I'm bored.

I'm sick of all my hang ups.
I'm sick of being sick of.

Wake upppppppp.
The end of highschool is getting so goddamn close I can't wait but at the same time I am fucking frightened of what lies beyond.
Lack lack lack.

you've just lost.












and it's given me a clearer direction.

has it been a month?

fridayapril20th
we're driving away, into the night. down south, over the border away from the electricity flashing in the sky, and complacency (not quite). i'm driving, writing blind, stopping rattles on the parcel shelf.


i want a hundred more cigarettes and someone to spoon with. /being fat/lazy. fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu schooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool die in a cunting fire.

:D!

1. My sense of humour sucks.
2. I pretend alot.
3. I may or may not survive.
4. I am terrified that I am assimilating into some sort of normality.



+5. new modest mouse is brilliant.

sometimes all you can do is pretend that all of these moments are connected and mean something,
when all you really want to do is quit smoking and stop trying to be something.
faking grace and joy , i have decided , do not look good on me.

bob marley moments don't lead to much,
beer and everycunt being away or otherwise occupied would like to be conducive to caring about 'art' but somehow just end up with a lot of scribbles and a realisation that more beer is needed.




and i haven't written about these postal service moments that continue to plague me. not since he said he really liked that song and i wished it could be our song, before i realised how gay that shit is.
now i am waiting. and i am noticing my heart is beating, and it is increasing in pace and my chest is beginning involuntarily move up and down, quicker and quicker while i wait and wish and forget to remember disappointment is as possible as what it is i am anticipating.

these moments.

i haven't shaved my legs since friday.

for now, that is all.

i really am a sucker.
tonight, i wish there was something on so i could go the fuck out.

i am home and i feel neglected and unsure.
i know i am not ready to face anything on my own but alot of the time i fear that is how i stand.
i'm not fucking tough. i know nothing of conviction or steadiness and alot of the fucking time the jibberish i speak is just a coverup for the words i would never say. could never say.

and sometimes you just have to fucking accept that waiting around is all the fuck you'll ever be goddamn good for even though all you want to fucking do is go as fast as you can so you don't feel a fucking thing. when things crawl so fucking slow there's too much feeling, when there is so much waiting involved it's hard not to become a fucking neurotic wreck. when it's finally time to admit all these things to myself it's hard not to disconnect. but what would the good of that be?

i'm a lame and the way i treat myself is acceptance of this massive realisation.
it's not self protection, it's rejection.


END PIECE OF SHIT RANT.
(it's just chan's fault i am bawling.)