Log in

I want to have your abortion. [entries|friends|calendar]
I wanted to destroy something beautiful.

[ website | The JSASANR Utenas' Page ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

(OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Hmmm. [07 Nov 2013|02:46pm]

Hey, ...do any of you remember me?

Gawd, let's all hope not.


(52 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Ancient Chinese Secret, Eh? [22 Aug 2005|04:36am]
[ mood | Sexcellente! ]



In Buddhist folklore it is said the one who can answer this question correctly has the power to be a God.

Q: Why is the grass green?

(Hint: The answer is only correct when it is not.)

If you know the answer because I previously answered it for you, don't bother answering with my answer. It is only right for me.

And yes, I have the power of a God, you mortal wussies.

(4 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Children Of The Black Rain. [27 Jun 2005|09:37am]
[ mood | Rock You Like A Walking Cane ]

A poem by Monica Donner age 13.
After her friend Danny was shot in the head
by the long barrel of an unidentified rifle.

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

One morn when all the children
Had gone outside to play
The sky that held above them
Was turning blackish grey
The children looked in terror
The screaming soon began
The rain fell down upon them
It rained in every land
The children ran for shelter
And locked their doors up tight
The black rain would not hurt them
Or take away their white
From outside they heard crying
Of children in the black
And knew they didn't make it
And never could come back.
Those children always lived there
And always they would be
They'd live their lives a'swiming
Or drown inside the sea.

The End.

Gawd my life has been sunshine and roses hasn't it?

(8 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Caution: May Irritate Skin Upon Prolonged Contact. [14 May 2005|05:50pm]
[ mood | Stoned & Unhenged ]

Post Drug Manifesto
This March Hare Is Nothing But A Crackrabbit.

That's it! I have had it with the pipe. I keep worrying that I will fall asleep and I have an appointment to keep at the local detention centre to see a friend who's in "lock-up." The pipe has no player but itself. People like me become orchestral maneuvers with a spark. Heh. Nope, but this, ... this is it. Through. Only crack to burn and only crank will do. Wait, scratch that. The crack is working slowly into my tongue and gums. Numbing them. Awakening my senses and lulling my taste buds to sleep. Crack frightens me. Ain't no drug to reverse the adverse effects of cocaine. I shouldn't start to get all Little Miss Panic Attack over this, but the principle! The knowledge that speed works wonders for 12 glorious hours and this, ... it dies after 2 or 3. But the local retailers were out of my usual so the highly unusual suspect catburgled me out of $60.00 and set itself up just in case that older, weaker, thinning stream of a regular customer I've become accustomed to happens to drop me from the sky. Crack is like an atomic mushroom cloud the size of an arterial air bubble. All it does is seek and destroy and no one ever hears the detonator ticking. Crack mothers must have insane-o babies! Good gawd, the horror and sickening blood lust this weak yet effective high could cause is devastating in hypothesis as much as it is when it is. My stomach swirls in twisty chewed-up knots and I wonder if it's gonna cause diarrhea or just sympathy gas. Good thing I have mega-benzodiazapines and opiates to level me out. Always nice to know you have taken enough of a script to O.D., and let the crack alone until it's ready for you. Crack is greasy. Splatters oil and fizzles and pops like breakfast bacon in an iron skillet. Cakes the pipe walls with a yellowish gooey residue that you start to smoke only when the original crack rock has turned to a hard, baked and cajun cooked black ash.

Speed is soooo much more sophisticated. The best stuff arrives like sparking diamond shards. Crystalline and pure, it melts into a clear water-like liquid and lulls back and forth in the pipe head until it rerocks once more into an amber and zirconia pool of hardened wet dreams pulling at your breakneck beating heart. Out of the chest, back into the ribcage it throtles and all the while you've got yourself looking silly with yet another home fix-it project you may start 1001 times but never finish out of sheer love of the speed shards. *Le Sigh* So little to make my whirlwind mentality upstart and ooze into thrashing tropical storms that dance and whip and whistle at the girls passing by.

But in my overly attentive afterthought, all drugs have personality. That is how you know who YOU are by knowing who is the narcotic nasty you allow to pass through your fancy.Some of them are deeply set in rich and complex social layers, others are simple-minded and bothersome because they don't speak much and are rarely spoken through. My favorite substances are the ones who dress for your occasions. Seldom is a fancy dressed drug too complex or too monotonous. The more 'pret-a-porter' a narcotic is the chance it is likely to lead to a romance, an intimate evening on the dance floor, swirling and gyrating, even the stars come out reflecting a candy-coated moon that lights every flashy cuff link and softens their shiny shells soothing you as would a gracious friend or knowing lover.

