decadEND

     Honestly, I'm scared this decade is almost over.

     I remember being a child and looking at this poster of the United States that you're supposed to put all the new quarters in as they were issued. Looking at the dates of release in the bottom right corner and thinking of the furthest year away, 2008, I thought it would never come. I would daydream about what I would be like or how cool I would be. The idea of being old seemed to foreign, I suppose because it was.

     Mostly though, I remember wondering what I would know, what knowledge I would have obtained. Would I be as smart as I felt then? Would I be as powerful as what I felt was in store? What in the world would I have grown into?

     The strongest weed, is the answer I've stapled myself with. And I'm happy with that.

     I'd so much rather be the strongest weed than the weakest flower, Manson had it right with his new concepts regarding what changes in the mentality of victims of sexual abuse.

     I'm terrified, not because of the past, but because of the prospect of the future.

     If I haven't written a book worth the consideration of publishing within the next fifteen years—I'll accept a publishing company considering my story, but not publishing it because of its content, despite how unhappy I would make myself as a result—I'm killing myself, or at least making my existence dead to the world by doing something noble with similarities to a religious adventure of self-discovery, in a setting like wherever the Blair Witch was filmed. I don't deserve to exist if I'm not creating, and I'm sticking to my story. I'll rip my teeth out myself with the familiar pliers of my past if I can't find a witch to do it for me.

     Tonight, I got to thinking about Antichrist Superstar. I wondered how Manson felt in 2006 ten years after after the ground-breaking creation in 1996. I've created nothing except myself, and while Manson's been doing that all along, he's public about it. Me, not so much. I haven't worked hard enough just yet to publicize myself on par with his degree of extremity, so that's the pressure presented to get some serious shit done within the next decade.

     This decade is going to start off beautifully, in terms of creative freedom.

     In July of 210 I'll turn eighteen and start college soon after. A solid education will be my foundation. I am a firm believer in being able to fall back on degrees for respect— not a job. I need respect or fear for people to listen to me, and a Ph. D will deliver no doubt (in the very least, a lending hand to shuffle the boxes with me). Also, a formal education is my sole selfish desire.

     Work will never be my focus unless you count the work for others. I want others to be able to be Atheistic, thinking and reasoning, creative, productive human beings of society. I want more people like me.

     It is my purpose to share my struggles, suffering, pain, and I want to say sex only because of this— "As you are listening, I want you to know, that you're nothing but a screen that I project my images of suffering, sorrow, pain, sex in the brief glimmer of happiness I find in the misery of those who are sitting in the theater of which this screen exists." [Marilyn Manson. Doppelherz, 2003]

     We are so alike, and not because I chose to be. I used to try, I'll admit. I dressed in black, wore dark make-up, and dyed my hair black. However, our similarities lie in what we wish to do for the world (or what I perceive your beliefs on self purpose are), and as Gandhi so truthfully said, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world."

     I love my fellow Saints.

"The aspiration

To save the world

Is a morbid phenomenon

Of today's youth."

-Marilyn Manson, Doppelherz 2003
(full-length video)

W-O-W

     No one will ever know the truth within this secret.

     I refuse to enlighten the world, like you refuse to enlighten me.

     I'll never be sure as to why those that are supposed to be hating me have tried contacting me this holiday to wish me well. The angry, ridiculous part of me yells convincing concepts such as, "They just want to mess with you, to get them back on your mind". Okay, sure conscience, that could be true. But they'd have to be thinking of me first, and that terrifies me.

     I've never been in love I've never been in love I've never been in love I've never been in love I've never been in love I've never been in love, but I know I loved you, I loved you so willingly. You ruined everything we could have become.

     The most important thing for you to remember however, is I am never going to be sorry.

Happy holidays everyone~!

     First of all, I want to say happy holidays, regardless of what you're celebrating. While I'm the type that gets The God Delusion (no one saw the irony in that except for me, until I pointed it out) for Christmas, I truly believe the world shouldn't need a holiday to love one another and wish good things upon fellow man. So as if it were any other day of the year, I hope today has treated you as wonderfully as you deserve.

     My family does celebrate Christmas, although non-religiously. Our holiday consists of gathering under one roof and spending time with each other after exchanging gifts, which is the smallest part of what matters to me today. From the honesty within my heart, the best part about today, and any other holiday or special occasion, is having both of my parents under one roof for an extended period of time. That means more to me than anything because it's a rarity, I live with my father and my mother is biologically my aunt, so I don't see both everyday.

