Angie-M

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When old times catch up at the wrong moment

Written 2007-01-25

"What! I can't remember those messages at all??!"
I'm looking in a different direction, trying to avoid her look.

"I don't remember those hate-messages. I remember thos to Rebecca but..."
I just don't want to hear it, I just don't want to talk about those stupid messages; the only thing I can remember from primary. She's my best friend, but I won't even let her push it. I'm not talking about that horrible period of life. You never knew when you were a friend and when you were dirt. I had to walk from the classrooms alone, noone was waiting - and if I tried to wait she sometimes got angry. You don't need to wait for me!

"Could you at least tell me when this was?"
"Look, I really don't wanna talk about it."
"Why?"
"Just stop it."
"Why? Was I so horrible?!"
"I just don't wanna talk about it. Past is past!"
And I seriously hope it will remain past. I've got enough trouble allready. Phobies, unreasonnable fears and bad relationships. Those I do are more dued to my family though. But still, why talk about something you can't do anything about. Or am I just too afraid of reminding everyone of how big a loser I was? Because that is what I remember. How enough was never enough and how I never stood up for myself.

Those hate-messages she send me... they were not really the kind a send to Rebecca. Mine were for showing, but hers really tore something in my heart. And I still feel unwanted, and I'll always feel unwanted. At least when it comes to childhood.

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Tubes & Humans

Written 2006-12-09

At the moment the artclasses have project circling around tubes and humans. There are loads of very good ideas. For exemple Mia painted a human with an underground system through its body. Then she marked out small stops like "Heartlington" and "Brainalley". Plina made a man out of tubes. I get so much inspiration when I listen to them. They really do like art. Probably you could call them artist then. I'm not at all an artist, allthough I would like to be one. There's nothing wrong with the creativity; I'm just not skileld at all. But I got this great idea now. I'm going to take a picture of two of my friends standing with a tube between them, then I'm gonna scale it up as much as i can at a printing house in Stockel. Grey scale is fine, but it's probably still going to cost a lot. Anyway, then I'll paint on it. Just with red and black and white. The girl standing in front will be see through so you can see a beating heart in her. The heart's beats are pulsing through the tube onto the other girl. But the other girl's falling a part. There are leaks and pieces of skin who cracks with water pouring out. She looks sadly down at the floor. I just want to make that picture, i just really have to paint it. Allthough I can't paint - that's why I need the photograph. Oh well. I'm writing it down so I won't forget it. Right now there's no time. There's never time in fact. That's sad.



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Puzzle-kid

Written 2005-07-09

She wishes that spareparts would grow on trees
because she feels so terribly divided
this little puzzlekid

"There are no poets in real life

the poet is the supreme beauty
so real, so true and so fair

-have you ever seen beauty supreme walking by?"


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Friday 8-7-2005 Reward

Written 2005-07-08

Please, if you happen to see my boyfriend somewhere, could you catch him and send him back to me. I suppose I'll have to give you, my saviour, a reward... and I will. I just want him back now, I just miss him so much.


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I sat on the metro...

Written 2005-07-03

Nowadays I'm finding myself on the metro often. I don't have anything against public transport, and I'm not trying to complain, but how many depressive moments i could avoid if I didn't have to use the fucking metro.

Do you know that moment, THAT moment- when you're sitting, looking out of the window and on the other side of it you can see another metro speeding up. All those faces that pass by in less than three seconds, all their problems... Can you imagine all the problems those people have? It's gigantical, it's grotesc!!! The universe is grotesc. It's mishmash of some good things and a lot of bad things, and we're actually talking about sucking the merrow(?) out of life. Disgusting, DISGUSTING!

Actually some intelligent person should build a bomb and destroy all mankind on earth. It would solve so many problems, and don't try to tell me that the population-most of the population to be precise- doesn't deserve that. Let us imagine, just for a second, that i wasn't so afraid of hurting other people, that I'm not such a bloody good person, I would destroy earth. Because, noone would regret it. There's no regret after death... How beautiful it would be to be the lst one. I can see that person walking around in the woods, enjoying the simple things that can mean so much if you know how too really live.

I don't like metros. They're just making me depressed...

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The actress

Written 2005-06-22


Today I said to him that there were three things I couldn't do; acting, singing and drawing.

But every day i wake up fooling myself, today and yesterday i had to fool him too. The perfect actress, taking others's hands withouth a shiver and believes that what she sais is true. No no, the truth in plays are just relativly short. After the show when the lights are put on everything becomes real again.

My heart sings every day, sings for its life. Beats harder, making me feel weak, making me believe I'm not in love, making me hate myself, making all that noice that keeps me up at night.

And i draw, I can actually draw. A little, not like Da Vinci... but I'm drawing my life in honey and milk.

So many lies came out of my mouth. But it could still be the truth for the moment in my play. I'll just have to wait for the lights to sting out my dark eyes. And the honest to judge.

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No mercy for the poet

Written 2005-06-05

if the poetry is dead,
it is because it has been killed
and not because the poets are dead



"She will complete the puzzle,
with the last four pieces,
with her own circle of life on them"


By far the worst is the teenpoet, cos what do you want her to do? Go and tell the world how great her words are, or even try to get her friends to read them? No, she'll hide her poet. She hides it very deep in, dedans, inside, and so a piece of her will die and the perfection of a very rare mind shall fall apart.
And thus she lives the days that pass, whithout a livingsoul who loves the very whole of her. And she cries, she cries for love. The very songbird, locked, désespéré, that lost its voice... she'll sing inside in sadness...

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