my bedroom
it poured out this morning. maybe last night, i can't say. but the sprinklers are on and i have fifty on it that if my sister saw it, she would've bitched about the drought again. she keeps bitching about the drought. she doesn't do laundry for inconvenient amounts of time because of the drought. she really wants people to care. classic.
frederick, i'd like to have my coffee now. we're out of coffee. nonsense. you'll just have to run to the store and fetch some more.
all of a sudden, i am very aware of how out of touch i am with reality. the majority's reality. not my reality. my reality is a fucking dream. my reality is a hellish dream where i feel i have a chance to be truly myself. and by truly i mean lethargic, unreliable, unresponsive, perverse, irrational, and inebriated. i fantasize about the absolute contentment and satisfaction of doing and being literally nothing. about being a passing thought. the kind that glimpses then evaporates. at this very moment, what i wish to be is time. i wish my existence was time. i wouldn't need a human vessel because i wouldn't be human. i'd be an idea. humans measure me with clocks and watches. i would dictate their very lives without being held responsible. blame game can catch me if it can. also, i'd present a very false understanding of my existence. i am not linear, but you'll sure live your life accordingly. i would be of the essence and you will have regrets. if anything, the devil might just be disguised as our concept of time. what a brilliant fucking joy. i commend it.
