John Constantine's Journal
(Latest 17 entries) (Calendar) (Friends) (User info)
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Sorry about that last. I was making sure my passowrd still worked. I fucking hate this thing.
Christ. I am so fucking hung over. It's like I've always said..... anyone who shakes my hand and says hello is dead where they stand. Only this time, it was literal. No, you all DON'T get the fucking details. it's none of your goddamn business anyway.... and if you actually care, well, you shouldn't.
But you know where to find me.
I'm NOT going back to the fucking nuthouse. But I'm sick of ghosts following me around. So I drown 'em out as best I can... thing is, see, Angie doesn't like that. She gave me a skelp last night and called me a drunk... then cut out. So I drank more. Threw some of my pain meds on top of it.... yeah, so what? Lung cancer, assholes.
And THEN she comes home.
Apparently she got me undressed and into bed. I'm just up, still naked, and I feel like I got hit by a beer truck. AUGH. And get this: then, SHE apologized to ME.
Asked about the Brit-slang. Well, Officer Angela, where do you think I spent the time to LEARN the fucking magic? America? L.A. may have been home, but as a magical ground it bites the big one. Apparently I get maudlin when I'm drunk.
Yeah, Newcastle. Happened. So?
I need to get over this. I NEED to get OVER this.... I'm damned anyway. Why hustle the process?
I'm off for a shower. Maybe it'll drop off these fifteen evil pounds of HEADACHE...
Current mood:  bitchy
Friday, February 17, 2006
1:25AM
Ooooh, look.
Radio.
Microphone.
*grins*
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
6:33PM
FUCKING AKMGAKSDGASDG!!!
I. Am. Out. Of. Cigarettes.
Chas just went to the gas station to get some, as Detective Period has forbidden me to walk far after the spinal tap I had. Fucking doctors. But it's been over two hours since I had a goddamn cigarette and I want to rip someone's throat out.
ASKASKSADFKSG
Fuck.
I did have some fairly excellent sex last night, though. Eh. *shrugs.* But I get the feeling that the "people" who've been vying for my attention lately have their eye(s) on me. Time to crack my knuckles and start dealing again... and no, you assholes, it ain't drugs I mean.
But I WANT A FUCKING CIGARETTE.
Current mood: aggravated
Thursday, December 22, 2005
11:46AM
Why, yes, I am a real person, thank you for asking.
Sarcasm? Who... me?
Ugh. More people should read up. ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=91.6) soulbond_domain, shameless pimp because I at least felt SEMI-safe there, although -- most predictably -- most of them ignored me. *laughs.* Like I told them, it's safer that way. I'm glad someone's finally taking my fucking advice.
And who the FUCK are these people who think I'd sleep with Chas?
...
That's just wrong on so many fucking levels.
Horse's MOUTH, people.
Pay the fuck ATTENTION.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Damn, I haven't updated this thing in quite some time. Not that I really give a shit, but still. The last thing I ever thought I'd be was boring.
Although things aren't, really - Ellie thinks she's pregnant(more than likely by me, but she screws for a living, so who can tell?), inspiring in me a very bizarre sense of... responsibility. Gabriel is still stuck in some kind of metaphysical limbo, again, probably from "interacting with the ant farm" in too orgasmic of a way. I've been uprooted and brought to an entirely different state, "for my safety" as Angie continues to insist on(like she really knows what's "good for me"?)... and far too much to deal with. Not to mention the memories from Ravenscar... every so often, boom.
( Thirteen-year-old Constantine, in the shower room: )
.....
...
What. The. FUCK.
What the FUCK POSSESSED ME TO POST THIS?!
God, is it the DREAMS? Angie was here tonight, we spoke a little, but what the FUCK? Don't READ this, folks, it's messed-up and FUCKED-up and not by ANY means a good read, I should KNOW better, I should LISTEN to her instead of posting at seven in the morning when my mind and body have no idea what time of day or night it is, when it's still night-dark in the house and I'm fucked-up-tired and just took four fucking Vicodin so I'd quit coughing and the pain would go away a little. Yeah, that's it, I'm too fucking stoned TO MAKE SENSE. Just fucking IGNORE this shit, leave it be, Christ in a taxicab, Jesus.
Screw it. I'm sorry. Fuck this. I'll probably go back and delete this in a little while... even though I KNOW she won't let me. SCREW her and her self-improvement, screw her and her "letting go of baggage". I'm happy it works for her. Me, I'll just burn them all back to Hell and look DAMN GOOD doing it, do what the Snob apparently thinks I'm "tapped" to do, save the fucking useless shitty WORLD again and then I'll be done.
Okay?
