Tuesday, April 29, 2014

s/o to jul

last saturday, i classically got obliterated during isaac's birthday party. i don't know what happened and how poorly i behaved, and i don't want to know. but shout out to jul for trying to carry me and then dropping me, leaving me with a cool bloody scab on my knee. also another shout out for being a good sport about puking on his sambas. i felt so bad that i offered to buy him a new pair. if he puked on my pair, i would have been relatively upset. but not really because if there's anything i understand, it's obliteration and defeat. 

also s/o to jaeger for encouraging me to drink more tea than alcohol. i'd been drowning and repressing my regrets in inappropriate amounts of tea. i'd been actively drinking for weeks prior last saturday, but i woke up the following sunday and spent most of the day in and out of the bathroom anyway, sicking out demons into my toilet. it's tuesday now and i still can't look at alcohol the same. 

sometimes obliteration is good for me. 

cheers if you think that's pathetically sad. 


Monday, April 28, 2014

metafictional murmuring

it's nearly 6am. i'd just spent a night in front of the fire (like most nights lately) being as casual as i can manage near other human beings. i prefer it over getting drunk alone in my room. but who really likes to get drunk alone in their bedroom? (no, i really do enjoy it sometimes). 

i'm going to try and not be so bitter on this one. there's been an influx of my negativity in my entries, and though i do enjoy my natural style of writing, i'm going to attempt a better mood. i won't promise it'll be a world too positive. but i will try. give me a cookie for it. validate my effort. you're my only reader. i correspond directly to you now, reader, because i don't think i'd ever tried this before. i may have. i don't know, i can't tell now. this is me breaking the fourth wall. this is you reading on. 

now that i'd addressed the fourth wall, my mind renders itself barren. i really have nothing in particular to share. i just wanted to freshen up the molding of my deteriorating entries. but now i'm nervous and the tension between us is one-sided because i'm producing these words and you're just looking at it. i refrain from using the word awkward, but to be honest, this is a little awkward. somehow i managed to make things awkward between you and me. keep reading, maybe it'll get better. 

after our bonfire, my buddy and i went on another long ride to nowhere. we talked on because we really only have each other to talk to in absolute comfort and security. that is my friendship with mak. we talk because we understand each other. and tonight (i suppose this morning), i realized that had we not known each other all these years, i would probably feel more alone than i do now. i'll always be thankful i found a friend like her. it's one of the few things in life i didn't know i needed until i had it. but you know that, don't you? my range in topics is quite slim and i only bring up so many people. very few people, actually. but you know that, don't you? i talk about myself and my feelings and my troubles and all of that bull shit. this is my blog, i can cry if i want to. 

by the time i reached home, it was already 6am. that's when i picked up my laptop and decided to aimlessly type. that's what led me to addressing you now, reader. come to full circle, i am back to awkward. this is somehow giving off a creepy vibe, in my opinion, and i want to say i won't continue blogging this way for my future entries. still with me? i doubt it'll get better, but keep reading anyway. 

i swear i'm not trying to be clever. this isn't clever, this is odd. i've built a relationship with my blog. it's a seven year relationship, and we are going strong. but i hadn't considered much the readers of which i am now completely aware i have. i still try not to consider it so much when putting in my thoughts because it keeps me from writing what i mean to. thinking about the people--i'm sorry--thinking about the reader, you, makes me use the backspace a lot. i can't write an entry properly if i consider the audience too much because i end up second-guessing everything that comes out of me. like now. like this. i'm questioning whether or not i'll actually publish this. got ten on it that i will. got five on it that i'll revert it back to drafts the next day. 

my relationship with my blog is my most constant relationship. i'd known it longer than i'd known the person i share almost everything with. if anything, this is the extent of how intimate i get with a relationship. (that's not necessarily true, although i do feel more comfortable typing things out here rather than talking to most people. but even so, i hardly share too much). i'm more comfortable here than most instances. in fact, i think about existing as a blog. what if this was me? a little reminiscent of the movie Her. but instead i'd be a blog. i'd have thoughts and feelings and i'd document them here, and you'd be here (hopefully), keeping up with the nonsense that is figuratively my mind. and figuratively, i'd still have my personality as i have it now except i wouldn't have to physically type this out. i'd be like the internet. or literally live within the internet. but if i lived within the internet, i suppose i wouldn't have all the troubles that i have now as a human being. or maybe i'd have more troubles because human beings are ten times more insufferable, irritating, infuriating, and annoying on the internet. i, as an internet existence, would have to deal with that shit. my mind is wandering, reader. i don't beg you to pardon me, but if you're still reading, well keep at it. 

