personal,
I'm just that kind-a-gal.

but why would anything I write be interesting
(it isn't)
if most of the facts were missing.

consider this the character development in the book I am could be writing.

Disclaimer: This could be a long one. This could be a boring one. This could ruin the surprises. This is only an assortment of what we offer.

Raven.
Old Enough to know.

Boston is the most interesting place I ever want to go
or know
Just picture having every possible terrain you could ever crave.

(in My backyard).

I can't steal from establishments but I have no problem stealing from her or him or even butter.
but mostly,
her.

who is her?
her is her. that's all.

and who is him?
him is him, see above.

and butter?
butter has my       D         N         A
butter
butter is never on My side

but that is common in this city.

I am a serial high school student.

I am a       average student.
          below
below average attendance.
below average test scores.
below average homework.
below average attitude.

I am usually left to slip through the cracks of the public school system.
(yet both high schools I have attended have been based on grades, test scores, essays, auditions, interviews....)

I am a really good liar.

              above
I am an            average person. (which is why I always get into these well reputed establishments)
above average standardized test scores.
above average vocal abilities.
above average writing skills.
above average artistic talent.

I often find this note scrawled on my report cards, homework assignments, notebooks...

" Raven is a bright girl with a lot of potential. Unfortunately, She will not apply Herself to things that do not interest Her."

and that is nothing short of true.

I write down everything.
and
I save everything that might even pull one shred of a memory from Me in the future.

(perhaps, I subconciously fear Altheimer's disease.)

I am fairly sexually active.

but I feel relationships that I create and am not born into are of no importance to the big picture.
(and that promotes My inability to be faithful).

I do like feeling as though I am lovelorn but only for the emotions it evokes from me.

I am constantly told I am attractive.

I have the oddest eating habits.

My blatant honesty is often considered crude
and in turn
the crudeness is considered promiscuity.

I am not popular.
I am infamous.

everyone who knows Me has a story.

but let's just listen to Mine.

okay?

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-21T14:04:00

2007-08-21T18:31:20Z

when I was 8 years old (right after DJ died)

butter was in and out

and in and out

and in and out

of hospitals.

seizures, autism, we even thought he might be deaf...
learning disabilities, ADD, physical therapy, texture issues with his tongue

his hospital file is thicker than any book I have ever read.

one night he started gushing blood from both ears.
it was worse than you could imagine.

when I was 5 or 6 she was out helping the landlord with something.

(that's how she earns her keep. I'd say she performs more sexual favors than actual maintenance.)

we were in the bathroom and he started acting strange. very strange.
he dropped to the floor and flailed more than any fish I have ever caught
(I've caught one).

he was making strange gurgling noises and I was terrified.
I grabbed the phone and called 911.

she came back in time to find me crying on the toilet hovering over an unconcious butter.

he was in the hospital for a long time after that.

as a reward for "saving his life" I got a troll doll from the gift shop in the lobby.
(it was fifty cents and I still have it today. I see the purple haired 2 inch beast as a medal of honor).
I keep it in a tic tac container filled with water (no idea why.)

well, because butter took a lot of the "spotlight" off of Me she actually did something reasonable with a suggestion from My PCP.

she enrolled Me in the "BSLSA".
lonely adult women semi-adopting lonely little girls one day a week.

I was terrified she was going throw me into the harbor the first day we went out.

we went to the Children's Museum downtown. It was the most exciting thing I could ever remember doing in My eight years.
in the gift shop she said something I will never forget:
"You can buy one thing. But don't get used to it."

I bought a "make your own jewelry box" kit that she would later fill.

I never got used to it but as our outings increased and as I grew older I would come home with more and more shopping bags filled to the brim with toys and crafts and clothes and candy.

I will never understand how I was blessed with a faerie godmother.

she is wealthy. very
very
very
wealthy.

she is the senior vice president of some corporation. she works on the 32nd floor.
(the higher the floor the more important you are).

she is infertile.
she was born into money.
people died and left her more money.
then
she married into money.
and then
she made her own money.

