1

feeling the

boils
on my face as i type this.
oozing
bursting whatever else, fluids and
phlegm
and puss. vividly a
fleshbag,
vividly here. now, present day, present time, feeling
surreal
and feeling here. no date attached. late night time verging on morning time, good time to close the blinds and sit and feel.

2

clear liquid and potent chemical, smells of medicine and sterile death. awful to the throat, headsplitting, may cause accidental sleep (temporarily). surgical removal of any

icky feeling.
all around fun, not-so-fun time.

3

chugging

NOWW.
act upon the impetus. spontaneous movement. one gulp.

4

could not gulp. must resort to smaller gulps. feel warm, feel nice.

[bent]

expunging the shit feel and settling into retardation. hope i

pass out.

5

fun making websites with

drifters
. drinking and feeling ok. feels very
comfy
, i am not steeped in the
headsplit.
hope that when i am, i can fall asleep.

6

comfy evening, wish i hadn't talked so much. wish i had more booze, enough to knock my lights out. operating on low levels rn/


7

days are oddly

empty and monochrome.
feel drained. there has been a
fujoshit infestation
on the server, and i watch the words scroll by without reading them or into them. feel drained. i do not think i belong there, nor have i ever. i've been a
laughing stock.
hoping that i find some way to pass the time and some time soon i can begin being an actor in my own life again. up until now, i've ignored the body, it was secondary to my existence. but i've read sun and steel and i've realized that the body is near equivalent to the self. words are indeed
corrosive,
and they get me caught up in sinkholes of
doubt and depression.
they deface reality and progressively solubilize me as well. based mishima is based.

8

played sluggish morss: a delicate time in history. shorter than i expected. think one of the screens was supposed to be that one scene from jodorowsky's the holy mountain, which i haven't seen. i've seen el topo. sluggish morss was very comfy, and enjoyable. reminded me of hylics, in that a lot of the dialogue made no sense but was a blast to read. sluggish morss's aesthetic was very different however, like the serial experiments lain version of a janky B game. the "fuck me" song at the end caught me off guard but was really good, i listened to it

on repeat
for the rest of the evening.
[the maths]

9

reading gravity's rainbow, i really enjoy it. a fair bit of the references go over my head, i want to avoid using the pynchonwiki regardless. i really like pynchon's style of writing, takes you through very diverse images and scenes while still creating a cohesive whole. the

adenoid
scene was really cool, though i had trouble slotting it into a general purpose. i could not tell if it was an elaborate way of describing an actual event in the story (unlikely), a fictional event to illustrate pirate prentice's work (more likely), or if it doesn't really matter and it's just there for the fun of it. the cover of the edition i have reminds me of the cover of green day's album dookie, which i listened to a lot in middleschool. a good passage from the banana breakfast:

Now there grows among all the rooms, replacing the night's old smoke, alcohol and sweat, the fragile, musaceous odor of Breakfast: flowery, permeating, surprising, more than the colour of winter sunlight, taking over not so much through any brute pungency or volume as by the high intricacy to the weaving of its molecules, sharing the conjuror's secret by which - though it is not often Death is told so clearly to fuck off - the living genetic chains prove even labyrinthine enough to preserve some human face down ten or twenty generations... so the same assertion-through-structure allows this war morning's banana fragrance to meander, repossess, prevail.

10

i tend to pore over whatever i type here, or whatever it is i write in general. read it

over and over and over
again. i've got to find something to do instead. sick of
idling.
might watch sonatine. woke up around 7pm. 1am and already feeling
tired.
considering
sleep.

11

cold and jittery.
late night strange feel.
sore eyes.
i'm repulsive, in every sense of the word. i've little to no redeeming qualities. people do not want to be near me, do not enjoy conversations with me, even online. it isn't the hygiene, i've sorted it out. i'm just repulsive. i will smash every mirror and keyboard i own.
[just]

12

The wizards of shit ate shit and were shit.
Up in a damp dark tower they toiled and wasted in their own grime and filth with stench of scrote and newt roiling in their rooms. One measly little slit shone specks of sun into their putrid grave, capriciously plugged up with rot green straw and dung as they dreamt of plugging slits with their one inch ids. The air was laid thick and smelt of greased hair ready to ignite at any given moment; all was uncomfortably warm yet frigid cold and all points in faranheit led to stagnation. Monotone grey bricks loosely stacked into a crumbling crooked babylon somehow sealed the tomb air tight, a reeking vacuum had forever trapped the jenkem sorcerers in a pit of misery and projected misanthropy. Sometimes they seethed the air through their teeth to feel the cold and feel alive only to spike nausea in their throats and confess their organs to some sullied corner of the already busy floor. Their minds were given to delirious deliberations and surreal substances and the walls suffered depth-enhanced carvings of various psycho-somatic delusions. Shit ran deep in their blood and brains; neurons, veins entrenched in fecal magics. Secreted spells blew off the tower's stone sides every now and then, yet the stone like living dung and thick rosevines rose back up and wilted into the freshly 'sploded gaps. 'Sploding all over from all ends was the main occupation of the assdirt mages and they painted the world brown yellow and red. Depravity was a non-concept as were norms and any sort of level 1 type humanoid abstractions, as they had long since sunk into a deep damp well of miserific conditioned insanity. Such was life in the tower of the shit wizards, consisting mainly of an act of slow and painful suicide by disease and doping. Drudgery, despair, death, an incantation to be chanted at every hour, minute and instant of the day to rid the self of any futile hopes of escape. There were no days and there were no nights, there were no conceited notions of time and all there was was dread. Deep dark dread which had long since disposed of patient zero and instilled itself into every facet of existence. The wizards of shit ate shit and were shit, they knew naught but shit and shit knew only the creases of their robes and rubbish and rooms.