it's been nearly an hour since i started this entry. i listened to my mother's footsteps upstairs as she got ready for work. i listened to her footsteps downstairs as she got ready to leave. i listened to the garage door groan open, and i listened to the heavy sound of a bowling ball exiting our garage the moment my mother opened it. then i watched carefully through my blinds as the bowling ball rolled to the middle of the street and back down in the gutter. i watched my mother back the car out of the garage. i watched her notice an unusual object in her rear view mirror. i watched her slowly creep to the object and i watched her identify the said object. i wondered whether or not she was going to step out of her vehicle to retrieve it. after a few moments of her evident deliberation, she continued backing out of the drive way and driving forward down the street. when her car was gone, i considered going outside and retrieving the ball myself, but instead i continued typing here my thoughts on existing as my blog. then upstairs i heard my father's footsteps shuffling down the stairs. i heard him open our front door, then i watched carefully through my blinds to see my father retrieving the bowling ball himself. examining it as he walked back inside the house. i listened to him reinstate the ball to its original place in this house. i figured my mother gave him a call to notify him of the ball's morning adventure because she was running too late to handle that herself. i also figured my father assured the ball a better position so to avoid that incident in the future. then i listened to him shuffle back up the stairs and into their room. now it's quiet again, except for the birds' interval morning chirping. now i hear my brother waking up for school. this is when i'll stop listening. because if i keep going, i'll end up typing every single thing that happens in this house until i pass out. i don't want to do that. i don't want to bore you. although i doubt i haven't been boring you with these anticlimactic narrations. if you made it pass this particular paragraph, then you're doing your job as a reader. i'll remember to give you a cookie. 

my eyes are finally drooping. it's seven something now, and i think i'll try and sleep. or i'll sign off stating that i'll try and sleep, but i have ten on it that once i'm done here, i'll lurk the internet in some other way. besides, my mind is still racing. it's a slow race, but it's going. also, this has officially been one of the longest entries i'd ever done and i really do doubt anyone made it this far. or if any of you even bothered. this is a longer read and this is very costly of your valuable time. i don't mean to waste your valuable time, but you made this decision. no hands were coerced here. you are my reader, but don't worry, i'll try not to let this happen again. this has been strange. this has been new to me. i feel as if my blog and i have reached a whole new level. i also feel as if you and i have reached a whole new level. this was interesting. catch me bitching on the next entry. you did excellent. 

ps. i hope you didn't think i'd really let you off like that. 

eat a dick. 

Sunday, April 27, 2014

nocturnal emission

my subconscious has been on a freak streak. 

oh no... 

Thursday, April 24, 2014

life lessens

don't take advice from someone whose life constantly crumbles. don't take advice from someone who lets their life crumble. don't take advice from a misanthrope. don't take advice from a self-loathing misogynist. don't take advice from a hard ass. the emotionally disturbed. don't take advice from someone who denies humanity. who damns happiness. don't take advice from someone who has a competitive nature against jesus, or god, or any supposed greater power. don't take advice from someone with an existential complex. everything is coated with a film of first impression charm. with an unusual wit. with the false pretense for self-confidence and carelessness. don't take advice from someone who is relentlessly self-absorbed. don't take advice from someone who seeks solace in the evil and the wicked. who seeks solace in sad songs and absolute silence from the rest of the world. who refuses to talk. who refuses exposure. 

i can take my clothes off all i want. walk up on stage and let the spotlight on me. i can stand still, and the audience may look if they please. but i won't ever say anything. i won't ever let anyone in on it. i guess because even if they all laugh, i'll still feel like they're the butt of the joke. that is, as long as i don't ever let them in on it. 