I will never have as much as she does.

Ever.

I got lucky and she took a liking to Me.

every nice thing I own was purchased by her.

now that I am older I am getting even more beautiful and expensive things

and she is starting to think that giving me that oppurtunity to have somewhat of a life at 8
was a bad idea.

I am spoiled, she says.
I am grateful, I say.

well, this weekend FGM took me to the outlets to buy Me school clothes for My birthday (which is soon).

I spent $500.00 on shoes and shirts and jeans and skirts and amazing things with labels I never thought I'd own.

she didn't take this very well because she can "only" spend about a hundred dollars on butter's new school clothes.

but I am in high school.
and it is a warzone if you don't have the "proper" attire.
he could wear a paper bag and not even notice
(or care).

I brought the clothes home and modeled them for her-outfit after outfit.

to a few things she would say I looked nice.
but mostly
"that's too tight."
"you look fat."
"that's a little out there."
"that's slutty."

then she proceeds to take every bag away from Me and lock them in her bedroom.
I am not allowed to wear them until school starts.

I scream and scream that this is unfair.
That I want my clothes now.

I am not five.
I am not going to ruin them.

Today the bags were transported into My closet.
still not to be touched.

I am missing a few t-shirts, a pair of jeans and a skirt.

I question her where these items ended up.

her response?

"They're in the garbage, you only deserve what you need. and it is unfair to butter."

I'll never tell my FGM
it's just too embarassing.

I should be reduced to tears and screaming and door slamming.
but I don't want another month added to my imprisonment.

maybe if I had a seizure
I'd get them back.

or atleast a bigger troll doll.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-20T18:02:00

2007-08-20T22:12:29Z

when My bedroom proves to be a stressful retreat
I'll fill my bathtub and lock Myself in and soak
and try to drown it out of My mind
and My body

there is shampoo but I can't use it.
the bath filled with water and only water.
if I can I will sneak a droplet of one of the many bottles of soothing bath bubbles she has
but if she walks in
(and she walks in at anytime, everytime)
and sees bubbles

something may be thrown at Me.

once it was an old fashioned coke bottle.

you know, the light blue ones with the label etched into the glass.

the bottle smashed and I sat there in the tub, fingers bleeding
turning the water into a tub of shark food
I cried and I cried and I bled and I bled

I needed stitches.
but
I got no stitches.

so the water is usually stagnent to avoid any future bottlings

and I don't fit in the tub
and the water gets cold in a minute or two

it's not very relaxing
but I do it

anyways

she has shampoos and conditioners, bubble baths and body butters, custom made soaps and eau de toilets
if I even so much as smell the scents kept inside the bottles I am screamed at.

we will be out of shampoo for days
and she will make Me use a bar of Irish Spring

with a few stray hairs from god know's what part of who's body they belong to.

no place is sacred.
nothing is sacred.
not even the soap.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-19T01:14:00

2007-08-19T05:14:48Z

the best sound I know
is

the ice cubes clicking
as
you take another sip.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-15T12:14:00

2007-08-15T16:16:05Z

burning out like a star seems like something an overachiever would want.

I just want to burn out like a cigarette

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-13T18:16:00

2007-08-13T22:31:17Z

she sunbathed today.
which means-she oiled up and put fresh batteries in her walkman (an actual 1990's walkman)
she pulls out the green and white beach chair
and goes to ~~the beach~~ the paved, car filled, dumpster inhabited back lot.

white trash du'jour.

and she sits out there for fucking hours.
I hope she gets cancer.

well, I was snooping around looking for some hidden treats (she hides the best sweets for herself. you know, like a squirrel.)

and I found the most curious writing:
It was in red ink on lined paper:

                                                                            PANIC
                                                                            SAD
                                                                        LONELY
do not commit suicide...

                                                                                                                                                                                                       if i could just get a job
                                                                                       i am so afraid to leave my house.

                                                                                            i am so neurotic.
                                                                                                                I'm afraid of everything.

