Let's hope you've learned your lesson.

Know thyself.  Know thyself.  Know thyself.  Am I getting anywhere?  That's a knew idea - that I don't know myself very well.  I guess I don't have a very good understanding of what a Self is in the first place.

All of this blathering, complaining, admitting to myself that I'm not the person I wish I was is not something I like writing about.  Is it a matter of focus?  Is it my instinct to avoid painful thoughts and memories?  If it is, why is it that I'm so obsessed with all of the things that went "wrong" with my day?  All of these things have been said before.  I guess I'm bored of hearing myself say it.  I guess I'm guessing at where my feelings come from.  I'm lonely, awkward, and I feel not apart of things.  I don't have a stable group of friends.  All of this kind of shit.

Why is it that having a girlfriend would change everything?  In other relationships, isn't there also an obligation to get to know one another and to feel a connection?  I guess not so much.  Thank God for sex.

I'm talking to myself.  My own company makes me lonely.  Negativity, negativity, negativity.

Why am I not interested in people?  Is it a defense mechanism?  Am I really that much cooler than everyone else?  No.  Why can't I appreciate someone for who they are?  I feel like there are so many things I have forgotten.  I've forgotten what it feels like to have a close friend.  They aren't dialogues, they are confessionals.  Illusions of confiding.  Where is my soul?  Where is it???

Don't pretend for a MINUTE that you don't need other people.

_______Hopefully this will not be thought provoking.

I wanted to share myself, extend myself into you, whoever this is, reading.

There's something banal of the images in my head.  Childhood, prepubescence, pubescence.

Ones I guess of comfort, aesthetics? remind me of an old mindset that was more blissfully ignorant to anything else.

It's not the thought it's the feeling.

Oops I fucked up =X 100 101 10 11001010 1001010101  .
..
..
..
Smile.

She's so

happy, indolent, peppy, insipid
aloof
in candyland
rolling sixes, always

fucking nothing
having the time
of her life in savory increments

never
ever wears pink
but she dreams in technicolor
I guess

she wants to be the One
I want one moment
.
motherfucker castrate myself
I guess I'll seek God, then

Satisfy to say nothing goes your way
Everything's dead, really
The spark of creativity
no matter how hard you try
you try yourself to death
shelve it - let dust be its judge
Chinese finger entrapment
Playmates meet stalemates

    Two cups of flour.  One cup of sugar.  Two teaspoons vanilla extract.  That was all I needed.  But some fucking incorrigible delinquents who can't keep their hands off other people's property ruined my fucking birthday cake.  The slut probably took the flour and sugar for her cookies that are never just cookies, and the mooch undoubtedly drank the vanilla because he ran out of vodka.  Here I am, it's my <i>birthday</i>, and I can't even finish baking the cake no one else bothered to bake for me.  On top of that, I just realized that rent is overdue.  Am I alone in this world?  Don't other people still celebrate, or at least acknowledge birthdays?

    Twelve hours pass like the dreamy ascent to heaven where all earthly laws are lost and forgotten.  Bodies take flight with the mind its blissful incumbent, all slowly disintegrating, no remorse, no ruin.  No pain, no anything.

No

way

Out

    "Why wouldn't you," she asked.  He paused for a moment then took a breath.
    "I don't know," he said.  "I guess because I never pictured myself as the type of guy to do something like that."
    "It's not that bad," she said and turned her head toward the road.  "It's not like buying it is any more ethical."
    "Yeah I guess," he said with a laugh.
    They were heading down the interstate with the gas meter approaching "E" with barely a hundred dollars between them.  They couldn't afford to buy gas for the next three days and make it all the way to V. without eating roadside grubs or dumpster diving.  Lowering your standards of civil consumption was one thing.  Stealing from an unsuspecting branch of corporate America was another.
    "Okay, so what do we do," he asked.  She paused for a minute and then spoke.
    "How about you put on your snow jacket and stuff food in there?"
    "Why don't you put on my snow jacket.  They won't suspect a girl as much."  She was about to reject the idea until she realized what part of the country they were in, what time it was, and that the poor shmuck working at Food'n'Stuff was undoubtedly sexist.
   

    Julie sat there.  She folded her hands and watched as the newborn litter of basset hounds suckled on the nipples of their mother, Dodger.  The two of them looked at each other in silence until Dodger broke the stare.  Julie couldn't help but feel sad as she witnessed this act of nature happening in her living room.  Dodger had an expression of quiet dignity as her young pups frantically yet joyfully got their milk, and Julie found herself being jealous; how effortless was the spectacle.  Meanwhile, her husband was working overtime at the mill and she still had plenty of work to do around the house before he got home.
    "How pathetic," she said to herself and got up out of her seat.  She patted Dodger on the head and went to get her mop.
   

other cats
some smell friendly
some smell unfriendly
I want to give big friend a bird
birds drive me crazy
time to sleep

Secret songs' devoted touch
stirring further
never enough
I stuff a pocket with autumn brush

Versed in cryptic heartfelt mush
rattling fervor
always hush
I play a tiny organ much too
much.