social abnomality

i didn't realize how severe my social skills have declined until cheb visited us the other day. our contrast in character stunned me a little. she's highly gregarious and understands the norms of average and colloquial communication. she lives in santa barbara for chrissake. deltopia exists to her. i don't mean to compare myself to a raging college student. it's the fact that i couldn't hold a nonthreatening, simple conversation. my mannerisms are whacked. i can't process how to respond properly. my diction is improper and indecent. i am off-putting, i realize. i inflict my own discomfort to others in hopes that it'll create empathy between us. i mistaken it for clever, but really there's just never anything better to say. my nerves grab hold of me and my rationality is screaming bored. simpletons still so creatively tell me i'm fucking weird. probably because they will never be ready for this jelly. 


much to my surprise, i am capable of living horizontally for the remainder of my young life. i'll have to google later whether or not one can die of bed aches. maybe if i get started on a pressure ulcer, i can work my way strategically. although, i'm certain my liver is shriveling at an exponential rate. faster than i'd ever challenged it before. cheers to that one. fortunately, my urge to have a smoke is almost always trumped by my undying refusal to be vertical. my lungs must be thankful. however, catch me in a social situation and i'm rejecting oxygen with a hand up. if oxygen was a sleazy guy at the bar, i'd be the prissy bitch princess to roll my eyes and say "ew." if i was the sleazy guy at the bar, cigarettes would be the hot slice that i'd be rubbing up on. 

things are weird. 

i used to think it was adorable seeing and hearing my baby finches. now i cringe a little at even the thought of them and i feel like throwing them off a great height. if i let them go, they'll surely die too soon. if they stay here, i might end up letting them go no matter. i can't stand it. i think i hate them. i thought about this as i was giving them food and water. thought about how i hate these things that are incapable of hating. i hate them because i can. because i have the God-given right to hate. all that God gave them is the unquestionable way of being. God blessed the birds, but God didn't bless us. we're embarrassing and we're at the bottom of all life forms. someone convince me otherwise, i'd murder that debate. i'm very stuck on this belief that humans are purposeless. kill us off the world and the planet will continue to thrive, if not better than before. kill off the flies and the food chain fucks itself to oblivion. humans are adjectives. humans are opinions. humans screech about existence because we were taught that it's all about us. humans are social. humans can either be well-intended or ill-intended. we are both God and the Devil. we'll either pray or complain, or maybe we'll simply turn to our phones and convince ourselves that we shine as bright as our phone screens. 


mimosas in the morning

bloody marys in the afternoon

dirty gin martini before dinner

red wine while cooking

chardonnay with your dinner

whiskey sour till after hours

beers till you pass out

Friday, April 18, 2014

lousy and legs

the last time i had a cigarette was the last time i saw mikal. 

it's been ages. 

i can't even tell which i miss more. my friend...or her. 

i've been making myself laugh aloud lately. 


if you see this

just remember


dum dum dum dum dum

Thursday, April 17, 2014

you'll like the second picture more, i like the first

this is my face in 2014. this is a capture from my webcam in 2014. this is the face that looks like it's on the verge of tears. this is my default face in 2014. this is the shirt i stole from mikal in 2012. this is the shirt i wear when i used to have severe hangovers. this shirt is warm and smells great because it just got back from the wash. that's prince in the back. this is my hair in a bob 2014. that's my ear peeking out. this is not a fashion statement, i just never imagined myself with a bob. 

this is my face in 2011. this is a capture from my webcam in 2011. this is the face that looks like it's trying to make an impression. this was my default face in photos i take of myself in 2011. this is the shirt i cut up myself and wore with everything. this shirt was ratty and my favorite. that's my green wall in 2011. this is my long hair in 2011. my ears never peeked out. this was probably a fashion statement, i just never imagined i'd cut it all off for a bob. 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

chase with an orange

I profess that I am attempting to be more honest. By honesty I mean the kind that's thinly veiled in sarcasm, cynicism, and crudity.  This is my sincerity. But you already knew that. 

refer to my previous entry

talking shit about a pretty sunset - modest mouse

this is one of the songs in the past that i always clearly identified with. after composing my entry last night regarding the blood moon, i was immediately taken aback to this song. this is what it reminded me of. this is the first thing that popped into my head when i hit publish. the second thing to pop in my head was how i had a (humorous) underlying hope that the people staring up at the moon would pull their neck muscles. i realize it was probably brute of me, but i was amused by the thought anyway. more amused when my imagination took a lap and i digressed to this scene of jump cuts where people were just screaming about their pulled muscles. every neighborhood, a series of people were placing their hands to their unmoving necks in confusing agony. the third thing to pop into my head was how i wanted to film that. no one makes me laugh like i make me laugh. 

