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Cristanka Trickington
27 October 2012 @ 08:10 am

"You've Changed"

It would be so easy to
have you knocking at my door
pull the shades down over your eyes
have you wake up on my floor...

in a daze
wondering and crazed

why it was
where you were
how it had come to be

that there was a time
that you didn't feel the need
that there was a place
you weren't with me

You'll tear at yourself
and claw at the walls
driven so mad by the
siren calls
Screaming my name and
wondering why
you'd do anything to
bleed yourself dry

And just as you wake another agonizing day
love spilling out in big, gaping cracks
I'll say what you said to me that one cold day in December
Then walk out the door and never come back.

 
 
Current Mood: gloomygloomy
Current Music: damien rice- grey room
 
 
Cristanka Trickington
23 October 2012 @ 07:13 pm

"If you have an idea of what you want to do in your future, you must go at it with almost monastic obsession. Be it music, the ballet, or just a basic degree. You have to go at it single-mindedly and let nothing get in your way. And that’s why you’re young. That’s why you can survive on no sleep, Top Ramen noodles and dental floss, and still look good. And take advantage of that great energy you have, the fact that you can do an all nighter. All the people you admire, from Muhammad Ali to any politician, they work, and work, and work. A guy like Bill Clinton, not everyone’s favourite… Rhodes scholar, he’s smart for a reason. He’s got a great mind, but he sat and he shoved a whole bunch of information in there, and he learned how to connect the dots, and so can you. Your president right now is a man who got where he is through very hard work, and scholarships. Mainly hard work, and application, and discipline. If these people can do it, why not you? It is very, very easy though, to feel smaller, to feel less than, when you see people with an advantage walk where you struggle, who have ease of motion where you are constricted. It can be a real shot to your morale. Like, it can be flummoxing to a degree where you’re almost paralytic, you’ve got to keep picking yourself up and reaching for it, and that’s the long and short of it. Because if you don’t, it won’t get done."
-Henry Rollins

Thanks, Hank :)  I needed that...

I'm going to put the coffee on and pull on all-nighter on Firewater.  Let's get this shit done.

 
 
Current Mood: rejuvenatedrejuvenated
 
 
Cristanka Trickington

Down the hall in the cover of snow

whitening even the darkest of corners

smoke whirling about his head at the piano

blues, great old days we have never seen

a freight train clambers past and he

stubs the cigarette out on one of the black keys.

He hits a note, smacks or strikes or rather

rages out a tune that cries out from beneath

the pearly white teeth of my piano

a dimension of insanity that I’ve

spent so many nights spooling my nightmares into

songs to change their meaning and now

atop illusion of ivory freedom and little black cavities

eating our sour abscesses in their wake a burnt out

cigarette doesn’t mar or give any sadness that was not there before.

only gives physicality

only gives a tangible quality to the demons that ash their

sentiments beyond each note I’ve played and

charcoal streaks for every tear shed on that goddamn piano

that burrowed its way through the wood frame and

deep into the belly of that upright insane little version of me.

heart strings pulled tight and unwieldy and ready to snap

under the weight of it all.

 
 
Current Mood: awakeawake
Current Music: Spacehog-Only a Few
 
 
Cristanka Trickington
25 January 2012 @ 10:55 pm

I just don’t want to wake up anymore.

I sleep now, more than ever

Hoping that tomorrow will never come.

That if I just stay in bed, I could see your face again.  

And you’d steal my breath away.

So that I didn’t have to spend any more time here.

Pretending that I know how to live without you.

 
 
Cristanka Trickington
15 September 2011 @ 01:30 am

Louie only used his index fingers on the typewriter, tapping one key at a time until his words were complete.  I never knew how to speak to him when he was writing.  I never knew how to look at him or even breathe.  He’d escape and I’d be left behind with my bare legs and dirty feet.  Wild orange and red curtains were the backdrop to our nights at the typewriter, a 50’s or 60’s Remington Quiet Riter that he’d bought me for Christmas.  Into the distance beyond those autumn bedroom windows there was a road that stretched for miles and miles along the river, no winds or curves or stop signs.  Lined with trees and houses, no street lights to guide your way.  He’d look through the windows into this road for all of its worth and remember everything that he could about the war.  About the only war he would ever fight apart that which he fought with himself.

His stories never brought me to tears.  Never made me upset.  I never thought to myself, God I wish I had never known this about him.  I wanted more of him, wanted more of his words, more of his truth.  I wanted to know how all of those people died that he’d killed.  I wanted to know exactly how he ended their lives and how it felt to end them.  But he would never tell me such things…he would never.  And I would never know what it was like to walk for hundreds of miles of desert in the same pair of socks and army-issued boots, just to stop suddenly to end someone’s life and move on along.

I do know that he killed a pregnant woman.  She held a gun to another troop’s head and he reacted.  He used to have dreams about her.  Nightmares.  He used to wake up screaming and smack me across the ribs, fighting to wake up from a reality he would never be able to shake.  A cold look in his eyes, sweat on his forehead, he would growl at me as I tried to hold him and shake himself free…then roll over so that he wouldn’t be facing me.

On the nights that he would sit at the typewriter I would crack open the bedroom window and we’d drink red wine straight from the bottle and put cigarettes out on the carpet.  Everynight we slept on a mattress on the floor and started drinking when first woke up in the morning.  By afternoon we’d be at the piano in the living room, pounding out our misery in song until he’d get bored or sober and decide to disappear for a few hours.  But he was always back by 1am.  Sometimes we’d hide at our favorite dive bar…him playing pool and me at the bar, reading a book and drinking until I couldn’t feel my limbs any longer.  Then we’d stumble home, him whispering “I have a surprise for you, black beauty” and “Don’t let them steal your heat.”

