fuck
its been another year and this is the update. im sick. not in a runny-nose, wet rag on the forehead, blankets feeling like fire sort of way. im sick. not in an "im too tired to go out tonight," or a "maybe i can catch up on some reading," kind of way. im sick of the fucking pressure i feel in my stomach when i breathe. im sick of the sound my lungs make[the soundtrack to an outtake from an albuterol advert]. im sick of my eyes being functional voyeurs in a world i dont fucking get. i tried to give myself a black eye the other night. it didn't work. im sick of desire and lust and all the fucking guy/girl bullshit that im supposed to understand. how am i ever going to grow up?? im sick of knowing im not enough or ever will be. im sick of knowing i am too much as my fucking gut covers the view of my miniscule cock. im sick of that cock having needs that my brain and my spirit really dont want to fulfill. im sick of the feeling. im sick of phonecalls and poetic words. im sick of fucking art, for real. whatever. i need to climb things. there are alot of trees/buildings/bridges/train stations that are left unclimbed. i need to fucking start going to the beach more. i need to write better songs.