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Jack Lurhstaap; Knife-Smile

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(1 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[27 Aug 2007|12:01am]
I didn't really mean to end up doing this, but I never have been good at maintaining two separate journals on the same site ... if anyone out there is still interested in the freakshow that is my brain, add dacnomaniac. I didn't intend for it to become my primary journal, but, well ... Knife-Smile has become a dacnomaniac.

See you there. I may still use this journal for communities and other shit, but I always forget to log in here and I miss a lot of you.

(Let me in..)

[10 Aug 2007|12:29am]
Mom's hurt her back to the point she's pretty much stuck in bed for days like when my discs burst.

I was supposed to have my rotten dying wisdom teeth removed today, but the oral surgeon didn't bother to look at my chart until right before the appointment. When he saw the extent of the damage, he immediately pussied out and made up a bunch of bullshit to cover for it. The worst part of it, though not at all the only part, involved him making up this fictional world in which I have high blood pressure, witnessed by him via the ... sphygnometer? No... something like that. In short, he pretended he'd taken my blood pressure. He barely LOOKED at me, he didn't look in my mouth, and he didn't touch me, much less take my fucking BP. No one else did, either.

So in short, this split-pantsed garbage sack of decomposing pedophile testicles decides to jerk off to Myspace instead of doing his pre-op reading, and he doesn't even bother to let me know he can't be arsed to do the job he agreed to do until the INSTANT before I would otherwise have been sedated?

I had to leave the building because visions of his body parts gloriously separated and silent on the floor were pulsing across my vision. Thank God I burst into tears when I'm enraged; it lets me pass for overemotional.


I've been put under three times in my life. I'm a demonstrated sedative tank. And more to the point, two of those three surgeries occurred when I weighed 290some pounds. I currently weigh ~<265. I was on a minimal dose of my pain medication and a dose of Valium that was only just barely working. Back at those surgeries I was taking OCs. Fuck, I took OC in the hospital after the second one when the doctors weren't paying attention because they were so Goddamn stingy with the morphos.

In short, to claim that I'm "high-risk" because I'm fat, on OxyContin, didn't wear shoes (NOT SARCASM; I borrowed some, but apparently that wasn't good enough for his prissy bitch ass) ... let's see, what else did he make up on the spot, other than the mythical high blood pressure -- which, by the way, he of course did not mention until AFTER I'd stormed out of the building to avoid tearing his throat out with my healthy front teeth. Like he's going to get away with lying to my MOTHER? His stupidity offends me almost as much as his cowardice and laziness.

At this point, of course, I wouldn't have let him do surgery on me no matter what incentive I was offered, but it still pissed me the living Christ off. I had terror under my claws, I was ready to get this shit OVER WITH, and this insignificant fartbrain has the temerity to fuck me up?

We're going to report him to the Board. If I had less self-control I would be seriously considering something more ... personal.

Other than Mom's back and that, plus getting inexplicably lost on 80 and ending up in Citrus Heights (fucking OCD) it wasn't all bad. I met chiriklo_star. Who knows me as dacnomaniac. Because of the stupid ... other shit, I've been doing most of my blogging over there lately. I'm not even really sure why I feel the need to keep things separate ... I guess so I don't forget that it's pathologic, and a problem? I don't know. Either way, I'm not sure many of you would want to read it, but if you've been wondering where I am, it's there. I've linked to it before a couple times, but discreetly.

The OCD diagnosis is somewhat recent but firmly official. Dr. Altman said she thought testing was, at best, redundant. Sigh. I guess that does explain a lot of shit (my numbers thing, the impulses and images, food kicks, music kicks, subject obsessions ... ) but I'm still not entirely fond of it.

(Let me in..)

[22 Jul 2007|07:41pm]
I'm pretty much definitively fucking nuts.

But I'm pretty sure I like it.

(Let me in..)

eloquence belongs to the conqueror [01 Jun 2007|12:46pm]
Fine, an update, as ordered.

I'm currently roleplaying a violent murder, listening to thematically appropriate music, and waiting until we can leave to get our scripts.

I am full of bloodlust and I can't wait to get it out with the good shit in my system. Hopefully getting the stuff in my system will help tone it down anyway...

yes I've finally found a reason
I don't need an excuse
I got this time on my hands
you are the one to abuse

(26 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[28 May 2007|01:18am]
I am very, very, very tired.

