new entries | older entries | diaryland | aim

dont call it a comeback
January 19, 2006 @ 11:17 p.m.
«prev | next»

And so the images are fed into us like arms and legs into a woodchipper. We are made up of false bits and pieces and can't remember which parts are real. I can't separate myself from not myself, it is becoming a real problem. Paranoia and delusions, fucking christ already. There is a whole lot of love in this world, and my heart is just trying to soak it up like an infested sponge soaking up dishwater. Directions, directions, borders, imaginary lines, laws, made up rules, false prophets, false gods, know-it-alls, low lifes, have-nots, have-everythings. I feel like I'm screaming on a streetcorner in the Bronx and no one is listening, like I'm banging steel pipes on the curb and no one is paying attention. Like the acapella group in front of the cafe...I've just snapped.

-----

the sad truth - 6:46 a.m. , January 01, 1970

in case you were wondering - 10:33 a.m. , July 04, 2006

in case you were wondering - 10:33 a.m. , July 04, 2006

dont call it a comeback - 11:17 p.m. , January 19, 2006

the enlightened ones - 11:16 a.m. , February 19, 2040