why do you wanna give me the run around?
I have an upper respiratory infection...So I switched to Marlboro 100s. You know, to show my pesky lungs who's boss. God damn, if only the people the respond to my journal existed in my real life. I have tons of people who love me on livejournal. I guess if people in real life had such an intimate connection with my inner workings and thoughts, they'd love me too. One flaw in that thought: girlfriends have had major in depth insight into these things and end up leaving me, for some reason. I think I'm a sniveling, whiney, pathetic, apathetic, empathetic, sympathetic pseudo-intellectual.
it's been 90 days tomorrow since the last time that I used methamphetamines, and I couldn't be prouder of myself. I hate the nasty stuff.
I wish I were attractive. I seem to be wrong in thinking that I'm attractive. I'm wrong in a lot of things, but why this one? I'd like to be wanted, but not by all girls. just the right girls. smart girls. not smart girls who are good and moral, because conflicts arise. I'm a horrible person on the inside. I'm not right for good people. I need someone as fucked up as me to share the misery that is existance.
SHINEY HAPPY PEOPLE. take the love and put it in your haaaand. put it in your heart.
my hair lays down in a rebellious fashion. it's an awful haircut, because I live with a man who believes that the great years of our lord, the seventies, didn't have an influence, essentially on today's androgynous male fashion scene. so it's butch in design, with a slight hint of david bowie here and there. I fixed it with a pair of scissors and it is already growing out of my design into some brunette/black ivy covered church of satan. I hate my hair. I want my long flowing hair back. now I need turtleneck shirts to hide my face.
something, sometime, someone please come into my life. I need something right now to bring me into some sort of being. I have no justification for living. I don't know what reason i have to live. except for my music. which I'm pursuing to the fullest, post-move.
I fucking hate the human race. "Why do you smoke? You know it's going to kill you, right?" Oh yes. I'd love to live to the RIPE old age of eighty-four and go back into the infantile bi-daily procedure of shitting myself. I'd love to eat through a fuckin' tube and be bathed by women way too attractive for a man who pisses in a bedpan because he can't walk to the bathroom to piss. and even if he could walk there, god knows what kind of bird shot piss he'd land all over the walls for those same attractive nurses to clean up. Fuck me, I need a cigarette just thinking about it.
You know what livejournal-land? I'm going to give you my phone number. I need attention, and these comments on my posts are just too machine and robotic for me to enjoy to the fullest. If you have the desire, or the fucking gusto, give me a call. I have no life and nothing to do all day long, so you usually will reach me.
kristopher
940-855-7838
it's been 90 days tomorrow since the last time that I used methamphetamines, and I couldn't be prouder of myself. I hate the nasty stuff.
I wish I were attractive. I seem to be wrong in thinking that I'm attractive. I'm wrong in a lot of things, but why this one? I'd like to be wanted, but not by all girls. just the right girls. smart girls. not smart girls who are good and moral, because conflicts arise. I'm a horrible person on the inside. I'm not right for good people. I need someone as fucked up as me to share the misery that is existance.
SHINEY HAPPY PEOPLE. take the love and put it in your haaaand. put it in your heart.
my hair lays down in a rebellious fashion. it's an awful haircut, because I live with a man who believes that the great years of our lord, the seventies, didn't have an influence, essentially on today's androgynous male fashion scene. so it's butch in design, with a slight hint of david bowie here and there. I fixed it with a pair of scissors and it is already growing out of my design into some brunette/black ivy covered church of satan. I hate my hair. I want my long flowing hair back. now I need turtleneck shirts to hide my face.
something, sometime, someone please come into my life. I need something right now to bring me into some sort of being. I have no justification for living. I don't know what reason i have to live. except for my music. which I'm pursuing to the fullest, post-move.
I fucking hate the human race. "Why do you smoke? You know it's going to kill you, right?" Oh yes. I'd love to live to the RIPE old age of eighty-four and go back into the infantile bi-daily procedure of shitting myself. I'd love to eat through a fuckin' tube and be bathed by women way too attractive for a man who pisses in a bedpan because he can't walk to the bathroom to piss. and even if he could walk there, god knows what kind of bird shot piss he'd land all over the walls for those same attractive nurses to clean up. Fuck me, I need a cigarette just thinking about it.
You know what livejournal-land? I'm going to give you my phone number. I need attention, and these comments on my posts are just too machine and robotic for me to enjoy to the fullest. If you have the desire, or the fucking gusto, give me a call. I have no life and nothing to do all day long, so you usually will reach me.
kristopher
940-855-7838