13

read metamorphosis. i doubt that anything i have to say about it matters much at all. very bleak. the samsa family are absolutely vile characters, but you are made to feel sympathy for them, or to feel like a rather cold person yourself for not siding with them. you come to feel like a roach yourself by the end of it.

the roach:
a feeling of abandonment and grief, muddied with a sick sense of obedience and whimpering nostalgia. gregor himself is not a vile creature, but has been imprisonned inside a monstrous carapace and has no way to reconnect to the outside world.
alienation
of a defunct man who one day inexplicably finds himself unable to
c*pe.
not because of any one particularly catastrophic event, but just a slow accumulation of menial shit. churned and shat out by the gears of a dreadfully monotonous system. the fate of servile men who end up wasted and used (through no fault of their own), raised on notions of duty and self-sacrifice. yet the
hedonist
self-serving alternative is no more virtuous, no more mature.

Your recent performance has been highly unsatisfactory; it is admittedly not a heavy business season, but a season of no business at all, I assure you, Mr. Samsa, does not exist,

cannot
exist.

14

i feel

spited.
like an outsider with some illusion of being on the inside who's been jeered at and now the fun's over and the animosity's been unveiled. i feel
sick.
a love i clung onto blindly and desparately has spat in my face and i'd long ago came to the realization that it had never been mutual, but i only now feel
jaded.
she will never love you back, anyone else you try to love will never love you either. call it unattainable, call it a myth, but beyond love you have failed to be liked or even tolerated
in any sort of capacity
by the people you call your friends. call it animosity but it is nothing but an appropriate reaction - and not a measured response, because you are not worthy of the time and thought and effort that would take - to your being anywhere near them. devoid of any sort of interest, either actively boring or actively annoying, unable to consider anyone but yourself in anything but the most painfully obvious situations. completely out of tune with the subtleties of human interaction, which you then mull over
for an eternity,
but only post-mortem.
just.
just fuck my shit up. i really would like to drink myself to sleep. earlier today i had convinced myself, dumbbells in hand, that i would not need the liquor, that i was forcing myself to drink it even, and that to feel sad about my failure at love i would have to actively force myself to think about it. and while the dumbbells were going up and down and my arms were growing tired and my body was aching i felt that was about right. i felt rather fine, somewhat vacant. but
shitfeel
is no longer a passing whim and things seem to have changed. that feeling of vacancy soon turned to apathy, soon turned to the realization that there is no such thing as apathy, soon turned into another sinkhole of shit. i feel lonely and tired and long for sleep. i know i will toss and turn in bed with
thoughts heavier
than the flimsy dumbbells, and i may need the booze which tastes awful and harsh to be retarded long enough that i can feel somewhat at rest.

15

gggggg. fuck. gin is awful, just the worst. after a while drining gin i once had a glass of vodka and thought "finally back to something mild". just the worst this stuff is. feel all the wrong things really. i wish she loved me back. i wiiiish. i don't know what to do about it. i hope i get to physically meet her someday, show her a good time. i want nothing more. just want to see her be happy. gin warms my innards but i know that warmth will leave me soon. i know i willfeel empty again.

[just]

16

am i a lightweight? i remember feeling all swanky, that day a logn time ago where i had drank throughout the day, in class, feeling all woozy and slow and dizzied. buti held most of it together. thngs were strange and alienating and distant, more so than usual, i may have laughed a little too much, i may have acted a little strange, but i seemed fine for the most part. i think i act a little too woozy at home, because i;m not in any enviornment that forces me to straigthen up. imhoping i

pass out.
please. pretty please. i want her to love me, but i know she wont so i dont want to think about it. it plgagus me. pleagues me. fuc. FUCk. plagues me. im hoping it ends soon and i can wake up apathetic tomorrow morning. fuck.
[just]

17

i bet sleep will feel like heaven with my limbs numb and my mind slow and im feeling cold. i bet it will feel reallynice. ineed some really nice feeling, else i will neck it.

she doesn't love me.
fuck. fuck. fuck. is it over?

18

if the issue were just her it sure would be easy. wish it were easy. but it's a dogshit pile. piles of shit upon shit. cannot remember a single positive change in the past few years. i dont kno wwhat to do, it feels like there's nothign i can do. it feels like msot of it is chance and contrived bullshit. some astrally projected starmap of astrological bullshit. three fate sisters just butchering some fucking twine and having a good laugh. kill mee instead.


19

some gesture of the drowned deep below bubbling. distorted ripples, soothing melodies. must feel nice. feels good to be enveloped in the distortions and vibrations and reverberations, soft metallic. feeling nice a bit.

