I am in a place now where memory is happenstance. My alarm clock is no longer the enemy and time itself seems to be subjective to my mood, the date, and even the rising humidity this town has to offer. That and totebags. And snowglobes. I don’t see much sunlight, and yes, I am melodramatic. And hyperbolic. But even in the figurative sense it isn’t due to fear, or social ineptitude, or any shitty...
No matter the circumstance, the opposition, the occasion, or the time alloted. Tell yourself that one thousandth and first time that there is always next year. You’re wrong of course, but that’s not changing anything. And even if you swear to your guardian of choice. you never left the fucking table. Tap out a few more lines of code and run the program. Rude awakenings come only in the form of...
Awake at the crack of an egg, properly carbo-hydrated and losing this train of thought. The most vivid of the dreams, the least bizzare. Absurd, even coming from me, with 600mg of class action legal motion buoyant amongst my plasma. That same window: open again, and that will be the very death of my nervous system. No fine Columbian brew, or laboratory Pez dispenser with percolate me these...
what a bloody fucking waste