A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- salt on a slug today has gone smoothly thus far but i am still feeling all fucked in the head. my inner monologue sounds like it is being spoken by a hand full of drug-crazed cicadas in an aluminum can. ponder on that awhile nyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!! i've avoided going off for lunch the last couple of days to avoid the possibility of running into anymore people who will shovel any more heaps of the past onto my mental casket the old man next door sometimes asks me why i don't get out more and i can't answer him. He means well, but i don't like being put on the spot with that question if i didn't think he'd get offended i would tell him exactly why. but like everything else, it's best if i just keep my mouth shut. i am not the warm little center of the universe, i am a neutron star, imploding under my own mass, i am a black hole. in plainer terms, i suck. 4:25 p.m. - 2002-04-17 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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