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Alice Jenna Liddel's Journal [entries|friends|calendar]
Alice Jenna Liddel

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[
May 17, 2007
]
My name means nothing, and in nothing, I do mean nothing. There is nothing behind the A and nothing to it that my name begins with A. Nothing to the L, nothing to the I, nothing to the C or the E. If there is really nothing to my name because it means nothing, then I have nothing to say to nothing.

You protest: IF THERE IS NOTHING THAN SAY NOTHING.

To which I reply: NOTHING ABOUT NOTHING IS BEING SAID, SO THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SAID, NOTHING BE SAID, AND NOTHING THAT WAS SAID. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE MY REPITION OF NOTHING, WHAT IS YOUR LIMIT TO THE WORD "NOTHING"?

You reply: ABOUT TWO SENTENCES AGO.

I smile.

You wonder why.

I say: IF YOU TRUELY PROTEST TO MY USE OF NOTHING TO DESCRIBE NOTHING WHILE SAYING NOTHING AND IF YOUR LIMIT TO NOTHING HAD BEEN PASSED NOW QUITE A BIT AGO, YOU WOULD NOT BE READING NOTHING NOW.

And you leave.
...
I saw myself in a mirror the other day, and saw nothing. Am I nothing? Am I nothing...When I close my eyes, does the world dissapear or do I?

I do not know how many more will come. But now there are six. They are acting nice enough. I will not fear them anymore.

I miss my kitty and fear for her safety. When I was taken back to my room, I swear I saw bits of her fur upon my bed just as though we were home. I told the nurse and she said I must be imagining things then took me away. I saved a small carton of milk for her, just in case she really had come by.
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The paint that never dries (3rd person recollection) [
May 11, 2007
]
[ mood | cheerful ]

The room was new, different from her old one with its cement floors and bare walls. It had the clean, chemical smell of fresh paint and bottled water. The walls were painted the summer color of sunflowers and the floor was not bare. The warm carpet felt soft under her naked feet, surging an unknown energy into her knees and making them weak. A table and chair sat juxtapose to the white iron bed, its paint chipped slightly on one of the posts from the wearing down of age. On the bed were real, thick, cotton blankets folded down just enough to see the inviting white patterned sheets underneath, printed with small red roses and the tiniest of green leaves. A window stared at her from across the room. A real window, how comforting. It was divided into nine panes for each the top and bottom sections of the window. Eighteen in total. The wood between the panes almost hid the security bars on the outside. White curtains hid the fact it was bolted shut on both sides.

Don’t ask Alice. Don’t ask why Alice is here. It is entirely possible she wasn’t even really here. But, if you had to ask, there was no point in her answering, she didn’t know.

She paused as she walked in, standing in her usual way of barely standing. Her large blue eyes were wide and mixed. There was amusement and fear.

Why was she here? She…couldn’t…remember…The doctor, it must be the doctor, the Mad Hatter, the Hare. It must be him. Her memories ran down her brain in the fashion watercolor ran down the canvas when too much water was added. The events mixed and mingled within her consciousness the way the colors pooled on the floor as they dripped, dripped, dripped from the parchment. The doctor, flowers set in a vase, he was going to try and help her sleep. Clouds like dying embers scattered out among the sky.

She was so tired.

The doctor had said the medicine would help her sleep. There would be no dreams, just pure blessed sleep. The big black bird had said the medicine would help her sleep. There would be no dreams, just the disappearance of her glass ceiling and her body would be floating up to be with the stars and she would be gone from this world.

Her body rocked back and forth. She took a step just to stop herself from falling. The bed seemed like the most fashionable place to be at the moment. Another step to stop herself from falling and she was two steps behind where she had been just a moment before.

 The paint of the room had never dried, Alice noted. As the nurse walked into the room, she left a trail of swirling, swirling paint. The colors mixed and blurred Alice’s image of reality. The bed, so close. All the paint droplets surrounding her body refused to touch her. They parted like the parting of the red sea, leaving periods of blackness upon the canvas.

Hands were upon her, moving her to the bed. Slumping against the wall was apparently not what they wanted at the moment. It was much easier to get to the bed when you didn’t have to do anything.

Alice watched the nurse fiddle with something on the table. Her body was so blurred as her colors melted into table and floor. Her nurses outfit, the color of the blue June sky, melted into the sunflowers of the wall. The world grew black.

Alice had blinked, but forgot she had the ability to do so. The world was alive again, painted in the eyes of a Cubist. Dangerously sharp corners arose from the smooth edges of circles.

The nurse came to her side. Her face was so blindly in focus, it hurt Alice’s eyes to look at her.

“It’s okay, stop fighting sleep,” she said. Her voice liquefied and bubbled away.

Alice nodded and closed her eyes. The world of sticky, thick paint stayed with her as blackness crept over her body and swallowed her whole. The only thing she could see was nothingness.

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[
April 30, 2007
]
[ mood | aggravated ]

I am exhausted. Days like these do not do me well. I am not cheerful however I cannot help but smile and play.

It is days like these I know they are right. I am crazy.

Hello my name is Alice.

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Empty [
April 30, 2007
]
[ mood | anxious ]

It has begun...

My days are blending, melting, merging together. My life is slowing disappearing into a black fog.

I am haunted.

They come at night and torture me in my dreams, in my mind. My soul belongs to them...I fear them. There is no one who will help me, they all look away and pretend to be deaf to my screams.

The Mad Hatter and March Hare deny their existance. They will not see what I see, and perhaps they cannot. I will not blame them. I did not choose this life. They will not choose it either.

My brain has decayed. Is there death in my future?

I've been denied a life! When the crow comes at night he mocks me. I have become his prisoner, a bird in his cage with no wings.  I am the only one who sees him, the rest are blind.  The rest are deaf. They will not see, will not hear, and I hate them for that....

Windows low open when I walk by. The sky rains blood. I will never be free to walk on water and swim through the trees.

My brain has decayed. I am empty inside. Cut me and I will not bleed.

They do not want to see what I see...soon they will.

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Understand me...I beg of you [
April 28, 2007
]
[ mood | Green ]

Quietly she sang like a Bird dying, dying, falling further from her nest...

Oh, oh what light shines upon my face like a sudden ember of life. I do not know do not see which way to go she is lost, lost, lost in the emptyness oof life and I think think I am alone.

I once saw a movie claiming to be God, like my mothers voices bubbles feel...bubble fall fall softly over the tea party of my heart. I am not crazy not sane.

DO NOT LOOK AT ME, JUDGE me like a child. I am not a child. Moaning and grinding, I climb my way up amoung the parents of my life. What is this I do? The mad hatter claims my soul....

Floating falling falling she says nothing. He touches touches me in every way. So new these feelinging, so upsetting...talk to me, help me understand why do I cry! Why is there a hole inside me. Why do I not know? Forgive me I have sinned, delically her lily pale skin touches his forhead.

I am the all seeing all feeling queen of the stone age...

Ask me again where my mother lies. I do not remember my past, do not wish to remember. my life light dies with me closing like a flower, like a lily.....small pink alligators chase my purple elephant in the smoke. My soul does bleed.

Eyealls form in flowers heads, blinking as I walk by.

I do not understand why you turn from me...this noisey noisey world will not silence its mouth. I am obamas home girl.

Watch me write ever so fast...the past will be my future, the future my past.

The moon, the moon oh she is shiney so bright, like a demons eye but I don not fright.

Sing softly to me my evil eyes and take me upon you...

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