Broken Neck Syndrome
life is a big circle that goes around and around in the big shit filled toilet bowl known as earth. someone needs to jiggle the goddamned handle...
sometimes I feel that my own inhibitions are stretched over my face, suffocating me. sometimes I feel that there is someone behind me with a noose around my neck tugging me back. sometimes I don’t feel anything at all. sometimes I don’t sleep.
“The things you own end up owning you” - Tyler Durden
this is true, time to sell off the fat and run amok randomly with just a bag, a jacket, a hat, and a comfortable set of clothes. fuck everything else, fuck money.
I want to write a novel in two weeks and have it picked up and published immediately
I want to write an album that will hit number one on the charts without ever practicing any form of music
I want to paint pictures that will be worth millions without having to learn how to paint
I want instant gratification and I want it now.
slowly picking up a stone and examining it in my hand I know that it is just a rock. lifeless, worthless, just a stone to throw randomly. but thinking of this stone I know that one day the meat will rot off my bones and they will be just a lifeless rock in the ground. which is why I aim to be cremated and have the ashes dumped into a landfill.
I want an endless supply of cigarettes. I don’t care about lung cancer, I don’t plan to live over 30. I won’t live over 26.
I feel a shadow behind me, looming over my shoulder, snickering. I have discovered the secret of existence, it is to die. that may sound silly or stupid or some other term the cool kids use but it is true. our entire lives lead to one end, death. accept it and stop crying.
I want a bridge that doesn’t go over anything on a road that goes nowhere. I want a flowing river that goes in a circle. I want a mountain no bigger than an ant.
never mind this, time to get that hat, that jacket, the bag and comfortable clothes. sell all ownerships and hit that romantic road.
well... maybe not.
sometimes I feel that my own inhibitions are stretched over my face, suffocating me. sometimes I feel that there is someone behind me with a noose around my neck tugging me back. sometimes I don’t feel anything at all. sometimes I don’t sleep.
“The things you own end up owning you” - Tyler Durden
this is true, time to sell off the fat and run amok randomly with just a bag, a jacket, a hat, and a comfortable set of clothes. fuck everything else, fuck money.
I want to write a novel in two weeks and have it picked up and published immediately
I want to write an album that will hit number one on the charts without ever practicing any form of music
I want to paint pictures that will be worth millions without having to learn how to paint
I want instant gratification and I want it now.
slowly picking up a stone and examining it in my hand I know that it is just a rock. lifeless, worthless, just a stone to throw randomly. but thinking of this stone I know that one day the meat will rot off my bones and they will be just a lifeless rock in the ground. which is why I aim to be cremated and have the ashes dumped into a landfill.
I want an endless supply of cigarettes. I don’t care about lung cancer, I don’t plan to live over 30. I won’t live over 26.
I feel a shadow behind me, looming over my shoulder, snickering. I have discovered the secret of existence, it is to die. that may sound silly or stupid or some other term the cool kids use but it is true. our entire lives lead to one end, death. accept it and stop crying.
I want a bridge that doesn’t go over anything on a road that goes nowhere. I want a flowing river that goes in a circle. I want a mountain no bigger than an ant.
never mind this, time to get that hat, that jacket, the bag and comfortable clothes. sell all ownerships and hit that romantic road.
well... maybe not.