Sunday, September 27, 2009

When It's Just Not What We Do.

I think I'm gonna get psychiatric help again.
As long as it's free and they don't tell my mom.
I don't wanna be a basket case...

I need to loose maddd weight.
I should be reading about racial allegories in Frankenstein or working on my Creative Memoir draft.
Instead, I'm listening to Head Automatica and updating this shit.

I wanna write something good, like I used to.
I haven't written anything substanial or eloquent or worthwhile in a damn long time.

Oh, and those pictures did mean absolutely nothing.
Always trust your initial instincts, children. Always.

I want more pen-pals.
If I can't write fiction, I might as well write letters.
I've been at college for a month now, how weird is that shit...?
-Cyanide.

2 comments:

  1. Pen-pals are wicked. I'd offer to send you a letter, but I have no idea how to send overseas D:

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  2. Indeed they are.
    I think over here, it would be about double the postage price. Like, it's usually 44 cents to send a letter of normal weight anywhere in the states but overseas, it'd be 90 something cents.

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