(i'd completely forgotten what my intention was for this entry. i've just been so into addressing the bull shit in my head. this is another one of those bull shit moments. also, probably because all my creative insistence are focused on typing shit out here. it's not even creative. it's just nonsense. i'd rather type out nonsense here than slit my wrists trying to start, continue, or finish a story).

(Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight Looking kind of anxious in your cross armed stance Like a bad tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance And I claim I'm not excited with my life any more So I blame this town, this job, these friends The truth is it's myself And I'm trying to understand myself and pinpoint where i am When I finally get it figured out I've change the whole damn plan Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight Talking shit about a pretty sunset Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon I've changed my mind so much I cant even trust it My mind changed me so much I cant even trust myself)

blood moon

"look at the moon right now."

for years, i obsessed over the beauty of the fucking thing. i would run outside of my house just so i could break my neck staring up. my heart would expand and everything around me would mean something wondrous. i'd tell a lover to look out their window and witness what i was witnessing. for years, the moon was this cosmic shrine of my hopes and dreams and sentiments and amazement. i had never imagined myself to feel otherwise about it. 

today, a friend informed me of a total lunar eclipse that will occur tonight, around 1245. i have fifteen minutes till then. and still i'm laying here in the dark trying to decide if i want to strain my neck to see. i'm out of cigarettes so i wouldn't have another reason to step outside. then it dawned on me how much i was convincing myself to care. i don't care. i do not give a fuck. thinking of it now, i can't tell if it bothers me or if i'm relieved. it's things like these that remind that i wasn't who i was before. things that meant the world to me then won't mean a thing to me today, or tomorrow. i have severed myself from all the things that stir my emotions. i want nothing to do with world and nothing to do with how bright the moon will be tonight. let me lay here in the dark, face painted with only the glow of my laptop. 

i'm not sorry that i no longer care, i just wanted to address it. i also just want to address that while i was deciding whether or not i should try and look at the moon, all i could think of was gravy. and how badly i want gravy. and if i should get myself up off my bed to make some gravy. i don't even have potatoes. i just want gravy. that's the kind of person i am now. the kind of person who values gravy more than the moon. 

are you judging me? of course you are, you simpleton prick. you think you're better than me because you worship happiness. well cheers to you, you happiness striving simpleton prick. 

Monday, April 14, 2014

mardy slam

let's have a beer.

let's shotgun the first, belch for ten minutes after, then sit the fuck down.

i feel like arguing. i feel like inappropriately raising my voice.

my state of being argumentative can be described (by my self) as unbearable. when i am in my state of being argumentative, it ultimately means i am confident. i am unstoppable. i am out for heads and i will claim them. because otherwise, i would never open my mouth in the first place. i'd be present simply for the pleasure of slipping my clever sidebar comments. never argue for the sake of argument (but also never take my advice, ever). i'm not manipulative, but i feel strongly about my ability to manipulate. so strongly that i am villainously referring to my debating as manipulation. i don't sign up for debates if i don't think i can even remotely sway the opposing party. fortunately, i have a tremendous grip on defeat. if i can't deliver better than my challenger, then i understand to graciously accept that i couldn't persuade better than they. humorously give the finger, then shake hands. i can't say i've never been sore about a defeat, because i'm obviously not perfect (is that obvious though?) it just means that i'm pissed at myself for not prevailing. the thing about arguments is that rights and wrongs go completely out of the window. arguments become about who can deliver their point better. (if i were to become a lawyer, i'd be the crooked kind, OBVIOUSLY). i could be supporting a very wrong statement/law/belief but still find a way to win a debate through skillful tactics and an impeccable conviction. the rules of arguments just means be smart and be compelling. most of the people i know are the same way. i know a lot of argumentative people. the people closest to me are all as unbearable as i am. my father raised me to stick to my guns and aim at heads as exquisitely as i can. so when i'm in, my god i am in deep. 

ps. i have mad respect for people whom i find better than i am at arguments. 

pps. the amount of confidence i have today for even publishing this entry is beyond me. 

stay tuned for my self-deprecation to return. 

