Free write my hide

My mind is a place where all kinds of weird things happen. It’s as place where people don’t find you’re out of the ordinary, but a place where people who want to be just that people, can go and be happy. I’m not the kind of person who likes to think hard about life, but life is the kind of jewel in the crown thing that always did piss me the hell off. I hate free writing because as a grammar student who goes to school my teachers though sometimes malicious in doing so enforce a strict grammar pro society in my daily class room life which leaves me feeling, reeling at the thought, inanely disgusted with myself for needing that spellcheck, but strangely satisfied with my uncanny ability to spell the word hubris. Why do you hate yourself? Is it because you think your not beautiful, muses the mind during times of irrelevance. No the mind answers I don’t hate, I just cant comprehend myself or my actions when I do things I know I shouldn’t do.

I’m the bad man, the bads girl, the only person left in the world who doesn’t care anymore, sorry maybe to cocky.

I am the chorus, to a song about nothing and everything at the same time. My belief system is too radical but who gives a damn as long as it is filled and signed in triplicate and sent to the right order of mailing address right? What ever the hell was I thinking about when I thought it was a good idea to start liking one, two, no three of my, wait 4 of my classmates. When did I get so unnerving and superior to the people around me, I thought I was humble, but I’m nothing but a stepper owner, and nothing more than a pretentious whore, looking for a handout on a rainy afternoon day. The closer is here says my mind, but I need an out, says my manager, the player ignores both and goes with the heart. But the heart ain’t beating no more, it ain’t doing jack shit, just a waste of fucking useless space, and unwinding coldness pent up for years on top of years. I don’t need this goddamned thing, and I dont’ need to feel. All I need is a tall glass of wake the hell up!

Why pick up the pen and write, why not be the only one?

Guilt and compassion like an endless cycle. No. To be so cold, you burn.

The way light changes and things vibrate in the semblance of coherence. And anything

 

Theres two options I’ve planned for next year. Carry on getting an art degree or do something useful by getting a job. I’m sure I’m meant for bigger things just like everyone else. What’s a business graduate going to get me but delusions and deliriums and a fucking debt full of fake money stored in a attic decades away.

The giant ocean squid

Today I threw away Cartoon Eyes. He was my squid. Well technically he was one of those toys that grows when you put it in water. I bought him from art friend and put in a tub of water in my room with glitter and ink He was nice, he was a scary pet and he scared grown men like my dad.
My maid who empties the dust bins keeps skipping mine, I think she’s scared of Cartoon Eyes. So technically he’s still there, alien and complicated as a human being.

I just dont have anything else to talk about, so I make up random shite.

All hospitals should have signs saying Made by Ron Howard, who makes soppy hospital centered films. I went to Raffles this morning, fairly upbeat of a place for a hospital. Reminded me of Grey’s Anatomy only quieter.

Some people are complicated like a bag of mixed nuts. Dont be one of them. your brain’s as big as atlantis… and it wears a leather jacket and doc mart’s look alikes and it travels under currents and has a poets sadness for the world. But I wish I was simpler, then we really could be friends.

When I was four, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Cold comfort, cold comfort, cold comfort. Am I cold to comfort or is this cold comfort?

I want to see someone make a film where all the close up’s are upside down men with beards combed around their faces and their head are shaved.

I’d call it ‘Speaking with their eyes, watching what they say.’

This happens when one absents oneself from what is in respectable circles described as “a life”.