      I am still sick today, but I woke up around 9:30 AM and ate a cinnabun with pecans on it. My mom arrived a little while later, and then the gift unwrapping began.

     My brother got a lot of nice gifts, his main gift from our parents being a Wii. He was really excited, they had built him up to believe that he'd be spending his Christmas money this weekend on one, and now he can just spend it on games. I'm really happy for him.

     I got a lot of nice things, too much in my opinion since I didn't do anything besides exist this year to deserve them. I actually didn't expect any of the wonderful gifts I received, except maybe the book I already mentioned and Star Trek on Blu-Ray. I was pleasantly surprised. If you're interested, here's a list I compiled earlier today for a post on Babalon—

- Dell Laptop

- Hello Kitty laptop bag from Sanrio Luxe

- Pandigital Panitouch 8" Photo Frame

- Hello Kitty boots "w/ fur" (so amazing!)

- Hello Kitty pajamas

- Hello Kitty clipboard

- Hello Kitty nail file

- Giant Hello Kitty coloring book/sketch sheets (literally, this thing is bigger than an opened calendar)- Hello Kitty gumball machine

(yes, I do enjoy Hello Kitty, lol)

- White and rainbow plush throw blanket

- The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins

- Nightlight by The Harvard Lampoon

- The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

- Collage Collector film strip photo frame

- 3-D frame that's decorated and says "believe", "serenity", "patience", "wisdom", & "truth"

- Star Trek on Blu-Ray

- Tons of candy yum yum yum

- $100 cash, $50 Target gift card, & $15 Starbucks gift card

EDIT: Not sure how I could have forgotten:

- Year pass to all Universal theme parks

- Year pass to Sea World, Aquatica, and Busch Gardens

     Now it's almost time for dinner, ham, potatoes, etc. Once again, happy holidays everyone, and remember what's important—family. Maybe not your biological family, but whoever you deem your family. For me, my friends are my family. Love you all~.

     Also, check out my mom's new blog, "Life After Success, Triumph, & Love"!

P.S. Thank you mom & dad.

Hello world, what joy it is being sick~!

     Hello world!

     If you know me, you know I am often ill— or so it feels like it anyway. Just a few months ago I had H1N1, more affectionately and miscorrectly identified as "Swine Flu" by the media and commercials directed towards terrified consumers. I thought one serious illness a year was enough, but apparently my predictions were wrong. I'm not sure what I've had for the past few days, but it hasn't been pleasant, that’s for sure. Last Monday when I was at my mom's picking up LMFAO tickets—the show was great by the way, despite Firestone being packed to capacity —she had the flu, so perhaps that's what swept me under the weather.

     I've been coughing a lot today, so I've been hoping that it's a sign my body is trying to cough it all out and I'll feel much better tomorrow. I sure hope so because I've felt increasingly worse every day so far. Earlier this evening I felt pain in my lower back from continuous coughing, something my friend Bianca related to. It was truly unlike anything I've ever experienced before, and definitely one of the most painful things I've ever felt in my life. I felt how pregnant women describe their aching backs after several months of pregnancy, haha.

     If wellness greets me tomorrow I plan on restarting my Adderall again and getting heavily back into studying like I was before all this mess. I've been reading some since I've been sick, but I've read fiction for the most part, namely Nicholas Sparks’s The Last Song. Laugh all you want, but I justify it with feeling obligated since I saw the movie being shot in Savannah this past summer. Usually I find mindless fiction a complete waste of time unless it's something like Lolita or Animal Farm, both works of fiction with a meaning deeper than just "teenage love”. Sparks is a decent story teller, although somewhat repetitive in his descriptions and The Last Song is fairly unbelievable when it comes to the back story of the main character Ronnie. Regardless, it's been entertaining, and I'll admit it has fed into the female within me by teasing me with it's details of a perfect romance that doesn't exist.

     Other than aforementioned title, the only thing I've peeked into after finishing Lolita has been The Wasteland by T. S. Eliot. I've read I and II a few times so far, it's very good. I’m excited to read the rest of his work once concentration floods back into my senses.

     Besides reading I've watched quite a few movies since we got Netflix a week or two ago with our new TV and Blu-Ray player. Since I've been sick, I've watched: Super Size Me, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure (had never seen it before, my parents deprived me), Confessions of a Shopaholic (sucked), Lisa Lampanelli: Take It Like a Man, Fellini's 8 1/2 (have to watch the rest of it still), Eraserhead, and Bill Cosby: Himself. I've definitely kept myself occupied, haha.