But I feel much better now that I've stopped bullshitting about certain things, turned, accepted them, and started dealing with them directly rather than trying to get rid of them quietly in the back of my mind. Doesn't work. Of course not. Stupid. But this is much better. Writing it out.

I'm tired. My next check is coming this Friday, or it should anyway. One month down, five to go before my puppy can come home.

My turn. Nothing much left to say really, anyway.

Except I'm tired of being so fucking useless to the people I most want to be my best for.

(4 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[15 May 2007|07:58pm]
JERRY FALWELL IS DEAD

*MASS CELEBRATION*
*ORGIES IN THE STREETS*
*WILDLY DRUNK*

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO !!!

Who wants to join me in a chorus of "Ding, Dong, the Witch is Dead"? :D :D :D

(11 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[28 Apr 2007|09:17pm]
It's finally official. I'm getting a puppy.

This will be the first best $1,500 of my life.

He-or-she will be a Native American Indian Dog, specifically a Plains Dog. The park technically doesn't allow dogs over 30 pounds, so I went for the smaller version of the breed.

Part of me is busily scanning every bit of information I know to figure out if there's some way I can make six months go faster. There isn't, of course... sleeping time away works when I'm waiting out the last week of a month for my script, or waiting for weed, or pickup day. Doesn't work so well for this.

These are my future puppy's mother, Ayanani, and 'Nani's father Arrow, respectively.

http://www.nighteyesfarms.net/images/har_nani_canth.jpg

http://www.nighteyesfarms.net/files/Arrow2003.gif

Otherwise ... I've been quiet because I've been working very very diligently on myself. I've been described as a late bloomer most of my life;, well, I'm sick of being a bud. Time to bloom. But it takes all the energy I have and some days, especially since I broke yet another disc, I don't have anything left to even get out of bed except for unavoidable biologic necessities. But I'm working on it.

(3 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

Or is it that I ate when other people starved? Is this my crime? [31 Mar 2007|12:39pm]
Not that I've been eating. But maybe that's the reason.

I just don't feel hungry. Ironically, that makes me officially 'anorexic', but not with Anorexia nervosa. What a misnomer that is. AN refuses to eat; 'anorexia' means 'no appetite'.

That's the problem I have. Food just... doesn't interest me. I feel dehydrated quickly so I've been keeping up with that. Even bud hasn't helped, which is the most unusual damn thing in the world.

I've been gone because of the move. It took forever. It was insane. Basically, incompetence. Hiring movers turned out to have actually been a *worse* idea than trying to pack and move almost everything ourselves. I don't wanna go into the rest of it. It was a while ago. We had to buy a laptop; no other computers are up yet. Mine would be but Windows' password process malfunctioned and I need to get something to crack it with.

The other reason I've been gone is my back went snap on me again. I don't know precisely what happened but I expect I lost another disc. Same way as usual -- doing something innocuous and not particularly stressful physically. Standing up from a couchbed is usually not a risky business. Oh fucking well.

And I'm still not Goddamn well enough to sit here long. But I'm back enough to nose at the computer now and then, anyway. Hi, stupids.

(19 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[11 Jan 2007|04:35am]
irony is when you're so sick, taking Pepto-Bismol makes you throw up just like anything else.

(11 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

Addendum: [09 Jan 2007|02:52pm]
Somehow, for the first time in two to four years, I have actually contracted a genuine Significant Disease; meaning, a disease that is not just noticable, but, you know, actually Making Me Ill. I actually forgot what it felt like to be about to throw up. It came on so Goddamn suddenly, too, just out of *nowhere*. I am pissed as *fuck* about this development, as not only do I have no idea how I screwed up and cracked my defenses, but of all things, it's the worst illness in existence: stomach flu.

Right when I'm facing the prospect of a full kick aided only by marijuana and OTCs.

So if you don't see me OR hear from me for a while, that's why.

(16 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[08 Jan 2007|05:56pm]
Sometimes it surprises me that I'm still stumbling forward. Volcanic psychoemotional waves I can't talk about. Forbidden thoughts. Violent struggles for self-control. It's exhausting, on top of everything else. And yet not exhausting enough.

I'm sorry I'm so inadequate. I'm working so hard at being a good person, a good dog, that I don't have the energy to do much of anything else outside that.

