Thursday, February 26, 2009

The Mushrooms

It's a quarter to three in the afternoon and the sky is black.
Gravity is avoiding me!
All laws of physical being have escaped and now I've lost the crumb trail.
So I follow the rabbit instead.
Down, down, down...
Theoretically, relativity and actuallity are only part of the connectivity to logicallity!
Tears are filling these walls up.
I can't get out,
of the nowhere I'm stuck in.
The door's not locked, but still, I can't get through.
Changing shape, smaller, larger, WHOOSH, a butterfly.
To avoid all laws of physical being!
So I follow the rabbit instead.
I'm still as damp as ever,
And no, I do not understand this game!
No one exists!
Do I exist?
Paint the roses red to avoid decapitation.
And try to remove the floating head from it's non-existant body.
Oh, my hero, who can't stand on his own two feet!
And now I'm talking to the garden.
So I follow the rabbit instead,
defying the laws of gravity!
Take the mushroom, take the mushroom.
We all know about the mushroom.
A fancy trip on a sunny night!
Where will you be next hour?
But, oh, time is only a mirage in this fractal mess!
Colors, light, and WHOOSH, a butterfly!
So I follow the rabbit instead.
Can't stick to one size,
Can't stick to one cup!
What a tea party!
What a fancy hat!
You know, you really aren't all that right in the mind.
You know, I'm really not all that here.
What a fancy trip on a black morning!
The smile, it smiles!
So haunting, so wise!
And chills molesting my spine!
It looks better now it's morphed.
So I follow the rabbit instead.
To defy the Queen of Hearts!
To avoid decapitation!
How can there be a theft if nothing is missing?
We all know about the mushrooms.
What a curious trip on a curious day!

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Part of the bass

The pulse of the music traced through her, etching intricate patterns in to the white of her bones, like spiderwebs. It seemed to calm her, even with the soft feeling of pain it carried, and as she took in the words of brutallity, spoken by a master of enthusiastic vocals, she suddenly realized, this could help her.
She allowed it to move her words across the page, sometimes back and forth, up and down and in circles. This could've, should've been confusing, but she pressed on as the song changed and a new masterpeice leaked over the page.
My God, you're brutal.
And that's just so magical, she thought, as flashing lights instructed her to look away. Not now, not now, she was flowing. Flowing to the bass, her fingers moving up and down, thump, thump, thump, dancing across the keyboard in a race to the finish. Did there really have to be a finish?
Not now, not now, not while the memory of each previous sound was still fresh in her memory, not while the words and the music were calming her contagious rage, her spirit ripping through her ribcage and into the outside. It couldn't help it, it wanted to dance too.
A tricky time came, she decided, to let go of all connection. But as the words before this line, as the words registered meaning in to her head she understood that it was just one step away, she was totally capable.
As she questions herself, unsure of how to seperate the truth from the lies, she almost forgets that she is right. So right in herself, for life is only what you make it, and the lies she dedicated to the swan years before will now be the truth in the swans eyes.
"Multiple identities, why can't you see I was born for this?"
Her fractured lines begin to weave as the beat increases speed, and as the fall ack in with the diluted audio, she slips inside the calming frequency, inside the cadence of the thump,thump, thump.
She feels her head rock back, closed eye images, the need to be restrained, removed, pulse, pulse, pulse. Dance with me. Pulse, pulse, pulse.
She begins to feed them all a peice, their bodies convulsing in time with the bass tones, a shock wave of gratification flowing down, down, down in to your new home. Live in the realm of this song, it's so prepared, it's setting the borders, the limits, making the rules.
Her words... Stop... And start slow as the music falls to a near halt, needing it to pick up again so the story can continue, the story of audio, the story of your life inside this pulse, pulse, pulse.
A line, so slow, so true. "There's only one way to get what you want and that's to get it".
Back in the time, but not quite. Here we go, are you ready to feel your weight on the floor? We will demonstrate to you disorientation. We will now enter your eardrums. Hold ack, you're going to fast, you'll explode.
Now, we're really fucking. "Wash away my memory".
Faster, faster, faster! You're invincible, baby! You're invincible!
The music threatens to take your life, but you no longer feel afraid, for you're apart of it tonight.
La, la, la, la, la.
Harsh whispers sound so loud, fill you up and hack you up from the inside.
La, la, la, la, la.
Time for your head to get raped. Pounded in to the wall, forever. Faster, faster, faster!
Are you ready to say goodye to silence?