Okay.
Current mood: fucked up
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Makes me sound like a computer, eh?
Bronchitis, cystitis, sedimentary vertigo... I've apparently got fluid on my lungs[but it's not gonna kill me in the immediate future, so...], and pleurisy.
They sent me home with more shit, and Dilaudid in pill form, which I didn't realize they had: which is going to knock me flat.
Ain't life grand.
Oh, and it was wonderful: shot full of dope in the hospital bed, hooked to eleven wires and delirious, I was treated to the just-past-teenage tech getting a look at my tattoos, getting all excited, and proceeding to tell his partner my entire life story, laid out like a Keanu Reeves flick. "He's this exorcist, see, that the Church calls in when they can't do it themselves..." I made some drugged-up comment after they left that cracked Angela up despite the circumstances, but as the way it always is, neither of us can remember now.
I bet it'll come to me at about three in the morning.
Oh, no. It was, "I think the Universe just folded into a fucking Origami paper hat."
Ugh.
Current mood:  sick
12:54PM
Woke up this morning to take a piss and couldn't catch my breath on the way back from the bathroom.
Went upstairs and started coughing. Yeah, you know what I mean. Like I used to.
Coughed myself into being so light-headed I can't focus on shit.
Had to run from the living room out onto the deck and bend over the railing so that I could proceed to cough up a mouthful of blood and then throw up.
Feel worse as time goes by.
I guess those doctors last Sunday were right.... but when do I ever listen to shit like that?
Angie wants me to go to the E.R. before the night's out.
Fuck.
Leave it to me to blow not just a second chance.... but all of them.
Current mood: pissed off
Sunday, October 9, 2005
You know, it's a hell of a jolt when you're so used to having a 'unique' situation that you don't really even pay attention to it anymore... I knew I wasn't feeling terribly well lately, but I had to stop and stare when I actually packed the medicine bag that has to come with me when we travel tomorrow... I don't think anyone really realized. It almost cracks me up.
( When this is what's in your carry-on... )
.... *stares, and sighs.*
Whether or not I've 'relapsed' is a matter for opinion: the last two doctors I've seen have discussed the almighty 'C' word with me. Deja vu, anyone? I thought this body... but ah, well. I'm here to do what I'm here to do, and goddamn it if I won't. People with something to do, a purpose, keep driving as long as they need to. That goes double for me.
Angie brought me back some things a while ago -- a couple of tokens, a ritual compass for throwing circles, and a big bonus: a magical compendium, a HUGE book filled with ritual numbers, lost excerpts from translated texts, and the like. And I found another gem of a find in an antique shop a few weeks ago, from something like 1951: the same shop where I found two medallions, some WWII shrapnel I planned on melting down for ammunition, and a few expired mortar shells I'm using to put together another 'version' of the old shotgun, when I get to it. We're a bit fucking frantic over the money -- funny how 'doing God's work' doesn't come with a reliable pension plan. But screw it: what needs to happen, will happen. It's funny how normally, we have money to spare: the one month we're not comfortable, is when we need to be.
Killer sense of humor. Yeah.
I have a lot more to say... 'Chas' is out picking us up some duct tape so that I can bind the boxes and hold together the case that carries my ritual equipment, and isn't it funny that I'm sitting here updating, when all my stuff is spread everywhere, and I have a headache so bad it actually scares me? *shakes head.* Gotta love it. But whether it happens now or later, we'll figure it out. We kind of have to, eh?
I'll write more later.
Current mood:  rushed
Thursday, October 6, 2005
10:32PM
Psht.
Nice picture.
Enough said...
...for now.
Current mood:  cold
Tuesday, October 4, 2005
9:36PM
We were screwing around, looking for a logo generator for some online work. By accident, I found a really neat combination... and I had to use it. Hell, everybody needs a logo. Right?
Umph.
 More later, I suppose.
Current mood:  tired
Friday, September 23, 2005
Well, it's been a little while since I've written anything here, hasn't it? Mph. And it's funny. When I actually take the time to browse through other journals - the kind most people, with a few notable exceptions, seem to write - I always find the same sorts of updates: "Since I last wrote in my journal, I went to Dunkin' Donuts and had a hot chocolate, my friends and I went and watched a movie at the Grand(it was great and OMG So-and-So is soooo HOT!)..." So I thought maybe, since I've been out of touch for a little while, I'd give it a shot myself. Ready? Here we go. Let's try. Since I last took the time(or cared) to write in here:
Angela miscarried.
I've been barely sleeping at all for nearly a week now: slammed with visions that I've been throwing into my handwritten journal.... but that doesn't make the long frigid nights go by any faster.
