Twin Tesla Coils Perform Dr. Who (Badass)

Melancholy

This song ironically taught me happiness seven years ago. It's my comfort song.

A Letter to You

You got me drunk to ask me about my life, about who I was, what made me--to ask if I would ever marry you. You took the time to tear down all my defenses and to tell me we were meant for each other and that you would be my safety. You told me you would be my best friend and stand by me, stand with me and that you would accept me for what I was. You stayed inside of me and held me while I cried and told you things I have never admitted, not even to myself.

One week later, you say you are incapable of a relationship. You say you do not have a soul mate. You say you don't care where I live and who I fuck. You know I'm in a difficult situation but you "don't know what to tell me". You say you want to see me on the weekends but can't bear a conversation about a future with me. You say you're a "broken man" and confused and depressed and don't know what's right and that I'm rushing you for answers. I offer to get an apartment an hour away and you tell me it's not a good idea because you don't know where you're going and you'd hate for me to end up in Tennessee "all by myself". Because you would leave me. But you miss me, you say.

Well tell me then, how do you miss me? Do you miss the comfort of a warm body beside you? Someone you share memories with? Do you miss another voice in the room? Because you don't miss me. You don't have a soul mate, remember? You don't love yourself, you say, so you can't love me. And you say you hate all my poetic and witty writings. You say you'll never talk to anyone "literary" again. When I tell you I'm not talking to you anymore, you are unaffected and say just "okay".

You say you're sorry I met you because you're a bad man and no good for anyone and that you don't want to hurt me. You look back at all the people you've hurt and believe that you can be nothing different.

Tonight. Right here in this spare bedroom with everything I own in plastic bags. Tonight after you dumped me on Valentine's Day and my birthday. Tonight after an abortion of a child between us that I thought could be something beautiful and full of love. Tonight after I poured everything I was capable of offering into loving you and being a good woman to you....I believe you could be right about yourself.

And you will use my silence to confirm that you are right. You will sleep soundly and believe that you were born to be alone and that all people abandon you and that no one believes in you. You'll wake up to the comfort of your own depression because that's your "birthright" as you have loved to say. You'll take comfort in your music and being young again and picking up chicks and partying with your friends. You'll believe you're doing the best you can and that life is just hard for you. You'll believe that I always loved to tell you about yourself and that I was needy and a bitch. You'll tell people that it just wasn't meant to be and that in your life, everything just falls apart.

But none of that will really be true. No matter how easily you convince yourself of all those "facts", one night you will wake up to the sad reality that everything didn't just fall apart. You tore it down.

In the face of everything bad that has happened between us, you should know that I wanted to spend my life with you.

I wanted to share everything with you. I really did want you as my best friend and partner. I wanted to believe that if we were together we could do anything and that you would love me too. I always believed in you.

I'm sorry you never believed in us. I'm sorry you never believed in you.

Wherever you are and whatever you do: I love you and I am letting you go.

-Jacqui.

I like when everything starts to explode.

Set Me As A Seal Upon Your Heart

Solomon sat on his bed without a feeling in his heart at all. Beside him was an atomic clock, a letter and crumpled pair of women's panties as at that moment, down his legs, there poured two parallel streams of blood--red and unceasing. He watched as it spurted and fell and puddled the floor. He watched until he couldn't and fell back to see the plain blankness of the hotel ceiling spinning slightly as he began to dream.

In and then out.

The ugly tapestry and the phony paintings. He hated gold trim and watercolors. He hated frames. There were those panties, which he held tightly in his right hand, saturating them with blood. "What is my name?" He asked himself, as he could know longer remember. People were smiling and calling out to him; some yelling at him, crying. Memories of friends and beer and fat pedestrians. The face of a woman he loved. Her body wrapped around his in the dark and him filling her. Feeling full because of her.

He shuddered. The phone rang.

But for Solomon there was no longer sound. He had exhaled and in that moment, was gone forever.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Cooking debacle led to a break-up on my birthday and driving back to Kentucky to once again return to stripping. I'm not in a place to describe how I feel, and I'm going to do everything I can avoid thinking about it. To be to the point:

I do not believe in being in love.

I do not believe in anything at all.

I've been naive, you, all of you got that right. There is no monogamy. No happy endings. No soul mates. There's no happiness in sharing a life with someone.

I was wrong.

Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for breaking me in.

If you think you want to be in my life you are mistaken. Like everyone else, your personality would unravel and your life would just systematically fall apart one element after another right before your eyes.

I don't know how or why, but that's my fault and I mean that seriously.

So don't read my journals anymore. Don't look at my pictures.

Don't seek me out at all, not any of you who come here.

There's no longer anything worth seeing.

Finished Product

Ta-Da!

Not best presentation but at least the vegetables are recognizable. The fact that filet mignon is the type of meat meant to be served rare/medium-rare forced my boyfriend to google "is 100 degree filet mignon dangerous" and eventually made me paranoid enough to not want to eat it at all. There was lots of staring and forks pushing around unwanted pieces. Definitely not the effect I was going for.

I was hoping for more of a "this is a great meal, thank you for showing me you love me". But I'm still trying to teach myself not to expect appreciation for ways I try to make his life happier with little things. So much effort is just overlooked.

Just the same, I was proud of my own cooking! Next time I'll just broil the meat. :)