My life is so public, I can’t be myself. I’m a victim to pressure, to people pleasing, oh its sick. I writhe in it.

I have my own sick agenda, but it will never pan out, and I’ll never tell you, I’ll write about it someday in a journal or tell a grand kid, the grand kid that I’ll never be stable enough to have a son to conceive one or ever be around, tell them about my great plan and they’ll be all “yeeeeeeeeeeeeah whatever grandpa can we just have some money?” and I’ll wonder why I was never so up front with my grand father about just forking it over.

I like listening to music in other languages because I don’t feel so bad about my own pain anymore. If someone can express something to me in another language and I don’t know it, fucking awesome, if that means I can connect emotionally and spiritually with bi-lingual, cultural mutts like Icelandic Asians than my close friends or family I’m all for it.

Found out again that, it takes me a while to realize, “they aren’t my friends” still. In fact, I think it takes longer each time. It happens. You guys ever get like that? Don’t answer it, I know you do.

I’m not hungry anymore and it IS just plain funny now, Orwell, you were right. With the proper amount of tobacco, anything is tolerable. If only I had ants that would crawl through my room and bite me in my sleep at all hours of the day, then maybe I could wake up for everything I sleep through! Oh, the luxury that would be.

Can’t wait until I get so hurt everything shuts down. Sorta feel like I need a major life change, some scenery, some new blips and beeps on the radar maps. 

Can somebody just fucking stab me already and get it over with or something? 

w/e i’m owt