...gah...

My head is twisted round itself again.

Everything has been so screwy lately, it's finally starting to take its toll on me. Driving this evening to my father's house was a practice in desperately concentrating on the road and trying not to sob.

There's scratching at the walls again. I can hear you there.

I'm asked a simple and understandable request, my stupid paranoid head blows it out of proportion. I read someone's LJ entry about a case of horrid and sickening animal abuse court trial, and I'm left shaking and ill to the point of break down. I need to make more than two trips while out running errands and I growl to myself. Driving down the road, I convinced myself that I actually hit somebody and just kept going. I had to restrain myself from turning back to check. I also convinced myself that someone specific is reading this, just so they can find out what I'm doing so they can steal it.

Don't ask.

Do. Not. Ask.

And I know /you/ are reading this and laughing at me. You are, yes you. You sick fuck. Why don't you ever shut the fuck up? You never do. and it's all I can do to not shove a screwdriver through my ear to make it all go quiet again.

It's been so long since it's been quiet. I want that back again.

Back again, by candlelight. To Babylon, we go.

A short, sharp blow to the nape of the neck.

Donnie Darko

okay okay okay

The movie, Donnie Darko. They're telling me to write about this.

There's a boy, who has issues. He rides his bike and walks around at night a lot. One night, in the wee hours, he falls asleep and meets a giant bunny rabbit named Frank. The next morning, a plane loses it's jet engine onto his house. In his room, it fell. If he'd been in bed, it would have killed him.

Frank is a figment of his imagination. Frank exists only in his own shifting plane. There are so many planes that people just can't see, no matter how they try to open their eyes. And I'm not talking about the planes in the sky that go vrrrrooom and shake during take off and land on people's beds in the middle of the night, you numb fuck. I'm talking about the planes of existence. Home on the range.

The movie stretches and twists and turns and I sat transfixed, watching it all. This happened many weeks ago, mind. Many weeks ago and it's still stuck inside me. The most beautiful piece I've ever seen.

If I stretch up on my toes, I think I can brush the ceiling with my fingers. Somehow, as short as I am, I doubt this would actually happen if I did it.

Frank tells Donnie to do things, despite the fact that Frank is actually a very nice person. Inside. I wonder what goes through his own head, the real head. Not the bunny one.

See, it's like a storm window. Two panes of glass with an empty space in between. You look through the window and see only the other side, the space on the other side of the glass. But, there's a place in between. It looks like there's nothing there, but in actuality there is. It's an entirely new area of thought.

Two worlds, just right there. The one outside the glass. And the one in. However, if you looked at from the point of view of the person between the glass, there's actually three. The one in, and then one on either side of you. Because it's not like a mirror with only one static view. Both sides have something different in them.

A big enough crack in this window and you can see into the middle bits. An even bigger crack and you could probably find some way of getting through the crack to the place in the center, or even to the other side. Depending on big the window was, how big the crack in the glass, and the absolute necessity of being there before someone takes the whole damn window out and has it fixed. Maybe even replaced with shatterproof glass.

But, yes. You can go through the crack and possibly see what there is to see in the areas that you normally can't see.

It comes down to the question of: how do you find the crack?

It takes very special eyes.

I just deleted a sentence. Someone isn't pleased with that.