Friday, April 11, 2014

riot room

i faked an orgasm when i lost my virginity because it felt like the right thing to do. also because i was praying it would soon end. it didn't end soon enough. it didn't end at all. i'm still losing my virginity right now. to this very day, it goes on. 

faking laughter is the same concept to me, except i'm a lot more generous with giving out fake laughter. after losing my virginity and faking a fun time, i never faked it again. (that might be a lie because i'm pretty sure i faked it all through that relationship. how. fucking. sad.) but like i said, i prayed it would end and it still feels like it hasn't. 

i was fake laughing the other day and it brought back all my fake feelings. i faked a lot of feelings as a child and as a raging hormonal teen. but i suppose even now i still fake it. fake it till you...nevermind.   

i'd always been suspicious of my friends whom i thought were suspicious of my laughter. if they can tell it's fake, then they must really know me. i'm an enigma, aren't i? can you even tell if i like something or not? i spend most of my time talking shit about literally everything, no matter if i'm partial to it or not. i also spend a lot of time lying (but i'm tired of saying that). that must mean it takes a strenuous amount of brain work to comprehend and analyze all the things that i say and do. i've grown used to eyes squinting the truth out of me. i haven't a poker face so much as i have only my face. the silent deliberation on the faces of the people that i know are now very familiar to me. i can tell when you don't believe me and i can tell when you do. don't worry, i don't ever judge you an idiot. i merely tell myself that i'm fantastic. "REALLY???" and "ARE YOU SERIOUS???" are the few most common responses to my fakes. usually, i'll only smile and let you draw your own conclusion. those are the best days. when i never really had to lie at all. you lied to yourself, you idiot.  

but also

s/o to the ones who don't need strenuous brain work to know. it must mean it's so natural to be around me that your brain doesn't have to hurt. i love you (probably?) 

guess how many times i've faked an "i love you."

go ahead. 

misanthropic mornings

my extended family finally moved out. as a goodbye present, they decided to greet me with the fact that they--scratch this. it's petty to share but unbearable to keep quiet about. to cut it short, i got robbed, ok? the kind of robbing that only family members can execute. i really do hate families. i detest blood relation. it disgusts me. 

intimacy issues pour out of me like sweat. and i'm not one to perspire like an average human being. i tire and lose my breath, but you won't catch me breaking a bead. unless you...WELL. nevermind. if i were to attempt a typical persuasive essay right now, i would avoid topics such as euthanasia, gay rights, and/or abortion. my belief in abortion is like a religion. my own religion. i'm sure if i ever had to go through it myself, i'd repress and lose another chunk of my natural emotional projection. but still, i'd willingly go through with it no matter. which brings me to my point. if i were to write a persuasive essay right now, i'd persuade your emotional soft ass not to ever have your own family. it'd be very personal, which by default i'd lose credibility. but fuck logos anyway. my devices in rhetoric break all the rules (i bet). my device in rhetoric would be this seven year old blog. (remember in 2011....2012? when i tried to terminate my relationship with this damn blog? hilarious bitch). this is not an essay so i won't go through the motion. this is an entry and i'm insisting to make a point that i don't want a fucking family. i don't want to squeeze out my own puppies just so they can grow up and resent/disappoint me. i don't want to have to go scavenging for a retarded husband just so he can help me produce my own retarded puppies. i want to die alone, choking on a burrito. i want to die alone, slipping in the shower and breaking my neck on the edge of the bath tub. i want to die alone in hopes that my cat will eat my dead body, all of it, rendering me a missing person. no one would suspect the cat. and if you did, he'd glare at you till you change your mind. then the cops would go looking for me, without a map. and i can only hope to instill a characteristically satisfied smile on my cat's face. i'd be eternally thankful to have my remains inside my god-like cat. and you'll never see me again.

cry for me, i died for me.

ps. if you ever catch me sweatin with my own family, have a heart and hire someone to assassinate me. and mark my words, i'd be important enough to be classified assassinated. in the words of a pile i know, "i'm a star, bitch." 