Tuesday, February 24, 2009


"I won't hurt you, I promise". Beautiful words, so assuring coming from the face I loved, the words resonating from the corners of my heart, dancing back and forth. Already, I was pouring sweat, so eager. It would happen tonight.
And I believed him, as our lips collided, passing saliva, a twisted dance between two tongues. My body firm on top of his, moving against eachother, topless, clothing somewhere in the room, but not in or world. Then he turned me over, wrapping arms around me as now he was in control, nibbling at my neck, my head tossed back in XTC, nails clinging to the flesh of his back so securely, as his lips moved up and down the soft, pulsing surface of my neck, shifting down across my breasts, my stomach, down, down, down, further in to the untouched realms.
Yet, even while his face, so innocent (My God, you're beautiful, golden hair tracing the precious flesh on your young pretty face) looked up to me with expecting eyes, I couldn't help but flinch away from the one I had been waiting for.
"Baby, why are you so shy? I won't hurt you, I'll go slow". That voice, oh, you know how I want you. Why do you have to be who you are? What are you doing to me?
"I want it to be with you, but I can't". I felt like crying, now denying myself the one thing I've hoped for since our first encounter, rooftops ago.
"Let's try again", he offers, almost begging, and I lay my head upon his chest and listen to his fast, beating heart, music I could throw myself at him to.
Oh you, my beautiful thing.
However, even while he begged me, and reminded me how bad I wanted him. Even while his body was pressed to mine, and I could feel how badly he wanted me, I couldn't let him have me, though I knew as soon as I admitted defeat I would be longing to be back in his embrace, back against him, my mouth creating patterns across his neck as he would moan, so cute, so pretty, so perfect.
"This will happen", I promised him.
And I never break a promise. But how long will he wait for me? It seems a while, by the eagerness he showed, still so in need long after I'd given up. All those promises that he'd not hurt me, would make me feel good, all those little moans of pleasure...
Never have I felt so disappointed in myself.

Ferret, still a virgin.

Sunday, February 22, 2009


I would never hurt you, they said. Liars.

"Edward lived in a dumpster, right? And like, he had a beard and he's bald and shit, and there's s stain ont he side of the dumpster. Anyways, he came out with a bag of apples, but they were pretty rotten. Not wanting to be rude, I simply said, "Yeah, I'll save it for later". Then, he came out with a bag of nectarines. Rotten nectarines. Lucky, there was only two, so I just said "Yeah, don't wanna take your last ones, bro". So the fucker brings out a loaf of bread, and once again, I have to think of an excuse so I don't seem rude. "Dude, I like have diseases and I dont wanna spread 'em". And he gets all "Sis, if you don't want any of my food, just like, say so". So I said "Nah, I'm a broccoli"".

This simple story that I played on repition, winding in, adding facts and fiction to Kyren McTripper, so in the end, and even now, he's unsure whether this story actually happened or not.

I'm sorry, Kyren, but I had to.


Without sight, I could almost function, if it weren't for colors. Colors, light and movement. The making of LSD. It all boils down to the fact that my hearing is much more important to me than my sight. It used to be such an easy choice, between the two. "I'd lose my sight, blindness I could deal with". Now, thanks to Wonderland, I could never give up the fractals.

