free hit counter

there is no worse enemy than the one incapable of knowing why they may be wrong.

this world, i tell you.

i appreciate this anger. generally, jealousy alludes me. i just get pissed-off.

everyone here is an artfag and a boy and i am just a girl.

no one looks at her face.

subdued, oblivious-like yet very much aware of my surroundings.

no one sits with her.

no one talks to her.

‘cept for that ugly fag.

running wild dreaming until your eyeballs pop.

this is not my beautiful house.

where is all them ladies?

everyone is just so darn eager to listen ‘cos they know it’s their turn to talk next.

tapping my feet to kid a and dunning out my ashes in this pretty terracotta tray – handmade from mexico. im at jetfuel, alone at my sliver-topped, wooden-framed table. ahh. i hope i locked the door.

release me. you can keep the furniture.

i want to find a bed to crawl in and sleep away the rest of these days. can you help me out with that?

that was a wistful tune.

you need to be touched


and held

you need to feel

my gaze

on your neck

you need to

turn your head


you need to

hold my



my everything

you need to sit

still with me

you need to

hug me

we are all slaving for causes we don’t believe in, collectively getting nowhere.

mike just put pepper in his coke, what a maroon.

why don’t you just get the fuck over it!? i can’t do this if your heart belongs to someone else!

he sits in the sunstreaked window of the coffeeplace waiting for his friend he wants us to think will eventually show up.

i dont even like espresso im just happy to sit here.

let your children play.

different girls wearing the same shoes sitting beside one-another in the cafe.

i lie in an early bed.

have you ever worked for the hydro? no. well, you turn me on kid.

you should be happy that you are not a stereotype.

mr.bob, we would like to have a speakyweaky with you.

certainly. but do so at the risk of further exposing your ignorance of proper conversational skills.

aporia – perplexity

a momentuous waste of time.

i am in the wrong place. i should be elsewhere, wishing i was here instead.

and now i am leaving you mother, for you are my weakness.

i am not a target market.

where you are from feels sort of irrelevant these days – since everyone has the same stores in their mini-malls.

celebrities die.

dead at 30 buried at 70.

shopping is not creating.

monsters exist.

bench press your iq.

remember earth clearly.

you are your own sex.

purchased experiences don’t count.

i’m not worth looking at twice today.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *