#blacktext

*knock-knock*

“Come in.”

…? … …?

“He’s busy.”

…? … … …? …?

“Of course, not.”

…! …?? …?

“Stop and think about what you’re saying. Furthermore, realize who you’re talking to. Do you really think I’ll do anything about it?”

…?! …! …!

“What are you going to do? Force me? I have my opinions and you have yours. You don’t care what others think of you when you act, so why should I? Unlike you, I intend to keep my morals, even when they are tested.”

…? …?

“Of course, I do. But what is happening here is wrong. There will come a time where you’ll actually need them, but your pride will forbid you to do so. Do you think because an extremely small handful of them are terrible, that every single one of them are? Are you truly that narrowminded?”

…?! …! …? …!

“I mean everything I say. I am very tired of seeing this everywhere I go. It’s been years since that incident and I am tired. Very tired. You might not think I am, but I am. I do not expect for you to believe me, but, then again, should I care?”

…? …?

“…Tell me, then, do you care about me? About us? Or should that not go hand-in-hand? Is there such an abuse of freedom and rights that it must come down to this?”

… … …

“Of course. I agree. So am I.”

“Ah, he’s now free at the moment, would you like for me to send him a-”

… …

“…So you say. Well, then, do what you wish. Continue with your day.”

…

>be me

>girl in hs

>have to choose senior dissertation (big final project)

>jokingly choose to produce market and sell a niche artsy album where all tracks are me masturbating with instruments and recording results

>school is ultra liberal arts so it gets approved

>fuckyousmokin.jpeg

>decide to sell album digitally

>subject too sexual for itunes and spotify

>do it on bandcamp

>album ends up with obscure cult following

>top-listened track is of me doing vaginal sex with my flute

>eventually take most of the album off

>but leave that track up

Sitting on the rocking curve in the wind, large enough to sit a small clearing out in the middle of the woods, she stared down at the lit up world bellow her with a glazed stare. The other resident of this swing stood behind her a ways from the edge where her friend sat. Her friend did not wear her typical clothing nor was the other resident even really there. An odd combination to say the least, but the dazed onlooker knew it quite well. 

“Where have you been?” the figment of her imagination called out, without a hint of worry in her voice.

“...a festival,” the words came out in a bare whisper, the wind rocking the swing back and forth swallowing what was spoken whole, leaving nothing left.