Beauty · Was · The · Savage · Garden

Lunchtime again at ye olde education pit of hell. The one thing that turns hell into something worse: Valentines Day. Bah Humbug if you ask me. My sister came down the stairs this morning decked out in bright pink and red and hugged the life out of me. (Mind you, she's bigger than I am even though she's younger.) So she let me go and went "Oy, Ayla...how come you aren't wearing red or pink or white? Black isn't a good colour for Valentines Day!" I told her I was completely ignoring the actual holiday for lovers, but I was celebrating the anniversery of the St. Valentine's Massacre in Chicago.
Anyway...back to this dismal hell hole. I am counting down the days. Two bloody days and I won't have to walk those these doors again until March 6th. Thats almost a fucking month to myself which is brilliant. I cannot wait to get away from this place.
Of course, the seniors have been selling balloons all week. Walking in this morning, all one could see was blinding clashes of pink and red hanging off the hinges of the locker. Not to mention almost everyone is decked out clothing wise. Honestly, its like all you see is pink polo shirts on the girls AND guys. Gah. Why...I mean damn, I couldn't tell them all apart as it was.
Who ever heard of creating a holiday for lovers? I mean if you're going to do that, you might as well create a holiday about jamming shards of class through your eyes. Oh, but I've got Valentine's Day spirit, you know. See? Here's the red on my shirt...dripping down...staining through...sure I had to use a bullet to get the red...but I've got spirit. Red on white...what a beautiful thing. Love lives through blood stains on white lace, you know. Ah...there I go again. Pointless Rambling. Sadistic...if I might add. So I've got some homicidal tendencies...sue me. Actually...cupid is supposed to carry arrows, isn't he? Oh won't he be suprised when he finds out his arrows have been replaced with bullets, and his bow with a gleaming revolver. Poisoning the arrows was just way too cliche, darling. Nothing like a good shot to the heart.
Ayla

Sitting here...on the floor by locker at break. Headphones on loud, envy on louder. These people...yes I'm watching every single one of them as they cavort about the hallways, occationally tripping over me and muttering muffled "IDidntSeeYouThereSorry"'s. Sometimes not even that. Well of course not. No one is meant to see me here. Especially the dean who occationally pokes his head out of his glass office. Listening to two girls now babble on about how they couldn't find their socks this morning, how their cars yell at them and start panicing everytime they start them, and how they escape hell at school only to come home to hell. At this point I feel like yelling out at them "Honey, you know no hell. Hell is something beyond your wildest conceptions. I live in hell. You just give it time sweetheart...you'll know true hell in time".
But I don't...I stay quiet. And yet again my thoughts have strayed off topic. Right now, I'm angry that my laptop's tab key is fucked up so now I can't indent properly. Gah...why must I be such a grammar nazi. Anyway...onto class.
Wait...nevermind dear readers it appears I will have more time with you than I expected. Keedy gave a free period for everyone that finished with their cumulative test on Buddhism. Raised Wiccan, the concepts are fairly similar especially pertaining to enlightenment and reincarnation. Just as long as we don't have to read the Bagdhava-Gita again. I swear I have never read a more repetative text. Just one huge conversation between Krishna and Algernon (thats not his real name in the text but thats what it sounds like to me so I'll go with it) about war and getting to Nirvana. Gah. Boring. I admire Gandhi...the fact he could stay awake to memorize that text amazes me.
Lets see...what else did I do today. Fell asleep in Physics. Notecards in english. Researched PETA in history. Oh stop for a minute, now. I have a question. Why must my history teacher be so obsessed with ethics in every way shape and form??? Darling, I know history. I was there for it. This class that calls itself "world history 2 honors" is another name for "I'll call it history but its really hardcore ethics". Gah again.
Oh yes...something interesting is happening today. On one hand I am positively euphoric about not having to sit through french and geometry today. On the other, I'm getting dragged to some fucking psycho lunatic child psycologist that thinks I'm a disturbed child that needs guidance. I swear, if I have one more adult try to communicate to me like I'm six years old I'll fucking blow their brains out. *Ahem* Excuse me for a moment my dearest readers...my homicidal tendancies get the better of me at times. Anyway, this doctor. She just got her license back. From what, you ask? Why, from popping the pills she perscribed. (Try saying that 5x fast) But of course, she is the only child psycologist in the state of Maryland. Why does that not suprise me. God bless America indeed, you fucking retards.
I really should be studying for my sociology exam on Saturday. Studied last night for two hours on it. The words I wrote on my study guide are each about the size of the pieces of lead in my pencil. Gah. Here comes RonJon. Honestly...I have never met such an English nazi. So why the hell does he like me? Why is it all of the crappy english teachers like me? And yet my French teacher still decides to pronounce my name the wrong way out of spite for me.
Good lord...I am absolutely concieted. I just realized how much so. Me, me, me, me, me...my dear readers, why did you not speak up? Why did you not tell me I am an incoherant fool blabbering on about nonsense? Bah...of course you wouldn't. You're too polite. As much that is expected of you of course.
Moving on. Aye, this blog is going to be a long one because I really had a craving to write at least some form of wording that didn't have anything to do with completeing assignments in any way, shape or form. Quite simply, I am sick to death of book work and essays and exams and I wish they would all burn, die, and/or get hit by a bus.
Ah yes. There is the brilliant couple now. Sweetheart, don't think that no one sees you creeping your hand up her skirt in the back of the library. Don't think that no one hears you whispering in her ear. Don't think that no one sees your hands inching up under her shirt...like you did with me.
Gah. Must put that out of my mind. There are times for stupidity...everyone has had them. My trust for all American boys left with the last instant message I got from that one. Private school mating season. Pfft. Whens hunting season so I can ready my gun. I remember my first encounter with private school couples in 7th grade. I remember my first middle school party where there were two sets of feet in the stall next to mine in the girls' bathroom. I remember my only high school party where there was a threesome on the couch right in front of me under a cheap blanket. I remember last year, skipping around the bathroom stalls marked with 'I FUCKED _______ IN THIS STALL' Oh Americans. Sex Sex Sex. For god's sake...thats all this country is about anywhere. And I see it everywhere. It is the taboo that everyone can never get enough of.
Reminds me of what set off my little outburst the other night. But I'll save that rant for another time that it doesn't stick to my stomach. For now, its lunchtime and I've waisted a perfectly good study hall writing nonsense to myself.
On a sidenote...I miss the person I love terribly. More than anything. Thinking about him constantly...how much I long to speak to him again...I hope he is alright from the other night. I don't think I could take seeing him in the pain that any person put him in. I'd rip their throats out if I had the chance.
Onto lunch...I've got some people-watching to do.

