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Thursday, November 16th, 2006
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6:32 pm - rape/bondage art
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| Friday, November 3rd, 2006
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2:59 pm
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A Detailed Death of Romeo and Juliet
By Odette Veil
Essay #2: The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet
By: O. Theodosia Veil [Kayla Blume]
There is a truth to death that is often explored throughout life through images and rumors inspired by fear and desire, but can only be discovered through dying. After all, death has been described as a lack of life. Sometimes death is described as the gain of an eternity – but an eternity of what exactly? Romeo and Juliet know. Tonight I share with you the tragic truth of Romeo and Juliet, two teenage lovers who die young in togetherness. Romeo and Juliet know of death.
Romeo observed his love lying still as a corpse upon the cold stone table clothed with nothing more than a simply white sheet. She was a corpse. As sorrowful as it had seemed, Juliet was dead. Her skin, now pale as a ghost, was dry and cold beneath her gown of various shades of red and orange wrapped tightly around her arms and breasts flowed down to her ankles. The silver circlet leaning gently above her brow would never sparkle again, as long as her eyes remained closed. Her hand lay wilted and lifeless in one hand, while his other hand traveled along her chest, veins throbbing with fury and sorrow over his lover’s heart which no longer held a single beat. Slowly he sank to the floor, damp with the heat that seemed to suffocate him now, and mourned over the great loss.
It was then his mind snapped and the mysterious voices in his head reminded him that without Juliet, he had no life. You are a body with no soul. The aching throughout your spine will follow you for the rest of your miserable life because you have no more desire to heal it. You will live in pain and regret until the day you DIE! You will hurt. You will hurt. You will hurt! You will hurt!
Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt…
It was unbearable this dreadful, horrible, disgusting life and its vile people. Oh God, how could you kill one so innocent and so beautiful? It ached within Romeo, not only his heart but his mind as well, which had been taken by swarms of unforgiving thoughts that hammered like nails against grey matter, with intentions to hurt and drip through his face and his eyes and his mouth uncontrollably. Trembling, Romeo rose to kiss his poor, deceased Juliet on her thin teenage lips one last time, then on her eye lids, and then her cheeks, then her neck, then her left arm. Then he sunk to the floor one last time. Gently he reached down into a young leather pouch attached to the belt lying loosely around his waist, and brought up a tiny vial of some liquid which could’ve been clear as water if only it weren’t tinted with a dullish red. With a fear glistening so strangely around his eyes, he took the vial to his lips and sipped it slowly. Almost immediately the poison began to burn through his mouth, his throat, and down to his guts. Romeo screamed in agony realizing that the pain he felt now hurt worse than the hatred he’d felt for life at the sight of his lover. Still, though blood began to seep onto his tongue and trickled down his chin, and such a horror that was, he had no regret about the harm he had inflicted upon himself. It was almost fortunate that the pain distracted him from his Juliet, and soon he laid on the floor thinking about nothing at all. He was dead, just like Juliet…
Or so you would’ve assumed.
A few hours later or perhaps a few days, Juliet opened her eyes to the dark ceiling built of stone and wood, arched a few feet directly above her head. She studied the ceiling quietly with pleasure, knowing that the sun was shining outside and that somewhere outside of these stone walls, maybe just feet or maybe a few miles, her Romeo waited for her knowing well of the trick death she was playing. Juliet sat up and stretched her corpse and yawned gracefully. Then she turned and took a step down onto the ground and found it to be soft and flexible under the flat heel of her slipper. With horror she gasped, realizing it was a person! Juliet hurried to the floor and turned the stranger onto his back. It was Romeo; though, in her horrors, she refused to believe it was him. With short shallow breaths she scurried on all fours, desperate to get away from the dead man. She cried as she became tangled in the skirt of her flowing gown and fell face first to the ground. She lay there with her face buried against her palms and sobbed loudly, occasionally digging her nails into her forehead with fury. That damned dim-witted man had failed to deliver the important message to Romeo and here laid the fatal price to pay.
Her mind snapped: it is with all good intentions I suggest that you kill yourself. Life is nothing without Romeo because Romeo was in fact your life. Don’t live your life in hurt!
Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt…
She faced her dead Romeo and stared at him, pausing her sobbing for a long moment in which she sniffed at the tears crawling down around her nose and watched his face in her desperate desire to see him alive again. Juliet crawled to him tearing the orange skirt of her dress at the knees, and placed her hands gently against her lover’s face. She placed his head carefully on her lap and stroked his hair which had been partially swollen with sweat and tears.
Juliet was calm when she died. She was in such bliss.
Juliet kissed Romeo’s dry flakey lips and slid her tongue around in hunger for more poison for the remaining drop that had been left in the vial was only enough to burn away Juliet’s sense of taste. When she realized that there’d never be enough poison in the world to drink, Juliet took Romeo’s only dagger from his belt and violently tore her dress open with its blade.
Her mind shattered!
