sex and guacamole
Thoughts are bouncing off the rims of my sandy scalp and onto the page since I now realize I write because I can’t stop, I write stream of consciousness until the conscience is settled. How I love run on sentences and this definitely is one, awkward, so awkward and jagged like wood sticking out of a sanded Tisch and bones sticking out of that pale and skinny girl, so unhealthy and deprived for no other reason than herself. I’m so fucking uncomfortable right now, I just want to rip out from under my bones and skin into a million different colors and patterns to create some giant explosion that opens the eyes of all the people who’s eyes are closed, living easy. I’m living easy but I know there’s something wrong. The red or blue pill, or purple even, I don’t know who I am sometimes and I can’t tell you. I’m a narcissist and a fake and brilliant and beautiful and I can’t love anyone but myself or people who look as great as me. And then the people who look as great as me I can’t handle because I fear they don’t like me as much as I like them. Love is so confusing, I fear it the most. I want what I can’t have, and then again, maybe I can have it. Once I have it, it will fade and disappear and I’ll want something new like a new corgi puppy or a new iPhone because now this one is borderlining on old. I can barely concentrate with all of this brazilian music spurring from my pores because all I want to do is drink fancy wine on a fancy patio in some fancy country and smile and laugh out loud with scarlet lipstick and a silk chair, a skin tight black dress and a handsome man. Men men men I don’t understand, boys, rather, because men I associate with ‘misogynistic pigs’ and boys just naive. My life at the moment consists of sex and guacamole. Sometimes I wonder what is going through my mind when I make life altering decisions like choosing between honey mustard and hot mustard, sitting here a little horny and a lot distracted only wanting to have as much fun as I did that one time. I just want to get out of this tight house and go have a drink or maybe even some hot apple cider with caramel to remind me of the freezing pacific, the wondrous air and seastacks. My mouth tastes like coffee and I feel a little high on weed, I kind of want a cigarette or a clove but that goes against my previous morals. I’m stepping out my shell and becoming the person I want to be, hoping that someone will see that and take me by the hand. People are people and for some reason that’s the most important thing, more important than my education and my career because really those things are so trivial. I just want to experience the music and take the bus forever to nowhere because that sounds like a good life. Tangents and more tangents and oh shit I’m glad I’m not you, my life’s amazing and have no rainclouds over my head even though I get upset at something stupid and irrelevant, maybe I need an acid trip. I want to make some scones and have a burrito, no wait, twenty burritos, and smile and laugh and why the hell is this stressing me out, I shouldn’t be stressed out….
Dammit I need to stop now and go hang out and have some fun, and JEEZUS FUCKING CHRIST THAT WAS INCOHERENT.
