(no subject)
I'm kind of freaking out. Its like a slow progressive panic. Its slow like a crisis, but I'm far too young for that. I don't really know how to focus any of my thoughts or how to communicate them. I'm probably overreacting and just letting small things inflate my head, and then this letting it loose, flying around the room.
I can't really describe it, perfectly. Its as if my mind wants to ignore the fact that I must sit and think or force myself to come to a logical conclusion. Its like my conscious mind is me sitting in a chair trying to sleep...and my subconscious is a little child running circles around me with a noise-maker.
Last night, I was bursting with all this love for my friends. I had such gratitude for all the small corks and little things that make them so imperfect but grasps my attention and love. I was hideously letting everyone that I love know it. I feel as if I should just have a shout out to everyone who made last night hard, good, amazing, sad, or anything at all, before going on. However, I don't have enough reasoning to make a giant post like that.
All of this is just buzzing around in my head. All the little shit and all the fucking stupid human drama ticks are sticking to the main situation like it was a loose sweater. Do you take the sweater off before pealing them from it? Fuck. Maybe its all just a fucking joke, and I'm kidding around with myself about its importance. No one can get hurt, can they? Everyone could just abandon it immediately and it would be fine. No one would worry. Fuck. Fuck shit.
His death was on the news. They had to replay the moment when they found out. Swallowed alive. Burned the pulsating flesh as it still lived, and life would laugh...right in his fucking face.
What the fuck?!
What the fuck am I even worrying about it for. Seriously, no one will get hurt. No one can. How can they? Fuck shit. Maybe I am not even looking at it as importantly as I should. Should I through away my magnifying glass and look at it with the naked eye...or should I get out the microscope?
In the single-handed context, when the event first occurred...I thought nothing of it. I wasn't a loss...I'm a penny missing from a change purse. That was all...I guess it was a bank robbery. And now there are two checkbooks to balance...
I'm not ready to settle down.
And as he swallowed the flames into his lungs, and they ripped apart his insides, more intensely than tuberculosis, he thought, "Will my ghost walk this flaming pier until the end of time? Shall I watch the future burn victims, and shall I float on the bodies of my brethren?"
I'll just forget about this shit next month.
So fuck it. Let him die. Let him take the encircling child with him. If he needs to drag my sitting body, then let it be. Let sleeping lions lie. And when they get a thorn stuck in their paw, let him kill the rat that wishes him well.
I can't really describe it, perfectly. Its as if my mind wants to ignore the fact that I must sit and think or force myself to come to a logical conclusion. Its like my conscious mind is me sitting in a chair trying to sleep...and my subconscious is a little child running circles around me with a noise-maker.
Last night, I was bursting with all this love for my friends. I had such gratitude for all the small corks and little things that make them so imperfect but grasps my attention and love. I was hideously letting everyone that I love know it. I feel as if I should just have a shout out to everyone who made last night hard, good, amazing, sad, or anything at all, before going on. However, I don't have enough reasoning to make a giant post like that.
All of this is just buzzing around in my head. All the little shit and all the fucking stupid human drama ticks are sticking to the main situation like it was a loose sweater. Do you take the sweater off before pealing them from it? Fuck. Maybe its all just a fucking joke, and I'm kidding around with myself about its importance. No one can get hurt, can they? Everyone could just abandon it immediately and it would be fine. No one would worry. Fuck. Fuck shit.
His death was on the news. They had to replay the moment when they found out. Swallowed alive. Burned the pulsating flesh as it still lived, and life would laugh...right in his fucking face.
What the fuck?!
What the fuck am I even worrying about it for. Seriously, no one will get hurt. No one can. How can they? Fuck shit. Maybe I am not even looking at it as importantly as I should. Should I through away my magnifying glass and look at it with the naked eye...or should I get out the microscope?
In the single-handed context, when the event first occurred...I thought nothing of it. I wasn't a loss...I'm a penny missing from a change purse. That was all...I guess it was a bank robbery. And now there are two checkbooks to balance...
I'm not ready to settle down.
And as he swallowed the flames into his lungs, and they ripped apart his insides, more intensely than tuberculosis, he thought, "Will my ghost walk this flaming pier until the end of time? Shall I watch the future burn victims, and shall I float on the bodies of my brethren?"
I'll just forget about this shit next month.
So fuck it. Let him die. Let him take the encircling child with him. If he needs to drag my sitting body, then let it be. Let sleeping lions lie. And when they get a thorn stuck in their paw, let him kill the rat that wishes him well.