Juliet giggled as she scratched her skin with the dagger’s tip. Her little giggles carried on for rather damp, sweaty moments, in which her eyes darted from corner to corner of the room, spying vague hallucinations here and there. At some point Juliet tilted her head back and laughed loudly sliding the dagger into her stomach with an unsteady yet precise thrust. She screamed. The high-pitch feminine shriek echoed loudly throughout the room. She looked down to find blood slithering down her body and beneath her lovers head, and she was convinced the blood was not hers but Romeo’s instead. And then she collapsed.
It was then existence disappeared. Juliet lay there in the darkness unaware of light and motion and love and sadness and Romeo. She knew nothing but the blankness that consumed her with consent. Juliet was dead. She didn’t even know it.
The room was silent then; so silent that the ant that had gathered at the edge of Juliet’s blood and urine could be heard planning their own deaths and drowning. This room was filled with death, but outside the sun shone and the wind rolled through and over the field of weeds. A certain miles down the path of dirt and stones young children could be heard running about blindly and happily inhaling life as they understood it. They laughed and teased and played completely unaware of the truth out there.
There is a truth out there about death that can be suggested and explored throughout life, but one never really knows this truth without dying themselves.
© 2005 Odette Veil
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, October 11th, 2006
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10:17 am
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5:11 am - Tartan Asian Extreme
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Movies I want to see from Tartan Asian Extreme:
1. Abnormal Beauty - Oxide Pang Chun
2. The Heirloom - Leste Chen
3. A Tale of Two Sisters - Kim Jee-Woon
4. Marebito - Takeshi Shimizu
5. Memento Mori - Tae-Yong Kim
6. Ghost of Mae Nak - Mark Duffield
7. The Maid - Kelvin Tong
8. Phone - Byeong-ki Ahn
9. Pray - Yuchi Sato
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(comment on this)
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2:46 am - Skellramics.com
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| Friday, October 6th, 2006
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8:09 am - bad day
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well, my day started with an awfully pleasant nightmare I had in which I killed a young girl with a small chainsaw and screws. I slit her a bit in the tummy then screwed her to the floor where she bled to death. when I woke up I was hallucinating that the walls were shaking and bugs were crawling out. Because of my sad and scary state, I could not drive and missed my first class.
Then work began, and I did attend. My boss told me to clean her office. My boss is a dirty, sloppy, old pig who throws nothing away and doesn't even file the old shit properly and even brings in new things daily to clutter her office. I was frustrated with all the lizard dropping and roach sheddings and dust I had to clean without the help of a vacuum, duster, or broom: only paper towels which were of a cheap brand and useless. After a tiring attempt at cleaning everything before 2pm [when I get out], she had the nerve to ask if I had even started cleaning yet. grrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!
I intend to quit that job soon enough. hopefully at the end of the semester. I want a different job away from a low budget preschool.
current mood:  bitchy
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006
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7:34 pm - Egon Schiele
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7:01 pm - me
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this is my most recent picture, taken a few days ago. I actually feel a bit pretty in this one. I especially like my make up. That is a bit of a shame. I feel horribly unattractive and even ugly without my make up.
current mood: bouncy
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, October 1st, 2006
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3:16 pm - Seppuku
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( more )
Seppuku (Japanese: 切腹, "stomach-cutting" or "belly slicing") is a form of Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment. Seppuku is also known in English as hara-kiri (腹切り) and is written with the same kanji as seppuku but in reverse order with an okurigana. In Japanese, 'hara-kiri' is not in common usage, the term being regarded as gross and vulgar. The practice of committing seppuku at the death of one's master is known as oibara (追腹 or 追い腹) or junshi (殉死); the ritual is similar.
wikipedia
kyushu.com
victorian.fortunecity.com
Yukio Mishima (Kimitake Hiraoka) - Japanese writer
1970 --- suicide by disembowelment and decapitation (a ritual called seppuku or hara-kiri) as a protest of the Westernization of Japan. He killed himself in front of an assembly (which he himself called) of all of his students that he was teaching at a university at that time.
celebrity suicides
current mood: bouncy
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, September 29th, 2006
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3:19 pm - click. I get points this way
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9:39 am - Poetry: So Depressing
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So Depressing
By: Odette Veil
Why are modern teenage poets so
Awfully depressing? It is because
Poetry is how they go
On to cope with the rebel and
Bets with the devil
Who can cut the deepest and survive?
Who can hold their breath the longest under
Face to pillowcase
My Modern Generation
And Americas obession with armed
Security, Violence, and Impurity
Place it and you'll surely
Be a sin. It's a win!
Plus for your side and minus for the time
Why don't we tell our children
Why don't we tell them of the debts they will pay when
All of now is dead and gone?
Because the tragedy will strike them
As a cause and worth while suicide
And then they will die and no one will pay our debts for us
Just us.
Do not deny your part in tainting Earth's
Heart and Surface
And veins like a syringe laced with
Cigarette smoke and flesh-burning idols
I played my part in destruction, as well as you have
Be quiet for a little while
I want to offer you some good knowledge
I am brilliant! Though, not very book-smart
...
