Wednesday, March 21, 2012

clear as day

I smellz like a big dirty dumpster. ofcourse thats usually what happens when you climb into one and start rummaging around. I love my job. to be entertained by your own humiliation is a strange thing... I haven't slept in a while. I really really need to sleep. too much black girl butt grabbing. I was told by a psychiatrist on thursday that I have anti-social personality disorder-Iwish-guess I've got another label to wear round my neck, though. why is photography so important to people? why must every event be documented? It seems like such a waste of time and completely rapes the moment. fuckin A. what the hell am I to do with myself... I'm so jaded by personal problems and faded from reality. I need someone in my life who's much more brave-a honey badger of a woman to validate everything I do, write, and say. that's so fucking pathetic. I can't really say we all are, but I most definately am. oh well. who cares. doom path. that's my lyffe. its quite interesting when I think of how I never have or will do anything that is beneficial to society. why must it be important to be remembered? I don't know what to think. I use I alot. I I I I fucking me me me. god dammit. whatever. death seems so boring, normal, and temporary to me for some reason. Ifeel like I should be afraid and either think i'ma die and be nothing of nothingness forever and ever or be a lil angel in heaven. but I don't. I feel like I wont die, even when I diediedie-since I don't care about dying, its as if the subject is irrelevant to my existance. like, I'm exempt from the laws of lifenessness. what the hell am I babbling about... I never babble anymore. it makes me sad. I'm glad I'm doing it now. I wonder if theyre gonna make me lurk in the dumpsters now? who knowssssss.

P.S. I got left in austin during SXSW. and lemme tell you. I now officially hate all stereotypes of people. fucking hipsters.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

fate of freud

four eyes won't fly among floating lies
too many mines for the wings of our crimes
guess we'll fall, hitting bombs, clumsily unfolding this ageless song
what do we find among the ashes of convenience store matches? a fading scent from the fires of friction
just more litter on the floor, and whats more, another reminder of the creatures we abhor.