All this and in time to Save the Empire too.
Why do I have this journal?
I do not know positively.
I like reading my friend's page, more than updating.
Well, Id rather listen than talk anytime. Im guessing thats equal parts self-consciousness and a hopefully healthy fondness for empathy.
Or its the leprechauns again.
I used to paint alot in highschool, not well I would admit. The paint on my clothes probably looked better than almost anything I painted. I would go over and over a painting trying to make it right so many times that it would just end up this infantile collage of bad color schemes, like a thoughtless melee.
That is how I generally feel about my existence right now.
Though I just feel bad about painting. But I can stop painting, I couldnt and wouldnt stop the latter project.
I just need instructional classes is all. "How To Not Fuck Up Repeatedly For Unhealthy Novices".
I spend so much time trying to seperate my neuroses from my actual personality, if its still there, assuming of course that they arent one in the same. This makes me feel like a self-obsessed freak, which in turn inspires guilt, which leads to a bunch of other fun concepts.
If only I werent in the forest and I could look at them all conceptually. Or if I actually liked forests. I mean, I dont dislike them, but they are a bit redundant arent they? Some trees here, rabid squirrel there, tree droppings and bird droppings here, more trees, trees, a fifth dimensional vortex. Oh wait, that is only here in Watertown. Well supposedly anyway, books have been written about it. I personally attribute it to the abundance of drugs here, and boredom.
Anyway, time for a haiku!
Drinking Dew at 3.
Its the white trash drink du jour.
Liquid crack, says I.
I do not know positively.
I like reading my friend's page, more than updating.
Well, Id rather listen than talk anytime. Im guessing thats equal parts self-consciousness and a hopefully healthy fondness for empathy.
Or its the leprechauns again.
I used to paint alot in highschool, not well I would admit. The paint on my clothes probably looked better than almost anything I painted. I would go over and over a painting trying to make it right so many times that it would just end up this infantile collage of bad color schemes, like a thoughtless melee.
That is how I generally feel about my existence right now.
Though I just feel bad about painting. But I can stop painting, I couldnt and wouldnt stop the latter project.
I just need instructional classes is all. "How To Not Fuck Up Repeatedly For Unhealthy Novices".
I spend so much time trying to seperate my neuroses from my actual personality, if its still there, assuming of course that they arent one in the same. This makes me feel like a self-obsessed freak, which in turn inspires guilt, which leads to a bunch of other fun concepts.
If only I werent in the forest and I could look at them all conceptually. Or if I actually liked forests. I mean, I dont dislike them, but they are a bit redundant arent they? Some trees here, rabid squirrel there, tree droppings and bird droppings here, more trees, trees, a fifth dimensional vortex. Oh wait, that is only here in Watertown. Well supposedly anyway, books have been written about it. I personally attribute it to the abundance of drugs here, and boredom.
Anyway, time for a haiku!
Drinking Dew at 3.
Its the white trash drink du jour.
Liquid crack, says I.