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god I love to talk. that's why I write all the time right? because no one ever would talk to me. I was the loneliest child you'd ever met. the only friends I had were really in my head too kc. everyone projected on to me, and I was the dumping ground youngest. when I did that IFC internal family systems therapy, I pictured my part being in a gimp suit in the basement of our fifth or sixth house when I was four and all the shit and bile and black of the family poured down on my bowed kneeled posture. the door was guarded by my sweet facade alone girl... my father was grey and dying through a stone wall that I would put one pebble of nourishment every thousand tears to sustain the torture and pain. there was another one that was the perfect girl - she was always in a swing swinging in a tower guarded by a robot nanny. then there were the two in jail the ones who wanted to be artists. and then there was the burned baby in the sarcophagus of Egypt.
fuck.
try living in my head.
I bet you'd all shit
but I picture the only thing different between you and i is that I have or choose to or don't yet know how to tune the beautiful guitar when it goes out of tune, so I usually only get to play one or two strings but it's so heartbreaking not to be able to wail like I recall doing when I had a tuner that I often just ignore it.
and so
sew
I know so many things it would astound you. I'm more interesting than any other human being I know, and #2 thought I was the most boring ludicrous dog he'd ever fucked up into narcissistic supply.
Now that I know I'm empty, and I have the emotional regulation disorder with the covert rejection sensitivity schemes, life has to be different for me. Knowledge is ....
so, I sit in my purgatory. my penance. my chamber of torture and tom.
you know what I did the last time?
the
exact
fucking
same
thing
except I was younger and hotter and had more statistical moves left on said bored.
I love puns btw.
so, I go back to a hovel. I live with a cat who has to absorb my yawning chasm of grief seemingly never-ending tears and shame...
and try and wonder what the world needs me for
why
am
I
here
this cat is a responsibility that makes me want to do a research paper on mentalization and pets effects. one of the things I know is about death. I love the concept that we're all a plucked flower.... and we choose to look at a black mirror all the time.
what am I doing but typing into one with my fleshed neurons.
people have died of a floor caving in at some talks in a monastery and the floor was over a cesspool and I think it was during Baldwin ii or something and he escaped but 50ish nobles and holy men died drowning in shit.
the other one is the troubadour from around the same time. singers were often spies then. he was caught and I think Richard the lion-hearted or somebody had him, and he killed himself by banging his skull against the rock in his jail and died.
that's commitment
oh Eliot smith
so 0/1
in or out
I'm always in
all ways in
yet, I stumble
I'm stumbling....
I'm mumbling.
oh mumbai... I love the fact that elephants don't mate in confinement so all the Indian ancient people who loved to use them as their rolls Royce mazzarratti had to maintain ecological purity for a very wide roaming territory.
as buddha said.
right motivation is
a thing
and one last one for you.
loads and loads of DumBarton Dummueria and stuff and Megan marble had been reputed to not like her kid being the Duke of Dumbarton because of the name (boy if that's true what a dumbass - Dumbarton is HELLA COOL - ancient hella cool).
dum is rock
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