     I braved the cold world today to holiday shop for my friends, I wish I could talk about what I got them but some of them read this and I don’t want to spoil their surprises. I'll have to wait until they've opened their gifts to tell you guys! (And I definitely paid the price when I got home for daring venture out of the house, haha.)

And then I got my wings

     The truth is I want it to envelop me. I want it to surround me so closely nothing else is in my outfield of vision.

     “That’s the victim in you talking”, can it always be the victim in me talking? I’d rather people feel constantly sorry for me or just find me repulsively pathetic than expect something greater of me or ridicule me for not being stronger on their time stamp of expectation. Check out is not at seventeen o’ clock.

     I can hardly divulge the truth to myself, it’s so far into repression. Yet timed by the self-seeking clocks of others, tick tick ticking away, I’m expected to have already moved on with the idea of addressing it positively absurd. All that I have said is a mere fragment of what all has candidly occurred, especially when I cannot even call to mind the earliest events, estimated to have been endured some fifteen years ago.

     If all I felt was the pain of everything, life would be pleasantly bearable and on a comforting schedule. I’ve felt it before, and I was utterly on top of the world by the comfort of blood in the morning and night. That memory of me seems so lucky, so unbothered. I am jealous of its freedom to recoil.

     My destroyer is the confusion of sometimes being happy and sometimes being sad, by the grip of myself and by the beating of others. Once a smile is witnessed, smiles of sunshine are expected thereafter, mimicking of a child’s delight to be alive. One grin must equate into being positively thrilled to be repulsed by the sounds of mouths.

     My pseudo-smiles are undetectable, for I am a spectacular performer of falsities. My over-conscience derives from my birth mother’s sociopathy, or so I’d like to believe. It is comforting to imagine it so. Conceptually, it makes ironic, spectral sense, so why can it not be true?

     She cries on whim because she feels nothing, I smile on whim because I feel too much. I hate having been born with predetermined behavioral patterns.

     I am so cold and so numb, shivering too much to even cry. I want to badly, I feel there’s regularly clarity in the aftermath of crying. I can’t even focus on one horrible thing to concentrate long enough to cry, how problematic/pathetic is that?

     Life wasn’t supposed to “end up” like this, even though my forever is nigh. How do I exist as an idea when I haven’t even existed as a person to so many people that should have recognized me above all others?

     Perhaps because victimizing human’s smell a victim like a shark does blood, I have been disrespected to an extreme degree-- how dare you touch my body or tell me I’m worthless of your time or sight. How dare you tell me I need to love and forgive my “mother” who didn’t even protect me when I couldn’t have used her most, who should be grateful of me for even giving her pathetic existence a purpose she didn’t fulfill. Note how these are not questions. I do not question your mirroring self-hate you’ve reflected upon me in hopes of burning a dry weed. I would much rather be the strongest weed instead of the weakest flower.

     My unenthusiastic carrier knew I was being repeatedly molested, and still she sneered in the direction of her computer monitor instead. I’ll let you take that in for a moment so you can ctrl+alt+del all the fabrication you have stitched into her tell-all tracked arms. (As if.)

     She made fun of me and blamed me, whenever she could tear herself away from cheating on our “family” (families don’t torture their children, that’s why my brother grew up with family and I did not). She watched me trail behind my abuser to room and into my closet, without even the faintest glance of care in my undesired direction. (Why couldn’t she have been excited for abortion instead of hating me?)

     I submitted to sexual acts because my family’s lives were threatened, if I didn’t cooperate they would kill them all with guns, hands, and gangs, and sometimes I was told I’d have to bear witness. Their deaths would leave me unprotected, and then I would really be forced to obey. So if you have anything to say at all about that in her defense, I don’t even care what it is, just shut your fucking mouth before it gapes open and spills out bullshit, because you’re dead to me, and you might as well “kill yourself”* because you’re “already dead”.

*Discredit yourself right now, take me off your walls and websites and completely disband from my life, follow through with your act of abandonment because I cannot be half-orphaned forever.

