gomez

I HAVE GIVEN UP MY SOBRIETY. at 6 in the evening. on - a - sunday. nothing really touches me except myself and that's negotiable. i think maybe my chest hurts like it does because i'm out of shape. for life. and feeling exhausts me. there's something utterly hedonistic about typing instead of writing out your feelings. do you remember bif naked? i think she's even pretty sometimes. it makes me wonder if i could ever get a job like my mom, typing other people's transgressions over and over for years, listening to little girls talk about how their grandfathers and father and uncles and friends and everyone touched them and whispered to them about their mothers and sisters and you look so much like her, they all say that, you look so much like her, the way i remember her. i have typed myself into a sweat. i don't think writer's in tv shows and movies are every very good. you're no good. think about that. and i think i'm probably the cockiest person alive, with next to nothing to be proud of. this halloween i want to be anesthesia. because she makes me cry. so does the mini kiwi short. and the idea of spock. i think i want to have an affair. a really dangerous one. rich people have very little to cry about. they don't want for anything and they don't need people. everything is disposable. that's why i want to live on the GODDAMNED PRAIRIE. i'll make you an apron. and ... biscuits. i wonder if there will always be love in the world. i doubt it.