[numb and nebulous]


Hang from the cross
Die for our sins and save us
Months after the end
I never got my revenge
---
I just want to feel your warmth
I think of feelings that I can't stop
I don't want to wait to feel warm enough to stay and not feel cold.
To be at ease
Promise to me.
To be at ease
Promise to me.


20

one with nothing.

21

nothing feels oddly empty, after all.


22

watched sonatine. first thing that struck me was the way it was shot, something about it was jarring. forgive me for my shaky knowledge of actual cinematic vocabulary. came to notice a few things: a lot of close-up shots, people always occupied the frame (almost always in the dead center, never on those rule of thirds lines). very very few shots with no one in them, even shots of locations felt very up close and personal and populated. that is, in the city. the beach scenes mostly seemed to differ from this, more open air, more freedom. but i guess that there was something binding and constricting about it, ironically. whole movie has this rather nice faded look to it, the whole thing felt very dumbed down in the sort of purgatory

modern hell
way. even out on that beach things felt rather dim. the sparse dialogue is pretty nicely spread out, the characters all have this air of seriousness to them that's broken at all the right moments for comedic or violent ends. movie overall has high aesthetic value. but i'd be lying if i didn't say that some of the plot points flew over my head. nevertheless a good watch, if only just to gawk at some pretty shots. lots of good looking shots in the movie, i neglected to screencap any. the reason it felt jarring at first is because it feels far away from western cinema, shot rather differently. that subsided over the course of it though; i think that the very down to earth, dry, matter-of-fact delivery of mostly everything (plot, dialogue, visuals, characters) in the movie is really interesting, unique as far as i know. makes it all the more cathartic when blood and laughs come spewing out of guns. this movie is to be watched with an exclusively straight face. it's unnerving and melancholic in just the right way.

23

when i wake up i almost expect to see new posts on this page as i click on it. as if someone were waiting there, ready to resume a discussion from the night before.


24

my right arm is stronger than my left arm : ^)


25

finished watching the 1997 berserk anime. i've read the manga. kino, not much else to say. conviction is probably my favorite arc. hope it gets finished before miura dies.


26

wasting.
know i won't really be able to afford doing that soon. not quite sure what to do. know i will regret not having done some more reading or movie viewing during this time. frankly too tired for it.
sore head, aching arms.

27

hate

h*man beings

hate ch*tting
hate
ex*stence


i am going to:
smear my shit on the walls
piss on ur carpet
slash my ankles and bleed all over you're mothers's nice china
defecate on your beliefs (redundant)
sneeze on your soap and peroxide containers
clean my nails on all the corners in your apartment
drain my sewage directly to your kitchen sink
burn my face off and close all the windows so your apartment reeks
carve poems about acid and dung into your walls
dump a vat of acid on your bed
deep fry your computer in human grease
bomb all the buildings next to yours but not yours
remind you that you should not be alive
record myself reminding you that you should not be alive and install speakers in your room repeating the recording ad nauseam
bring a blackboard into your room and scrape the oldest shittiest chalk there is on it, all day long
cut the cables to all your headphones
lock the door and stick the key up a distant relative's ass

28

you're an animal.

siiiiiiiiiick. sick. gross.
g*d. i rly dont want to exist rn. sigh. fuck. you, are an animal. sigh.
FUCK.
i hope you die like a dog. dunno what else to say rly. feel awful. pure shit.

im gonna fry an egg.

wish i were in one of the following states: im gonna fry an egg

29

forget it


30

basically: the plan is: here's the run down: here's the gist of it: this is the idea: the upper middle class are soul sucking necrotic beings. im humming some random out-the-ass tune and my eyes are rather

sore.
light filtering in from outside, and i wish it were still nighttime.

31

i wonder if anyone actually reads this stuff. it's probably for the best that they don't, i'd end up embarrassing myself. besides it's not like i have anything worthwhile to say.


32

watched mulholland dr. good movie. at first i felt that outside of the director's sideplot, the plot of the first two thirds of the movie was rather dull, though i did notice some odd things like the bright lighting, and the somewhat jarring dialogue (similar to twin peaks, same director i guess). the whole silencio scene verged on being ridicule. but then the last third of the movie came on and it all clicked and came together, and put into perspective all the different elements and oddities of the first two thirds. the whole exploration of diane's psyche was really cool, especially with the way it was presented (not explicit, and only something you can realize after reaching that last third). it's really cool how all the characters and different objects reappear in that last third, and you realize that they left a lasting impression on diane due to her emotional state and nervousness and that all of it translated into the dream or the first two thirds. that was my interpretation anyway. another thing i thought was really well done was the initially jarring shot/reverse shot of diane and herself, splitting one scene in two halves (the blue key is present before that shot, meaning it was the morning after the soiree, but not after, which means that that would be the day before it). really cool and subtle way to portray the events within a non-linear story. betsy was pretty naive, and there were quite a few obvious clues about her being in a dream, and in an idealized golden-age hollywood that diane wishes she were a part of, though it never felt too on-the-nose. it was delivered in a way that never really took you out of that "dream" while still leading you to doubt it at times, with subtle things like that lighting i mentioned earlier, and weird dialogue and facial expressions (like that old woman's creepy smile) that at a first glance, and if you hadn't seen anything else by lynch, you could just chalk up to bad acting. but the opposite is obviously true, the acting was pretty good. the strange stilted dialogue, like in that diner scene, accomplished exactly what it needed to.