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


"Very few authors, especially the unpublished, can resist an invitation to read aloud."

you make me laugh but it's not funny

watch this movie.
live your life by my words.
i'm horrifically credible
i'm so very sad
(sad face)

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

stream of consciouscockness

eat a dick. 

i drank mandarin flavored absolut vodka last night, which produced one of my most regretful drunken actions. this is why i don't trust flavored vodka. this is why i don't trust vodka. martinis should be with gin. everything should be with gin. 

the safest place in the world is my room. i am currently having a relationship with my room. i can't tell whether it's a healthy relationship or not, but for now i am adoring my time with it. 

but also, the contents of my bedroom has taken its toll. i have a typewriter in here, for the love of satan. i have a record player. i have a shelf of books that, i'm sure, deem me pretentious in every which way. i have a poster of mother nature vs. industrialization. my sketches are proudly up on my wall (courtesy of my proud mother being proud of my art). records are hung for further decoration. i have a framed map of...i can't even recall. i have a stack of tapes and leather bound journals on my desk. i have candles. i have vintage luggage. i am pretentious according to my bedroom, and i never want to leave this place. this really must be the place. the same place animals go when they die.

last night, i gravely considered my chances of moving. to LA. with my girl brother. to struggle. the thought excited me. the serious consideration excited me. it's too safe in my bedroom. it's too safe anywhere around me. i can't be safe for too long. because otherwise, everything i've ever proclaimed and everything i've ever believed in means squat. (also i can't write here. not like this).

podcasts. i'm into podcasts? i want to do a podcast? is that bizarre? if so, how bizarre? the more bizarre, the better. i'm into podcasts. let's talk. 

it's very easy to look very homosexual with short hair. if i don't watch myself, i'll be gay for the day, all day. i don't have a problem with it so much as i don't want to fall into a template. i don't have a template, and there isn't a single goddamn template in the world for me to fit in. i dressed like johnny cash last night and i liked it. i could've been mistaken for someone in an indie band or a lesbian in a semi-pop semi-indie band (tegan and sara DIIIINNNNGGG). i hate myself for what i've given the world to perceive me as. but also, i hardly give a fuck what i think of myself. why would i ever give a shit what anyone else is to think of? eat a dick, faggot. 

also, my best advice to any guy is to fuck better than your dick. if you can't fuck better than your dick, you can hardly fuck at all. i don't want to say this is why i'm into chicks, but those bitches can hand you an orgasm without a penis. that's impressive. that's fair. that gives me hope. thank all gay girls for giving me hope. aye. fuck better than your dick. your orgasm means nothing if your girl didn't get it. don't you know that by now? 

s/o to my ex lover for being great at lover. good job at lover. if i ever lover someone who can lover better, i got fifty on it that i'll roll over in my own grave when i'm dead. lover. 

i'm not honest and i'm not open. the things i share are things unclassified private. i'm a liar and i get told it nearly every day. the stack of leather bound journals on my desk contain no secrets. not a single notebook or anything at all contains my secrets. that's how terribly i trust the world. everything stays with me. everything dies with me. it's a grave for a reason. you idiot. 

eat a dick.  

it's cool to be regretful

*laughs alone hysterically*


Sunday, April 6, 2014

it's cool to be vapid

the age of technology bred a pile of awe-inspiring prodigies with the prowess of roughly 200 words per minute. dispossesed of any sterling content and concept, the prodigies move forth without ever actually coming to a conclusion. i am personally taken aback (with astonishment and utmost respect) by the kind of banter one could only find in the best of reality television show. with words so ardent and eloquent and vocal and undeniably dynamic, i am, with each entry, instantly stirred and stimulated. like being moved by the real world (preferably las vegas season). 

i'd propose a toast, but i haven't any flavored vodka. 

i have merely my arrogance to cheers with and to choke on. 

sensitive and gross

Friday, April 4, 2014

shout out to the cliche fucking ache in your chest

sorry about the soft cute shit
reminds me to be excited for the summer,
even though i'm certain i'll find a way to hate it

Wednesday, April 2, 2014


i have a slight attraction for zachary cole smith

jaws that could kill the human race

portrait of disappointment

pretentious fucking fucks

my friends are a slew of pretentious fucking assholes. great people. slight allergy to evident sincerity. sweet douchebags douchin' the douche. fortunately, the majority of our conversational topics involve farts and poops. level-headed. down to earth. 

bless you

stay arrogant. 

