i love that i write my thoughts on a site with the girls i pine after, bein all nude w/bedroom eyes. its pretty sexy i think.
damn the word is full of despair these days.
it could get a guy down right now. esp. a down guy to begin with.
a friend badgered me about my choosing to stop drinking i told him just fucking cause i dont want to. but i dont want to see what monster comes out if i did.
im real dark these days lots bad shit kinda floated to the surface. when you pack all your negative shit in it just boils over or seeps through or the barrier breaks or whatever. its acid.
so many fears and doubts and shit.
fat? fit? fun? lame? ugly? not that ugly? (deeper) immature to the point of innaccessibilty? self loathing? whats the point? what isnt the point?
(deeper) am i a mistake? can anyone ever actually love something like me?
but on the surface i go to school and call my dad when i make good grades cause well it is kinda weird for me
im the highschool gifted class dropout with a ged who is a freshman at 23 yrs old.
i work out everyday. i get on that goofy lookin eliptical machine and burn 1000 calories and watch studio b on fox and get my edutainment news. i give bedroom eyes to soccer moms for kicks. i pretend not to feel weirded out by all the freely swinging dicks at eye level in the locker room when i change back into my civilian clothes. they all seem bigger than mine.
i think im the only one in there with dyed hair and two silly tats.
i check out girls at my community college. but then i think about talking to them and i suddenly dont even feel like masturbating. let alone trying to bed one of these vacant vixens.
i think my best talent is falling in love. i shoulda been a musician and not a writer. id love to paint what i feel or sing it or play it. maybe pray paint it, or film it.
i write it and i conceptualize it and create grandiose installations and sets of installation peices that couldnt be done till i can work up enough courage to try and do it.
i want to paint a black woman flapper dancing the the foreground with the faces of george and goerge junior looking away from eachother in the background.
i want a room plastered from ceiling to floor with photo's. i want a room that smells like burning oil with mannequins and television sets with spotlights shining out of them. i want an empty room with a real baby palying in it. i want 6 dancers to dance for me divided in two one representing what was and one set representing what could.
i want to film me standing on burning hot tarmac in 116degree weather adn to write things on the walls around it.
i want to hear i love you in my ear and have someone rip it off.
or maybe i want them to create a simulated ice cream eating experience so i can have some goddamned mint chocolate chip.
and some whisky.
lord im not that bad am i.
hmm
bed!!!!!!!!!!!!!
in a little,
im out.
damn the word is full of despair these days.
it could get a guy down right now. esp. a down guy to begin with.
a friend badgered me about my choosing to stop drinking i told him just fucking cause i dont want to. but i dont want to see what monster comes out if i did.
im real dark these days lots bad shit kinda floated to the surface. when you pack all your negative shit in it just boils over or seeps through or the barrier breaks or whatever. its acid.
so many fears and doubts and shit.
fat? fit? fun? lame? ugly? not that ugly? (deeper) immature to the point of innaccessibilty? self loathing? whats the point? what isnt the point?
(deeper) am i a mistake? can anyone ever actually love something like me?
but on the surface i go to school and call my dad when i make good grades cause well it is kinda weird for me
im the highschool gifted class dropout with a ged who is a freshman at 23 yrs old.
i work out everyday. i get on that goofy lookin eliptical machine and burn 1000 calories and watch studio b on fox and get my edutainment news. i give bedroom eyes to soccer moms for kicks. i pretend not to feel weirded out by all the freely swinging dicks at eye level in the locker room when i change back into my civilian clothes. they all seem bigger than mine.
i think im the only one in there with dyed hair and two silly tats.
i check out girls at my community college. but then i think about talking to them and i suddenly dont even feel like masturbating. let alone trying to bed one of these vacant vixens.
i think my best talent is falling in love. i shoulda been a musician and not a writer. id love to paint what i feel or sing it or play it. maybe pray paint it, or film it.
i write it and i conceptualize it and create grandiose installations and sets of installation peices that couldnt be done till i can work up enough courage to try and do it.
i want to paint a black woman flapper dancing the the foreground with the faces of george and goerge junior looking away from eachother in the background.
i want a room plastered from ceiling to floor with photo's. i want a room that smells like burning oil with mannequins and television sets with spotlights shining out of them. i want an empty room with a real baby palying in it. i want 6 dancers to dance for me divided in two one representing what was and one set representing what could.
i want to film me standing on burning hot tarmac in 116degree weather adn to write things on the walls around it.
i want to hear i love you in my ear and have someone rip it off.
or maybe i want them to create a simulated ice cream eating experience so i can have some goddamned mint chocolate chip.
and some whisky.
lord im not that bad am i.
hmm
bed!!!!!!!!!!!!!
in a little,
im out.
finally yes i'm quite sure there are many girls out there who could and will love you.
cc
by the way i missed the show tonight. my friends claimed poverty and flaked at the last minute. someday i will get over my need for a wingman whenever going to a show or bar.