Wake Up Donnie
....the whores hustle and the hustlers whore...gluey eyes shiny-pinned to university computers while my soul plummets to Polly Jean and i don't think i've ever been this de|pressed by something in a long while...not since the car-crash domino effect...i don't think this LJ will be a long blog...my Burlesque article will hopefully be done by tomorrow....eve of exhibition...skittles of nerves...my box is looking excactly the way i desired, so some temporary happiness there...have to be at uni all morning 'till late this week and i think it's taking its toll on my never-was-there sanity and at the moment V bottles and what looks like rubbery muffin-by-roadkill kids my stomach...i am so waxy right now...i will probably pull myself together and re-write or feticide this blog...but until then i feel my head is laden...soon i'm going to freeze everyone and cut up my and their events, and with sticky post-it notes, i place these anecdotes and these little parts of people into my little box of gar(b)age sales...i am moleculed into this emotional taxonomy and it's festering the more hands tick....i'm sure to you i am rambling on...but know this: fragments are what saves me...
~~~ Tomorrow is the day where i will find out if Frank will make me do it~~~
~~~ Tomorrow is the day where i will find out if Frank will make me do it~~~