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.
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.