And do the fancy ones ever make the best lovers! They even make males multi-orgasmic with their heightened sense of garage door laboratory sensibility. Fancy dress are the only kind I use on a permanent basis. Somehow, I have to rope and restrain this crackpipe killer whale. With a harpoon as big as my clenched fist and a vessel no smaller than a matte brass canopy bed. Oh dear, oh dear me! I should have stopped before it started. Put my foot down and my fondness for cardiological crank calls on choke hold, except, ... it seemed and still seems harmless enough. I do a smidge, a kernel and viola! Alert and poised for pet projects.

But it's a killer. My mother taught me from very, very young which poisons kill rats and which of them just retard rodents into retreating.

This is what is called a "character break", where I stop alliterating and tipping my hat at the English vocabulary and sit right with the world. Legs crossed and head resting upon one palm whilst the freehand continues. I think crack might be an all time low on my medical morality meter. Like a dull razor blade around the bikini line.

Perhaps I should save it until death isn't an issue with me (which it hasn't been with me. Not wanting to die yet not expecting to live longer than is needed from me by nature and those I nurture). No idea what to think, Such a stigma attached, like a child's "kick me" sign dangled off the back of an unsuspecting Mathematics substitute. Albeit for me to guffaw, it is a drug, an upper. A similarly smokable understudy. *antsy and jittery about* Is this my life? Crack to keep awake or the usual narcotic induced coma I use to feel almost all of my empathic emotions.

It's an emotionless need for energetic or soothing calming being. Pick an outfit that says "Wow!" Does this shirt match my methamphedamine driven mood swing? I must do this blunt and honestly blinding thought ritual about 10 to 20 times in a day. Everyday, I become an emotional fashion victim. At least I know and trust my choices. Not even my own mother can get through a day without a Tourret's bout and a good ol' fashioned breakdown and out. I think my whole family has always been jealous of my ability to handle the very addictive alcoholic ancestry THEY created over 6 generations ago. All of them, sick, mad, and languid in a pool of their own urine of life. Lucky me, I started as a pup and turned into a well-trained biological bitch with the sheer audacity to be debating TO CRACK OR NOT TO CRACK.

Yup. All that drama and I have to decide again in about 2 hours.

Does this look more like happy or should I go for grinning idiot ...?

Fancy dress, then you're life's a monster's ball. Thank the gods; I could be bored Mrs. American where love comes from children or else they take you away to the pokey.

Tee Hee to Housewives!
*points and giggles with malice in her fingers*

I'm just like you are, like everybody's anyone!
In the out-of-the-abstract aren't we all sense.

(OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

[06 May 2005|08:50am]
Items for sale on eBay

Kodomo No Omocha
Shoujo Kakumei Utena
Devil Hunter Yohko
Hide Music Video

If you have questions or requests, feel free to ask.

(4 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

This is the house with no bones. [03 May 2005|11:21pm]
I made a survey.

Please take my survey.
Take it away.

All the cool kids are doing it!Collapse )

(OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Love For Sale. [21 Apr 2005|01:30pm]
Some Japanese shit to sell.

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

If you have any requests for items or inquiries, feel free to leave me a ransom note and I'll look into your requests.

(5 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Magic Mirror, Tell Me Today, ...Did Our Friends Have Fun At Play? [02 Apr 2005|07:12pm]
[ mood | White-Necked Trailer Trashed. ]

Hey, ... YOU!

Yes, you all.

I might be moving to Memphis, TN in August.
Leaving my home outside of Los Angeles, CA.

Anyone see an upside here?

Your lack of response is telling enough.

(6 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

A Leap Of Faith. [14 Mar 2005|11:52pm]
[ mood | Stonehenged. ]

My father was a schizophrenic and now I too hear voices. The oddest thing is that there is no way in hell that these voices could have came from my mind. They talk about subjects I have never heard of before. They talk in numbers, and often over each other. They pretend to be a family of psychics or telepaths, criminals out for credit card numbers and such but they often screw up and let the truth slide in. They use a real name or a real occurance in their lives and it just freaks me out. Most schizophrenics I have known hear voices telling them to do things, but mine just comment on what I see and do and often threaten to harm by eavesdropping, by some kind of credit fraud or by simply singing my own stupid social security number to me. They exclaim Hallelujah often, yet take no response to God or any of the Priests I talk of and they seem to have no fear of prison or the law.

I know it sounds far fetched but these voices are controllable not with medication but with thought and the lack of it. The less I think to hear them the more angry, yet quieter they become, and always in a southern accent. I live in the California valley.