A burning cigarette, embers alight in the darkness, moving, twisting and contorting so brightly, everything else a total blur, focused so intently on the heat and light eating the paper, down, down, down. A splash of colors in the sky, a volcanic exploxion of a rainbow, spattered in patterns across my vision, falling up and around, backwards, forwards, a fixed gaze as the the colors melt away after a single blink, letters, patterns fading away because my eyes just shifted at that unexpected time, and they are gone. A kaleidescope, pulsing with hysteria behind my eyes, colors flooding my eyelids, my entire sight a mess of random images bending in and out of the rings of color, circles, a rainbow, a sweet candy bobbing, and as you watch the music, no sound, only sight, you wish to share it with everyone, but they are missing out. This is your adventure, as the fractal elves ask you what the hell you've been smoking, and you can only grin, extand a tongue and watch the miniture images build up in to one picture, the picture of life, as they collide and wind in and out, between eachother, a serpent, a brilliant mess of beauty, wonder. Then the sky collapses, as the colors melt in and out, in and out of your mind. And you become the color, but you don't know which it would be, only that it's beautiful. So relaxed, even if you do not know who or where you are. Everything so much larger, lost in a six-by-six room, questioning the floorboards. You're only, what is going on inside your head? You'll make it explode, and WHOOSH, the colors speed past, as water flows down the walls, hands extented to touch it, where is it? It's then, watching your hands dance to the music in your eyes, as you manipulate time and try and figure out what is going on, that you wonder if you've lost yourt mind for good. And for a moment, the idea scares you, for you could never get used to this, but then you remember, you didn't take it to be placed in a normal state of mind, and even if your mind is broken, that's what you were aiming for in the end, right? You remember that everything, everything is in your control. And that's when the colors, lights and any brillieant theories that come along with them fade in to darkness.

Lost. In. LSD.

Baby, we're in Wonderland.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


It's been too long since I ignored the outside world and crept in to my insides.
It's been too long since I came up with a peice like The Dead Cinderella, an image of me created by me, but it wasn't me at the time. At the time, it was only a mirage. Now, it's the end of the tunnel.
And let me tell you something.
It's dark down here. There's no light, and my veins are clogged up with jaggard ice, sharp as glass.
Now I'm here, I'm not sure I want to leave, but only because I've forgotten what the daylight looks like, feels like, smells like. Does it have a scent? I think its ugly, but I don't know anymore.
The grass is soft, moist with the entrails of life. It's obscene, but you want to come back, don't you?
Let's paint the walls, smear them with blood, light, and color, the makings of the movement in my own eyes, which are no longer my own. They belong to society, like everyone elses. I see what they want me to see. And by they, of course I mean you.
Something's different. Something has changed. Something is not right.
Something is crawling around in my throat, choking me everytime I open my mouth to speak. I call it The Character, but The Character calls it me.
Cat and mouse. A vicious circle. Catch 22.
You're playing with yourself again.
The Character is everything I used to be, everything I'm going to be, everything I need to be, am wanted to be. But it's not me, because if it was me, I wouldn't have to discard it.
Who's your favorite mistake?
Don't point the finger.
Clench your fist instead.
Fading, slipping, falling, dying, decaying, melting. Humming, skipping, playing, singing, praying, living.
Now, to decide, so I melt or crumble, sink or drown?
Or build, construct. Float, swim.
Kind of the same, really. I've been stuck with these questions for so long that I'm unsure which is better.
We'll have fun, Character.
Let's kill eachother.
Afterall, we're only killing ourselves.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Two knives

Dear blog.
I don't rememer how long it has been since we last spoke. Hours, days, weeks, months, years... A decade? It's all the same once you realize time is only a human concept. Are we human? Then time belongs to us.
We own time. Were in time. A swirling vortex.

It's been interesting, were fixing the place up, sweeping out the glass... It'll be nice one day. The more people who flock there, the more it feels like home. But the one I trust leaves soon. I hope he finds his way back home to us.

Laying in his lap, arms pinned back, covered in blood. How sick and twisted we are, flirting with our insides. But it was beautiful, even amongst the running red and the taunts of those around us, mocking, hating. I wanted to cover them all in blood, but this was mine, this was my moment.

I'm tired of the mixed up people who somehow find there way to what was once a second home. I'm tired of the people I once called friends. I'm tired of everything, blood weak, bruised skin, chronic fatigue and this blistering heat raining down on my dying body. Frustrated, bored and very unwell.

