i found out that i wasn’t an artist. that summer i am just thirteen and everything sucks. you big puff. tomorrow you will wake up alive and that is all that matters. tomorrow you will wake up with air in your lungs and your heart will beat a new tune. i just don’t want to deal anymore with bad things bad people bad everything. mild malaise. dysthymia allows an appearance of normalcy because it becomes, over time, a part of life. i am the walking wounded. if they were manic depressives, they worked out of hypomania, the productive precursor to a manic phase which allows a peak of creative energy to flow. but, depression is pure dullness, tedium straight up.
hardware store hell
i look out the doorway onto the street and i think i won’t be here 3 hours from now so it doesn’t matter. i will be away from this place, this store, this life.
i had to go somewhere with the premise of actually accomplishing something other than getting baked on the beach.
Nickel nights today press lever
Rehabilitation 1 877 914…bag it for us
please do not
graffiti lunchboxes win win win lose plaid rainbow
writing is zen: why do i write? because it isn’t there.
the girl in plaid pants
her eyes sparkle like the sea
of a thousand suns
i ate your candy then i stole your sunshine
ian told me, “you have your whole life to be committed.”
raymi’s UK list for when back in Canada 2000
work out, lose weight (60kg last i checked)
calm down, relax
simplify. throw everything away
work on writing techniques and skills
get cable internet
we went to alaska and we froze to death
this is bad
Lost In A loneliness That Felt Like Forever, Like A Solitude That Would Never Go Away.
a fantasy of peace someday which seemed better than any life with all this noise in my head.