(no subject)
Fuck, what was I going to say, fuck I don't know -- I'm being stalked by a really cute boy, he came to my work! Not that I know what to do in these situations so it's really a lost cause. So whatever, my mind is just swampy. I got happy again. Mellowed out. I need to get organized. I need to be able to separate and compartmentalize. Fuck if I know anything about art, if if anyone ever did. Fuck pretensions. Fuck it stresses me out, the way we treat each other -- and it's not like I can escape this judgment or anything, I'm an awkward fuck too. I'm pretty blind. But it's all okay. Fuck, it's all okay. I just want to be making. Not thinking about money. Cause I have none. Still haven't figured out how to raise the thousand I need for Europe. No one to beg from. I get lonely. I have no parents, no, worse I have a parent who is neglectful, moronic, a bumbling fool I have no attachment too except for the anticipated guilt of cutting her off -- but really I should, her shit-life affects me too much. Her goddamned shitty life stank rank dank apartment in shitty subsidiary town of shitty convince-sprawl mega suburb with her neighbors calling me cracker faggot and it's been a year and the boxes are still unpacked and she has six or so fucking cats and in a lot of ways she lives just like I do without the excuse of youth. And that's what it is that bothers me, the reflection. You see her and she stank high bad of her failures it's in the tone of her skin the Martian yellow eyes she doesn't even know who she is woah has it been long and hard woah it never just got better and so what this awful-awful place goddamnit and all these bad people and all these good people will just turn bad and it's all just noise useless information its all just affection or not it's all just comfort or not. Truth truth truth awful goddamned truth a motherfucking ruined life because she couldn't because she couldn't because she isn't because she isn't and maybe I am or maybe I'm not, I don't goddamned no maybe I can or can't or maybe it'll all happen or some of it will or none or if I want it at all who knows I certainly never ever do. She stayed in bed througout my childhood, or from when he stopped touching her and moved onto me (or maybe it was her to pull away, first) and still now she does. My mind is all swampy. I wish I could just have it. Find the way to make myself have it. Big thoughts little hands. My mind is all swampy. Saccharin sweet. Sacredity. Matter move matter. Hands down and up. Dicks. Eye sockets. I had a dream last night, or, I remembered what I dreamt about, I never do. I was thrown down onto the BART tracks. I was trying to get out but I grazed the third rail. I could feel it all, the pulses through me. The way it moved my muscles from the inside. When I died I didn't wake up. I remained tethered to my body. I couldn't really think, it would be not exactly right to describe this as consciousness. I just saw. I remained. Unmoving or ending. It was all very quick. People moved around me. And then blackness. An awareness of the black. But it wasn't even black. It just wasn't. A blind person does not see black, they just don't see. I was of the earth. The earth. Always the earth until there is not.