AMBITION II
Smooth legged and red haired, she watched herself in the mirror. Each line of conversation that would go on between them was mouthed, everything she would say or should have said. That conversation turned to one of the future; an interview on her newly released critically acclaimed post-apocalyptic film. “Riveting. Absolutely Riveting.” they would say. She would reply with, “What the fuck does that even mean?” a typical response. They knew her well.
The blow dryer slid off of the counter, snapping her back to reality.
Blink, Blink.
Her stomach swelled with dinner.
He likes flat stomachs.
She must take immediate action to remove the disgusting bloat.
Abs, abs, abs. 40 sit ups. Crunches. Stretch, get flexible.
She should avoid eating so much.
For the first time in her life she set her eyes on each nutritional label before chowing down. Water became the drink of choice, and chocolate was no longer acceptable. Longingly she would gaze upon those lucky bastards who were able to eat carelessly.
She was the minority now, fighting for her body. Fighting for him, who she could not have.
AMBITION AT ITS FINEST
Oct. 18th @ 11:30-something
Her eyes were blank as she stared forward into the distance. The cold of her bare back against the wall released a grim chill that made every individual pore tingle. Slowly her fingers found their way to her hair, bleached & damaged, loved & destroyed. She ran her thumb along the cracked lines of her lips. They quivered, a testimony to unspoken emotions. Her brow, her lashes, her neck, her tongue, her stomach–they all reeked of attachment to him. She wanted him, she almost had him whole. Now she could only have half. Would he still take her? This question devoured her, body and mind. Not one second passed in a day where some part of her brain was not entirely wrapped within it as if by some iron blanket.
Flesh–his flesh–would be the only release; the only imprisonment, & she would settle for nothing less.
If it’s a broken heart, then face it. Hold your own, know your name, and go your own way.
Is fighting temptation worth the struggle? Or is it better to succumb to your wants, and leave tomorrow for tomorrow?
One is obviously more morally correct, but which one is truly more satisfying?
(I guess they both are, one is just slowly satisfying while the other is immediate.)
Temptation comes along with having the psyche of a human being. Where there are moral standards, be them conscious or unconscious, there will be a point at which the line is crossed. We all cross this line at least once, because if we do not, we will never discover where the line is. Sometimes it takes a few cross-ings to figure it out. Some never find it all, don’t need to, don’t want to, whatever.
I am in the midst of this. My strings are being pulled, and it’s fucking my lines up.
It’s up to me and him to figure out what to do, but the vocalizing of the situation proves difficult. I know what I want, and it’s most definitely not up to moral standards. I also am aware that in the end what I want will fuck me up. Unfortunately, I am completely comfortable in a fucked up state, making the line even more blurry.
This is a reoccurring problem for me, and I think it is for a lot of people. You know, the whole “Wants Vs. Needs” thing. I make myself the excuse that since I am a teen, I have a right to experiment, even when the results will be obvious. It’s all part of the rebellion stage where I want to discover the consequences from myself and then learn from it, right? HAH, right. Or perhaps, the simple, I CANNOT CONTROL MY HORMONES. Yes. No.
I know what I should do. But it’s not what I want to do.
But I want to do it anyways, and probably will if the chance occurs.
Adrift
Sex.
People abuse it, porn improves it.
Is it freedom? Is it bliss?
Or two people’s attempt to fix their lonliness?
Ima Robot
When my music stops I hear everyone yelling.
SO I BRING YOU,
Ima Robot.
From professionally bowie-esque:
To a kickass version of hot hot heat:
They have proved their abilities. High five for pulling off the synth, guys.
While I’m at it.
This book raises many interesting points, and I would encourage you all to read it (Men and women alike). It addresses many issues people are afraid to confront, or refuse to confront altogether. It is written from an intimate and genuine point of view.
One point it raises which I find particularly frustrating is that of the name game. In the first chapter it asks “What is the worst thing you can call a man? Bitch, Girl, Pussy, etc. Is that not royally fucked up?” Also, she talks about the fact that a sexually active woman/girl/whatever is considered by society to be a big ‘ol whore, while men who are sexually active are players. What the fuck is that? I’m sure, if you’re a female, you’ve come across this sort of thing in some form before. This book urges you take action, even in the smallest way, because it can still make a difference.
There are still many battles to be won, especially for young women when standards for us in this society are growing more and more out of proportion on a daily basis. You can’t look anywhere without seeing some kind of advertisement for beauty products that will supposedly transform you into this beautiful and perfect juicy cyborg woman that every man wants. BULLSHIT! I mean sure, embrace your femininity, but do it for the right reasons, not because you’re trying to live up to some picture that’s been photoshopped and edited in every way shape and form and printed on the inside of every cover of every magazine chocked full ‘o SECKZ TIPZ! and HOW 2 LOOK HAWT 4 UR MAN!.
Fuck. More on this later.
