Khaila

About me:

I'm a left handed fire sign. I have red hair and dye it redder. I like pina coladas, getting caught in the rain, and reading danielle steele novels on my bear skin rug with the pool boy. I'm into/studying film, dance, and being a science nerd (medical/biochem science, that is ;D).

I can never write on the first page of the paper. Always the 3rd, 6th, 54th, what trivial psychological meaning does this hold for me? The pen is there. But nothing is converging out of it. As much as I want to, as much as I need to nothing will happen. Instead every passing thought stays locked in my subconscious, and with every even nugatory thought a moment arises where I never felt so abandoned inside. My world is only accented with grays and yellows. I cant breath. But I’m still here. I’m ignorant as to what I’m doing here. And I fail to know where here actually is. I feel as though that if I could only get something out, I would be free from this. But nothing happens. I remain paralyzed. Except in my mind. I cant think one clear thought, as fast as I try they remain in my subconscious and I forget. I know they’re there because I can still feel them. But I cant distinguish what the feeling is. I grow tired of this. I feel angry. When I finally bring myself to stand there is a wall. I press against it. I don’t want it there. My mind is feeling numb again. I pull my hands through my hair in disquietude as I immerse down to this nothingness floor. And all of a sudden I see through my humbled fingers there is an opening. My legs stand once again without commanding them to. I crawl through the notch getting tighter and twisting as I go, I wondered if I imagined the passage. I collapse. And the madness ceases. I look up and scrutinize myself lifeless appearing just about ready to fall off the bed again, back into this lethargic state. I lunge forward. Then I am able to recover my memory, all the beautiful and tragic thoughts that I was happy to have back. The most important thought though was coming, but that one I could not remember I battled myself and it was lost, tucked away within myself somewhere I could not reach. But I take my first breath.





"The beef industry has contributed to more American deaths than all the wars of this century, all natural disasters, and all automobile accidents combined. If beef is your idea of ..real food for real people,' you'd better live real close to a real good hospital." -Neal D. Barnard, M.D., President, Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine, Washington, D.C


Think occasionally of the suffering, which you spare yourself the sight