When you lose everything, you figure out you never really wanted it in the first place. But then, you feel you need something. Health, loyalty, protection and love, the kind of love that doesn't involve sex, commitment and heartbreak. A little attention, and a few drops of concern.

A mystery to you is only a mystery to me. If I knew, I'd surely tell you. Ah, a little respect, maybe. A little understanding, perhaps. Am I going soft? Am I so different from the girl I once was or was I always this way? Either way, its getting to me more and more everyday.

There are two knives, one in each hand. One of them will kill, the other will not even pentetrate the flesh. How do I know which one to thrust into your chest, and which to thrust in to mine? I'm having trouble deciding which is better. Yours or mine. Death is the only freedom, my dear, I hope to fuck you understand that I plan to set you free.

I know all the dangers, I know where they are, but Im blind and it's going to take some getting used to. I can't see the things I recognize. I can't make sense of anything, holding on to something, thinking it's one thing and then figuring out it really wasn't what I thought it was at all. I'll get it one day.

I want to collapse my mind. Bring me drugs that will make my head explode. I want to talk to the wallpaper, and try and explain to you that you're a part of it, and I'm just trying to get through to you in a different way. What is communication? The purple flowers are so inviting, stretching fingers over the soft patterns, reaching for the highest one, even though they're all exactly the same. But I so need the one thats up there, why can't I touch it?

Back to my hunting teeth, looking for a place to sink in to, beautiful, golden, young flesh. Filthy blood, smeared everywhere. I want so much what I know I dont want. Oh, the statement. "I don't know what I want". I've gotten to the point of not caring, as long as I have something. As of current, I'm still searching for a puzzle peice, but oh, without sight, it's pointless.

The highest building can't help me now. I'm not really here, you know. I've been gone for what seems like forever. I don't think I want to come back. I'm hurting myself... Not with a blade, a flame or a fist, but with a mind so furious....

I don't want help. That takes the fun out of everything. I just want company. I want people to make up their minds, even if I cant do it for myself. It's horrible, make a decision and realize it was the wrong street. Too late, you've gone to far now, and you're lost, you don't know how to get back to the start.

Wash my mind, cleanse my mind, fuck my mind, break my mind, destroy my mind, find my mind, build my mind, discover my mind, lose my mind, kill my mind.

"What came first, the chicken or the egg?"

Story of my life.

Sunday, February 8, 2009


I don't want to breathe the air you breathe. I don't want to consume the food, the drugs, the liquids, the words or the observations that you do. I don't want to know the people you know. I dont want to think about you, and I'd hate to think you were thinking about me. I don't want to ever see your fucking face again, least I crack it open and let your self-asorbed mind leak out in to my hands. And we'll sit and sift through you, like the toy you are, like the toy you are for anyone who wants a game.
I hate you so much, my bones ache, my fists clench, my head feels on the verge of explosion every time I picture your grinning face.
I hope a shittonne of evil befalls you. I hope you finally care about something.

Let's face it, I want you out of my life. If I must force it, I will. But you should be dead, and you wouldn't care, would you? Little cunt.

Fucking choke on your own selfish greed.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Fair game

A mismatch. A mess, falling peices never come back... So what's the point in searching?
Sometimes, a glimpse is enough. A shining puzzle piece reminding you that you a re incomplete, and from that glimpse you can try and mold a new peice. It'll never be the same.
How can one carry on the same when they have watched themself decompsoe? It isn't fair. It isn't fair. It isn't fair.
And then what is fair, but a word we put at the end of 'it isn't', to demonstrate dislike?
Or a word to describe the color of her skin, her hair?
Or to give credit to the game of life...

S'pose I'm his messenger, I've played that game before. I took down a certain someone's life and theories before he died, and I'm yet to share them, for that would be impolite to share a secret. But what if I unlock it, let it go free, will it help me understand? Will it help others understand? I do not know what to do. The messenger never leaves the building without a bullet wound.

'To be, or not to be'.
'Scientific term of matter is fact. So if it matters, it's fact. It's real. It exists'.
'If it's make-believe, you can make-believe it's real'.
'Change is coming through my shadow'.

