There are time when I'm inclined to throw myself into vaste fluids of boiling sulpheric water. I cant spell and I cant read, I just make up words and hum as they should be, because I make my own realities instead of following those that are, well real.
When I walk alone I still throw my head back and sometimes I'm inclined to neigh, like childhood games, but this is not childhood and this is not games, this is you walking home alone in Bedford while a street muscian in Paris is playing a tune you can dance to. This is drinking sulpheric.sulferic water.This is days of claiming I missed the fogs, but really who misses pains and headaches and popping pillz.We are all so jaded and in decline here and congratulations are in order to those who escape the neccesity of the fat society. Of north america.
I scratch too much and I sulk despite knowing that I am likely being ridiculous but it feels good to. I twistedly and sickly enjoy it when people dont pay me attention I suppose because I get to sulk and whine whilst doing nothing with my life, nothing at all.
Then it started to rain and instead of feeling blessed( by St.Genevieve and her montaigne in Paris) I felt hurt and sad but like I belonged with it, pouding itself down on the asphalt because this is self torture. I know I can leave.
Masochism for the masses, stay where you are.
And then it started to rain and someone ate my Margot chocolate bar, and my chicken and no one called and no one picked me up.