#foreverlol

[robotox]

Se arregla para impresionar a un chico, termina ligandose a la novia de su amigo. 

[carmel-bythesea-blog-blog]

And you know what the moral to the story is? This bad bitch ALWAYS has vodka!

Maude

[gregpikitus]

YESSSSS!!!!

[spaciouswarren]

dec.09 (a.b.complete)

Everything moves so promptly on Mondays. Or is it simply where I am situated? The human beings strangely placed in my circular paths? It is nowhere near simple, I am positive of that. The aberration could be an acid buildup, definitely a disturbance within me. I did not desire it's presence there, ever. But it appeared somehow, I cannot track its origin; I don't try much anymore. It remains, and though I hate it, the feeling that is the result, is doubtlessly felt, and somehow, that is comforting; to know that love IS within my emotional capacity. I am held here, with no solution, there is none. You will continue to exist, to hack at my sanity, while you bewilder me endlessly. Certain moments I am overwhelmed, dumbfounded. My primary concern is getting closer. I am still distant as ever. At frustration's peak, almost certain of my inability. To finish this? Such a simple opponent can stifle my everything. But is it simple? All I know is what I know. Our circles of understanding cannot see past the walls of where our thoughts are contained, conditioned and painted by our experience and current circumstance. Maybe I am strong, but heavy laden. Look at me now, bible fingers. I pray? I cry until I sleep, three days before christmas (that was the earliest I had fallen asleep in what we call years) (9:30 P.M.) [But I awoke much too early; too cold to leave the house, too hot to remain in my room, no one else awake, nothing really to do. I couldn't fall asleep again.] Or perhaps I am just weak, far too feeble for the troubles this life has in store. That would make sense- I have proved pathetic in past, failed endeavors. But I don't care anymore about what is done- I will only concern myself with the task at hand, and the wonders and tragedies (95% tragedy) that have only recently occurred, still eating at my mind.  So am I weak? What is the purpose behind this? Or is there none? Was I destined? I should stop caring. I should cease this foolishness while I can.  I say "I love you," but my love is fleetingmy emotions- momentary,slippery.I only wished for "joy"thoroughly ordinaryunlike all the odd blendsit has visited me in (all short visits) beforemost could not even call it "joy"..only wished for "joy"just once.Lovesick. Seasick.it's been a while since I've been out sailingI've had better daysthese are much bigger waves,I'm riding the contingency now.....I've got a twisted plan to fix myself,dining beside old friends-over the years I notice they have no faces.You know I never missed a day of hating everyone,I've always had my doubtIt's my dire infection.I will purge my deepest partsto extract the poison.but the possibility-abstracting myself from...myselfaltering all attributes of my very being,to the point of not knowingwho I was before,or what happened.I'd write to myself.."don't worry about it."and scream "UPDATE!"before downing the concoction,or performing whatever evil necessaryto rid my vessel of this horrible truth insideit's called AMPUTATION. a weird part of my body wasasleep when I became unasleep (unasleep 1. the state of no longer being asleep)that tingling sensation.   a new look, and you're back at schoolspeechless carmobilewith four kids (damn, open a window or something)me itching for the cure. but never get it.your life, your existence is somewhatcatastrophic,in the slowest, vaguest way possible alan is in the kindergarten bathroomears plugged,fists clenched,redded knuckles,cringing,saying, "such enclosed spaces, I need you".spends the rest of the day trying not to remember,and the following morning,white feet, to the locker..15..40..35.."click" nothing there he needs,just like everything else you do all day.finds new words,and daydreams. "you are invited to my luncheon  between Billy's blow holes, lay the blanket,  the weather will cooperate, or else" Now it is Christmas eve, and I have a strange buzz between my ribs. As if an entire multitude of microscopic organisms inhabiting my body know the answers to my questions, an end to this predicament. So I get out my stethoscope from its place beneath the mattress. The miniature voices let out boisterous cries. It's something about "GOD GOD GOD GOD  GOD GOD!" I must have heard wrong, I must be mistaken.Now it is the twenty sixth, and conflicted as I am regularly, I just write. Nothing about my singing voice actually matters, but I fret, fret, until I realize, or persuade myself that I am, or am very close to, nothing. Dammit, turn off the TV. nothing makes anything better.just listen to me going on about myself, my troubles and faults-that's bottomless. that's ridiculous, how selfish I am,I keep telling myself I'm a different person,but that don't work.I keep telling myself, I'll go back to god, someday,sooner or later,but I do nothing to gain faith,how can I get somewhere if I don't even walk out the door?I sometimes stare out the windows,but I go right backto hate.but what's the beauty in trying, being "proactive," and making progress?I'd much rather be the procrastinator I am,and prance around in the mahogany town in my head,naked, there's no people here, besides myself-I'm not even a people anyways. I'm something better. No- worse, no- better!much worse-different that's for sure.Returning, to the earlier months of this ending year,in a sense,when we're in that spaceclamorous, clang!the drumset,the shitty amplifires that aren't mine,(but now I have one of my own, it reaches my abdomen)knives sharpened by time(so sharp that it stimulates the nerves and the pain-part-of-brain at the very sight)thrust into my side,don't let this become real,don't let this be realized completelydo not let it alter your view, unless you hear a voicein your clouded head,then, open the door,and spring your long legsall the way to church,and holler-"I'M FOUND!I AM SAVED!PRAISE! PRAISE!ALLELUIA!!"then is when you cry,because you haven't cried for real,in a verylongtime. pleasant as a cliff side epiphanyafter a bout of true love,she wonhe wonand one falls off,to death.  diminishedand losing-this is what it feels like.peat repeatrerepeat.this has a meaningtrust me.but it's getting easier and easierfor YOUto misunderstand(hesitate)What if I don't want any of this to mean anything?What if I don't want to make sense?What's the sense in making sense?What if I want you to think I am insane?Maybe I am insane?Is there a problem in being insane?What if I don't care that I ask too many questions?Is there such a thing as asking too many questions?I think not. Because there are never enough answers.What now?Let my mind slip far downto the decay,where time does not touch.