t3chmonkey

The first part of my entry will be delivered in form of me listening to too much hip hop in the last couple of weeks.


I'm inked up and punctured just like the rest of you
it wasn't enough just to dress like you
so now maybe I can mesh with you
But fuck it, that's just a part of me
a shard of me
Like shattered glass
I'm all broken ass
I'm four main fragments held in by a frame
I'm five or six people held in check by a single name
------------------------------------

I really do feel like five people. It's all my fault and everything stressful and unpleasant I've done to myself and by myself. I'm trying to run a cafe, curate a gallery, start up a card line, and collaborate on a couple of comic books.

I know I'm going to lose money on the gallery, but it might help in keeping the cafe running which is some job security. I don't even want to be rich. I just want to have a little job security.
All of this while my car is days away from imploding on itself, my phone is fried from me dropping it in the toilet and my girlfriend just quit her job and expects me to use money I'm trying to sack away to support her. It gets better. Her birthday is coming up and her mother is coming down. She has extravagant plans for all of this and might I reiterate, no job.

it feels like a lot on my shoulders.
But to be fair, I did this to me.
I believe that I am a masochist, oh yes I do.
Pile it on, baby. I hate the fuck out of me.