19.9.06

Oppenheimer.


Getting Kinda obsessive here. Looking back I always seem to post kinda yo-yo. An up, maybe even hopeful post and a down. Repeat. It even bores the shit out of me. Fuck I'm tremendously bored with me. 49 degrees and this song won't come. I have a lot of hope for this one so I'm not even getting into the subject. It's closer to the bone than a lot. I'm bored with talking about writing. The only thing more fucking boring that reading is reading about a guy writing. I'm sick with this fucking town. I'm blaming this town because I hate myself in it. I'm sure the geography isn't really important to that depending on the day and the level of GABA firing in the synopses.

Maybe a picture would brighten this place. There. Added one. Me happy with friends.

In vivid contrast to how I'm actually feeling. How I do truly feel is short, ugly and very uncharming. Google that. I just might come up first on that one.

I wish I was a very different person. I want to be without all the barbs and angles. I want to not feel so much like drinking 'til nothing hurts anymore. I wish I didn't want to go out and sing songs so every one will like me. It's not working. I admit it, though. I want to write incredible songs to get respect. To make you love me. I catch myself in this spiral of missing beauty by a yard and just screaming a little louder in effort to compensate.

And I rage and I try and I miss and I hurt. I do it here, too.

I know what I am, Love me anyway.

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