such is the sun sucking dry
sometimes i'm on and sometimes i'm fucking spotlight on. other times i'm less talk and more action. these are the moments of instinct and fate. fuck fight or flight we shall fight.
other times i'm just about the raw fuck. no other language or action could exist, except me ramming myself into your fat stoma.
sometimes i still have the call of a cigarette haunting me. i try and make a deal with myself: if you let me have just one smoke, i will let you do whatever you want with my body.
and i reply: fuck you. if i apply myself i can get ass 10 times fancier than your pauper shit.
open house today and i don't really look forward. because most people are losers, i'm only expecting to meet more people i never wished to meet. yes that sounds pessimistic but so does catholocism: don't do anything fun ever or you will go to hell. do what we tell you to do and think what we tell you to think or you will forever be raped by zombie-demons.
i'm hungry. i was hungry last nite. i haven't had appetite in a long while, not really since the sickness. hunger for food is often miscalculated for hunger for flesh or hunger for drugs. out of the three, all 3 consumptions often involves vomitting. what a strange little coincidence.
i don't recall if i stated this last nite but i came home and there was fucking cat shit in the middle of the hall. i am pretty sure i did not step in any of it core or any of the residue but who knows. the principle of it all is that if i ever do, someone will need to send me a "get out of jail free card" for i will have murdered that bitch ass.
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