33

saw king of comedy. funnily enough, funny movie. cool ambiguous ending. well put together. entertaining. not much else to say.


34

i wish i were

asleep.
do not have any will to be conscious and do not have the patience to do much of anything, think much at all. whenever i close my eyes and imagine something, the image is smooth. when i'm tired, i've been missing sleep, the image comes up all
fuzzy and distorted, wrinkled like static.
more white than it is black, though.

35

cool bird montage thing. ending's kinda shit. hastily thrown together with old footage of some birds. song is pigeons by lync. there's a 7" with the same name, good listen.


36

watched exotica. not my thing and didn't like it much. watched bottle rocket. dumb fun. watched stalker. i expected to like it, and enjoyed it up until the second part. i liked the feel of it, and i liked how maze-like the shots made the setting feel. all throughout a well shot, hi-aesthetic film, but it just didnt do much for me. i dont have faith.


37

im always gonna be hanging around

as far as im concerned the promise is being kept. listening to this song on repeat.


38

im staying up for 3 days straight so i can meet god. im 22 hours in.
i really miss her. i keep thinking about her. still listening to that song. i like the cover a lot. it's really nice to look at, it's weirdly erotic and aesthetic.

about 27 or 28 hours in.
bit tired, came close to dozing off a few times. time passes i guess.

i think i'm 32 hours in.
watched good time. loved it. really original crime movie. lots and lots of close up shots, makes it feel very messy and in the moment, makes you feel the heat. maybe a bit too messy at times, one or two establishing shots in some scenes might've been ok. i like the constant escalation of the movie. because most crime movies end in some ass-pull magical solution you're constantly questioning how he's going to get out of the mess he's in, but he doesn't. it's all just escalation until it falls off a cliff and he's in the police car, and his brother is fucked. any other ending would've made the movie garbage. the situation getting more and more hopeless, for once, actually translates to a hopeless situation.

37 hours in.
i hope she responds, i really miss her.
made some soup. comfy.

are you always gonna be hanging around
are you always gonna be hanging around
are you always gonna be hanging around
are you always gonna be hanging around
born stupid useless
are you always gonna be hanging around
are you always gonna be hanging around
are you always gonna be hanging around
are you always gonna be hanging around
born wasted fated

my brain's gonna
rot
on endless repetitions of this song. consciousness rots just as the body does. the mind is a constantly degenerating apparatus. sleep remedies it but there is something appealing in self destruction, in reconstruction.
i'm disappointed. all i feel is lethargy and longing. when does my perception start changing? when do i get to meet g*d? some weird meaningless object of innermost desire, figurehead of cope. i need to start abusing hallucinogens. all i've ever done is edibles and blunts and the novel surreal aspect of the high wears off quick, all i'm left with is a mellow feeling. i don't want to be a part of linear reality anymore. mellow feeling or not, i just want to get lost in some endless chain of abstractions of abstractions of abstractions in my own head. like i am now, just more dissociated from reality, unaffected by the outside world.
moving men on the screen feel strange. earlier i looked at the mirror and my body felt like it was contorting and coiling around itself. i've never liked looking people directly in the eyes, i don't like looking at their faces too long either. they end up looking like waxy flesh masks, melting off under the sun. i've disfigured many people with my eyes. sometimes familiar faces begin to look completely foreign, the longer i stare at them. oftentimes just get this weird, jarring impression from seeing people. oftentimes just feel disgusted by very slight and subtle behaviors. oftentimes just feel disgusted by people in general. the more i know my close friends the more i hate them, the less i want to see them. i hate seeing myself most of all.

i slipped. around 40 hours in i dozed off, have woken up now 3 hours later. i was convinced that i wasn't sleeping, but just allowing my consciousness to drift to different places and there was some very realistic feeling, yet very vague plot going on in my head that i can't quite recall that involved me shifting positions in bed until i eventually just fell asleep. in light of this slip-up, if i don't notice anything going on by the end of the third day, i'll probably go for a fourth. the part that stings the most is that she still hasn't responded. i'm so incredibly tired of being. nothing but lethargy and longing. wallowing in some pit for god knows how long, god knows why. unable to pick myself up and make something out of myself, always too caught up in my own head and down weird lines of thought.

39

i fell asleep


40

tired.


41

finished watching haibane renmei. really comfy anime. a good ending that felt deserved. a really nice, soft approach to the subject of death. glad i watched it. cathartic in a very pleasant way, after all the melancholy.


42

hate sunlight. finally starting to become a comfy grey afternoon. feel really lethargic and sluggish. there's this awful, lazy feeling i get from sunlight.


43

watched some of the dead zone. really boring and cheesy.


44

watched it's such a beautiful day. good movie. althought i feel even worse than i did earlier.


45

no matter what it is i do i always end up thinking about her. i think about doing things with her often, like cooking, watching movies, or falling asleep.


46

ex*stence fucking blows!!!! tell the guy who came up with this shit that it isn't fucking funny!!!!!!


