When I’m typing this, it’s 3:06 PM PST, December 30th, 2022.
What a ridiculous date and time. Especially since I’m going to schedule this post, for the future. So at that point, whenever any other soul gets to read it, I don’t even know if I will recall or even believe what I’m writing now, assuming I’ll make it to that time, intact, in fact.
I’ve stopped to look around a bit, I’m high and I’m trying to find my lighter and something to smoke on and the room is dark, and there isn’t any reason for it to be except I’m mostly watching TV and I don’t care to do so with all the windows open for fuck’s sake.
I was recently introduced to the warming electric blanket and now my lounging will never go back to the cold way it was, those days of innocence are over.
I’m suddenly aching in a way I can’t sit with. I need to but it’s hard. I can do hard things I know but when it gets this far into me being alone with me I become this creep. I need a shiny ball. A human. A Victim. A Toy. Then I start to slowly go out on limbs to find one, take bigger and bigger risks to get a trophy fish and now there’s no longer a pull between me and the moon so what gives? Is it just human shit, to want to, when you have everything you need, be around someone else who also has everything they need just so you can want to need each other?
I told a motherfucker today, that my pussy is good so I can afford to sit on it and I don’t have to give it to anyone that I don’t love and this grown-ass man said he’s never been in a relationship before ever so he can’t relate.
And I’m out here talking about don’t knock it until you try it like some Jesus Freak in 1977. Earth is a bananas ass place to live and being a human is a fucking sick perverted twisted nightmare of epic proportions and you know what, I’m going to drink and smoke and get all dressed up for no fucking reason and sit on my sofa and type into my blog and think about Henry Cavill naked and just, be a human I guess. And hey, maybe that cat isn’t “grown” he’s only 32. Pfft. That used to be a big age. Whatever.
Future me…get it together bitch or I’m never speaking to you again.
My Mind, My Mood, My delicately poisoned pen... 