I want to love a stranger

and I want to love him until it blisters

and
    burns
like Drano


synging away every last unholy irony,

   contorting this sad, forsaken _ _ _ _ _

surrender surrender

It would be so much easier for me to accept you if you were the bad guy

They say it's not rocket science

I'm sorry I'm so needy
I'm sorry I can be a cunt 
I'm sorry I shoot you down so frequently 
I'm sorry I'm not a better friend 
I'm sorry I get uncomfortable meeting new people 
I'm sorry I'd rather clean my room than spend time with you
I'm sorry I get so emotional
I'm sorry I seem so apathetic 
I'm sorry I cried 
I'm sorry I can't make a decision and stick with it
I'm sorry I can't stop
I'm sorry I love you so much 
I'm sorry I can't seem to do anything remotely right 
I'm sorry I have so many minuscule problems 
I'm sorry I'm inconsistent 
I'm sorry I'm a liar 
I'm sorry I sometimes say I love you when I don't, though I generally do
I'm sorry I'm inconsiderate
I'm sorry I don't like your music
I'm sorry you don't love me back
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry

I have no virtuous qualities. I adhere to no concrete illustration of some meaningful life, I am a subversive to myself. 
I'm sorry that I hate you but I think I hate me more.      

This week will be used productively.
This week will be used productively.
This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.

This week will be used productively.




M has my passwords and has become the master of my internet-personality.
So this is the week to talk to me online if you're looking for a good conversation.

feeble minded foes

sometimes all I can see are the minuscule, anticlimactic movements of the age.
A foreign sort of zeitgeist to spur creation and rhythm into the hearts of a creative subconscious.
a dream state to woo the tides, and prolong pure, unadulterated sleep.
sometimes they are all I need. 

sing sing sing to me

why is it that it is so much easier to be sad than it is to be happy? 
I saw a sign on a church today that read, "Jesus is not a unicorn" 
I guess that's true. 

my room has seemingly been inverted. 

I feel as though I've moved, but sadly I've gone nowhere.

Howdy Homar.

Starting anew