"I smoke and I drink and everytime I blink I have a tiny tiny fucking dream."

Hit the killswitch, my darling. This seppuku revolver does me no good unless someone is there to witness the transition ( Read more... )

There is so much betrayal in my own words, my own verbs. I'm being choked to death by something I can't turn around to see, something that I know, something familar that I can describe in minute detail, but I'm afraid of it's current formlessness, afraid to utter the names of the fingers and thumbs and hands and arms that strangle me, afraid that ( Read more... )

I feel like I open my mouth, and bullets and razorblades come pouring out ( Read more... )

Something bad has gotten in here, some bad fucking mojo ( Read more... )

This shit is like chinese handcuffs.

I don't think I'm good at the old stuff because I'm not so into psychological self-abuse as I used to be. Now, it's more of a violent reaction than a past time.

Painting has helped. The same way that doing art did some ten years ago when this kind of thing hit before. I've been getting lost in the details, smaller and smaller. I've been remembering that I've been too comfortable with opening my mouth, and not shutting the fuck up when I should be listening. I've been losing my sense of empathy. I've ( Read more... )

Please prep the cuttingboard. Wash your hands and shave the area where the incision is to be placed. Sterilize the tools if there's time. There's no time. Ring the bell.