Lets cry it out

Another year, a lot of lonely days. Some in the most loving company there is. Miri held my hands in Camden a couple of nights a go J D Salinger died this year ya know. We drank mai tais until our vision was blurry enough, and then we loved each other a little bit more. Sisters by heart, connected through sorrow and guilt. We know the secret, we just cant deal with it. We dont know how to handle it. We're no good at protecting the light (We always seem to blow it out)

Father figure Frank wrote a letter, the second one Ive received during these nineteen years.

He promises that 2011 will be different 1) I'll talk to Belle 2) I wont leave if you ask me not to

I promise that 2011 will be a year when I 1) Start drinking earlier in the morning 2) Write letters, long ones. Let me know if you want one darlings.

J D Salinger died this year. But we'll always have catcher in the rye.

Unite and take over

Christmas was awful.

I didnt plan on going, but when the dark night hit the city I felt lonelier than ever and I ended up attending Amanda's party. My hair worn as a veil, covering my pale skin with white strings. I used to have freckles but they have faded during the last month. Much like everything else. December kills a lot of things.

One violent embrace later, A loves with intimidating strength, I poured two glasses of slightly heated plum wine down my sore troth. Ive been smoking to much, eating to little. Scanning the room filled with thin girls and boys wearing suits, but with striped tshirts under instead of shirts. Feathers on the floor, pearls and punch. Christmas orphans, unite!

When I woke up in the bathtub after a minute of unconsciousness (an hour?) all I could see was red spots. Dark red spots. My nose cant take this anymore. My body is old, and its starting to resent me. A called my driver, and when I finally got home I fell a sleep in the black corset that had taken me an hour to get on with a lit cigaret between my lips. Unfortunately it didn't end up burning down the apartment. Nor did it kill me. At least, not in an instant.

A timekill to die for

Last night I tried to poison myself, not the suicidal kind of poisoning but just enough to sleep throughout this whole day. I failed. Plum wine, methadone and demerol. A blood red haze. In my dreams, Frank kissed my forehead and sang to me ( did I ever tell you about his voice? Its the most soothing sound I know) She is the sad one I’m a clown, Charlie Chaplin, Eva Braun ,She learned to smile, I bought her friends, It was the beginning of the end and I think he sang about me. For me.

I woke up feeling lonelier than ever. Amanda had left a message on my cell. She knows I wont return the call. It has nothing to do with love, its just my phobia. Much like what Freud felt about women. Keep them away for they are the devil. The fact that I own an iphone is so ironiC I wont even get into it. There will be a party, or lets call it a charity event, for lonely young hearts at her apartment tonight. No gifts, no fucking food and no singing she said. "If you dont come, Ill have you killed"

She's serious.

I still cant really focus my eyes, and my mind resembles a Pollock right now. So I have to sleep some more if Im going to make the far walk to her place. Or maybe I should take some more. Depends on what kind of night I want.

Poison is for professionals. Im an amateur. Always have been.

( Id love for you to email me today, if you're bored : Belleinarms@googlemail.com)

Partial lobotomy

The excruciatingly silent morning after, he had slept on his stomach in a pathetic attempt not to get blood on the expensive sheets. I hadnt slept at all. Those nights when I do are rare.

Franks back, dried up drops saying bonjour . The same colour as my nails, signed Chanel.

With the kind of movement that resembled a very old woman, possibly half dead, I stumbled out of bed and sat down in the window. Treating the cigaret like a vail, taking comfort in the fact that white smoke is only half way transparent. As long as I was smoking, I could act as though the silent didnt bother me. He finished a glas of bourbon still half full from last night Belle dear, Im thinking about moving to LA, London is nothing but one of the nine stages of hell without you and your mother. That is when it hit me. The present perfect tense of last nights sentence -It was all going to be okay. He was; still eager to heal me. still in love. I was ; Agonizing. Loving him. Biting my nails until they were bleeding. Mixing it with his. We : No blood connection. Fiction. A bond beyond what meets the eye.

His wound undoubtedly has healed now.

I still cant sleep (Technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but it's on a par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing you'll miss)

Ages have passed since I last felt alive

Punch me I yelled, please punch me

His blood freckled my arm. I didnt mean to puncture his pale skin below the shoulders with my brooch,or at least I didnt think I would go that deep.

But he was sleeping so heavily ( heavenly) that I doubted he would even wake up. Unfortunately he did. This surprised me because the needle was so thin.

I just wanted to write my name on your skin I lied.

The look he gave me when those words were spoken is until this day still the gloomiest my eyes ever met. Then he gave me the most sincere embrace, stroke my hair carefully and told me "everything is okay. It will all be okay"

And I closed my eyes for a second, then I focused on la plaie invisible that I had given him, and the suprisingly amounts of blood coming out of it.

Please hurt me I begged

Abandon all hope ye who enters here

Where're you going?

I ran through rows of well dressed people. Chinawhite doesn't even have a sign, its so pretentious I couldnt stand it. I left A there, she handles those situations well but I panic. I always panic.

An hour maybe two before I left, a model offered me some escape and then she peed while I was still in the booth. Models are horrible people. Model citizens. The ones who will all save us someday.

God loves the beautiful ones.

Two drops of blood from my nose landed in the champagne, I drank it all - thirsty for something real. Something human.

Someone knocked and pulled the door handle . We'd been in there for ever. The model and I. When I first kissed her she pulled away, then she laughed - took a deep breath, a snow white inhalation. Then she she said ; Do you know someone, like really know someone? Inside out, get them completely? Cause I dont think we ever really will.

Its just dust.Peter Pan didn't want to grow up. You can even walk on it. Fly above it. It kills every sound around you if you want it to, creates a layer of innocence on top of everything you see. Its a brand new start, it covers the filth. Its snow. And the winter is much like the truth ; cold and awful but beautiful from the outside looking in.

If you cant beat them (join them?)

I was ten, it was four days until christmas and I was in London. Boarding schools does not accept minors to spend the holidays in their premises without parental approval. No matter how much I begged.

Trying to read Rules of attraction, falling in love with Sean Bateman. In the dining hall- laughter climbs the walls, mothers voice clear and oh so loud and then he proposed. Can you imagine. Dear lord, I can not cope. Such a sad old man he is. Ten, or maybe even twelve different laughs joined hers.

Mockery, one of her many talents.

Tea parties, one of her many excuses to avoid me (out of sight, outof mind)

They didnt drink tea, and their gossip wasnt suitable for my sensitive ears. I wasnt allowed to leave my room until they all had left. That didnt spare my soul. I could smell them, hear them far to clearly. Pearls and Chanel dresses. Gin on the rocks served in tea cups, scones and cigarettes.

Air is overrated

A paper bag does not

ASPHYXIATE

you.But when wore for several hours as a mask, you do get slightly lightheaded.