(no subject)
the evening never suits me. i'm much more of a daytime person. this is paradoxal to my soul, which was born under a lost moon in the planting season. it doesn't explain anything though. it doesn't explain why my mind changes with the wind. it doesn't explain how my ideas of love are skewed to the same extent as misguided "smartbombs" plowing into an innocent neighborhood and disintegrating a family at their dinner table, their beautiful lawn with a small vegetable in the back, their neighbor's outside animals, their neighbor's inside animals, their neighbors, and their rest of their block in the same timeframe of snapping a finger at the waiter in the most posh of new york restaurants. fuck it, who needs an explaination? who needs to look at stars and moons and crossing planets and all that shit just to tell me i'm just as fuck up and lost as the next guy?
ranting.
and then i think, "am i writing this as a fiction piece or am i legitimately dictating personal thoughts? is there a difference?"
fuck it. my life and the life of my stories....same fucking thing, different fucking dimension....
ranting.
and then i think, "am i writing this as a fiction piece or am i legitimately dictating personal thoughts? is there a difference?"
fuck it. my life and the life of my stories....same fucking thing, different fucking dimension....