I'll continue later. right now, I gotta dash!
current mood: cranky
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, September 19th, 2006
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2:43 pm - morbid visions
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| Sunday, September 17th, 2006
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9:34 pm - Skull and Spear
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| Saturday, September 16th, 2006
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11:22 pm - eck.
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Right now, to be honest, I'm feeling rather frustrated with thangs down at the radio station I work at. Specificly with the hawaiian issues show. I'm trying to hold a civil and decent appearance, but the truth is: I would love to stab the fucking hawaiian radicals in the fucking face for laying so much responsibility on me claiming me to be minority because of the color of my skin and me having to represent the minority. I find that most of the 'minority' here is undeserving of my respect for they are often lazy, use horribly horribly broken english, treat other races so unfairly, and are all painfully over-weight.
I want to represent decent people of all types, regardless of their skin, religion, gender, age, etc. I feel it is horrible that that awful woman keeps fighting against white people. they have no specific intentions of hurting her! why does she have to be so radical and rude?
and then she says me and dustin need to form questions: I from a female point of view, and dustin from a male. the soul has no gender, why must she label it as so!
FUCKSHITFUCKSHITFUCKDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!!!!!!!!!
current mood: angry
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, September 5th, 2006
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6:29 pm - Mmm...
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11:57 am - An Entry of Violence
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This morning, though I woke up fine without remembering any details of a dream or watching disaster on the news, I felt very very unwell. I felt as if someone were in the house with me, a stranger or killer come to rape me and kill me and steal my treasures. At some point, the thought excited me as I could only imagine turning the tables on him: becoming the killer and fetishist, and he the victim.
Steps of Torture:
1. there was a hammer in my room, and from where I was sitting it was in arms length. hold it backwards so that the pointed part of the hammer's head, the part made with intentions of removing nails from boards, faces the victim and bring it down onto the victim's head or shoulder. Keep the first strike quick but hard to force his focus onto his pain while you hit him again with harder whacks. Do not aim to kill: aim at the chest, arms, shoulders, face, groin, and legs. Make the victim helpless, but not dead. Make sure he is bleeding a fair amount before you stop hitting him, perhaps 20 whacks.
2. in the bottom right drawer of the dresser near the door, I have a collection of belts. tie the victims wrists down, tie them apart to a strong hold, perhaps the legs of the heavy wood dresser. Allow his legs to be left free, so that he kicks and struggles.
3. take the pliers on the shelf next to the dolls. Pull out each of his finger nails. The parts in which his nails had once been, you may find to be very sensitive. Test this sensitivity by taking one of the sewing needles on the coffee table in the livingroom and pressing it into a finger of his where the nail had once been. If he cries out and kicks and struggles, continue pressing needles into all of his fingers. If he doesn't cry or kick or struggle, do not waste your time with this.
4. take two butcher knives from the kitchen. pin his ankles to the floor by stabbing a knife into each leg, preferably in the ankle or near it. with the pliers and needles, do step three on his toes.
5. Depending on how much time is available, use an object to hold his mouth open. If there is a lot of time, construct a device made of wire in the shape of a rectangle to hold his mouth open and his lips and teeth apart. on the bottom of the device, place a strap to perhaps hold the tongue down. If time is little, find a substitute object to hold the mouth open. perhaps gag the victim or tie his mouth open with strings. with the pliers, pull out each of his teeth and replace them with needles pressed into the gums. with hand force, force his mouth close. tie or glue his mouth shut.
6. hold open the victim's eye. remove the eye as neatly as possible with exacto knife. do the same to the other eye.
7. beat your victim over the head until he is or near to being unconscious. While victim is unconscious, tie his left hand to his left shoulder. bound up arm with duct tape. do the same with the right arm. tie the left foot to the left thigh and bound leg with tape. do the same with the right leg.
8. when victim awakes, order him to crawl across the floor. if victim refuses to obey, beat his body with a belt, as if it were a whip.
9. if victim becomes boring, cut open the torso from the neck to the genitals. and last, sever the head from the body.
10. take photographs of the victim and write a note directing police to the killer. dispose of the body carelessly.
this is a rough draft. over time my creativity will grow.
current mood:  thirsty
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, September 1st, 2006
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10:46 am
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The painting above is called, "Judith Slaying Holofernes" by Artemesia Gentileschi [1593 - 1652]. At first glimpse, one might get the impression that she was a dark figure with a cruel taste in humor, which, to be honest, was the reason at first I had been so drawn to it. After reading various biographies on her, I now believe that these types of paintings she makes is how she coped with a great tragedy in her life: her teacher in art repeatedly raped her. Now my heart is with her and her artwork, understanding what it is like to be sexually abused repeatedly by a trusted friend and coping with mental pain through art.
( Gentileschi's Biography )
current mood: crushed
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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10:35 am - Autopsy
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| Wednesday, August 30th, 2006
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7:03 pm - Pussy, Pussy, Pussy
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Before he took the Fence for a stage...
current mood:  touched
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, August 27th, 2006
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5:58 pm - Make your Own Coffin
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