I seem to be having an illicit affair with a temporarily Earth-bound archangel who once tried to kill me: although the killing thing was 'part of His plan', meant to inspire results(and that makes it okay? Fuck that) and said archangel was, in fact, welcomed back into the Kingdom o'Hypocrisy - sticking around in semi-transubstantiated pseudo-human form has apparently had enough of an effect so as to inspire some.... semi-human reactions, as well... which drags me right the fuck into mud up to my aching eyeballs: Chas-man and myself have been working overtime to, once again, search for precedents.... because not only is that a Go-to-Hell Free card, but if said angel were to get cast out for these reasons.... the balance, as they said, would be fucked seven ways to the proverbial Sunday.
I suppose it'd do my reputation a bit of good, though. I mean, demons are one thing.... this is a whole other ball of shit. But I'll stop in here to leave progress, on what I find out. Never thought I'd be helping them.
And speaking of the balance, I've been tapped to work a little reverse-psycholgy-worthy warfare, for the sake of the 'greater good' bullshit: some say it's the clean slate I've been hoping for, the rest just say it's the 'right thing to do'. But I'm not a leader, not interested.... except now, free will's gone right about out the window. So now I'm getting ready to play poker with the Four Horsemen. Fucking swell.
Oh. Yeah. And this body's a fucking lemon: in addition to running a fever the last few days(Cancer, though: how I love thee), the same shit is happening that is too back-of-the-mind familiar.... my left eye's going dead. And the last fucking thing I can afford right now is to go into any of this half-blind. Literally.
How's that for a "Since I was here" update?
Fucking shit's all true, too. I wish to Christ it wasn't.
None of them are here, right now: I'm all alone. Got up long enough to try and force some food down my throat.... and try this. But if this piece of shit doesn't start working quick, I'll be abandoning that effort pretty quick.
My life.
Any of you who care, know where to find me. But I'd suggest not finding me: trust me, you'll be better off if you don't. The movie got that one pathetic thing right, in any case: I don't need another ghost following me around. (Although they never showed just how literally.)
( And one more thing. In my mind, for a while now. )
My guts feel like churning lead. I'm out of here for now.
Current mood: sick
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Everything is shit.
Nothing in the world is fair. Everyone's a shitbag.
They're all liars, cheats, hypocrites. Saying people are born capable of horrible things is like saying you might get a paper cut from a chainsaw. And for the record, I never said "I guess He has a plan for all of us." *snorts.* Which figures, since life ISN'T a voiceover.... "God's plan" is like a minefield strung up with tripwires tied to shotgun triggers.... with a good fucking healthy dose of napalm thrown into the mix. I'm not a hero. I never was, never claimed to be, and frankly don't give a shit. What have I ever gotten to show for it? Lung cancer. A whole load of dead friends. A pack of ghosts that don't even go dutch on drinks. And a whole lot of sleepless nights.
Divine. Don't make me laugh. They're just as imperfect as the unholy rest of us. Liars and cheats, the lot of them. Separated from everything sensible and sane... someone once said I got along better with demons. Ignoring the fact that demons are better in bed.... they're fucking HONEST, at least. No bullshit about "God's plan" or "The True Way" or believing will save you. They're HONEST. They are what they are and if they tear down everyone else in the process, so be it. Haven't you ever noticed that darkness is more honest than light? At least as far as people are concerned. Like Gabriel. The Snob, indeed.
I fucking hate this. It's like a black hole. Even if it weren't somehow always worse for me at dawn - I don't know why, actually - this would be shit. Angela's gone, again, had to go out and do something, and Wonder Boy is asleep face-down on the couch. Fucking birds are singing.... and that headache's still here. Am I whining? Do I care? Does anyone even CARE what poor, fucked-up, misunderstood John Constantine has to say?
Yeah.
Right.
Anyway, somehow I doubt it.
And I'm supposed to be happy. I hear most guys would be, at any rate.
Swell.
Wonderful.
Why did I even bother? I don't have a fucking 'heart of gold'. I don't even remember now.... except that maybe the souls of all mankind seemed to carry a little more weight than single demons. I'd like to think it was for nobler reasons, but... nah.
Meat bags, walking around oblivious, in their own little worlds. Blind as bats, with half the sense. The whole world ranged before them, and what do they see? Life. Spending their lives 'like a drunkard on a spree'. They don't see, they don't care, they don't know. And why should they? So, then, why should I? Why should I be the one to see it? To care? It's certainly not up to me to show them.
