Freewrite #2

I'm not good at categorization. I love these days, the day thedayof this. I'm tired of writing out my phone number and saying 860 the 0 is not a typo. I love the days because they're warm, and when it's cold I don't have to walk in it. This isn't bragging. I've lost that part of me. Ila I won't call him this weekend because I can't, I'm chicken buck buck bacawk, and you say you'll do it if I don't terrifies me, because it's a game. I don't like games when my heart's invested. I like games when everything is disposable. Cruelty. I hate this blog. I just read over it. The vampires are telling me it's banal. Morte, vampire', morte. Mountain dew is penguining down my esophagus veins rattling screams waking me just in time fore midnight. Yaaay midnight. Please, I only give a shit about 11:11. I used to like a-line haircuts until I met you. The piracy on the high seas of south america reminds me of Muppet Treasure Island. Note what I capitalized. I am such a child. The python on your shoulders just seduced me, coaxed into eating the fruit. And now I know, the knowledge will kill me. Sununu. As for you, whom I have loved infinitely, I only have one question - do you have a single original idea in your mind? Present me with a single thing you thought up yourself, that someone else didn't impose on your curdled brain, and I will fall back in love with you. As for you, who has loved me infinitely, your symphonies and galaxies of imagination are laughing and twirling on point in their own dimensions and I can barely bring myself to touch your face. Bushido. Remember? My hands are cold. I have it bad. Pardon, I have found myself wilting in habeous corpus surprisingly. Skin stiches itself back together and thin white lines are the only remnants of the aesop fable that was ours. Its stitching itself back together now, it's too deep to be a white line yet. There are new people. For everything. I couldn't tell if he was gay or european, however the accent and the bad breath led me to go with european. I have wrapped myself in people. It's a juggernaut burrito. I sneezed just now. Sneezing is better than Christmas. Pineapple on my pizza same as when I was twelve. Writing letters so people will know exactly what I mean, same as when I was twelve. My words are so careful, so scared, so timid. I dream in color........sepia, and also in the color of your eyes. My incisors are so sharp. The chrorophyl of the cabinet, presses the secrataries to dissipate. And waterboard themselves for the truth. Truth which is overrated and relative, and DOES NOT set you free, because I told the truth, and because the look on someone's face was just right, I was betrayed for a boy, out of fucking desperation. Attencion. This shadow is passing. Light which is not from the sun or any natural source shines thru a prism.......and does not create Noah's rainbow, and therefore is not a promise from God. I loved the cube. It's amazing the boulders that slip thru your fingers. Corners of the mouth simultaneously droop and tighten. I just hung myself from your paranoia. I;ve laid on my back in the shower for so many days trying to recapture the lessons you brought me from france when you gave me a leather book to write in, and a castle to escape to, thank you sir. As Iraq burns, my cat stops to lay a purr in my hand. I wrap myself in your words. Tequila is not my friend. Andrew. This cold has left me shaken. The spiders have poured from the mouths of the derisive coquettish marxists pervading my lungs. My airspace. Please, a Vienetian Waltz one two three one two three. Anna and the king. A freewrite the only thing to write, to get your mind off the one thing on your mind. My flesh is encased in the vocal chords of babylon. The smooth protruding stings of the fights you have over and over again in your mind, it's time that you won. Sail me away. All I want now is to play Guitar Hero and sit in a hottub :) We all live in a yellow submarine, yo.

Welcome to my depression

Maybe the synapses aren't firing correctly. Maybe the chemicals aren't perfectly balanced. Maybe it's because I haven't eaten a single calorie in 27 hours. But I can feel this headache in my toes. Toeache? Bodyache? Soulache?
It's amazing how you can hear your stomach howling at you, and not feel even a touch hungry.
Maybe I'm being a bit of an exhibitionist with this whole blog thing, but it's better than any confidante. I get to release how I feel, and you get a little bit of insight, but it doesn't tell any of my secrets.

Maybe I'm just brilliantly and restlessy alive in a stagnant society, so pain is inevitable, dizzying.
I wish you would have listened.
I need to be proud of you, of your integrity.
We need to not flatter and excuse ourselves.When we do, it cheapens everything.

Pardon my angst.
I have to suck out the venom, melt the idols, knock over the moaii before I come saying I'm fine and dandy, here's a cute story for ya.

I took it down to save us. I took it down.