Does anyone have any ideas about curses, spells, voodoo or basic telepathic/psychic crime? I would love to handle this through faith and through natural betterment instead of relying on science to find the right pill.

It's all for nothing if I can't avenge my mind pirates someday!

(9 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Aquaintences, Americans, Legal Immigrants; Let Me Lend You My Legal Tender. [03 Mar 2005|05:50pm]
[ mood | Hairy Fish Eyed ]

An Online Zine For The Sake Of Being Zine Online.

I need you ALL to pay attention to my contest.

Since the original rules seem to be a bit much on the brain for most, lemme restyle them here and now.

1. E-mail or comment to let me know your participating. Easy enough, right?
2. Get friends or strangers to add "jsasanr" to their friends list and have them comment on the jsasanr LJ with YOUR name so that you get credit.
(They must friend the the JSASANR zine or no credit can be given)
3. For every person you successfully sign up, you get one DOLLAR of "courtesy cash" to add up for spending online.
4. You redeem these coutesy cash amounts at three times (1 mos., 3mos., 6mos.), in limited places (see below).

Redeeming MY e-money:
1. You must have 25 e-dollars to start spending.
2. You have from now till the 28th of August to get them.
3. $25 to $49 - You can spend them after March 28th at eBay, LJ or Amazon.com.
$50 to $69 - You can spend them after May 28th at eBay, LJ or Amazon.com.
$70 to $99 - You can spend them after May 28th at eBay, LJ or Amazon.com.
$100 and + - You can spend them after May 28th at eBay, LJ or Amazon.com, however, if you wait until August 28th, you may take your courtesy cash and redeem it for money through Paypal or Bidpay. Your choice.

You can also get courtesy cash by doing other things listed as "Contest #2" on my other contest rules (click on the mini-banner above to see original rules.)

Good luck and remember, this is all legal and binding as long as I know you are in the contest, and your members joined name you or you email me with some of the "other" contest requirements and let me know that you read over them carefully and still want to try for contest money.


(13 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Not Suitable For Ages Ice To Dark. [24 Feb 2005|10:19pm]
[ mood | She-Bopped ]

My Pro-Drug Manifesto
Death To Dr. Hunter S. Thompson & Fight Club Elitist Fuckery.

I've never had an adult moment of my life spent in complete sobriety. Never. Not one day. And to be balls-out truthful, I hope it stays this way till my lights grow dim and dark. Why be sober? Some people can get loaded by the good graces of God Almighty. Others off that big bitch of an adrenaline rush after working the weights and speed walking a five mile stretch. It happens that my life likes to climax, hitting the peak when the foreign substances rip free flowing through blood stream and brain. My body is a house. It's a one-level squat. Fuck being a temple, I can go to Hsi Lai if I wanted to worship one of those.

So, no, I do not eat my Wheaties. There isn't a juicer or blender to whip up a fruit smoothie. I'd rather hit a Starbucks and suck down a 700 calorie Tazo Chai Creme Venti Frapuccino. Why not? Once, I did a parody involving 7-11 and the need to free ourselves from commercial corporate shackles. Secretly, IRL, I worship and devote many of my caffeinated, self-contained, and self-centered highs with "Planet Starbucks", mentioned with a note of disdain in wonderbooks like Fight Club. Yeah, Chuck, I believe in hitting rock bottom, but not before I suck down a latte or 3 from a place far from ground zero. To blow up the Starbucks of this world would only force us all to criminalize "Project Mayhem". Making way for us junky Gen Xer's to settle within that social niche letting heroin become about as rock bottom as a Jolt and a handful of Pop Rocks. Destroy "Planet Starbucks", Mr. Palahniuk, and people with habits like mine have an excuse to do the narcotics I do daily. Organized chaos and cheer leading for entropy is one mindset, the other could be to ignore the corporate Ikea nesters and focus on those shitbag motherfuckers you are bound to land on while falling from socio-economic grace. I guess being a true-to-term 'functional junky' makes me see the average riddle as a multiple choice Cosmopolitan sex quiz.

I know that Chuck P. meant for Fight Club to read as how to feel alive through living human, scarred by time and toil instead of living man and woman, surrounded by material convention and becoming monetarily mundane. But I see the Independent candidate running this race, too. What Palahniuk forgot was that Marla and Tyler hit bottom because they chose to. No monkeys itching and ripping the stretches and spine of their fringe-dwelling backs. None of that horrible need to satiate a lust much deeper then wrapping themselves in the purity of a fight club. Oh Nelly! Not ONE nod towards their nicotine habits and coffee morning crutches they walked around with. A soothing cold-filtered Bud Light or some such other after a fine job of mass deconstruction by the "Project." You see, he forgot that trainspotters have had the bottom bunk for ions. Since Asian triads and tyrants hit the opium pipe after every war and revolution had been declared victorious! Yes! Victory is for junkies! Wedding cake and champagne! A baby boy is born so have a cigar! Want a Coke (now without cocaine) with that popcorn? Come on, ... it's not a movie without sugar rushes and caffeine pushes!