I'm so scared I wish someone would listen..person, animal, thing,

rock.

i am depressed.
and
i have OCD.

really?

r             e            a               l            l         y                  ?

'ya think?

I am not surprised in the least.
and
I have no sympathy.

she came back inside an unbecoming shade of lobster and buzzed from her "lemonade".

I used to mourn the failed abortion.
I now see it as a sign of strength. there is something to be seen.
there is something to be written about.
there is going to be
something.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-12T22:47:00

2007-08-13T03:26:37Z

am I confusing                                      y                          o                                u ?                                                      ??

I HOPE SO.
trying to lock Me in this fucking house with her for a whole 3 weeks?

the last 3 weeks of My summer?

not gonna happen, ma'am.

there's this great thing that school's do these days.

it's called: mandatory orientation. and it is mandatory that I be there all day.

for FOUR whole days.
once I have a somewhat consistent taste of the "outside world"...
all will be forgotten and I will get to end My summer properly.

she has managed to partially (if not entirely) ruin all of My summers...
mostly with unbearable restrictions.

(that I beared).

she has the most creative ways,
she's like a dominatrix.
with a weekly sitcom.

(taped of course)

she made Me sit in the parlor of g.g.'s house in My nightgown with a giganitc pot on My head. and then she sprayed shaving cream on Me.
If front of DJ.

Yeah, and DJ hated him for being the shitty one.

I somehow ended up not fearing public humiliation.
I mean, it sucks, ...
but it just doesn't make Me want to die like it makes most people.
(Don't even try to deny that it doesn't.)

I will not slam the door.
I will not slam the door.
I will not sla

I would sometimes be punished with writing.
the same line
over
and
       over
             and
                   over
again.
hundreds of times.

it's an activity that is meant to brainwash.
I would try to think up the most efficient way to write as many lines of whatever was assigned
as quickly as possible.

the phrases normally starte with I...
so I was usually written down each line sheet like
this
|
|
|
|
|
|
|

all at once.
I would skip numbers too because she never counted.
but

"the master's tools will never
dismantle
the master's house."

she abandoned the "stand in a corner" method when I was just small, and just starting to rebel.

it's kind of like a game...you have to have a method instead of just standing in the corner and throwing a fit.
you need to think things through and :

compete.

it's hard to tell with her what's a punishment
and what's revenge
and what's entertainment
and what's alchohol
and what's mania

I have hundreds of memories competitions.

that span over 13 years of time

and I can't distinguish the difference between most of them.

Huh.

I will not slam the door
I will not slam the door
I will        l
I   ll         l
I   ll
I won't stop.
I will never fucking stop slamming anything
I
I will see you in hell.

Look

closely.
closer.

herbedroomeyes @ 2007-08-09T01:36:00

2007-08-09T06:20:58Z

I got grounded tonight.

she was on the phone and butter and I were acting a fool.
harmless. we were't even being that loud.

butter got away with a tongue lashing (hardly).
I "mouthed off" and got grounded for 1 month.
no phone.
no friends.
hmm...no anything, basically.
what a great end to summer. TV and journaling.
she's ordering chinese for dinner I get none. another aspect of being grounded.
\
eventually, when she feels like it (not tonight) I will get the scraps she leaves for me soaking through a paper plate making it transluscent.
a half eaten eggroll,
the batter shells of the chicken fingers,
the shrimp cracked in half (because god forbid there's actually chicken hidden in the batter),
maybe a few strands of lo mein with maybe a peice of meat,
beef teriyaki either chewed on (her bad teeth can't actually chew it, so she gets the flavor out...sadly, I am always tempted to eat it), or half eaten.
always a chicken wing (I don't like them, of course, but I will suck the fucking marrow out when all I've been eating is graham crackers and chocholate milk),
and the spareribs (which 1. she can't chew and 2. i don't like).

and of course I drink milk with it. That's really all I can have. The 2 liters are reserved for her and her only (except when she runs out for a minute-even for the mail-and I make a bee-line to the fridge to gulp as much of the bubbly sugar as I can).

I am a hunter gatherer.

