bags on the eyes.. worse than usual... and sort of.. sallow.
My face looks sunken in, and the cords in my neck stick out. hmmm. I didn't think it was possible to go from pleasently zaftig to emaciated in a week, without the benefit of cancer, but I think I just did it.
I think I just listen to this album so I can hear someone say, in all seriousness, "Let's do dis like brutus!"
Someone please point me toward some hip hop that makes me groove and smile like De La Soul.
Did ya know that if you put menthols in the same pack with regulars you end up with a whole pack of menthols? Bet ya didn't know that. Well, that's what I am here for.
I just finished up The World According to Garp. I think I'm gonna have to go back and reread Infinite Jest now. I'm not sure why.. maybe the northeast setting. I want to see characters in a book saying "wicked" all the time. I want to read about the suicide again and find someone to debate out the possibilities of that actually working. And Harold. Harold Incandenza... that's how I feel lately. Like I am making perfect sense and saying words, in sentences. With punctuation pauses and everything. That the verbs and nouns agree. That the adjectives are adequately placed.
And all anyone is hearing is strangled noises and inhuman moans.
Maybe I'm just totally incomprehensible. Maybe I really have cracked. Or finally let all the cracks show.
I keep looking at my leg. I carved a chaos symbol there with a razor blade when I was nineteen. It just felt right. And I've never regretted it. In fact, now that only one of the lines is visible now, I've been considering redoing it, or getting it done professionally. It feels alright to have it right on, in, of my body.
It wasn't an emotional release. It didn't make me feel better. It bled a lot. It hurt a lot. it was never about feeling better about the chaos in my head. It was about trying to make some sign of it physically. To make it more real. Make it dealable. make me realize that, well, I gotta get used to this. I just don't make sense to people nine times out of ten. I'm abrupt, rash, and emotional. I'm slow, tempered, and cold.
I'm all of it. and even I don't know what's up with me. So you really shouldn't bother trying, dear.
Yes, you. I'm talking to you.
was watching monty python's Meaning of Life earlier...
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's divine to own a dick,
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick.
So, three cheers for your willie or John Thomas
Hooray for your one-eyed-trouser-snake
Your piece of pork
Your wife's best friend
Your percy or your cock
you can wrap it up in ribbons
You can slip it in your sock
But don't take it out in public
Or they'll put you in the dock
And you won't come back.