Oh, you're bitter, John, you're saying. You had a second chance, John, you're saying. Well, screw it. I fucked that one up already, anyway. Lucifer owes me a favor and God doesn't give a shit that I exist. And in the middle, is me... wishing I could find Ellie for a straight-out, uncomplicated fuck. Nails and claws and profanity and SoCo. I love Angie - yeah, fuck you, I admitted it - but I'm not like her. I'm not like any of them.
Wishing I could be oblivious. Wishing I couldn't see them, or care....
Naw. These are allergies, you fucker.
Fuck 'em all. They don't need someone to care. Bring on the vials. I'll be the one lighting my cigarette off the raining sulfur.
Current mood: exanimate
Monday, August 29, 2005
Would you believe, with my life, that nothing's happened since my last post? Nothing. Angela went out with the Wonder Kid to get dinner(she says Italian, ugh. Who knows what they'll actually bring back... I hope she brings me back cigarettes, though, since I'm on my last pack-and-a-half), which leaves me... you guessed it. Sitting here alone, staring out the window and watching the lightning with the headache of all time.
As much as I hurt{my back, actually, nothing metaphorically emotional there: I had a rough night over the weekend), and hate pretty much everyone right now, I want to go out - I might later, I always seem to around midnight or so. How's that for a fucking laugh.
*sigh.*
I'm fucking starving.
Headache's getting worse.
Riveting, isn't this?
I'll write more later. This is too fucked up.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Mortal sin, I know. Don't have to go there with me. Not now, not tonight.... actually, isn't it "today", now? Three-thirty in the afternoon, and I've somehow gotten from sleeping a few hours in the early morning, after the 'dawn ghosts' have departed, with the weight of dreams... to not sleeping at all. It's almost nice - like cheap drugs without the drugs, really. Only I suppose there's codeine in my cough syrup, and there's the long-acting morphine they've got me on now... and does that horrible powder that tastes like some cheap hooker's perfume in the back of my throat[lung medicine, they call it] count? Fuck it. My life's a joke.
I suppose I could bullshit my way through this - I won myself a carton of cigarettes playing Spanish 21 a few days ago. Well, I won the forty bucks it cost me to buy the carton.... started with five, played several Match the Dealer hands at nine to one.... had a feeling about one and played a five-dollar bet, won twenty back at four to one. Is it immoral to gamble in a casino when you're psychic? *snort.* In any case, I won another sixty off fifteen the next night, at the casino in the bowling alley(how's that for irony?).... but kept on playing, so that didn't end up well. I only lost fifteen, though....
Nothing in the world is fair. That does about sum it up, though, doesn't it? Everything in my head seems to be a complete and utter fucking mess. The dreams are bad.... although I can't tell who's the bad guy anymore, them or me. I ought to buy myself a bar and start charging the ghosts admission and booze - I might be able to keep a little further ahead of the rent, then. I'm sure there's something I can come up with before I'm out on my ass again. Call it charm. Whatever you call it, it's worked so far.... at least as far as having a roof over my fucking head goes.
Lousy mood. What would you think if an old flame of yours popped up on the scene long after you thought she was gone for good.... and by gone for good, I mean the old pine recliner. No goodbye - not really, anyway - just some acrimonious split because your 'second chance' lasted until about the second week, and you scared her off, drinking and gambling and smoking and.... wandering about with.... with that power. Christ knows, I'm not above walking through downtown and turning up my collar, with my keyring jangling at my hip.... because everybody knows me, don't they? For good or ill, everyone knows my name.
Everyone hates me, too, but what the hell. Who's counting?
Eh. Other then them.
So here I am, tossed back into the memories that I had, caught in the middle of something, some deep hush that does not bode well for anyone, most particularly me.... with a veritable harem(do succubi count? I figure they're pretty much open game, anyway), and a black eye that I don't remember getting. Psycho ex-archangels that don't fit into the scheme anywhere, because "God is forgiving, John", although it seems pretty damn fucked-up to me that that bullshit can be forgiven while I'm still sitting here brooding about every single thing I've ever done.... "Cut out the self-pity," she says. Pity. Pity would be something. This isn't pity. This is truth.
I don't want to let it go. I have this.... this division, this truth, and it's all I have. And in my experience, when you start remembering the past, especially bullshit memories that have no place except to remind you that nothing in the world was ever fair, it means they're there for something. Bullshit, but there it is. And whatever it is that could make me dredge up all this old bullshit, I don't want it. Threw a summoning circle two nights ago.... as if I needed any more help to know that something is seriously rotten in Denmark, as the saying goes. It's like some big giant knot, all of them drawing together for something.... I know that I need to find out what it is, and I went looking for a favor.... which is probably where I got the black eye. I plead the Fifth, whatever. She always did say I could sell ice skates down there.
