Date : 6/28/21

I think: I don’t like to be around people who just talk about themselves, but maybe I just don’t want to BE one of those people. But if we’re the sum of the 5 people we surround ourselves with… oh, hell. It’s a catch-22, and then fuck, fuck. I’m a cliché. I’m a book title, judge me by my appearance. Is this what it’s come to? My dreams are the most interesting thing, and yet, the common consensus is that dreams are either boring or some Freudian bullshit or, I suppose, a portal to a parallel universe – and if that’s the case, hello? Am I visiting, hello? Is anyone out there?

Is this what we have come to? Life is just a repetitive routine, a series of repeating patterns, circles and loops. We do errands just to keep existing, or we can order things in an endless supply. To sleep to eat to drink to eliminate the toxins and take them in again – but isn’t it just that we believe what we are told, what we tell each other, ourselves? That this pill is full of what you need and this drug is bad and alcohol is poison but it feels good? It’s an Alice in Wonderland Adventure inside the clock, because here we are boxing up this and shipping back that and killing the atmosphere but no big deal, right, because no no don’t worry, we’ll just melt all that stuff in the landfill with the strongest-but-do-not-worry-because-they-are-natural-chemicals, believe us, US, the Authorities, you believe us don’t you? Believe what you read or are fed or are shown over and over, and just don’t believe the stuff from other countries, bc those are Other. This is what I am going to do today, I think my husband is cheating on me, omg who what where wear to work, wear to bed, where something slutty? No no we’ve been there done that we’re already dead. What’s more hardcore than cottagecore? Exactly the point I should learn to grow something, “how to” you know, how to grow this time of year book they used to teach you how to cook and sew. No no THEY do THAT in China, Russia here we do dollars, dollar, bills, dolls and oh, sew, so what. What a mess we have created. All the time. Time, continuous.

No one talks anymore.  

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Maybe it’s just me. Back in college I noticed some girls were getting tattoos on the inside of their lips. Cute, right? Not me, I got my lips sewn closed. I know, you’re disgusted. But it doesn’t seem to matter, everything went on just the same. No one actually ever cared what I had to say – it’s crazy. They asked for my opinion and went on talking. In the past when I complained, it was like they weren’t even listening. I thought it would be an interesting experiment, but then it was just like it had always been this way, like I was mute. Actions speak louder than words anyway.

Stitched up stick up pick up and leave. What’s the matter? Shrug, wave, blink.

A thread travels behind me and from time to time when I get lost in my thoughts I trip, step on it, and it pulls, but there’s no reason to complain. I did it to myself.