Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in razorsaregood's LiveJournal:

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Sunday, May 23rd, 2004
7:06 pm	if there is one person you can't stop thinking about, post this same exact sentence in your journal
1pose like a fashion corpse| & shed your denim skin, my love
Thursday, May 6th, 2004
8:46 pm	What Angelina Jolie quote are you? by Belenen username: your quote: I wish I could find people who just would fight me and break through to me and hold me down and scream their life into my face. Created with the ORIGINAL MemeGen!
& shed your denim skin, my love
Thursday, April 29th, 2004
7:33 pm	your dead things are locked up inside; I hate signing yearbooks. I mean, what am I supposed to write? I miss you? I'll see you soon? Call me? LIES! Life seems somewhat constant for once. When I am busy, I lack the time to obsess over depressing myself. Current Mood: alright.
& shed your denim skin, my love
Wednesday, April 28th, 2004
9:24 pm	We thought of you with love today, But that is nothing new. We thought about you yesterday, And the days before that, too. We think of you in silence. We often speak your name. Now all we have is memories, And your picture in a frame. Your memory is our keepsake, With which we'll never part. God has you in His Keeping. We have you in our Heart..... *I love you Grandma*
& shed your denim skin, my love
Wednesday, April 14th, 2004
8:08 pm	love hurts.. it's also the most wonderful feeling i've ever gotten to feel..
1pose like a fashion corpse| & shed your denim skin, my love
Thursday, January 8th, 2004
2:59 pm	THIS IS FRIENDS ONLY NOW If you want to be added, leave me a message. and ill add you
10pose like a fashion corpse| & shed your denim skin, my love
Tuesday, December 30th, 2003
2:55 pm	tranquillity around the shelves; Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. So what? What is there to expect of the upcoming year, what is there to hope for? If I hope for nothing, I am still hoping. There is no effort anymore. It is useless. There is a show at PromoWest tomorrow and although just 3 weeks ago someone told me they would take me, the human instinct to back down was still intact. I am not sure why I try to communicate with people verbally and non-verbally, I am not sure whether it is my monotonous attitude, or the fact that for me everyone else is whatever is external. The others return to their homes, and I retreat to my non-home: a notebook and a bed to undress my bones on. But I genuinely love all this, perhaps because I have nothing else to love and maybe because nothing is worth a human soul's love. All of Tragedy passes me, and none of this means anything to me. It's foreign to me and to fate as well.
& shed your denim skin, my love
Monday, December 29th, 2003
7:51 pm	deplorable conditions; I have decided to forgive people, I know this is a quite discreet way of putting it, but it is the best I can do right now. I woke up at five a.m. this morning with this insatiable thirst. I drank water until it brought a sickness upon me and then returned to bed. The solitude in sleeping alone, awaking alone-- going back alone. I couldn't sleep again. I don't know why it gets so bright so early. At 6:45 the sun has already risen and the cotton candy pinks already scatter the sky here and there. I felt an immense satisfaction toward life; a vicarious change for my detest. I know, by analogy, what it means to forgive. I know it through my sensations, and not through anything else. The reasons I pardon [now] is because of my recent accepted realisation: that most people are pathetically inable to generate discretions. This is the offhand vestige of my temporarily vanished mania. Current Mood: relaxed
& shed your denim skin, my love
Sunday, December 28th, 2003
2:15 pm	horror & nonexistence; Antipathy? Is that what I feel toward life? I am afraid to ask myself these questions. In fact, I am terrified. Afraid because I must ask myself these questions, and terrified because I can come up with no answer. Last night I found my old notebooks, yes, notebooks because at certain points in my life, my hands were able to comprehend why paper and pen go hand in hand. And when I reread those pages on which I write with such a lucidity that endures only in them, I ask myself: What is all this, and what good is it? What am I when I feel? What in me dies when I am? In these times when an abyss opens up in my soul, the most insignificant detail overwhelms me like a dream. I feel as if I am always on the verge of waking up. So I reread those pages that only represent worthless hours, brief illusions and moments of calm. We all have our vanity, & that vanity itself is our way of forgetting that there is another existence somewhere with a soul like our own. My vanity consists of a few pages, passages, doubts.. Nothing more. This is not who I am, but this is my dream. When I awake I am once again infected with an overwhelming sadness. I would like to say that all of this makes me want to laugh at myself, but I feel a profound anxiety. I feel that deep sickness in my soul. I don't have the strength to stop this absurdity from disclosure. I am not in love. I don't love anymore. Whenever I have loved, I have lied. I have a fear that has always been present in my blood. So I feel like fleeting. Fleeting from what I think I know, fleeting from what I feel is mine, fleeting from what I "love." For the first time in my life, there isn't one person in the world I want to be in a relationship with. [Almost.] I detest.