Speaking of... it's... holy fuck. It's 5:20 in the goddamn afternoon. It feels like morning.... probably because I haven't slept all night.... didn't I say that already? Been through two packs alreadytoday.... I really did kick it for a while, I really did. Then someone else died, and I quit sleeping, and I wasn't going to keel out without a drink, and I'll be fucked if I'm having a shot without a cigarette. They do that. Die, I mean. It's a nasty side effect of being alive, near here: you contract a terminal case of Constantine.
She's fucking moody. Catholic girls, and for all my luck, she's....
Nevermind. Don't need to announce it to the world. Unless it's true, in which case I'm fucked.
How ironic.
This whole entry is total bullshit, 100% homespun. I was supposed to have the meeting last night, but I got caught up.... doing what, I don't remember now. We went out.... oh. Yeah. And I never did go back to refill my holy water vials.... although the ritual blade Chas built me out of a Philippino crucifix was a stroke of genius. Honestly. I never would have thought it. I should have written the truth, the whole of it, the dreams, the.... ah fuck, I don't know. It never used to bother me, I mean - having no one to talk to about any of this. I kept it to myself, I did my job, the ghosts left me alone.... mostly. And now she's here, again, and I do, and nothing wants to come out of my mouth except to ask her why she has to constantly watch over me like I'm a child. Why is it that we're always the loneliest in the middle of a crowd of people who care?
Maybe because they think they care, and maybe some of them even do.... but they don't know. It's like surviving a war, and coming home: everyone wants to tell you what a hero you are, but only the grunts who came back missing a leg or with a fucking glass eye can really listen to you. She knows.... but there are ghosts that can't be driven out the easy way. One of them just happens to be a one hundred-and-seventy-one-month-old kid with matching luggage under his eyes and a new appreciation for silence.
Her sister might have understood. Funny, why all my kindred spirits are in Hell.
I know who to ask about that one. Also funny, though: we still don't get along these days.
This is bullshit. I need to go find my lighter, and I think I'm overdue for some codeine. I'm sorry I wasted your time. If anyone actually ever reads this shit, anyway.....
EDIT: Jesus Christ. I knew it...
Has the entire world gone INSANE?
Do you know how long a child of mine would last in this world?
Fuck.
NOW I could use a little attention....
Current mood:  pessimistic
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
10:53PM
Of all the places I never expected to end up, this is right there on the top of the list.
I'm not--- much for talking, not right now, in any case. It's about five thousand fucking degrees in this place, which isn't good for the concentration, if you know what I mean. And there's almost too much for me to sort out right now: new-- people. New situations. And someone who's trying to force me to turn into something I never was-- a nice guy.
I haven't decided yet if it's a good thing or a fucked-up one, to have someone have more faith in you than you have in yourself.
Neither have I decided if that's, actually, why I'm here. Some days, I wish I wasn't. Chalk up my fifth attempt to quit smoking--- failure.
Just like my life.
At any rate, I was told that a few of you might be--- helpful to my situation here. I find it hard to believe that anyone would be sympathetic to my situation, but take it how you will. I seem to be--- still learning. Sharing some of what I know, although why, is far beyond my fucking comprehension. And this isn't so far off from what I'm used to, in any case: one of them saw me, this morning. Docking off the boat. Eye contact, sizzle, spark, that lovely chemistry. Ever feel like your--- parts, are trying to crawl back home? Yeah. Charming, no? But at least that's something I'm used to.
I'm gonna sign off for now. Been running a fever the last three nights, for no good reason at all, and someone finally bought me a beer tonight. Hah. Something cold, anyway. She says she'll 'take me shopping' soon-- I assume that means the clothes I've been wanting, since it seems like I have nothing here except a pair of black slacks that even remotely feels like me. But who knows.
If you were looking for something profound, my spiritual ramblings, my descriptions of what it's like to be me--- fuck off, okay? I've been here almost a week, and I still have said barely ten words about anything that matters. And I'm not a fortune-telling machine, either: I can't tell you if you're going to hell if you stick a quarter up my ass, or in any other orifice. (Although I could probably use the quarter--.) However, there was one of you-- goddamnit, where's that paper with the-- ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.6) echthros? She says you might be someone to talk to. Watch me shrug.... but I guess I could use a little help getting straightened out here. Maybe someday soon, I'll give you a glimpse into the inner workings of John-- my spiritual, tender, sensitive side.
Or maybe I'll just give you the finger.
Either way, no big deal.
My messenger crap's on the profile, I think. Too tired to go back and check.
Later, I guess.
Current mood:  sore
|
|
amused