Things for me to ponder, over and over again. A writer, an old friend, a child and a musician. Why is it these lines that imprint themselves in to my head?
It isn't fair, but fair game.

Fair game....

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

To be, or not to be

Fuck you, you fuckwit.
How dare you pose the question of my life and not give me a significant answer?
How very fuvking impolite.
It's the most extreme form of rude I have ever seen.

Plots, colours and contentment

His words are that of meaning, it sinks in deeper than any others, I feel them writhing and making their way up to my brain, travelling by way of veins, furiously pumping weak blood, under bruised and scarreds arms and a charred but still functional heart.
The problem is, as much as the words go in to my sponge like brain, they can not get to the center, I push them away and rely soley on my own delusions, but ehy? I'm sure if I were capable of just for once, accepting what I were told without questionisng it to the point of non-existance, I would be so much happier. Content, is the world, without need or want. Oh, it would be beautiful, my mind set to rest inside a beautiful dream-like realm, where I would find the colours.
But instead, I pick apart his judgement, I pick him to pieces, I can not allow he I know who is right to control my thoughts, that would be putting faith in him like he were a God. But Dr. War says I am my own God, which makes a lot of sense, it really does.
So, there was a start, a start in which I carried myself with curiosity, a fine memory and a fascination for everything. There was the end, where I go insane, maybe die, but point of, life as I know it will end. Now, what for the middle? No story should have to end so suddenly.
If this is the middle, it makes for one hell of a plotless book.

Ciggarettes laced with sedatives, crooked plans and addiction go hand in hand. I must watch out for these things in the time I stay here. Why? Not sure, but they're sure to haunt me, if not hurt me.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Hello, mind

The pressure of a million eyes makes me feel too conscious of my ever-building paranoia, my countless and constant fears consuming me, devouring me. Pure, tempting, mindfuck liquid. Elixir, ambrosia.
"Let us feed on your insides, little one, let us bleed you dry".
These are the resonating voices of everyone and everything that has ever been a part of me, the people I know, the mistakes I've made, the things I've left behind... Everything that is no longer me.

"In order to find out who you are, we need to start with a memory. An early memory. It doesn't have to seem significant, maybe it is nothing at all but a childhood game you remember clearly, but tell me, I will work on it for you".
Well... I sit in the wicker chair, blue, stained cushion screaming at me to put it out of it's long-life misery, yellow diamonds glinting off the face of it. I watched the prehistoric giants in cartoon form parade across the television, as I clasped two compacted models in my hands, fire-colored plastic things. It's funny, when I was little, I could place a name to any creature that had ever walked the earth. It were my favorite past-time to sit with a book too complicated for a child to be meant to understand, or a documentary, t.v series where I would watch and live out the life of the animal in my mind. I could tell you anything, back then, and I would have been correct. But now, all the names and facts have escaped me. Did my memory shatter?
"Maybe so, maybe you lost faith in your studies and fascinations. Any idea what may have caused this?"
I would've said the lost of one of those miniature models, because I lost it amongst the commotion... Yes, commotion. We were moving house, if my memory serves me right, but, oh dear, it never quite does, does it? But anyway, that couldn't be the reason, for my amazement went long on after that. Maybe the volcano?
"The volcano? Do expand".
Ah, the nightmares that ensued... I kept as book on magma and volcanoes, another previous fascination of mine, until the nightmares started, volcanic eruptions in my sleep... It honestly scared the shit out of me. I through the book away, and soon after, the nightmares stopped.
"Fear is very controlling. This may be one of the reasons, but I think something else happened. Maybe it were not a single moment like the one described, but a series of events that led up to your sudden lack of interest. You and I both know you had difficult past, you do not even wish to talk to yourself about it, am I correct?"
Of course you are, you are me, but I'm honestly trying to forget. See, when a bad thing happens and one becomes all upset about that thing, more bad things are bound to happen caused by the persons thoughts, feelings, words and actions. Let's not disturb the volcano, please.
"Oh, dear. You know we'll have to b disturbing a lot more than dormant volcanoes, right? We'll be starting tidal waves, tsunamis across the mass of your head, we'll flood you, explode you, impact you, slaughter you. Yes, there will be a massacre, but do not worry, I'm sure some good will come out of it, and if not, this is what you wanted, right? If you want to abandon your past, and also yourself, let me know and we'll move no further in our studies. But if you want to know more, you'll have to expect blood. A lot of blood".
And the drugs? Can I not just happily explore myself through my beautiful LSD?
"You can, but those experiences will always bring you back here. And you know I'm right, because I am you".

