I lost my pencil

So I can't write in my dumbass rap book. It's new. Bug bites. I just want to go to le beach like a bum. It's 5:25am, I'm going to try staying up because I am so tired of sleeping at 5 to wake up to 2. Sometimes I hear termites when I try to sleep. It keeps me awake. If one more Asian person walks in my room during my slumber, I'll rip my own clothes off in front of them. I just wanted to thrift today. I just wanted to take some cool pictures. I should change Nietzsche's name. I should keep reading Bukowski. Then go back to the Half Priced Bookstore and spend all my money there again. I should try keeping up with all my friends again. I'm starting to feel bad. But I also kind of don't...give a fuck...a lot. Recluse, lately. Not really, just in my head. Who are these damn kids? I don't even listen to music anymore. Just Cat Power. I'm just boring. I don't even dance anymore. A buddy pointed it out. I felt sad. I should dance more. I should listen to music again. I should read more again. I should wake up at mornings. I should sleep at night. I should eat 3 proper meals a day. I should do a lot of things that I just don't seem to anymore. I need a Basilisk fang. Lousy, godawful writing. My hands are dry and rough, but I'm still just as lazy and restless. Listless, witless, and lifeless. "What comes is better than what came before." The Velvet Underground. This day means time doesn't exist, and I woke up to a bright room and an itch behind my knees. I don't ever want to go back and I can never go back, but I don't think I'm here anymore.