end stop

my short story is fragmenting, and I do not like writing it.

I want to live in an apartment.
I want to live in a house with open space. call the laundry room the mudroom. have a balcony. live on top of the roof in winter for a day, for as long as it takes to count the roof tiles and tire of having no walls.

will grayson, will grayson is out.

this song has the most mediocre metaphor repeated over and over. I still like it.

I was called a bitch today--I've never regretted, and I still don't, what I've said before someone called me that or the equivalent. usually, in my view, what I said would be something they would have said had to someone else in the same situation if they had more of a spine.

or maybe I am just a virulent fucker, ha ha.

tea tea tea tea. why do they only serve cold drinks here? they're either diet or filled with a disgusting amount of sugar.

april seventh

I will never be an english major. that I knew before I came here. however--
I will probably never be a creative writing major, either. unless I can focus on poetry... and even then, I wouldn't really want to follow up with it.

it is so odd, seeing the people that want to go through creative writing in college. I like looking at their faces the most out of everyone else's. they are so interesting to observe.

and sometimes this "growing up" (what a dreadful phrase; I have probably done all of the vertical growth in stature possible at this point) business seems like all you're doing is eliminating more options.

I wish I had taken that official's offer and skipped a grade or two. what a drag, school.

I just want to sleep. I want to sleep on the grass outside and I want to sleep in a room with only one bed and in someone else's bed when they are not there and in their bed when they are there and I want to stare up at the ceiling with them. and neither of us will say a goddamned thing.

all I want to do anymore is fucking sleep.



new stars cd this summer. their "fixed" single is available for download--link on their facebook. or on stereogum.

I don't like similes. they are the bitches at the metaphor table.