47

headBANGAN and FEELAN, LISTENAN 2


48

itsover itsover FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUKC UFKC FUCK FUCK FUKC FUKC FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK itsover FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FCUK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK


49

i need a cope figurehead to replace the godhead in my life. i have never been particularly attached to ideas of god and faith but now more than ever i understand the necessity of the belief.

[just]

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. im an empty husk and all around shit and i need meaning and purpose, but i would never be able to convince myself that such vague and uncertain holy sanctified notions are worth pursuing.

50

arghf
agh
blast!
damn it all!


51

i am fucked. its so over. i have no hopes of ever leading a happy life. i have no will to do anything but lay down and rot. i am repulsive, i have no redeeming qualities. i will never succeed in an academic setting, nor in a social setting, nor any other kind of measure of success. beyond that i will never feel content with my existence.


52

weed yesterday. didn't feel much. don't really know how to smoke out of a pipe i guess.


53

ugly rape bastard


54

i don't really want to exist. i will be filling my time making shitty student films, hopefully. i will post some of them here.


55

had another dream about her. a really long, windy, and fucked up one. really miss her.


56

IMAGINE having only ONE CHANCE at life and being born a NEUROTIC WASTOID FREAK

>high neuroticism
>low conscientiousness
>low agreeableness
>literally subhuman
no chance at succeeding in life, no chance at being happy

57

sick of living, can't live my feelings sincerely anymore. feel ok, feel sad, feel something poetic, feel like an idiot for feeling much at all, get cynical about how silly "feeling poetic" is, fall asleep, forget about it, wake up the next morning, feel nothing, feel nothing, feel disgusted by the fact that i feel nothing, panic and get anxious, the non-existent issue is resolved, i feel good, i feel sad, i feel poetic, i feel like an idiot for feeling much at all, fall asleep, forget about it, wake up the next morning, feel nothing, feel nothing, feel alienated, feel strange, feel invigorated by the novelty of that strangeness, feel abstract, get too caught up in it, feel frantic, feel disillusioned lying in bed sore with a cold sweat, feel ashamed, feel sad, feel like an idiot for having been so ecstatic and hyperactive, feel like an idiot for feeling much at all, go to sleep, have a weird dream, wake up the next morning, feel nothing, feel nothing, feel nothing


58

did some drawing today.


59

read vagabond, really good manga. i really liked tsujikaze's arc and kojiro's childhood arc. some pretty exceptional art. whereas with something like berserk both the early and late art feels somewhat awkward, in vagabond not only is the artstyle consistent, but it's consistently good. also watched withnail and i, pretty fun and well written movie. enjoyed it.


60

things i saw on my walk today that i found humorous:


61

i just chugged a bottle of cough syrup with dxm in it, not a heavy dose but should be good for testing the waters i guess. should kick in soon. already feeling a bit mellow and tingly. i spergd out at the pharmacy earlier today and took whatever they gave me. luckily it had dxm and none of the other nasty active ingredients.


62

it ended up being fun. mild euphoric buzz. doing a stronger dose on friday. killer headache past two days, but i'm not sure if today's is the same as yesterday's.


63

it's been a while. haven't done all too much. got back into

coping
with wow. trying to self-improve. started working out again. decided i'd finally actually unironically read gravity's rainbow, after it sat on my shelf for so long. really enjoying it. doesn't go over my head as much as it used to. i saw a handful of films. once upon a time in hollywood. loling @ feet. buffalo 66. cool amateur film with some interesting shots and scenes, didnt like the ending. the dinner scene with the main character's parents was the best i'd seen in a while. bladerunner. 2049 is one of my favorites, had high hopes for this one. not disappointed. really beautiful film. does not try to do sci-fi grandstands like most of current year cyberpunk/sci-fi flicks. uses the cyberpunk aesthetic in a subtle and subdued way, not the main focus and secondary to the themes and narrative of the film. i might've seen some other films but cannot remember. since i last did dxm, i must've gotten high once or twice. that friday, i had done 300mg like i planned to. it kind of sucked. must've not been enough. felt nauseous, then dizzy, lied down, sky seemed kinda colorful,
fell asleep.
haven't done any of that in a while though. the
vah-rus
hasn't changed much of my day-to-day life, outside of online classes.

64

convinced that somehow, somewhere, the world is being run on green. the first and most obvious green: money, sure, but it goes deeper than that. i'm talking all sorts of greens.

uranium,

pot,
popeye's magical spinach...
epstein somewhere on his verdant, luscious island was enjoying all these greens and more. "green eggs and ham". where do you think seuss got this from? why do you think he's being cancelled? i'm telling you, he was part of something big. something bigger than all of us. down here, down in the lower spheres,
They
have us running on whites. all sorts of potent powders, identity politics, pages of history now left blank, delusions of purity, atomic bomb blasts, it's all so white, stark, naked for the masses, such that everyone is content with that clarity and simplicity, no one has to hurt too much thinking about it. take your white aspirins and forget all that headache-inducing nonsense. those few who do trudge on past the pale white visages of fear and "turn back now"-s end up in this abstract world of colors where they'll never really hone in on that life-giving green, the green of vitality, of power, of control, reserved for
Those
who run it all. we can only hope that green too, is rot, is bacterial infection, is puke green, will eventually mean demise for
Them
... as we live, dead from the cradle, on synthetic whites.
They
're keeping all the green from you. go to your local government buildings, and demand
They
return the green to you.