& shed your denim skin, my love
Saturday, December 27th, 2003
1:47 pm	she gathered the corners & called it her gown; So it's come to where I almost renounce myself as an inconvenient vanity, which comes as a fatality to my almost human existence. I suffer. But I suffer mainly from the human disorder to suffer; that malady throbbing through each of our veins but seems to excessively be present in mine. I am missing something I don't really want, & I suffer because this isn't true suffering. The lassitude and nausea, & the agonizing desire of being only conscious of myself on the days when the pain of being conscious is. I live in a fake world. I admit it every once in a while, but only as a reminder for myself. But in creating my fictitious world I have forgotten the most crucial part-- to know to have no illusions. And after I reread this, which I know I will because I often do, I will probably be able to realise I pose a threat to my own nervous equilibrium, with my words just as cold as the bones piling in my body & my fingertips. This is raw.
& shed your denim skin, my love
Wednesday, December 24th, 2003
1:15 pm	At night I drink myself to sleep & pretend I don't care if you're not here with me; What am I doing here? My bitch-of-an-ex has still failed to let me breathe. You know, the usual, he resurfaces to pull me back down every 2-3 weeks or so. I am in love with not loving him. Lately, my life has purely consisted of cynicism and alcohol. I have been putting off priorities for some simplicity, and I've been fucking up, but I've managed to skip the parts where I should care. Current Mood: awake
& shed your denim skin, my love
Monday, December 22nd, 2003
12:53 pm	There's a splinter in your eye and it reads "REACT"; I got stuck on some highway for half an hour, I don't know, something went wrong with the car. Something's going wrong with everything, I'm afraid. Such an apprentice at practical living. Today I did one of the only things I actually enjoy doing, and I fucking hated it. I hated every minute of it. My head wouldn't stop spinning, the further I drove, the worse it all got. I couldn't accommodate myself to do anything. I know this feeling all too well. It brings me back to May. & May is for machines. Bring me back. Everyone wants to be this profound fuck. I'll teach you profound. Current Mood: angry
& shed your denim skin, my love
Saturday, December 20th, 2003
10:14 pm	I am sick. My sadness clings to me & I am alone, alone! I breathe and I suffocate myself, I hold a cheap plastic bag over my own head & tighten it. No one asks to help me. & I can't do this right. When I asked to be left alone, I didn't mean, like, now, like, this. Current Mood: depressed
& shed your denim skin, my love
Friday, December 19th, 2003
1:16 pm	[?] The little hearts you painted on everything Remained, like the track of your panic. The splashes of a wound. Current Mood: who knows Current Music: the strong - lifelong tragedy
& shed your denim skin, my love
Wednesday, December 17th, 2003
1:10 pm	Who am I, and who am I not, when I do not know what I am to begin with? I don't understand. School is beginning to ravage the majourity of my mind and I am driven to inane extremes. I always fall apart toward the end. I feel like a pink pill sitting on the tongues of small children who are too afraid to swallow. They spit me out just like life does. Current Mood: empty
& shed your denim skin, my love
Tuesday, December 16th, 2003
2:59 pm	Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, don't get caught; Point your fingers, I'm your walking accusation. I don't mind at all. I have served very severe, perverse mental breakdowns every other night. A new day is a new hangover. I can't keep running with an iron ball of agitation tied around my leg. I am sick and you are fucking obstinate. Stop!
& shed your denim skin, my love
Monday, December 15th, 2003
11:08 am	dear journal, everyone is a backstabber & i'm tired of listening to sad music. please make them stop hurting me. i just can't handle this anymore, i swear. why do they hurt me? love, jen Current Mood: numb Current Music: phish
& shed your denim skin, my love
Thursday, December 11th, 2003
10:30 pm	with your false smile & your mermaid songs; I am sick of people. No, you don't understand to the degree that I mean this. You cannot even grasp. I am sick of meeting frantic fucks, befriending frantic fucks, and writing these kinds of entries about frantic fucks. I apologise for my lack of better wording. I apologise for things I should apologise for, but I cannot say what they are [right now.] You have too much anxiety and adrenaline in your veins and not enough gut.
& shed your denim skin, my love
Monday, December 1st, 2003
2:43 pm	i hate you, december; I fell asleep on him on the way home, I'm not sure if I was really tired or if I just wanted to sleep, but I had enough of something to bring on a slumber. I hate it how he thinks of me as brittle. He leans on me but he doesn't really lean. He is suspended-- restrained in a position that seems like leaning, but he's barely touching me. He's so careful. I had an awful sleep. & I have a hunger for something I have no name for. Current Mood: tired
& shed your denim skin, my love
Saturday, November 29th, 2003
5:37 pm	heart spoke heart broke but what the fuck is that? heart has only silly things to do to say. the heart is an ear a wig. and yes, yes, yes, a fist. the heart is no bigger than that. than this.
& shed your denim skin, my love