Then maybe we're both wrong.

This is a waste of time, I need to sleep and you keep scaring me.
"Your mind is a scary place. Try to compress it no longer. Release".
You're insane.
"I'm insane, you're insane. Everything in the head that surrounds us is insane. You can not separate us. Let's get along, I assure you it will be much easier this way. Painless. Would I venture so deep if I thought I'd be hurting myself?

Yes. I'm prone to hurting myself and everyone else. I do not trust you. I do not trust myself. And everything else? Everyone else? Stay the fuck away from my head. You get in here, I'll fear you. You'll be just as crazy as me. Leave this to me.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Structured beings

They haven't the talents I have, but they have one so more meaningful. I envy them for I know what I lack, but they do not envy me for they do not know what I am. I'm just the shadow of the person I am, waiting to become whole as I create this little being to do all my hard work for me, an intense game. You know what I'm talking about, right? You know who you are, right?
Ignorance truley is bliss. If I knew not what I was without, would I waste so much time trying to find it again? But then, I do not know what I am, and this is not a pretty thing. I weep in my haze of confusion, purple smoke that should be pretty but carries the stench of something rotten, something old that died just days before in the very place you stand, it's death so painful that ypu can still hear the screams as they echo, bouncing of the walls of your head as it oozes drops of acidic blood
in to your scarred hands. And the haze never faultewrs, still, clouding everything, the stench making your body topple backwards, you feel you'll pass out, you feel you'll faul backwards in to a deep hole, and if not that, then a vortex. And then, you suddenyl realise, your mind is in a whirling pool of darkness and your whole days are spent scratching at the walls of your memories for an answer, and leaving clues in your vision but the haze... the haze is too thick for you to make out the writing on the paper and as you bend down to read it, it explodes, your last hope lost, shattered like the glass stuck in the joints of your fingers, as the glass digs and peels layers of skin back to let the blood fall.
How very depressing your mind is.
Tell me, you do not believe in magic, but if you had the chance, would you toss all your riches down the well of existance, just to be sure it didn't exist? Or are you just that confident in your own decisions. I think you forget, you are just one fucking person and your stupidity and thinking what you believe is right makes me fucking paraletic! I can not stand to be around you while you think you have the power to correct everybody because you feel their thoughts are wrong. Believe me, we all are aware of your intelligence and I rarely disagree with you, but that's only because you never dwell deep enough, deep in to the center of our minds, the place I live in, and so I never get the chance to show you that you are in fact, not on a high enough level to praise yourself the way you do.
I don't believe in magic. But I believe in the power of the mind, so, anything is possible. The person who puts all their faith in a God, when I am so sure (note: this is only my belief, I am not saying it is true) that there isn't a God, can in fact see visions, their own 'proof' that a God exists. Are the insane? Are the liars? Perhaps, but isn't it also possible that they're mind, so sure of this God, has conjurred a God? Who is to say that what you see is real?
But you just accept what you're told, what you read, what you hear and see, which is no different from the man who picks up a copy of the Bible and bases his life upon it.
But you do not think beneath the surface. You think just like every other motherfucker and then claim to know mroe than them. Well, it's possible for them to learn the things you know, isn't it? But it isn't possible for people to understand the things in my head, you can not think like me. Am I insane? I think so. The belief that I do not exist, and that my thoughts are just records, that you are just a dream and that life is just a game could be insane. Fallibilism and insanity are so fucking close, if they had intercourse, it'd be incest.
It's difficult to live a life when I think every need, every want, every though and ever sense is imaginary. But, oh God, I couldn't break through even if I were right. You can not pick up this belief as fast as you can pick up science or Christianity. So either I am insane or fucking brilliant.
I'm happy with either, since neither of them really exist in my opinion.
Oh, wow, that was confusing. :)))