We’d roll onto the living room floor, locking out his stoned friends on the way, tearing at each other until our arms were weak and we could only think of sleep and our small place to hide in the corner of my room.

He called me Clint.  I called him Clyde.  Trouble is putting it lightly.

2007 Clint and Clyde Mix Tape

Side 1

Led Zeppelin “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You”

Sublime “Badfish”

Jeff Buckley “Mojo Pin”

Nirvana “Lake of Fire”

The Beatles “I Want You (She’s so heavy)”

Procol Harum “A Whiter Shade of Pale”

Ryan Adams and the Cardinals “What Sin Replaces Love?”

Radiohead “You”

Jeff Buckley “Forget Her”

Nirvana “Heart Shaped Box”

The Drill “What You Are”

Mad Season “Wake Up”

Coldwar Kids “Hospital Beds”

Agents of Oblivion “Hangman’s Daughter”

Stone Temple Pilots “Big Empty”

Chris Cornell “All Night Thing”

Elliott Smith “High Times”

 
 
Current Mood: curiouscurious
Current Music: sublime-badfish
 
 
 
Cristanka Trickington
08 September 2011 @ 12:43 am

I want to just crawl under the bed and hide…I hate it when Shawn and I fight.  Tonight, all I can think of his how badly I’d like to leave him and just run back to the city.  Not this city…but the city…Chicago.

I used to roll my own cigarettes and lurk in bars with my friends, laughing at the world and not eating a thing.  Now, I’m stuck in the house all day with my own thoughts with no friends, no family, nothing to do but loathe myself.  I’m chained to this life that he’s brought me to.  I’m not happy here.  I love him…but I’ll never love him the way that I should.  My heart died the day that my love Pete died.  It’s a shriveled corpse of a heart now.  But I tired!  Lord!  Did I try!  But he’s tested me so deeply as of late and I don’t think I can take much more.

Tonight I reserve for only red wine and cigarettes and nothing more.  Maybe I’ll have a good cry. 

 
 
Cristanka Trickington
13 August 2011 @ 10:42 pm

 ate way too much today.

sadface.

I also have a wicked sunburn all over my back and shoulders.

bitch moan whine.

 
 
Current Mood: depresseddepressed
Current Music: echo and the bunnymen-killing moon
 
 
Cristanka Trickington
11 August 2011 @ 04:43 pm

 am I supposed to be this happy about relapsing?

I feel so much better about myself...yet I know that I will inevitably crash and burn.

but I feel wonderful as I burn.

Tags: ,
 
 
Current Mood: determineddetermined
Current Music: reverend horton heat-loaded gun
 
 
Cristanka Trickington
07 August 2011 @ 01:01 am

Florida has been beautiful so far.  I still can't believe that I live here now.  I can't believe that my life has taken such a turn that I'm back to looking for work again too.  I had such a great job in Peoria working for Zipcar...I really really loved my job and the people that I worked with.  But Shawn had to transfer and our only options were Michigan or Florida.  Like hell we'd go to Michigan.
 
I moved here a month ago, Shawn 2 months ago.  We have our own beautiful apartment with a pond right out the front door and access to as many beaches as we can handle.  It really couldn't be better.  I'm enjoying being able to do whatever the hell I want all day long and not working.  That's not going to last, though.  I have to find a job.
 
I exhausted myself out in the waves at Jax Beach yesterday.   Shawn just stayed on the beach and watched, which is cool.  I like going out by myself anyway.
 
Going to the beach is my favorite way to burn off time and cals.  It's not hard to spend an hour out there battling the waves and end up burning like 1500 cals.  Pretty awesome.
 
 
Throughout the whole day I only ate a fuji apple, wholegrain bagel w/ cream cheese, and a pork pupusa from an El Salvadore restaurant.  I've never had a pupusa before...there's no way to describe it but fucking delicious.  And not chock full of calories.  It's a handmade corn tortilla stuffed with a little bit of pork and cheese, covered with a spicy slaw and tomato puree.  Absolutely amazing and about 5 inches in diameter and only 200 calories.  I can now add Lolita's Pupuseria to my list of safe restaurants.
 
Shawn has been really supportive of my efforts.  He doesn't like it when I fast...but that's understandable.  I can pick at something small and he won't even look twice.  He used to...but now that I'm losing weight and I'm happier and more active he's been totally okay with whatever I'm doing.  He's even thinking about where we go to eat now instead of seeking out places where we can just stuff our faces.  Shawn is a skinny bastard with a killer metabolism...I can't eat like he does.  That's why I've gained so much weight since we met in 2009.  No more.  
 
 I've been keeping track of everything (no matter what) at http://www.everydayhealth.com ... it's been helping a lot.

It's been 8 years since the last time I've done something so vigorous.  not including all of the times that I was on phentermine and tweaking out.  
Goal: 129 lbs.  A long way to go but it will happen.

The last time was for Dylan.  This time it's for me.  This time I won't let myself fail.  I'm not so young anymore that people are paying attention to everything I do.  I'm not at home.  Shawn is supportive, albeit ignorant of my methods. 

I'm down 12 pounds already in 2 weeks....probably more.  I don't have a scale so I just have to use tape measure to do my measurements every few days.

I'm excited.  I'm strong.  I'm happy.

 
 
 
 

 
 
Current Location: jacksonville, fl
Current Mood: cheerfulcheerful
Current Music: Lola Beltran-paloma negra
 
 
Cristanka Trickington
07 May 2011 @ 06:45 pm

I'm kind of tearing at the seams here...

but I kind of like it.

I feel alive.