![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageIt's 4:04. I shun sleep. I finished my book review.
Despite the fact that my parents were loudly and blatantly watching HBO Sex TV, I managed to actually finish my book. That reminds me of the kids in art class. Ha, ha. They are fantastic. We all wanted to take a picture of the same poster, the soluble ink bleeding rainbows after the thunderstorm. Only one of us did. She has everything, I swear. Even a dinglehopper? Perhaps. Don't worry, not bombs, only fireworks. Really, she's ok. *continues driveling on*
The world feels so different, like an old player piano. The perforated roll spinning, tinny obsolete music, a vacant bench. I am longing to see a person I don't even really know. I think it's because they're gone. All my old ideas are falling flat. I can't have expectations. Magic is only sleight of hand. That other day all that happened was I had a horrible day and found creepy subliminal images in my art project. So thats why I liked that twig, that chunk-a-bunnies... Everyone else does too much. I have to do some more. They make me feel ill. I want to go to sleep but they are dashing ahead on rollerblades. Killer 80's ones. Yeah. Killer.
What are my goals? What am I doing this for? I want to slap the guidance counselor. Does it matter? Stop making me think about my life. It's not good for my sanity.
People are so random. We're just bags of chemical reactions. The majority of matter is just empty space...
I smack my arm. It's still solid. It's still mine. I can use it to make an egg stand on end.
There is no future. (subjunctive tense). Why am I the only one that laughs at stuff like that?
Somehow the Exacto Knife slipped at school. A familiar taste on my fingertip. It tasted like iron, copper, a metallic-tinged liquid that really shouldn't be so familiar. I shouldn't have liked watching it drip and glisten in the lurid fluorescent lighting... It wasn't crimson enough.
Two hours later I was chopping onions. I showered, I washed my hands, I washed dishes for 45 minutes. My hands still smell like the onions. My finger still stings.
I need to finish my homework. It's pathetic.
Despite the fact that my parents were loudly and blatantly watching HBO Sex TV, I managed to actually finish my book. That reminds me of the kids in art class. Ha, ha. They are fantastic. We all wanted to take a picture of the same poster, the soluble ink bleeding rainbows after the thunderstorm. Only one of us did. She has everything, I swear. Even a dinglehopper? Perhaps. Don't worry, not bombs, only fireworks. Really, she's ok. *continues driveling on*
The world feels so different, like an old player piano. The perforated roll spinning, tinny obsolete music, a vacant bench. I am longing to see a person I don't even really know. I think it's because they're gone. All my old ideas are falling flat. I can't have expectations. Magic is only sleight of hand. That other day all that happened was I had a horrible day and found creepy subliminal images in my art project. So thats why I liked that twig, that chunk-a-bunnies... Everyone else does too much. I have to do some more. They make me feel ill. I want to go to sleep but they are dashing ahead on rollerblades. Killer 80's ones. Yeah. Killer.
What are my goals? What am I doing this for? I want to slap the guidance counselor. Does it matter? Stop making me think about my life. It's not good for my sanity.
People are so random. We're just bags of chemical reactions. The majority of matter is just empty space...
I smack my arm. It's still solid. It's still mine. I can use it to make an egg stand on end.
There is no future. (subjunctive tense). Why am I the only one that laughs at stuff like that?
Somehow the Exacto Knife slipped at school. A familiar taste on my fingertip. It tasted like iron, copper, a metallic-tinged liquid that really shouldn't be so familiar. I shouldn't have liked watching it drip and glisten in the lurid fluorescent lighting... It wasn't crimson enough.
Two hours later I was chopping onions. I showered, I washed my hands, I washed dishes for 45 minutes. My hands still smell like the onions. My finger still stings.
I need to finish my homework. It's pathetic.