See? Fight Club has it all wrong because Irvine Welsh showed us long ago how to truly level the playing field without blasting every TRW building to holy high hell. And great men like Hunter S. Thompson showed us that Tim Leary was a snake charmer, leaving Thompson the mongoose. A 'functional junky' is always at the bottom and the top. It thrives because it is being normal. Within it's body is a heart, kidney, liver and brain so immune to unknown substances that the body now reacts constantly and never rests or calms in order to regulate. These kind of Thompson junkies would have to be forced to die by lethal weapons for sheer intestinal fortitude promises a long and alert life. Bottomed out and flying high off anything. Planet Starbucks in the distance while upper and downer belts of extraterrestrial meteors rip through our intergalactic bodies and orbit our sunny souls.

Hunter S. Thompson had that revolver coming. "Fear & Loathing" are just terms to rope in the cynical, what he meant was "Balanced & Normal." Know why? He hit rock bottom with any and every drug known to those in the know from the beginning of his assignment until his mayhem motorcade ended somewhere after San Bernardino, the 10 freeway as it clovers and belt loops onto Hollywood's 101.

Tyler Durden never did what HE (notice the emphasis on 'he') said was hitting rock bottom. Marla had too much fun being an example of a poorer person. THAT is what Fight Club thought of rock bottom and soap. It's okay to live deprived lives as long as you are pretty and clean. Still, why NO alcoholics or junkies in Project Mayhem? They were all blue collar workers, weren't they? In Trainspotting, Welsh made Tommy an equal when he finally shot-up and stopped connecting to his girlfriend. All the major characters abused up to 20 or more drug-related substances, all except for one, Begbie. He was an alcoholic that beat down random strangers due to a bottom-feeder temper that drove him to thieve with the local smack addicts. Thompson made sure he remembered every drug and use with a clarity that suggested most of his highs were really middles or lows. Murmurs. They allowed him to float like shit at the bottom of the toilet tank so he could wait for the flush and resurface. Still there, yet still a chunk of shit. Now if Fight Club or that useless excuse for a movie Requiem For A Dream had actual junkies and bottom feeders to deal with (as a huge parenthetical aside, I LOATHE Requiem For A Dream. It's extremely inaccurate and deals with wealth, NOT the drug abuse itself in the frame of a middle class day-in-the-life manner), if other drug and dreg movies or "Vurt" wannabe books ("Vurt" by Jeff Noon is my highest of high regards when it comes to a good sit-down and read) would address the junk as important as is water and food to the daily routine, then you could possibly have a fucking clue about how fucking level my kind are. How fucking lucky we should feel. And how fucking normal our functional lives have become. Yesterday was just like today. I did crack/cocaine, Vicodin/Norco 10.0mgs @ 10 pills, methamphetamine (speed, crank, tweak, sketch, go) and a little Klonopin chaser. I also went to Rite-Aid to get slim fit tampons and a 2-litter of root beer. I've got my bills done and ready but have yet to vacuum because my junky Doctor never-use-my-PhD fiance (Paul) is supposed to do that as well as the dishes.

He and I are Functional Junkies but my health is always (and has always been) better. I was told by my shrink that because I've been a user since 10 yrs old, no major ailments of the brain have occurred (physical, such as aneurysm or stroke), the years of use being extremely consistent and documented, that I -- like George burns who did cocaine everyday of his life --that I am an "anomaly." Paul has already had several strokes and now has adult ADD like my mother. Functional Junkies (such as Thompson) come from a junky stock (ie: my entire family, thanks Mom!)and I can do drugs for life. However, I will never be normal without them. Never feel happy or sad. Fear, anger, despair. I am blank and unable to speak or say much when I am cleaner than normal. Hope for me comes on a prescription pad and all these words from a tweak pipe that tobacco shops hide in the back as "oil burners" so they can stay legal.

