sorry about that
I read some truly devastating, world-rocking fic over the weekend. It made me so envious and disappointed that I let myself stop writing. These shards barely qualify as "writing". These are just the grounds at the bottom of my poorly brewed coffee. These are just the little blips that register on a soundly sleeping artistic vision.
Hmmm...what else...had a surreal drinking experience. I felt like time was literally swallowing me. It wasn't good or bad, just very interesting to observe my little categories dissolved by alcohol and melting into my bloodstream. Shame for playing songs on the jukebox. Oh well. Guiltily enjoying Blaqk Audio. Mildly disgusted by the megalomania. Finding some cool, happy bands that make me tap my foot. Dreading each flake of snow returning to earth. I was looking forward to getting out on my longboard. Now it's a winter wonderland over the course of ten hours. Black nails, short nails. Thinking of stealing my dad's acoustic guitar just like I stole that pitcher of beer. I kinda wanna fiddle around like I used to, but this time play more chords and work harder.
I need to channel inspiration. I need to get pierced or tatted soon, the craving is getting too strong to ignore much longer. I kind of wanted a double tongue piercing but I'd never be able to maneuver my tongue again; I already can't lick ice cream. My lip ring is not in the right location to proceed with snake bites. Dermals are so tempting but I am trying to keep my head above water on that one. Oh, the troubles of the privileged. I just need to get out and find an artist to draw me my sidepiece. I hate when people have stupid tattoos. I want art.
I get it. I get the supposed fear of temptress. Of secrets and whatnot. I'd just like to know where we stand because I was getting to like talking with him. I feel a loss.
Hmmm...what else...had a surreal drinking experience. I felt like time was literally swallowing me. It wasn't good or bad, just very interesting to observe my little categories dissolved by alcohol and melting into my bloodstream. Shame for playing songs on the jukebox. Oh well. Guiltily enjoying Blaqk Audio. Mildly disgusted by the megalomania. Finding some cool, happy bands that make me tap my foot. Dreading each flake of snow returning to earth. I was looking forward to getting out on my longboard. Now it's a winter wonderland over the course of ten hours. Black nails, short nails. Thinking of stealing my dad's acoustic guitar just like I stole that pitcher of beer. I kinda wanna fiddle around like I used to, but this time play more chords and work harder.
I need to channel inspiration. I need to get pierced or tatted soon, the craving is getting too strong to ignore much longer. I kind of wanted a double tongue piercing but I'd never be able to maneuver my tongue again; I already can't lick ice cream. My lip ring is not in the right location to proceed with snake bites. Dermals are so tempting but I am trying to keep my head above water on that one. Oh, the troubles of the privileged. I just need to get out and find an artist to draw me my sidepiece. I hate when people have stupid tattoos. I want art.
I get it. I get the supposed fear of temptress. Of secrets and whatnot. I'd just like to know where we stand because I was getting to like talking with him. I feel a loss.