Friday, May 11, 2012


I'm reading things and analyzing things, and stalkfucking people who make me feel sad and marginalized and oppressed  and pretending to care and be angry through uncontainable, severe detachment because I'm supposed to be finishing a "novel" that no one gives a shit about. I have "writer's block" maybe. But it's more like the feeling of like--cleaning your apartment, and you're almost done cleaning, but there's random shit left. Shit where you're like, I don't want to throw this shit away, but like I don't know what to do with it. So, you sit down and watch 88 episodes of Saved By the Bell on Instant Netflix or write out "insincere," "thought provoking" types of rants.

Someone say something funny to me. Someone make me feel "motivated" someone feed alcohol into my mouth holes and China White and other types of opiates up my nose holes, and put things in my other body holes and make me not feel bored.

I am "fucked."

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