without god, life is a matter of opinion

i have secrets that i haven't told. i have climbed without falling. i'm waiting and it's not coming and now i've no plans. i've cried and hidden in corners and somehow you don't care. you just think i want to do this, want to be sad every day. how can that even be plausible? how can you even ... i've tried to end it so i won't be so sad. i fucking hate this, this constant bearing down, this constant rejection.

fuck this. i can't help it. i think nothing but positive, and look at what's happened.

for england james

my head hurts because for the millionth time i've been thinking too much about too many things. i have way too much on my mind, and nowhere to put all these extra memories and thoughts and plans.

here i am, in all my clichéd glory, for you to consume and spit out, and leave an empty husk.

saying there's no porn on the internet is like saying there's no chinese people in china

i have had a vision of my future, and i'm scared of saying anything.
in case, like everything else i have ever hoped for, it doesn't come true.
but it's pretty nice, and for once i'm happy.

my life came tumbling down, like an intricate picture made of dominoes.
or sand paintings that buddhist monks spend hours on, only to destroy them after a day.
now i'm busy separating the colours and putting them back in their appropriate boxes,
watching stupid shows on television and going to sleep at half three.

my mind's eye is ridiculously inaccurate, and gives me hope where there is none.
i hate that nobody wonders, and nobody asks, and somehow your unhappiness is all my fault.
i don't have anything much to contribute, except that everything slipping through my fingers makes me want to let go that much more.

when you assume you make an ass out of uma thurman

this is my blog
it has no beginning
and it has no end.