It’s so weird. I wish I had some legitimate outlet with the internet. Some legitimate window of exchange. I want to provide services. I have no skills, no services to provide. I’m not an artist. I can’t start a consulting business. Part time would be insane and unrealistic. Consulting is full time.
I don’t even want to type any more. I always have to relize it’s never really that much. It goes a length and that is that. I’m not overwhelming anyone with anything other than my stupidity, possibly.
And my images, my images of others, in y0—wh–who?
Someone to love.
The images of people in my mind. I have to accept them. Then maybe we can dig deeper and find more. Then maybe the story will build. And only then.
I have to learn to tolerate a lot of gross stuff.
We’re going to play tennis leaving around 3 for the high school.
Who was that? I saw someone in my daydreams just now. It’s okay, talking about it does kill the romanticism :). The daydreams are more robust than that. Mine are, at least…
No implications intended.
Who follows. Who doesn’t.
Where it all goes.
I got to learn to type iwthout starting so many paragraphs. Honestly got to.
I should keep writing poetry. I’m working on issue 3 of the magazine. It’ll be announced for announced on the poetry blog. I guess contributors don’t want a RACIST lol as the editor. I’m not a racist, I just value freedom of speech over… restrictions on freedom of speech!
Some people. That’s who. And those restrictions say, Be nice, don’t say racist things, even in your most private place.
Well fuck you. My most private place is MINE.
It’s not selfish at all to think that way, either.
What were we talking about? Poetry?
Why does everyone psychically stalk me? Wanna guess the number of times people have misread when I write psychic and thought it was physical? lol :P
See? This blog post has a length. And I am sizing it up. Not too bad!
Mom makes my life worse. No jk she made me breakfast. Hash brawns with egg omelette cheesy wish it weren’t as sheeshy mc cheeshy. Yehs.
I feel sick.
Brb brush teeth.
I mean most of my time I spend fighting my disease how much free evening do you think I have to explore the world and all it has to offre. Genuinely?
I did my french lesson yesterday> Ah, but the idiom comes now.
Se porte comme une charme. Fit as a fiddle. To be doing well in life.
Pretty neat. Conjugation, friends. Remember to study that. I should get a grammar book. I don’t remember all of mine. Especially the passe simple? Never learned it
What is it with all these attractive ladies bending over in my imagination waiting for me to spank them then screw them? It’s nice of them to do that but it brings out my insecurity. It would be awesome if my brain knew how to fantasize or daydream anymore but my schizoaffective disorder hurts me and makes me narrow-minded. I think that’s how it works.
I’m not a fat 143 yo boy. You got me right. 143. I’m not that age.
I want somewhere to go. I guess. I have to get used to this place. Myself. My blog. I am not evil. Freedom of speech is real. I am not in prison. I am not going to prison. For violating decency laws of countries in the viewer’s country. Or whatever. Maybe viewer beware. I put up an NSFW. So… I’m okay. Everything I say is okay. I could tone it down but it’s okay. You’re joking with me. That’s. Oh ow why were they rough with you? That wasn’t fare. Did it scrape the skin off your back?
I need to finish Spool.
I need to do more for Me.
Without skirting around the edges. I need to have hedonistic daydreams and a life of achievement. My mother ruins everything. Why that humming sound from the house as soon as I accuse family? That always happens. Makes me creeped out. That’s why I think it’s someone spying on us. Or my mother’s bodyguards. IT’s so complicated.
I ought to write a book from the schizophrenic’s perspective. I wonder how many there are.
I love you. The reader. My audience. Teach me how to end it though! Sheesh! =O