HAND CRAFTED RAMBLING
I'm living out extraordinary whims in an ordinary life.
I know the difference, and the Salvation Army seems to be one hundred percent behind me at this point... though you'd never know it from their communication breakdowns. I could keep going on, and on about how that same army is not really an army at all. You might think so, but no. They're really an experiment against everything that's wrong around here, but "No" I said to myself... that would be narcisstic, or pessimistic... or some kind of "stic" that I'll never really get to the bottom of. So "no" we'll push forward, and ignore the twitching in my left heartstring that's causing me to realize how unstructured these hazy sentences are becoming... "No"... I don't quite remember what it was I was saying "no" about in the first place... I'm not even sure I had a point. I think it may be difficult to tell you how terrifying this has become... my fear is overlapping my judgment. It's near impossible to tell how long I've been here. My shoes lay thrown across the room, ambled and strewn everywhere with rocks and bits of glass inside of them. It was as if I'd come home drunk from some desert storm... acid, and coke binges lying inside my clothing. They have been the only evidence of my masochistic tendencies... HA!! There the "stic"s resurface... it's easy for a person such as myself to write others, and my own vile personality, with such terms and crimes. "They seem so valid" one might say to themselves. Or "But she's rambling in such and cynical and narcisstic (ha!) Manor".... "It would only make sense that she was mentally ill on more than one account"... Yes... yes, I'm afraid so, my friends... it may be that at some point in time self deprecation is a must-have in this society. And as some form of artist it is easy enough to cling to mental handicaps, but, please, take into consideration that when I swear at you, it may not be Turrets... I may just want you to GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!!
The Cole
I know the difference, and the Salvation Army seems to be one hundred percent behind me at this point... though you'd never know it from their communication breakdowns. I could keep going on, and on about how that same army is not really an army at all. You might think so, but no. They're really an experiment against everything that's wrong around here, but "No" I said to myself... that would be narcisstic, or pessimistic... or some kind of "stic" that I'll never really get to the bottom of. So "no" we'll push forward, and ignore the twitching in my left heartstring that's causing me to realize how unstructured these hazy sentences are becoming... "No"... I don't quite remember what it was I was saying "no" about in the first place... I'm not even sure I had a point. I think it may be difficult to tell you how terrifying this has become... my fear is overlapping my judgment. It's near impossible to tell how long I've been here. My shoes lay thrown across the room, ambled and strewn everywhere with rocks and bits of glass inside of them. It was as if I'd come home drunk from some desert storm... acid, and coke binges lying inside my clothing. They have been the only evidence of my masochistic tendencies... HA!! There the "stic"s resurface... it's easy for a person such as myself to write others, and my own vile personality, with such terms and crimes. "They seem so valid" one might say to themselves. Or "But she's rambling in such and cynical and narcisstic (ha!) Manor".... "It would only make sense that she was mentally ill on more than one account"... Yes... yes, I'm afraid so, my friends... it may be that at some point in time self deprecation is a must-have in this society. And as some form of artist it is easy enough to cling to mental handicaps, but, please, take into consideration that when I swear at you, it may not be Turrets... I may just want you to GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!!
The Cole