Oh dear god please...let his feelings rest. Let his mind be at ease. He knows so much...yet struggles with his guilt of living. He is so passionate in his sadness. And yet I wish I was there kissing his tears away as they creep down his beautiful face. Please...let him be alright...let him see we are alright. Let him see how much I love him.

Here it is again. That pain that quickens the adrenaline in my blood. That pain that never seems to cease, never seems to fade away even with these changing times. Oh no but I don't change. Dear, dear Ayla. Times have gone and past and you have missed the boat, my dear. Or space shuttle if you have any bastard chance of keeping up. Mirror time. Follow the movements of the era. Left. Right. Left. Down. Up. Left. Up. Up. Up. Slam. Ah, it appears you have lost. Better luck next century.
God...give me some sign that I can change. This mirror isn't giving me any answers...too drunk on depressed vanity and dreams that are yellowed like the lace lining my antique gloves. Then Ayla what do you want to see? What do you expect to see? Hmmm? Someone else looking back at you through eyes of pale nothingness? Mirror mirror on the wall...who is the most empty of them all? Be it brandy be it blood that doth bring memory floods. Keep your soul locked in tight, lest you have it stole'n from your grave tonight.
Oh be someone else. Please. I can't take whatever lies beneath my skin. I've made a face. A harlequin now posesses my face...my eyes...my skin burning bright white with tinges of pain mottled with tears.
No dear readers. I will not have you see me like this...whatever I am. Go and do your bidding somewhere else now. Pray you find your way in light and darkness, and in a hall of mirrors where I have lost mine.
Ayla

I found him. I know its him. That one I've been dreaming about for years. One that will never know exaclty how much I wished on every star on the sky for him. And I found him. Distance...won't be a problem for me. I know he's alive...and we can be together soon and that is all that matters. And by god...how I love him.

So I'm a few hundred years old with a slight memory lapse...all right I've give that to you, my damnable ones. Yes, you heard me, I admit it. I've been around for one hell of a long time and yes, it was entertaining while it lasted. But this is getting old quickly, quite literally. The times change so damn fast. This world is just a painful concrete reverie of what it used to be. Hell, I may as well be put in a museum where nothing ages. People of the new eras come to gawk and gape at what I have known and loved in my times here. The world moves way too quickly for my aesthetics's taste. And that hastened speed brings this bastard of an era. These new digital devices and wireless communiction systems would have dropped the arses off the people of my time. Oh dear Ayla, here you go again. My time...Ayla's time...for those of who who are not familiar with the times past, particularly the reign of the 18th and 19th's centuries, I'll enlighten you my dears.
There are three things you need to know. 1.The trend of the century was to cavort about socially, displaying such luxuries as silks, laces, and high heels that threatened your relationship with gravity. And that was just the men. 2. We had no technology. I know a few individuals who would be turning in their graves about now for this. No technology. This included the complete nonexistence of septic systems and water purification devices. I'll let you make the disturbing connections. 3. Your main purpose in life if you were born a male was to be educated in the humanistic values derived from the ancient Greeks and Romans. Things became more strict with the turn of the 18th that led into the Victorian era and things became more focused on society. If you were a woman the main thing to remember was to sit and look pretty. If you encountered a rich man, time to bed and wed my dears. Sometimes even in that order.
Bah there goes my summary of the time past. It doesn't matter anymore of course. There are no more revolutions of glory, there are no more steps paved in the blood of martyrs and saints. The most beautiful of chinese silks and laces that once adorned gowns are only now found moth eaten behind glass casings of exhibits for the modern person's pleasure. How I long to see those skirts once more sweep across a oak floor in a minuet at the favour of some rich governor. Never again. How it pains me...these people are no longer mine. Their beauty and favour diminishes in them with each passing day. What I wouldn't give for an old fashioned beauty...
Stop Ayla. This isn't putting you in a good mood at all. As much as it tears you apart, accept it. Sit on your sepulcher in the rain and observe the times. But don't speak. Whatever you do...don't speak.


Ayla

Ayla, ayla...where has your muse gone? That damnable thing. Never here when I need it anymore. Aspirin has become the light of getting through the day. There exists nothing beyond the reaches of the seven hour period in which I am stolen away by obligation. My only life, though I have not loved...such a pestilence on my mind. I don't even know the given. Oh life, Oh leisure. Tortured artists never felt the arrow to their hearts. Dear dear Shakespeare...how did you ever manage your time? Oh the time of romance is over. Gone, Fin, Adieu...dear love...how I do ask you to fill my mind of sonnets and sorrows. Such a writer never suffered a block of the quill than this.

Ayla