     I recommend avoiding the mistake of opposing anything I feel or say based on factual events when you know absolutely nothing about my past, how I perceive my life, or who I’ve reluctantly become. No one knows, hardly even me, and although it unfortunately has to be said, none of yours matter to me either as of yet, or never will. If you care enough to shove lies down my throat, you care enough to keep me in your life, so you better try if you want me to be here. Start believing in me not caring about your eternal absence or presence.

     My plan was not to be a godless self-loathing individual who cannot even look at herself in the mirror without abhorrence. Just a glimpse and already I feels pangs of desire to mutilate every patch of skin I see. The outside might as well be as ugly as the inside, no matter what you think exists within.

     The blueprint didn’t detail in the hating of my drug-addicted family performing and pursing incestual pedophilia, among other humanly criminal acts. It wasn’t part of the path most religions promote we’re stuck on with no alternative to being forced to follow. (Things do not happen for a reason, you weak moron.) If I ever find that to be scientifically the case, good bye Sino.

     In a sick way, it’s probably good I don’t submit to believing such bullshit. On that note, be appreciative the hobby of believing in sky-gods hasn’t yet struck me with the disability to reason reality.

Kinderfeld.

My favorite part about walking into the house after just coming home from my first therapy session to try and get over my sexual abuse so I can stop hating and blaming myself, is when all the doors to occupied rooms are slammed shut within thirty seconds of my quiet arrival.

I didn't realize I was that hard to look at, but I guess I am.

Back to feeling worthless!

A Syntax of Self-Annihilation

Recorded by Alexis Mullino
from 5:15 PM 8 December 2009
through 2:43 AM 9 December 2009

"Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze 
into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche

    The following of what you are about to read will in no way grant me personal gratification. At most, it has the capability of producing embarrassment due to my shame, grammatical errors, improper use of words, and the commentary of spectators.

    My reason for publicizing this very private flow of conscious is exclusively for the purpose of helping others who also experience nights of torture at the superiority of their free-thinking minds by clearly expressing that I am not afraid to be honest. As it follows anything I release of similar motive, I am left in the frightening aftermath of hoping someone will let my exploitation and sacrifice impact them positively instead of ignoring everything said and simply mocking me.

    With attempts at writing my history into an auto-biographical format of various sorts, the abyss has taunted me with provocation unmatched to anything it has ever exhibited before. As strong as I have forcibly designed myself to be and as far as I may have come so far, I am no exception to being regularly tormented by the seemingly clockwork mind commonly shared by those previously or currently victimized by something or other.

    I always feel most comfortable in someone else’s darkness as opposed to my own, but I can’t hold residency there forever. In owning my darkness, I hope it provides others with the authenticity that they are not alone in theirs. Although we may not find much realism amongst our darkest thoughts, recognizing I am not alone is quite possibly the most realistic thing my mind has ever thunk.

    Interpret these declarations for what you will. It’s likely I wrote from my mind following my usual manner, but rereading what I barely remember recording, I wonder if perhaps my heart finally saw a chance to reveal itself in writing due to my distress, owing to the fact that I was in no condition to repress it like I normally do. Regardless, take them for whatever you need to so you may better understand yourself.

    5:15 PM- What a feeling it is to be able to indulge in your desired behaviors. I shall drink this water till I am sick, lest my jeans do not fit. Come forth darkness. Come. Forth.

    5:16 PM- To create you must first destroy. Myself is not excluded.

    5:56 PM- I am fighting demons— and for what? So I can temporarily break free from my ‘demons’, which are actually just a frowned upon part of me, and still exist dissatisfied? Come one, come all, Alexis. Be all that you have created yourself to be, reluctantly or not.

    5:59 PM- I taste metal everyday. There’s no one here to save ourself. I.. this is what you should fear. you are what you should fear. Nothing more, nothing less. So says my trusted influence, savior, saint. SAINT.

    8:29 PM- I know I’m in second place.

    9:29 PM- My life is a re-run of things I didn’t learn from.

    9:36 PM- I am too terrified.

    9:45 PM- “I’m not an artist, I’m a fucking work of art.” Can my body be included? By the way, it’s mine. I can do what I want, opinions of others do not matter. Weakness? It’s a conscious choice. I could kill everything that I am, only to be reborn tomorrow. However the choice resides in whether I want the rebirth to take place within this current body, or another.

    9:50 PM- I am pushing everyone away because I don’t want to be talked out of feeling how I obviously want to feel. Let me suffer without additional confliction. Do not suppress me. I might as well kill myself, I’m already dead.

    9:53 PM- I am numb from your power. Absolutely numb.

