ow, my rotting body aches
fuck is it ever hard to ressurect yourself. i still havent done it. at least i can see now.
see all the nameless faces walking around as if i werent there.
see all the feet of those who dont notice.
and see that fucking angel flying overhead, laughing, saying it told me so.
sooner or later, i will be able to walk again, and when i do, i will be a veritable jesus.
only...slightly more real...and not as pure....and....fuck it, maybe not a jesus, but at least,
a re-made creature of suffering and ecstacy like light upon mine own windows.
and really, whats more important than the light of your own man-made soul.
oh ya, everything. thats why im not jesus. im not enlightened. EVER.
shit, the same goddamn fucking room, and the same scenarios, of which there is no escape. and i cant fully close myself off, because so many people want to poke me to see if im alive. yes, hers my fucking wallet,
now piss off till im fully healed! at least those who pity me are still around. or at least those with curiosity or or a sense of that attraction to a pathetic dying rabbit...
does anybody even read this.
considering what i write, who would care.
and considering nobody would care, why do i write.
and since i am questioning this, why am, i writing it down...
whatever, i suppose its the same reason 60% of the world does it. pure, unadulterated boredom.
though, i can think of some more exciting ways to kill time, like explorative sex, wondrous and exotic drugs, television, pornography, ice cream, social instability, arguments, philosophy, attempted suicide, separation anxiety, jealousy, loss of the definition of love, observation of all strangers, new and innovative ways to kill an eleven year old rape victim, listening to the new 50-cent album, living by quizzes, saving, downloading, swearing(hey), folding your emotions, bottling your emotions, building walls, breaking walls, discovering the art of torture, looking back(hey) breaking mirrors, putting them together again, masturbating to thoughts of a pure blue sky, and of course remembering what, to everybody else thought, never happened. but we know better, dont we. thats all wrong. lets just blog! long live livejournal for opening to path to the door we came in.
see all the nameless faces walking around as if i werent there.
see all the feet of those who dont notice.
and see that fucking angel flying overhead, laughing, saying it told me so.
sooner or later, i will be able to walk again, and when i do, i will be a veritable jesus.
only...slightly more real...and not as pure....and....fuck it, maybe not a jesus, but at least,
a re-made creature of suffering and ecstacy like light upon mine own windows.
and really, whats more important than the light of your own man-made soul.
oh ya, everything. thats why im not jesus. im not enlightened. EVER.
shit, the same goddamn fucking room, and the same scenarios, of which there is no escape. and i cant fully close myself off, because so many people want to poke me to see if im alive. yes, hers my fucking wallet,
now piss off till im fully healed! at least those who pity me are still around. or at least those with curiosity or or a sense of that attraction to a pathetic dying rabbit...
does anybody even read this.
considering what i write, who would care.
and considering nobody would care, why do i write.
and since i am questioning this, why am, i writing it down...
whatever, i suppose its the same reason 60% of the world does it. pure, unadulterated boredom.
though, i can think of some more exciting ways to kill time, like explorative sex, wondrous and exotic drugs, television, pornography, ice cream, social instability, arguments, philosophy, attempted suicide, separation anxiety, jealousy, loss of the definition of love, observation of all strangers, new and innovative ways to kill an eleven year old rape victim, listening to the new 50-cent album, living by quizzes, saving, downloading, swearing(hey), folding your emotions, bottling your emotions, building walls, breaking walls, discovering the art of torture, looking back(hey) breaking mirrors, putting them together again, masturbating to thoughts of a pure blue sky, and of course remembering what, to everybody else thought, never happened. but we know better, dont we. thats all wrong. lets just blog! long live livejournal for opening to path to the door we came in.