not, as yet, titled

think about what really makes you happy. is it right? for instance, is it healthy or accepted or, most importantly, acceptable to you??? is it what's best? for you? for society(lol)? is it real? i mean, is it what it is or is it what you THINK it is? rather, is it just what you WANT it to be. if any of this made you doubt your first thought, the answer to all of this is "no".

"nature is unsentimental. death is built in." - carl edward sagan

“the earth makes a sound as of sighs and the last drops fall from the emptied cloudless sky. a small boy, stretching out his hands and looking up at the blue sky, asked his mother how such a thing was possible. 'fuck off', she said.” -samuel barclay beckett

want everything to be just like the stories you love to read, but you can't write...

 -charles michael "chuck" palahniuk

not getting what you want is a blessing...

"oh, listen, it's your life. i'm sorry i even asked..."

don't close the blast doors of your heart...

sorry must be the most worthless word i have ever heard. ever to be uttered. ever to be conceived. a selfish word conjured by a selfish animal to serve its most selfish needs. what is it meant to do exactly??? sooth suffering? alleviate anger? coldly quiet crying and restore repose??? how? how does a word help anyone but the speaker? a mountain of actions. a laundry list of lies hissed through grinning lips. a dirty, little diary chock full of impure thoughts. a vast field of physical fumblings stretching from the forgotten past into the unforeseen future. and one silly word is supposed to stop, drop, and roll that malicious inferno into submission??? you could, if the mood struck sufficiently, bellow it at the tippy top of your laughing lungs all the while strangling infants, kicking dogs, raping mothers, and clubbing baby seals. wouldn't stop you OR spare the innocent. it's a mask. a fake out. a complicated confidence scheme perpetrated by a monster in a human suit. or vice versa, i suppose. five silly letters to repair the wronged. how fucking selfish is that?! i think that if you say the word "sorry" you have to do it whilst simultaneously swallowing a hornet's nest smothered in streptococcus, balancing on a technicolor ball like the fool you take us all for. you can't write it in a letter penned at the desk of your mistress. or coo it over the phone from the scene of your crimes. it changes nothing. comforts no one. accomplishes little but applying a fresh bandage to your own gaping, infected wound of a guilty conscience. a brittle buttress to your obese sense of self worth. in a meaningless world it is the meaningleast. it should be fucking banned. banned and replaced by televised, public admonitions or forehead tattoos that spell the word in stunning calligraphy for all to see. say it. feel better. that's all it's good for. whoever you spit it at will only have that as well to wipe off of their tear streaked faces. an insult to their injury, inflicted by you, inflicted by YOU. a hollow expression of guilt in lieu of a genuine gesture of recompense. the next time you get the urge, save it. you need to say it more than i want to hear it. does this sting so badly??? sorry...

that sure was fun. you'd think i'd be an emergency room pro by now. least i knew exactly where to go. the numbered pain level system. can't say as i didn't get that frosty shiver down my spine walking into the hospital by my lonesome. walking out the same. weird thing that. taking care of one's self. can't say as that wasn't just as empowering as it was humbling. what can you do? what can't you do??? i am far too dramatic for my own good. need a cigarette. fuck doctor's orders!

every day. sometimes twice a day. for. the. last. SEVEN. days... i wanna rip the eyes out of my head. hurl them to the hounds. tear the hands from the clock. dig these thoughts from out my mind. surgically remove this senseless insanity. cut it. gut it. draw and quarter, atom smash, rack and attack it. cremate it in the cold fire of my childish disappointment. jack hammer the ashes to powder. gather it all into a pretty pile with my haggard, hungry hands. leave it on the porch for you to piss on...i will not run from sticky, saccharin sentiment. but. i WILL try to strangle it with every, empty ounce of my bare knuckled, fake fuck you rage!!!... ahhhh. that's better. (8

depression is just anger without enthusiasm...

--charles michael palahniuk

--matthew arnold

just let me do what i need to. it might be to me or to you. just let me do what i need to...

"maybe someone will know i didn't weave crowns to draw blood; that i fought against mockery; that i did fill the high tide of my soul with truth. i repaid vileness with doves." —neftalí

“life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.” ―hunter stockton thompson