65

getting stuff soon. hopefully. when i said i was going to read gravity's rainbow, i didn't, but i've been reading it for a month now and im 700 pages in, out of a total 900. getting stuff soon. i have been waiting for this for a long time. this song FUCKS. something something about muhdernity, how modern man seeks comfort and luxury as some sort of vain new religion... "eternalux" is perverted to "eternal luxury". the droning, repetitive, angular riffs and dry, monotone, incoherent and blaring vocals all paint the image of the resulting state of modern man though... he's gone mad. the guitars break out at some point into this very chaotic bit, very nice culmination. just a really good song yeah!



I try to search for you, I know I'm not alone
I try to search for you, I know I'm not alone
I try to search for you, I know I'm not alone
I try to search for you!

Eternalux...

66

There was only one road back to LA... US interstate 15. Just a flat out high-speed burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdoo. Then onto the Hollywood freeway, straight into frantic oblivion... Safety, obscurity. Just another
freak...
in the
freak kingdom.

67

the

Bugs
drone around and get themselves caught in screenlight from time to time... against the great white of VLC media player (which i love dearly) their perfidious, grubby appendages are exposed... you might think
they,
the
Bugs
that is, are out to get you, but the truth is they really are just bugs - just
Bugs?
that doesn't stop you in the slightest. somewhere in your room they have nested, formed their sinister hives, their wax and slime metropolises complete with blood banks, affront-to-my-sensitivities breeding dens and big bulbous
Bug Queens
churning out the little fuckers at record pace. in
Bug Hive,
there is a certain tempo, you can feel it in the droning and buzzing and vibrations in the air - there is a certain upkeep, a certain rhythm... the
Bugs
are on a crash collision course to late stage civilization and they have passed down through minute long eons sacred occult rituals detailing the coming
Day of Reckoning
where all the intelligence and sweet sweet
Icky Red Stuff
they have gathered from you will come to fruition. that's right. they're cloning you, and replacing you with a doppelganger. you may have seen "Invasion of the Body Snatchers", but rest assured that there will be no Body left to Snatch. only a fake, a dupe, a copy. they are conspiring to erase you, to replace you, to kit your born-late twin out with an extra inch or two and a slightly better sense of fashion. he will be deliciously evil. he will do

Nefarious Things

like spiting people and causing them minor inconveniences, only with a bit more schadenfreude and relish than you. this is what the
Bugs
want. across the world, they are doing this to many others, and with every cumulative bit of added evil they will tip the entropic scale over and flood the world with
DOOM

68

no matter which ways you look at it, the way the cookie crumbles into brass tacks it could not have gotten down in any alternative manner... the she-things are just masses of

Bugs
in skin sutures... and if you don't like it, well you can go and play with yourself. that's what i did.

69

i'm being fucked around. im fkn

bl*ckpilled...

its so OVER fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
[itsover]

70

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK fuck


71

[today: fuck]

the
fuck
is retroactive, the
fuck
is prospective, the
fuck
is now and the
fuck
is eternal. there was nothing you could have done to escape it, or at least that's what you tell yourself. there might have been things you could have done, but you didn't do them. all you are left with is frustration, bitterness, maybe melancholy later on, and a
faint fuck-to-be on the edge of your lips.
[ad nauseam]

sometimes you may whisper it, sometimes you may blurt it out in anger, but it's always there, every damned day, a sort of sour note you tack on at the end of whatever it is that's got you fucked up, just so that you don't feel completely erased. at the very least, i am here, and i can scream

FUCK!

to my heart's content. i don't know whether there's solace in that or if it's just pathetic.

72

the shtoner nonsense ethos.
may expand on this later. all i have now is some past posts, and i feel that this ties into Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas fairly well too, in that fear and loathing also parodies film genres through use of absurd shtoner dile-eck-tiks, (see i spelled it out funny like that because i'm aware the use of the word is pretentious and probably inaccurate, aren't i cute when i get all self-aware like that?) specifically that sort of stoic yet jaded narration you find in noirs and neo-noirs done by the sly guy nonchalant/badass/gum chewer detective.
excerpts taken from Gravity's Rainbow. commentary taken from an overly elaborate explanation of why i thought they were funny.

so like, it's funny because it parodies how a retard stoner would go about making a shitty amateur film, as well as poking fun at westerns. you have this very long winded, uncut dialogue about whether or not the midget is real without having any sort of plot progressing, as if that's supremely interesting. like going off on a train of thought while stoned and forgetting what you were talking about in the first place. obviously that in and of itself isn't necessarily comedic, but the delivery of it in the text makes it that way. then the western parody element comes in where suddenly, after this shitty dialogue, there's just some abrupt violence and a vague smile that are supposed to resolve the conflict somehow when they clearly don't; only for osbie feel, one of the actual dopers in GR's plot to say: "hey wait, didn't we forget about the greed bit?" adding onto the earlier shit about yknow, going off on a train of thought and how that's parodied in writing here
also, all these surreal mismatched elements added to the western flick further sell you on the amateurism.... like the midget with the german accent (why?), the forced accent and weird contrived named that S.Z. "cuddles" sakall has, the fact that it's just uncut dialogue, the fact that osbie feel, who wrote the film, thinks it's the coolest shit ever clearly, and also the really out of place ending