    9:53 PM- God has come.

    10:18 PM- How long will THIS episode last? Can I beat weeks ago’s record time?

    Unknown- There have been so many mistakes made I have been expected to pay for. I only have enough money for myself.

    11:57 PM- All I feel is eyes when there is none. Don’t cry now because it doesn’t affect me. Pointless behaviors pointlessly expressing your pseudo-care. I am scared to speak for all ears will hear me, but all I feel is eyes when there is none.

    12:11 AM- I always wanted everything to just be okay. I wanted stability, and I was passed up. All attempts are now futile.

    12:53 AM- As always, once ‘everyone’ is back in their comfort zone I am left alone to remain suffering. You are nothing to me after today.

    2:43 AM- Sometimes not knowing what to do next is good. However, I cannot evolve standing still. I must love in the only direction left— forward.

    This is quite possibly one of the hardest things I have yet to publish. I tremble with fear, yet my desire to hold strength for others until they can hold it themselves surpasses any selfish fright or worry I have. It is important to remember that everything I am, all that I study, and all that I do is all for you if you allow it to be. I have proclaimed before, "I will be your savior and servant if you let me."

Holiday List/Wish List

Folks have been asking me what I want for the holidays, but like usual I don't deserve a thing. I love to give to others, but I always count myself last in everything. Regardless, I just don't see how a cluster of hollow holidays at the end of what we deemed a lapse of time equals getting gifts for often, no reason.

Anyway, due to relentless badgering (I know, it's just out of love), here is a list of things I would enjoy.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/3PLHWTWFL2WOB

It's listed on Amazon because I already had a "wish list" going, and it was fairly simple to add to or edit. I've added notes to many of the things on the list, as well as priority. Be sure to check it out with the option "list highest to lowest priority" selected.

Tyra Banks & Bow Wow Kissed

     I am just letting my friends know that the intensity of my love for the Tyra Show and Tyra Banks in general has reached the extent of me just jumping up and down in my living literally without control, screaming excitedly as she rapped and Bow Wow kissed her. It helps that I find Bow Wow hot, but really, did I just do that?

No matter what, you're never too old to get excited over things that truly bring you happiness!

Perspective of Musical Inspiration

     Without expelling the maelstrom of my thought pool, I’ve written in audible silence for a long time. I've noticed if I write while listening to music, my mind’s primordial presumption of what I’m hearing performs exhibition in what my fingertips type into Bean, sometimes even to the degree of me subconsciously relaying entire lyrical lines as if I wrote it myself.

      For example, if I am listening to Miley Cyrus, I'll personally expect to bitterly write about the ignorance of teenage society, while adding in quirky half-insults strongly recommending everyone under the age of twenty should simply get dressed this very moment, for their currently hollow expectation of successful lives depend on it.

     If I’m jamming to Beyonce or Lady Gaga while simultaneously dancing in heels before my full-length mirror, it’s privately undeniable that if I can calm down enough to turn my temporarily clouded perceptions into comprehensible words, I’ll express how I love every last one of my friends, and all the things I’m grateful for at that moment. Should the album change into something more solemn however, I’ll completely forget writing about aforementioned topics and fall into a mild state of self resentment for being grateful for anything at all when the world and people who hurt me the most should be grateful for me.

     If I’m pensively listening to what brings me home, I am reluctantly brought back to my center by intimate gravity. Regrettably, once stripped of my artificial exterior, the sincerity repressed within my core isn’t burning hot like the world’s, nor does it consist of the personality traits I superficially apply to the suggested idea of me in the midst of making game of convincing others I actually own them. Analogically, my inner self is cold like a particular distant planet’s surface that holds requisite of planets within it’s proximity for it to even have a metaphorical definition, notwithstanding the rules of science that are slightly bent for exposition.

     It has occurred to me time and time again without speculatory resolution that I am a surface surmised to exist for the sole purpose of being scribbled upon by those that do not own me. It insinuates something of the world’s inhabitants if you consider most of what I am pressured by is instillation of values and attempted conditioning of the author’s own personality weaknesses.

     It is rare that someone write advice upon my metaphorical bathroom wall instead of just derogatory names or phrases. Those that do are the respected individuals I hold in highest reverence, disregarding anything they ever have and may do to me. Concluding this final thought, unconditional love can exist in this way, outside of a domesticated house pet. In reality though, isn't that an unspoken definition of the entire human race?

     Happy thinking.