Little worm

If any worm deserved to lay in sands of his own blood, it was him. Sickening, the filth these people bring in to each others lives.
She makes her upgrades, too smart for them all and far too beautiful to not get what she wants. She just can't decide what it is she desires. While he suddenly gets a dose of his own medicine, watching one he loves melt in his hands, and he admits that he laid with another, but oh, boys will be boys. It's his sense of power. He needs to make them fall in love with him, or else he feels like he has no control. And now, he has no control, for she did not crave his company. Instead, she broke his power-thirsty and attention-seeking heart for the heart of another. A far more wise choice. The one she chose is a brutal mass of intelligence, more fitting. He does not have that 'you seriously need to shut the fuck up' factor, which is amazing un-annoying, and his speeches do not always start with 'well, actually'. Not that I have too much against her previous lover, but certianly he was no match for her.
On the other hand, we have a brutally intelligent man. The man we can all look up to and respect, the complete hypocritical asshole you just can't help but love. It's difficult to not worship the man. And he knows that we look up to him. And so, when he has his heart shattered, feels the need to smash a certain someones face in to a million peices, he tries to stand proud, not let it show how hurt he is, but it isn't hard to see how he's falling apart inside. Why did she do it? I think I know, it was a long-term infatuation. But how can he be so ready to forgive and bring her back in to his arms? I think I know, it's love. And so while I may finally see something that is a little pathetic in this man, something cruel in this female, and something repulsive in this douchebag, it's not my place. I will stand aside and watch things for a while, though I've never been a fan of soaps. The over-the-top drama always seems a little too unrealistic. How can reality be unrealistic???
The person I hates so much I coul not stand to even be in sight of him is now my best friend, the big brother I found is now going to prison as soon as he turns himself in, the bitch who broke my fucking nose won't leave me alone, the annoying douchebag who jumped in my life is stalking me and insulting me, while not being able to listen and learn from anyone for he feels they are putting him down. Oh, I wouldn't put him down if he would take the time to listen to me ands learn a thing or two without breaking down and attaching himself to me like a fucking parasite! And if he wants to socialize with the people I am aquainted with, he really needs to get the fuck over himself, shut the fuck up and take a lesson. These people will not put up with ignorance.
The person I chase after and plan to give myself to shows no interest what-so-ever, while every other fucking being on the planet is constantly tugging at my pants. I'm losing my mind, I'm currently homeless and becoming the annoying peice of shit that scabs things off everybody and won't look for a job. If I had a stable home, I'd get a job. Fuck that, if I had a stable home I'd be in school studying physics.
All I'm studying is other people and my mind through the wonders of LSD. I have a problem with everyone, obviously, it's all too much fucking drama and I can't be myself until I take a seat in a quiet place, stretch my fingers over the keyboard and type shit out. It's a fabtastic feeling to finally be myself after a day of acting and observing.
I really need to trip balls. No addiction to acid? Maybe so, but I'm addicted to self-study. And that causes me to become addicted to the very best method of learning about yourself. Motherfucking LSD.
I need to get one on one. I need people to read this, figure out who I am and then confront me, and be honest with me. Honesty is so brilliant. Explore your own head, and everyone elses and you will never be bored. I'm figuring you all out. It's rather simple, I have a connection. Do not try and deny it, because whether it's factual or not, I'm still capable of it. I will diagnose you, file you and set you aside for future references. But will you ever be able to do the same for me? I had someone attempt it the other day, and got me so terribly wrong. But then, I kind of figured that perhaps he was right when I couldn't actually figure myself out for myself. But, judging by the person I've picked him out to be, he wouldn't know shit. He's an utter douchebag, ask anyone. :)
Anyways, I've let out more than I cam here to do, so I'll most likely have to do another blog so I can expell the shit on my mind without mixing it too much with these studies.