The midget is active the whole time, reacting to the many subtle and now and then dazzling points presented.
once again poking fun at retard stoner thoughts, how stoners think they're supremely interesting and deep, and how they seem to put reality on hold (here: the reality of the film, its main conflict in the midget sheriff; which they've put on hold by discussing it at length with weird contrived dialogue with wacky random bits thrown in like the accent).

this contributes to a greater irony in GR itself because pynchon seems to do this all the time. the passage is almost self deprecating, really. he will go off on these tangents which in some overly contrived and far-reaching yet really beautiful way illustrate by disconnected metaphors different ideas he is trying to convey in the text. take for example: this segment about a nazi "toiletship", part of the nazi armada, described down to its finest detail, an intricate reality of its own, taking up as much narrative space as any important plot-driving segment, but in the grand scheme of things just an off-hand joke, a tangent, to illustrate a point about this scientist debating whether or not he is responsible for the deaths caused by the V2 rocket because of his, minor but nonetheless essential, contribution to its development. of course, there are many other wacky images and allusions used to illustrate this, such as a reference to a spoof song by a 1960s comedian-singer making fun of wernher von braun for claiming that he only worked on the rocket's ascent and not its descent. also notice how we see the post-modern tendencies of the text here: it creates these sub-realities and gives them as much narrative space as what is meant to be the main reality / plot-line of the text, thus creating a melded hyperreality. it then goes even further into this and parodies itself through the "doper's greed" tangent. i love this fucking book!!!!!!!!!!


73

living in some sort of simulation of my own depression. "last time i stayed in bed all day, sad and exhausted and sick, i listened to this album, trying to fall asleep, [groggy sleep with crusty eyes and sore limbs that you're only going through for the sake of not being awake] and so i will listen to it today again as i lie in bed"
my actions are simulations of themselves, yesterday i woke up and went on discord and listened to music, and today i will do that as well. yesterday, this album made me feel certain things and i hope to feel them again so i will listen to it again
now everything rings with a hollow clatter. the keys on my keyboard ring sharply with a dull and flat emptiness, the song in my ears like a monotone buzzing that only seems to evoke the feeling of having felt something
no longer can i feel things sincerely, i must feel things that i have set myself out to feel, that i have felt before and can no longer feel now. i will say them over and over, and simulate them with the full range of media i have available to me, but they will remain shadows on a wall
my words are slurred, my fingers are slow, my head is numb and buzzing all at once, i have nothing to say and nothing to think, i am unable to read words on a screen, i have been broken down into dry dust and powders and scattered in the stale air of my room, layered thick on deskchair, bed, keyboard, toilet seat, carpet and floor


74

i am spited by the world and its vague, ineffable, intangible forces. i only know to hurl spite back. inside, i am bitter and ugly. i am utterly disgusted with people, but that's only because i held hope. over the years i will be ground and whittled down until i am nothing. i am filled with spite and bile.
like driving a car up a hill, subtle external forces will always pull you down and chip away at you with tiny, minutious frictions. existence is a long battle of attrition.

so utterly disappointed and disgusted. so sick of myself. so sick of being passed over and left out. i feel like i've been robbed, yet no one has robbed me, and i couldn't even pin it all on myself either. call it Them, call it g*d, call it chance, call it whatever you please.


75

time to bite down on your dread and eat your spleen: there is no salvation to come. the only option left to you is visceral effacement and forgetting what it was that made you hurt, only keeping what makes you bleed. eventually you'll get dizzy, lightheaded, and on the way to the grave at the very least you won't have much to think on. everything from here on out needs to be dry and stale: the more blood you lose, the more air you breathe, the more your fluids trickle out of your body, the better off you'll be. it is time for years long desiccation, for surrender of the spirit, for living as a crisp and brittle shell. the more brittle you are, the harder you'll be, and the more painless the eventual breaking will be if you don't have to bend and contort and suffer


76

hi, i like sending pictures of small cats to people on the internet. sometimes they will be simulating acts that i find humorous, like smoking weed or playing the keyboard. i go to work every day from 9 to 5 and this is my one solace in life. sometimes the cats will be making silly faces, or even meowing and purring in unusual ways. i really like that.


