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Firestarter's blog: "All My Idea"

created on 10/05/2006  |  http://fubar.com/all-my-idea/b10595

You are The Empress

Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.

The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents, beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.

The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.

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I've been haveing the strangest dreams. Wearwolves, the pope, family, trains, walking to nowhere. leaving ppl behind. why the fuk was i a nun? Wakeing up in coffins, realizing that I'm dead... I think i need to start writeing in my book that heather bought me... but there is jus something about a clean page that scares me... I could write anything i choose to... But i never know where to start... so many ideas in my head, i know that once i started everything would empty on to that page... why am i crying? the dreams in which i'm dying are the best i've ever had... and that scares me... I think i'm afraid of what will be spilt onto thoes pages... I dont want to face the past... I need to stop dwelling in the past... it's over now... nothing is going to hurt me any more... but i'm still so scared... and still crying... and someone once told me that if you dont want someone to read what you have written than dont write it down... and what is locked away in my mind i would only share with one other... only because he knows so much already... he would never hurt me.. and i know that without a shadow of a doubt... I love you Timothy... and i've never ment that more.
Did you ever know you were my hero? Everywhere you went; I wanted to go. But, our lives took different paths, We got separated for a while but you rejoined me at last. You came back and that was one of the happiest days of my life; Little did I know of the demons you were fighting inside. You came to talk to me today; You sat beside me as if not sure what to say. You talked about Gods promise and the Promised Land, But, the way you said it I just didn't understand. You said you wouldn't leave again without saying goodbye, But, I went to church and you took your life. I don't know if I didn't, I don't know or even understand your reason! My sorrow is like a slumbering volcano, My heart builds up pressure until it erupts and overflows. As I lay here all I can do is cry, My heart hurts so bad I wish I could die. I loved you more than life itself, It breaks my heart to think of the pain you must have felt. But you wouldn't tell me what was causing you hurt. All you would say is that you couldn't remember--- This day I will never forget! I have to let you go now for there are no answers; I have my life to live and so much more to give, I will get on with my life though there is no peace. I love you sis May you REST IN PEACE! by Kathryn Fagin September 25, 2002 My aunt wrote this about my mom, shortly after my mother took her life. I miss her so much.
Its getting close to my birthday. Im going be 21. Then I can buy stuff to kill my liver, and it will be legal. Yes I can see it now, yet somehow pukeing till my eyes bleed doesnt sound like 2 much fun. Although that idea never would have occurred to me before. I suppose during the great days of 12th street it wouldn't have stopped me. All I really wanted was friends, and people to like and respect me for who I was. But who was I? I didnt realize, ok I did realize, but at the time I didnt care, when I should have, that I was causing my childhood friend sickness. I wouldnt blame her if she never spoke to me again, yet oddly enough we still send each other comments via that horrible myspace. I know that we have spoken more on there than we did when we lived with each other. Im sorry that I caused so much shit, and that I am the main reason she was sick a lot. But if I could take it all back I wouldnt; sure I would have found a way to keep my room cleaner and a way to vent the smoke away from her. But I had fun, and learned a lot. Maybe nothing really important, but it sure was a hell of a ride. And I had fun. The good times, the bad times. The laughter, the tears. ( 3 different girls in seprate rooms, all crying over different things, each hear a knock on the door. Then you hear a collective sniffel and each hopes it is one of their guy friends to help cheer them up.) Never knowing who (or what) you would find on the couch or in the floor in the morning. Or what they had been on the night befor. With the exception of Jill, we probably should have all died, but I am so thankful that nobody did. Ill also tell you this, after everyone left, I would have burned down that fucking house, even if it ment loosing all my shit. It would have been worth it. but I didnt and I know that I shouldnt have. Because I somehow would have been caught, but enough of that right now. I'll finish this later.
As I lay there hoping for someone to save me, knowing that no one was, the man in the red shirt and blue apron lifted his hand to show me the scalpel and then draw my eye to the kink in the otherwise sharp edge as if to say "this… this is what will hurt the most" I couldn't see his mouth through the mask but his eyes gleamed with a smile... a smile like a man who just got his every dream come true and was now going to finally have the exquisite release of years of holding back the desires like a man in his final moments of restrained orgasm, when he can wait no longer... the eyes told me that he was not insane in the “I don't know what I am doing” way, but that he had waited all his life for the chance to do this one thing and that he loved me for the opportunity as though I allowed him... with one last look at me he turned to my exposed chest, which was out of my sight and I only know it was bare from the cool breath of air and the hot lamps glaring down on it,... he pulled the bottom of the blue rubber glove in his right hand and lowered the tool of my unstoppable fear to my body and began to cut... the blade ran along my rib not deep but cutting a groove into my bone with that kink ripping flesh as the edge poured into me... the sound was like dragging a metal wire on concrete and pulling watermelon from the rind with your fingers and the pain... the pain wasn’t their... nothing... I knew what he was doing but suddenly realized I couldn't feel any of it... I began to panic as though I did feel it... not as a clever ruse but out of shock... he was ripping my chest open in strips cutting bone with reckless abandon and none of it was hurting... I know it should be killing me… should be more pain than anything else in the world could be but nothing... I began to cry... then for the first time... I realized... I hadn't made a sound... I couldn't scream... I couldn't really even breathe right... my mind raced what is happening... then I could see in his eyes the type of wild-eyed pleasure that comes with the actions of a little child finally big enough to climb the cabinets and get both the cookie jar and the only lighter in the whole house.... I could suddenly see through his eyes... see myself scream,... see my tears,... see my pain,... and still hear nothing… not even the blade in my body or the bone being carved like a wooden sculpture... I saw I was not tied down I was not even restrained in the slightest... then I was suddenly jumping to my feet grabbing the scalpel and reaching for the throat of the horrible creature of a man to see nothing... nothing but a field of blue marigolds... the weed of a flower that I grew below the window of the home I lived in Oklahoma with the help of my grandmother… the flowers that grew to three times their size when I had planted them and always had a fondness of, especially due to the fact that my grandma had helped me to plant them in the first place... I had the scalpel still... but everything else was gone… the man… the lamp… the table… I looked down in a quick panic and saw that my chest was healed but that there was a hideous scar as though it had all happened years ago and that I had survived somehow... then it started to reopen... as though it was healing in reverse slowly peeling back and exposing the bloody bone and muscle and pouring streams of steaming blood down my body and onto the blue flowers.... as I looked down, the flowers closest to me began to turn a beautiful purple as the blood seeped into them... and before my eyes the whole field began to pulse with the vibrant purple as though all the flowers were connected and infected by my blood in the same way as the first... as I stared scared and convulsed at the field it faded away and I opened my eyes calmly and with no problems or fears as to where I am… I awoke in my room looking at the basement walls… I was in my bed… asleep next to me was my lover… and even more calmly still, I rolled over and when back to sleep... it was just another of a million dreams that have plagued me throughout the night and have caused themselves to just be a bad dream, and not the "wake up screaming" thing that most would never forget.... in two days I wouldn’t even know it happened if not for the written memory I send to you now...
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