I use to get lost in the shuffle. Now I just shuffle along with the lost.
As I write this, I'm sitting amidst chaos. The floor is covered in art supplies, books, tapes, and clothes.. All my possessions are filthy and spilling out of baskets. I'm really trying to clean (really), but I find myself so often distracted with almost orgasmic zeal. I wish I could just be a little bit more obsessively tidy. Even my music box is being consumed by the growing piles that seem to feed upon fear! But PLAY ON, MUSIC BOX! For you are playing lovely strings and rock in exclusive harmony that makes me all cheeky.
I haven't seen or heard the mouse in about two weeks. Figures, now that I've decided to name the uncontrolable little blighter "Cult Phenomena." Guess he didn't like it in advance. Good riddance.
I found my Hellblazer comiccs poorly stashed away in a box in the back of the closet, along with a couple hundred other comics I haven't gotten around to looking through.
I also found this very sad excuse for a poem which was written about seven or so years ago. I have folders among folders of this garbage. This one came from the days when I was obviously drinking too much beer and listening to too much Rozz at the time in my life. There is no other explanation for producing such god-awful, angst-ridden rubbish, which just falls short of threatening to say something (and I am obviously not stupid enough to reproduce that 'poetry' here).
On the upper hand of this afternoon's events, I've been staring blankly at an antique locket on the floor for about an hour now, and I have just realized that it is the very same locket I'd been endlessly searching for since two days after I bought it!
What should I put inside it?
I haven't seen or heard the mouse in about two weeks. Figures, now that I've decided to name the uncontrolable little blighter "Cult Phenomena." Guess he didn't like it in advance. Good riddance.
I found my Hellblazer comiccs poorly stashed away in a box in the back of the closet, along with a couple hundred other comics I haven't gotten around to looking through.
I also found this very sad excuse for a poem which was written about seven or so years ago. I have folders among folders of this garbage. This one came from the days when I was obviously drinking too much beer and listening to too much Rozz at the time in my life. There is no other explanation for producing such god-awful, angst-ridden rubbish, which just falls short of threatening to say something (and I am obviously not stupid enough to reproduce that 'poetry' here).
On the upper hand of this afternoon's events, I've been staring blankly at an antique locket on the floor for about an hour now, and I have just realized that it is the very same locket I'd been endlessly searching for since two days after I bought it!
What should I put inside it?