77

you may often think of events as a complex chain of causes and effects orchestrated by a pervasive Them but this may be reductive. by playing into the paranoid structures, the idea that A leads to B and is derived from C and has complex interactions with D and whatever else, and thus that everything is "orchestrated", that everything follows a certain logical narrative, you give into Their plans to entrap you in the mire of plots, subplots, counterplots, and narrativized experience as a whole. you may think of your life as a narrative with leitmotifs and signs from god or some other cosmic trickster like Them but this is false. notice your synchronicities as they come and go and your signs and give them what meaning you will but they are simply meanings projected onto flat and discrete phenomena. you may be led to the natural conclusion that the world is a complex chaotic system of A leads to B to C as reason and the hard sciences would suggest but the world is compact and meaning too dilute for you to understand any of this, your experience is flawed and approximate and although you may lead yourself to believe that the world is that complex physical system in some sort of deep remote crystalline truth, this truth is and will always be unattainable, your world is one of shadows and reflections and cave allegories stacked on cave allegories. the idea of the complex system leads to the idea of orchestration because you, the paranoiac, ascribe to the system a set of wills and independent actors seeking to push and pull subtly in remote corners of existence and butterfly effect you into oblivion. thus narratives are created, you see a product and expect that there is a cause, you theorize a cause and expect that an actor is pulling the strings. if They really are out there, trying to control your existence in minutious and imperceptible ways, they could not hold such power and mastery over existence itself and its minutia. They only know to manipulate the very anthropic narratives that are the true nature of our existence, rather than the hard physical realities you held so dear to your idea of the truth. the most common tool assigned to a theoretical Them to control the masses is the media, that which controls the public narratives. however, we know the media to be chaotic, a complex system of indpendent actors acting upon their own space to form one chaotic whole. thus, this is the realm in which They are doing the pushing and pulling, the subtle maneuvering, but that should not give you any feeling of relative safety. this is only one of the ways in which the narrative is controlled, since the media is only one remote part of your narrative. They have gamed your narrative, and therefore gamed your existence. you exist only within a set of reasoned, paranoid assumptions, your sense of self is tied to still frames across time blended together very much like a film, spanning long periods of time rather than the 24 frames per second. you live out sparsely interconnected episodes, loosely tied together by those very leitmotifs which you project onto them, by a few distinct commonalities which are the very essence of your own "self". thus your life is something like a very long running sitcom, a set of dream-like vignettes, and naturally there follows the assumption that a film stage, a camera crew, a director, must exist. They are the director, the screenwriter. They set up the narratives. if you wish for freedom, if you wish for peace, you must seek only to escape narrativization.


78

you show up to the door scabs n bandaids
"there's no telling when she'd be back"
you scuffle out some money you want the acid they know you want the acid they don't care who you are they just want to sell you the acid they are cynical and tired and they just want to sell you the acid and eat and shit flavorless bricks again and again because what else would they do? they just know you want the acid and that gets them what they need

you show up to the door scabs n bandaids
"there's no telling when she'd be back"
lost again and again they lose them they slip through they were never looking out for them they just didn't know what to do they didn't seem to understand what was happening right in front of them and they lose them again and again maybe 1 in 2 and they'll just say the other one was built better

you show up to the door scabs n bandaids n cigarettes
"there's no telling when she'd be back"
smells like scum and smoke everywhere all the time smells like loss and tiredness and smells always like cigarettes but never booze only ash and smoke in the air only fumes fumes blow from vents steaming hot and they make you feel like a rat in the streets and when you walk around at dark you scurry like a rat and run from the Things that Scare you because they are too much for you to know yes even know you cannot know them they are too much for you to know

you show up to the door scabs n bandaids n cigarettes n spilled coffee
"there's no telling when she'd be back"
you smell bitter you are bitter nothing runs on you but shame n wakefulness chems you want to eat up your shirt and bite down hard on the cloth there is nothing but chems on you bitter chems you know the cloth is stiff and crusty with all the spills and stains and you want nothing more but gauze in your mouth to bite down hard on to bite down on the gauze you want the words to fill your mouth and foam up you want to bite down on the gauze you want the gauze to take you in like soft bedding you want gauze

you want to disappear on these streets


79

you showed up to the door you knew you had scabs n bandaids you did not have cigarettes and spilled coffee but you had lingering shame none of this actually happened you are wasting you are wasting and they know and they hate you for it you will never live out your youth it has already passed there it goes it's gone there's nothing you could have done about it it's already gone away gone forever gone gone gone gone gone gone


80

i think it has long since been the case that i hated everyone and every time it happens again fresh and new and i begin hating them again. i hate them for petty things i hate the little things they tick me off i cannot help but hate them deeply

you know how you're supposed to love the little things and come to a greater appreciation of life because oh it's all just so beautiful and whatnot? i only come to hate them and despise them and resent them and feel spite i feel spite nothing but spite spite against things and people and i feel distaste for the little things and they ruin everything and everything gets ruined sooner or later and i hate all the little things in the world the little subtle mundane things that i shouldn't care about at all that may not even really be there that i may be making up but i hate them anyway


81

just an emo boy in a poser world... there were about six different platitudes i was ready to spew out to explain my lack of sexual activity, notable lack of social interaction and years long streak of reclusiveness. i was ready to throw myself at any number of bygone emotional teenager aesthetics, if it only meant i could bask in some sort of release. in truth there was no way to romanticize any of what i was doing. it was repulsive through and through.


82

i wanted to make chili today but god spited me and replaced my can of kidney beans with a can of fava beans. i rue the circumstances


83

you know youre actually fucked in the head right soft
god ih ate you so much
its literally generic teenage angst shit written by a teenager how are you praising this


84

*screams incoherently*


85

you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell you keep me under your spell

fuark bros............. i really miss her. i dont understand why she went and pulled that shit. who the fuck does that??? i feel that i've been let down so enormously hard, fed with empty promises, but bringing it up would just be selfish considering the circumstances... i really miss her. fuck. FUCK. i have been awake for many hours. i really miss her.