Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
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Sixteenth Entry. Blood Roses 02-16-2003 | 2:48 p.m.
Tori Amos Blood Roses Blood Roses Back on the street now can't forget the things you never said on days like these gets me thinking when chickens get a taste of your meat chickens get a taste of your meat you gave him your blood and your warm little diamond he likes killing you after you're dead you think I'm a queer I think you're a queer I think you're a queer Said I think you're a queer and I shaved every place where you been I shaved every place where you been God knows I know I've thrown away those graces the Bell of New Orleans tried to show me once how to tango wrapped around your feet wrapped around like good little roses Blood Roses Blood Roses back on the street now now you've cut out the flute from the throat of the loon at least when you cry now he can't even hear you when chickens get a taste of your meat when he sucks you deep sometimes you're nothing but meat I cut open my flesh last night, as promised. It took me only a few moments to figure out what I wanted to draw. I'm not sure if I decided before or after I started up BOYS FOR PELE but I know that by the time "Blood Roses" was starting up, I was already carving. I drew a rose. I didn't cut too deep, I decided to stick to the surface because I feel it better that way It hurts more and it's a whole lot more irritating later on. I cut each slice so many times though, that I stopped producing blood and only the clear liquid of white blood cells would leak from the wound. I did a good job, if I say so myself. And I do. I wiped the blood on a sheet of paper that was on my nightstand. I didn't smear, just blotted.. I have a whole bouquet of blood roses now. Plus the one I carved. I forgot, though, that I wanted to be cautious and did it on the under side of my forearm. I'm a little agitated with myself about that, because now in this beautiful weather I'll have to wear long sleeve shirts. Oh well. I'm going to wait till tomorrow to advance the cut. It'll scab up today and I'll pick at it and hopefully get it infected. Then, tomorrow, I'll trace the cut and make it deeper. So on and so forth for about two weeks and the scar should last at least one year-my skin heals scars very well, a lot of my artwork has faded so that even I can't tell it's there anymore. Anyway, I think I'm going to go talk to some morons. Get myself pissed off and lose a little more faith in the human race. Then I'll be set for the day and it'll be a blast. Maybe even walk through the woods in my backyard later. Lots of briars, yum!
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