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

yzam appreciation post

my capitalization skills have abandoned me long ago. i'm over it.

today a buddy of mine woke me up from my afternoon post-sleep nap and bombarded me with presents. he neglected to use my front door so i pulled up my blinds and told him to rip off the screen of my enormous window. through the threshold, he gave me the gifts one by one, like the fucking princess i am. (had i still had long hair and the whole situation would've been too insufferably reminiscent of fucking rapunzel). but whatever. he gave me a typewriter, the giant poster that used to belong to buddy Jarred (father of Shasta the dog), a few records (one of which was Abbey Road and i noticed he had two copies of it), and a book about childhood trauma (which he disclaimed before handing it to me so not to offend me). he also left presents for mak. on top of that, he decided to hand me a scarf to give to my mother as a token of his gratitude. and that's the kind of friend he has always been. as much as i would like to just slap him right across the face sometimes, he has been a very good friend. i never thought much about how much i appreciate him because...well i don't do that about anyone (anymore?). the house is gone and he's living in castro valley. i'll miss the place (i'm starting to think that this isn't an azam appreciation post, but the house appreciation post). fuck these fucking parenthetical fucking shit. SHIT. doing appreciation posts really fluster me. i'm literally physically very disoriented and uncomfortable right now. i just wanted to express that as unnerving as he is sometimes, he's a great friend. he's not dying or anything. this is just uncomfortable. you know what fucking else? when he left today, i could barely manage a thank you. and then i thought about how terribly i manage my thank yous. i am so fucking uncomfortable with feelings. what the fuck am i going to do with myself? I'LL FUCKING TELL YOU. I'll crack open that book about childhood trauma and try to figure me out a little. if it's retarded, i'll set it on fire and tell yzam that he's a piece of turd. 

bye house

and my final selfie in that reliable bathroom

april showers won't bring me may satisfaction, bliss, and/or happiness

don't ever get caught writing about your dreams. save that for a conversation with someone who cares enough to listen. no one gives a shit. 

i've been forcing myself to willfully choose wine over beer. (forcing myself to willfully...what [it makes sense, you're just really judgmental and i'm just really insecure]). delicious as fuck beer is dictating my life, and is also dictating the velocity in which my gut is expanding. i mean, wine is still great. it's just better waking up the next day after you've been fucked by beer. it's less painful. beer is like accidentally sleeping with your best friend. pretty awkward, but it's less of a headache and you might even stifle an awkward laugh. whereas wine is like sleeping with a total stranger with an STD. you wake up with the astonishment of life residing literally inside your eyeballs. like getting pounded on the head with bad dick. it's hard to laugh awkwardly because now you have an STD. alright, i'm not sure that these metaphors are at all accurate. in fact, i know they're not because i killed a bottle and a half of wine to myself last night and woke up with these very pestering but very senseless thoughts about my comparison of the said beverages. my brain is looping and hopping through hoops. i got twenty on it that i'm drinking beer tonight. 

ps. i spent most of the late afternoon yesterday trying to pry open my last bottle of IPA with my lighter. i own about four bottle openers, but i was very determined to finally master popping a bottle with a lighter. the only thing i accomplished, unfortunately, was creating a pile of scratched-off plastic shavings from the lighter on my chest. i couldn't fucking do it. i tore the lighter in shreds. i resorted to a bottle opener in the end and fucking chugged in defeat. i'm a disappointment and i know it. 

eat shit. 

the ending

everyone i watched it with hated the ending. personally, i thought it was perfect and fitting. so perfect and fitting that i decided to purchase two bottles of wine to numb the pain of reality. (i just killed the first bottle and im still not alright). 

ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)