Smokin ciggarettes and watching...
dozens of 12 point times new roman font words spread out across my head in patterns resembling some sort of coherent thought regarding victorian melodramatic flywheels touting the speed limit of MY Space while little alex tells me how he learned to love the bombpay the rent the pretty polly want a cracker sits in the box marked SAFE and I die alittle bit.I am never ever going to read about some 1890's mental breakdown again without taking lots of little yellow pills first. I'm beginning to hate lit class.
I need more brain power...there's not enough to go round. To many things...I want to nail down one, even though it has no deadline.. unlike my schoool work.. or my job.
I want to crucify this thought, spreading it out on the wall so I can gut it, pull out its intestines, find the little worm that's sucking everything out of my "knowing" and kill it by means of a very hot flame. Then I can look the splayed corpse in the face and demand it tell me what the hell is going on. Why does it insist on on needling me and tell me what the fuck IT is. Some fantastical mystical IT and I can not understand IT... At least it's not covered in mucus today.
Bedwise is right wise, my little droogs, right, right?
posted by iSirkus @ 12:14 AM
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