I will wait until she's passed out-sneak a spoonful of ice cream. Sometimes I take a small bit of pepsi and then add water.
it's disgusting.

I will search the pockets of her old, unworn jackets which take up a large portion of My already too small closet-search for a lint covered life saver, a lone tic tac...anything with a flavor. And I will save it, rinse it, and eat it until I can't wait anymore.

I will steal bits of change (just the coins) and eventually I can afford some candy bars (they are the quickest and easiest thing to devour during the 1 minute walk back to the house) and I will shovel them in My mouth as fast as I can and suck My teeth and swallow real hard (if she smells it on My breath (which she sometimes does-she will even check My breath) then I will get in even more trouble).
I love sugar.
It tastes like defiance.

It tastes like I am winning some ridiculous war I didn't want to be apart of.
Envelope glue satisfies me.

It makes me crazy to think that I'm dealing with this.
But I am just so fucking used to it...

When I was younger-a lot younger...jesus, maybe four...I had to get an EKG (I think that's right...they stuck pads all over My chest and it beeped...whatever) because I had an irregular heartbeat.

well,

we were in the waiting room for what seemed like hours. it may have been 45 minutes. I was absolutely starving and she (being the good person she is) did not bring food, or water...or cheerios. I was never one of the kids with the tubular cheerio tumbler.

Now...there's some backstory to the original story (so complicated, I know). But, I was definetly one of those kids that loved waiting rooms at hospitals. There were toys there I didn't have, books there I hadn't read, and other kids to play with and torment. I was a very friendly, hyper active child. And I spent My fair share of time in waiting rooms at hospitals and in doctor's offices what with butter getting so sick all the time.

This day was strange because it is just Me and her. usually the rest of the motley crew comes a long. we do everything together.

but we are not a family.

well she was being very bitchy-even back then I knew what bitchy was and that she was it.
so, I went off searching for fun in a very subpar waiting room with hardly any children. I don't remember the details leading up to her rage but I know I sat on another woman's lap and asked her to read to me. I believe the woman also had a 3 musketeers bar that she shared with Me.

Looking back, I can see how this is a major threat to her precious image. how dare I make her look this way at age 4!

Well, she drags Me into my appointment telling Me that I have it coming when we get home and that I am in so much trouble for embarassing her like that.

The EKG people come in and she is happy, calm, the perfect role model for this Poor Girl with a weird heart.
I have a heart murmur. My heart skips a small beat.
All is fine.
It is functional.

This is a saying I'd come to have handy whenever at a new dentist or with a doctor.
"I have a heart murmur, but it's functional."
(I should add only the murmur functions the rest is just a small mass of twisted tissue and arteries)

Now I don't remember the details leading up to this scene (it must be all the pot I smoke), but I remember vividly sitting on My bedroom floor in the dark (I was grounded from light and maybe even the bed...I don't remember)-dinner being brought to Me on a soggy paper plate.

it is something she is calling shephard's pie.

It looks absolutely fucking disgusting.

I whine, or complain, or something...probably nothing really atypical of a 4 year old subject to darkness and a mash of canned corn, instant potatoes, and crumbly hamburger.
and for whatever I said I got My dinner taken away from Me. Now remember, I was starving at the doctor's. I hadn't eaten since the morning.

I went to sleep that night without food. Crying the whole time.

And perhaps it goes without saying, but I might as well say it, the verbal abuse was constant during this scene (like all of her scenes).

---

Another, shorter, recollection is the day we made hard boiled eggs and I was told not to tell him. I have no idea why-maybe an early indicator of trying to keep secrets (most of them pointless) from him.

I thought this was ridiculous so when he came home that night I told him.

And she screamed and I was served with who knows what kind of punishment you sentence a 4 year old with.
Over hard boiled eggs.
---

So I am dealing with it.

Maybe tonight after she is passed out from the drinking I can manage to sneak a chicken wing out of that brown paper bag in the fridge.

And then throw the bones out the window.
Can't have evidence that I have eaten, now, can we?