At the end of the day I still love me some Fight Club. Thompson's death seemed rather later than sooner. Jeff Noon's book "VURT" is a sure bet good once-over, and I am a junky 24/7, 365 days a year. I felt the need to emphasize the functional to my junky and how my Marla Singer themed icons mean in a 'True or False' Marla world, I would pick 'or'. Tyler Durden is an elite and upper class educated character that couldn't know how bad Jack's raging bile duct is until he withdraws from his credit leveling intoxication and went to work only thinking about how his tips would hopefully be enough to get his fix on his way home. If it wasn't enough, he could probably afford a Starbucks Latte and a pack of Camel 100's.

I should know. The fix is in for me tonight.
Thank you for sharing it with me.

(19 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Ancient Chinese Secret. [20 Jan 2005|02:53pm]

The only people who get comments on Live Journal are rarely the type to ever comment back.


(1 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answer | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Talk Talk [14 Jan 2005|04:05am]
[ mood | Bamboozled. ]

So I have these voices in my head.
Like, literal voices that I could hear. Out the window, in the vent.
They have no meaning and only enjoy provoking me.

Problem is they are waaaay too stupid to be part of anything I created.
They didn't even know that the moon pulls the tides.

Or gypsies.
Or psychics.
Real Fucking People.

So I have all the local psychics and shit listed in the phonebook as targets in the future of near-fatal accidents.
And any telepaths that might come across these rat bastard fucks have GOT to have a meeting place somewhere on the web.

I bet they fuel the drug industries by MAKING PEOPLE SCHIZOPHRENIC. Yes, a purpose in life! To exploit what little talent they have and see how much they can profit.

Clever. Indeed.

(2 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

WAKE THE NEIGHBORS! [03 Jan 2005|02:26am]

To add yourself to my new online Mailing List, just add JSASANR to your buddy list.

A new issue to be out soon!

(11 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Stuck In My Craw. [24 Dec 2004|01:25pm]
Know what?

When you people begin to change your journal names, I get confused.
And when I get confused, I smoke more.
Much, much more.


Who the fucking hell is whom again????????

(16 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Utena And The Marmot Rebellion. [28 Nov 2004|06:53pm]
[ mood | Ambidextrous ]


If you remember this Mailing List ...
If you DON'T remember this Mailing List ...

Then VOTE!

(I'd have a poll but that means another paid account)


Should I restart my old ML on LJ?

Your input is much appreciated.

(6 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Why not ask why? [17 Nov 2004|10:17pm]
[ mood | Ring (Associative) ]

I have a few questions.

For instance ...

Why is it 'Motherfucker' and not Fatherfucker? Is this all Oedipal? Or is it Kentuckian?

Why did people really vote for Bush? Was it some kind of rebelious sex joke that backfired?

If today was yesterday's tomorrow, then what is tomorrow's today?

Is there a difference between dwarfs and midgets?

Why is there a need for indoor/outdoor carpeting? Like astroturf insn't good enough for some people?

When we have an earthquake, don't we really have an areaquake? The whole earth doesn't participate, now does it?

If hindsight is 20/20, we should be able to see it clearly, don't ya think?

Finally, skinnydipping should be called fatdipping, it's our ass fat that allows us to float, isn't it?

I hate watching old Court TV after the shots kick in.

(3 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

MOTHERFUCKER! [11 Nov 2004|06:08am]
[ mood | RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!!!!!!!!!! ]


See? I thought that went swimmingly.

(26 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Sale Away. [11 Nov 2004|05:14am]
[ mood | Ingratiatingly kiss-assed ]

God, I hate to do this to you but ...


Yes! I am going to list this anime and CD crap on livejournal before I eBay it just because I live for public ridicule!


Sailor Moon Series R & Movie R (VHS eps 37-89/most raw japanese)
Sailor Moon Series S & Movie S (VHS eps 90-127/subbed)
Sailor Moon Series SuperS & Movie SS (VHS eps 128-166/subbed)
Sailor Moon Series Stars (VHS eps 167-200/subbed)
Devil Hunter Yohko (Vol.1-6 VHS subbed)
N. Gen. Evangelion (Eps 1-26 [inc. End Of, etc.] VHS subbed)
Vampire Princess Miyu (VHS series and OVA/subbed)
Kodomo No Omocha (VHS & VCD Series/subbed)
Card Captor Sakura (VCD series/subbed)
Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne (VHS series/subbed)

Ask for anything.
X-Japan to Utena, I have a lot of it.

Just make an offer or pass it along.
I could give a rats ass as long as I get paid.


(4 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)

Something Borrowed, Something Blue ... [20 Oct 2004|09:10am]
[ mood | Salad Tossed ]

I need an FTP, damn it!
Got some pictures to host.

Pfft, anyway, selling all my anime collections
so I can afford my porn habit.

Paul says I spend too much recording the Spice Channel,
especially when there are no come shots.

*The End*

[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]