Violent Shades in the Bathtub

My scalp is violet.

I need to start writing again.

fucking bs

Oh God Oh God Oh God

Please don't ever let me feel this alone again.

crying on the floor of my bathtub rolled up little girl oh little girl how did you devolve backwards through your life and let your parents abandon you again little girl now youre truly alone no friends no parents no one to help you what would happen if they all died off youd be right here crying still maybe its better that they just left why was i always the child that no one wanted no friend wanted no lover wanted i became the rejected sad idiot that no one could ever care about and thats not fair its never been fair god dont abandon me too fuck you cindy dont you ever trust anyone ever again not your father not your friends not any man none of them can help you and they never tried you need to just trust in yourself dont you ever lean on anyone ever again because theyll just hurt and leave and leave fuck you fuck you fuck you oh god i need help but i cant trust anyone anymore im the last person on earth

Willingly, Johanna (thanks, Dylan)

The jets soared over our heads, vibrating the cement sidewalks reeking of bum urine and cigarette butts, the glass windows oscillating on every skyscraper as if when slowed down, the vertical lines of the buildings would roll like that helicopter scene in the first Matrix movie, like an earthquake. I suckled on the last of my cigarette, and after carefully putting it out with the toe of my shoe, stepped into the theater bordered by skyscraper and skyscraper, diner night clubs dive bars and skyscraper.


Shakespeare
he's in the alley


Everything is built on language. I verily believe that that's the biggest component of the Vietnamese culture. Language. It's severely distinct from the vocabulary of our conquerors, besides some French/Chinese/English bleeds, but that's to be expected. Most of our cuisines are French-affluent; our dress is derived from traditional Chinese wear; beliefs, stories, philosophies are the footprints of our colonizers on our little monsoon-ravaged muddy rice fields, this dusty guttered country. I tried to seek out a core part of our culture that is purely indigenous, untouched by colonialism. Something as pure as that exists beyond my knowledge. Even how we write out our language has been changed by the Dutch, who gave us the Western alphabet, which ultimately only separates us from the Chinese. Now I look fondly on our development as an independent state - only pockmarked by foreigners in terms of how tourist-friendly Viet Nam has become. We're approaching 35 years after the fall of Saigon. Each year, we independently develop - progress. I won't deny this part of myself that wants to return to that soil of my ancestors, plow the earth, and help it find its own identity. I owe Viet Nam that. I owe myself that. I'll find my way back home, and I'll be better than those nervous conditions you speak of.


some
French
girl


Last week, I sat at our kitchen counter. I witnessed my parents fight for the first time in a long time. It reminded me of my biological father and my mom fighting. I suddenly turned into a nine-year-old, watching my father hold a gun to my mom's head. I hate financial matters. I hate this economy. I hate money, currency, I hate monetary need.


Oh, Mama,
can this really be
the end?


I need to do serious change to myself. Now. If not now, soon. I would rather be depressed than without morals. I need to live for myself, but healthily. I want to be a better person. My mom leaves me tomorrow night. She doesn't know when she'll be back. She believes she won't come back. I need to find solitude that I will be strong enough for my brothers, for my dad. My mounting devastation rots my guts, my confidence, my (in)ability to interact with anyone, everyone. When I have time to feel, I never feel well: I begin having the luxury to wake up and feel like the only soul in this world, and it's cruel, so twisted and cruel.

Dear God,
I will pray tonight for my soul. I pray that tomorrow I will wake up happy. Motivated. Willful. I'm starting to pray again, is that okay? I just want you to understand that I'm still here. I still think of you. I still think.

Please, oh, please don't leave me.

Wet Hair Time

The size on this bag of Classic BBQ chips is for Party. Of one.

LOST

Tina Woods, what does my aura say now?

black velvet 'round neck

When I was done twirling in circles, I looked up and saw that I was left completely alone.