Earlier I sent my best friend a side by side comparison of a photo of me and the cover of Night of the Living Dead and laughed for a really long time because there was like, an uncanny resemblance without trying.
I've had a lot of success convincing children I'm a vampire.
I dyed my hair with kool aid today because I don't want anyone to hire me to do anything, ever.
I'm reading Best American Short Stories of the Century, and out of like a thousand pages, I have yet to like one. I feel like literally every story is about a person who comes to America from another country and dies.
I wish someone would start a lit blog that functions like Buddyhead circa, like, pre 2008. If that existed, it would probably be my favorite website. I also wish Buddyhead had a blog that functioned like Buddyhead pre 2008.
If I had a twitter I would probably tweet, "I'm depressed because I read a book about a depressed person once and decided I would make it a part of my personal identity (crises)" or "I'm sad because my dad is a republican who pays for my health insurance."
I made some soap earlier. It's black. It's black (metal) dead sea mud soap. It's pretty awesome. I keep making/saying useless things because my life has no meaning, you see? I can't talk to anyone because I can't think, but I can sure as fuck send you a bar of soap, and I can sure as fuck physically and spiritually pass for (un)dead.