I knew it wasn't supposed to easy, but this is worse than any drug craving ever. Worse, and more pernicious, somehow both more primal and more sophisticated, capable of insinuating itself into my thoughts like a drug craving but also capable of arguing for itself logically, ethically and morally as a drug craving never bothers to do.

I am very tired. It's worth it being me, I think, but it's so exhausting I sometimes wonder what I'm missing.

What do people see in me? Why is it only most people that sense the warning signs and avoid me? What attracts the rest of you? Why don't you smell the danger too?

(5 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[12 Nov 2006|01:35am]

They can't make things worse for me
Sometimes I'd rather die
They can tell me lots of things
But I can't see eye to eye
I know they know the way I think
I know they always will
But someday I'm gonna change my mind
Sometimes I'd rather kill.

(14 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

Wait a minute -- that's me; I'm looking at my own reflection... [09 Nov 2006|12:52am]
I don't remember much of the last couole of days.

I remember the handcuffs, and the caution. It's something to look at a cop and realise he's as wary of me as I am of him, even though I'm in an ER, lying down, being quiet. I didn't notice at the time but looking back, I understand. At the time it was just like... somehow, as though I'd just had a collar and leash put on, and that was nothing remarkable.

I don't remember much of anything. Scattered images and nonsensical, frequently unreal sensory input.

Those Crown Victorias have some real muscle to them. I'd love to drive one someday.

I didn't realise it was involuntary commitment until it was pointed out to me once I was released into parental custody.

The upshot is, the problems that I've been hiding, ignoring, leaving to simmer, downplaying, et cetera, are escaping and running much worse. So I'm going to do some inpatient time.

Not for drugs. Drug use, by mutual agreement, is the least of my problems. I don't want to go into details but I don't want any confusion either. This isn't rehab. I don't need rehab. I need genuine, comprehensive psychiatric help, which I haven't been getting because the few times I've spoken up to someone who could help, I was ignored. Dr. Altman knew some things but I never told her anything important so it wasn't her fault. I've just never liked admitting it.

So, most likely, I'm going to be gone for a while and come back more functional with an official diagnosis... I'm guessing either psychotic complications of Major Depression, or Schizoaffective, possibly flat-out Schizophrenia, but I doubt it unless this keeps on and keeps getting worse.

I know there's someone who reads this who has a relevant diagnosis. If that person wouldn't mind... I know they've been exceedingly reluctant to discuss that in the past, but, to be blunt, I *really* need some guidance from someone who is both a peer in that respect and fairly stable.

Other than that... I guess I'm okay. I guess it's a good thing. I took myself to the ER so tjhhis would happen. I've been thinking about doing it for a while.

But part of me is exceedingly angry about and afraid of it. It's the same thing that's kept me inside on the bad nights. It says, no cages. No chains.

Well, hopefully, the place I'll end up for inpatient will be like the place I stayed yesterday and today. No cages, no chains. Decent food, attentive staff but no bullshit brooked. It was good. I was afraid -- too many people, too much noise -- but it was all right otherwise.

I haven't been paying people the attention they deserve lately and I've been very reticent as to why I don't want to go on AIM, or respond well to e-mail, or hang out in person, or spend time on the phone. This is a big reason. The other part is, associated with this, my social tolerance has shot through the bottom. I'm so sorry. I've been working, trying to take care of it on my own, trying to fix it, but it just... it's not working and it was never going to work, and it was only stubborn fucking pride and self-second guessing that made me think I could do it in the first place.

But it'll be better now. I think. I hope. It better. Because I can't go any further down now. All I can do is wander sideways into new and ever-interesting permutations on the urge towards violence and malfunctioning sensory input.

At least I got my way in a lot of places in the election. A bill I loathed passed locally, a couple bills I wanted to fly died, and I was one of, like, six hundred people who voted for one of them that I really liked in particular, but the death of Rummy and many of my most loathed senators and congresspeople makes up for it. Plus, most of the other things I voted for made it, and I contributed to a great deal of chaos and restructuring in the local judicial district, so that's all good.

My back is killing me. I'll be poking at the Internet for another day, maybe two, before I go, and I'm hoping to be able to bring a wireless-enabled laptop with me, so we'll see. Otherwise... I guess... I'll see you all when I get back, hopefully with some good duct-tape repairs on my warped skull.

Jaa matta.

