Dear Britney Spears

I honestly don't care. Honestly. Shave your head, get a tattoo, release a shitty album, I don't care. It's all a minor inconvience to me. Please don't let me see your shaved head when I'm trying to watch the evening 'news'. If you shaved something else, well... I might pay attention to you... Maybe...

Old Ramblings From A Less Stable Me

Whoever said chess was hard obviously hasn't experienced affection in a exclusionist world then cramped forever uncomfortably into a conformity of calming others.

Huh... How Malkavian of me. Everything's been a bit Malkavian these days. Oh the mirth. The genius of insanity. The paradox of paradox.

Do not say it. Do NOT say it. If anyone says "mind fuck", I'll scream. I don't fucking care, I will. I won't convince myself of anything. It's too easy. No... Repetition is not my friend. You can't say so. It sends a card every Christmas but fails to show up when I really need him. Fuck repetition.

Has cliche succumbed to it's own meaning? Has faus pax quickly passed on? Has paradox... Well, you know?

My own being... My own curse...

I'm tempted to start sleepwalking. I'll sleepwalk for miles. I rarely ever walk. I wonder where I'd wake? Will concern be waiting for me? Or isolated bliss? That's just rate is what that is. I'm still not drunk enough. Metaphors and whatnot.

I don't know, I think I'll pass on your surreality. The kitchens tend to make me uncomfortable. There's not quite enough space for my spoons in your drawers. Yes, that is a big M. Watch the original M to get it. The knives are inviting though, in their juggling splendour... Hmmm... Wake me when I get there.

Hopefully, I will wake up... and end this clarity. It fucks with me way too much. I'd rather be taken advantage of in the traditional way, the SDR way. It's much more healthy than this class I signed up for with "Conformity" written on it's leaflet. But then again, we always work best in groups. Erratic, unpredictable, skull-fucked groups with only our scars as trophies. What did I win?

...

Tell me that at least...

Bring Back My Darling Sage

My life is empty. I try and pass the time by pre-occupying myself with menial boring tasks. I distract myself from this sea of desolation to relieve my mind of the pain that I suffer from when she's not around. This pain is gargantuan, tearing out the very essence of self-worth and making myself feel empty inside. I could replace it with all kinds of subsitutes that really only temporarily fill the void. What I really want is to gain her back. To gain her comforting presence, to be able to run my fingers along her smooth body and gently touch her. She makes me able to express myself in ways I would never dream of. She is a muse. She is my expression. Without her I am an empty shell, bleeding, slowly draining from within. If a word could capture her divine beauty, that word would be sage. If a picture could capture her undeniable artistry, this is what it would be:



I want her back... She'll sing more beautifully than ever...