Wine is a sickening drunk. Makes my heart ache. By avoiding love altogether, I feel as if I'm missing a piece. Every instance of "love" I've seen in my life, I have watched fall apart. If the ones who birthed me cannot master love, then how can I expect to? No. Were I a musician, I would love to play some instrument, sing some lament, play the woes and wants of my soul to the sky. To myself. To hear this void personified, made real, given substance with sound.

Old friends are few and far between. I realize why I cut myself off in the first place. Too much talk about things I don't care about. Most people tend to talk only of themselves because not only do they love hearing their own voice go on and on and on, they love the sound of their own voice talking about everything they do, everyone they do, what they've put their dick in, where they took their last shit, how many canaries they've set on fire, blah blah blah...People = Shit. That's been a constant since the dawn of man. In every story involving belief in something bigger than ourselves, man's folly is expounded upon over and over and over. We're not moving forward. We're staying the same. 

I woke up with a bell in my head and an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I want things that I don't believe I was meant to have. Maybe I'm just too afraid to try. Probably. I can't stand the idea of being hurt somewhere that I can't get to. Shoot me in the arm, but don't let me down. Don't bring me disappointment. Don't break my heart. I don't want to be sad about another. I've seen breakups. I've seen what it's like when one person loves another person but that person loves other things or people more. I've seen someone beg, plead, make a child out of themselves all for one, SINGULAR soul that may care...but not that much. How could one survive such a one sided love? When you're down on your knees, the tears running down your face, begging them not to go, not to leave you alone, professing an undying love to someone who's leaving to be with someone else, to be somewhere else, to continue their life as if it never had anything to do with you? How do people make it through these episodes unscathed? I would imagine they don't. No...I know that they don't. 


Have you ever seen someone so desperate that you're embarrassed for them? That you feel their pain slightly? That you wish you could just make things work out so you didn't have to see the miserable expression on their face, even just knowing about that expression...It makes you feel guilty because you can't imagine what that person in going through and, at that moment, you have more than they have. You have a peace that they just lost. Inner peace is something that you can't share.


You shouldn't share your toothbrush, either.

God, I hate television. It's a complete waste. Books are better. Working burgers blows.



I'll never understand why people are so artificial. Everything. Their hair color (sometimes even hair), nails, eye color, eyelashes, breasts, lips....I understand the need for prosthesis but when has a new set of mammaries ever saved anyone's life?? Why can you not, instead, be satisfied with your initial design and attempt to improve yourself only through actions achieved within the physical and mental limits of yourself? Why are you not enough for yourself?


Then there comes things such as piercing and tattoos. Barbarism seen as beautiful and expressive. These things about people are nothing short of intriguing to me. Never have I been drinking or taking pleasure in more illegal forms of inebriaton and felt the compulsion to plunge a needle through anything on my body or allow someone to permenantly imbed my skin with a drawing that will stretch, fade, and age with me only to eventually become a wrinkly blob if old colors and liverspotted skin.


But ,I also acknowledge the fact that I'm not ever out much, have never been that social, and so, may not have been exposed to as much culture as some people....Life hasn't had too many hardships. Nobody's experience is the same. I don't judge but I speculate, at times, what one would have to be thinking for one to want to mutilate one's self.