(1 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[06 Nov 2006|04:59pm]
I keep running in and out. Somehow every time I get home I feel depressed, trapped, confused, and totally unmotivated. Nothing *happens*... the mood just falls on my head within an hour or two. So I get anxious to get out again, go *somewhere*, anywhere. The wanderlust of my teen years times ten. Not like I'm happy out there, just... somehow, better. So I keep dilletanteing about. It's hard to face people sometimes. No one in particular, pretty much everyone. E-mail is a little safer, but even then... I guess it's because my brother is pissed off at me for innumerable reasons and didn't ever bring it up, instead started sniping at me over all kinds of other, only vaguely-related things. I don't want to talk to anyone else. I don't want to hear about how much I suck. I know, I know, I know.

However, at least I suck less than them:

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2006/11/5/212753/967

Strike now? Yes, yes, yes?

(6 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[27 Oct 2006|10:55pm]
http://roguejeff.com/rogue-elephants-in-the-ny-times/

Oh, but *obviously* only humans are sentient. Hurr.

(1 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[25 Oct 2006|09:36pm]
That does it.

I am going to go home and pick up my next week's worth and hit the bank. Then I am going to come back and say goodbye to anabelsdreaming before she disappears for a month. And then I'm going to disappear into the wilds with only pillow, blanket, my Knife, and the Need. I either have to satiate the need in a controlled manner or it'll run amok. So.

I just wish I didn't look forward to this quite so much. I wish I weren't thrumming with the sensation of power and expectation. So easy it will be, so easy. And then I could disappear forever right under people's fucking noses and nobody would know...

So first I think I'll go live in People's Park. Thanks to certain people for showing me what I need to know.

I'll probably stop by to say hello before I go. But we'll see what happens.

Maybe I'll go up 13... there wasn't much back there, and hence, no one to know... hmmh. Or maybe I'll just hunt. We'll see, we'll see.

So much I need to do, so many places I need to go, time to get on the move, go go go. Too much I could might think to do and see. I am restless. It is time to leave.

(3 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[18 Oct 2006|02:49am]
http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Lurhstaap
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Lurhstaap

For balance, do both. I really want personal input. I want to know how I'm seen, or that is, how I really am outside my own blinders. Doesn't really matter how I'm seen by whom. But do it, everyone who sees this. Even if you think you don't really know me. However I come across, however I seem, whatever I appear to be is what I most likely am.

(2 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[16 Oct 2006|01:05pm]
RAL-PHEE

brings an END to
PROG-ROCK
when he attempts to
REVITALISE it
with the UNEARTHLY SONARITIES
of the
MUSICAL SAW

(Let me in..)

Gotta move, gotta move, gotta move that Wheel right around [10 Oct 2006|11:57pm]
I finally did my testosterone yesterday, I'm pumped full of morphine and fentanyl and hate today, so I guess that's why I've been listening to Accident of Birth over and over. For years I've wanted to do something for this album, about this album, because of this album. Each song deserves its own graphical masterpiece, and it would take a mural to illustrate the thing on a whole. And moreover it's not just art, it's life, so much truth in one little album. So much darkness too, and so many wonderful images.

Our skeletons rise through the veil of blood
"Who summons us now from our graves?
We are the Dead."

But I've never been able to do what I want to do with it. My efforts are never sufficient. I'm never fast enough to capture the song while it's on and then I need to move on... five minutes is not enough time to capture Taking the Queen or even Freak, much less Darkside of Aquarius or Man of Sorrows.

But I think I'll put some work into that today nonetheless. I need an outlet and the worship of truth in music is a good sight better than others that appeal nearly as much.

Somehow it's the blend of Bruce Dickinson's intent and Adrian Smith's purity that makes the album work. If it were just Bruce's it would be awesome, but it wouldn't be so effortlessly *right*. His primal mastery of music, not just his own instrument, pulls the disparate elements of awesome into purity, a perfect tapestry of time and darkness.

I hold a piece of the Ancient Wolf in my teeth. I want to carry him home but there is no home to take him to.

A tortured seer
A prophet of our emptiness
Wondering why
Wondering why.

(1 gave up their life. | Let me in..)

[09 Oct 2006|06:26pm]
I can't believe it, but I just heard a lyric that actually made me laugh aloud. It went something like...

"I'll fuck you up like you got chicken pox up the ass and then thrown into a pirahna tank!"

Love Non-Phixion. I still feel Apocalyptic, but a little more soothed in my little den.

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