i'm getting faster at smoking.
i'm really slow at eating.
i used to really like alliteration, but i'm not sure if it has an meaningful uses. i think it's just mainly pretentious, and i get called that name as if it's bad. i get called that often. i'm not quite yet worried. i'm not worried about much. i wish i had ataraxia. i wish i could make art, but all i can do is write. and sing. and everyone can do those two things, the former is usually perturbing and the latter, also perturbing. i'm protective of the talents i appreciate. in my mind, if i can do well at it, i'm competitive and conceited and critical. i'm also a hypocrite, i.e. alliteration.
i am only interested by literature that i can't understand. i am no longer affiliated with coherence.
purple mustache, like a brother, only creepy.
not creepy.
intelligent, caring.
purple mustache.
it's a poem.
i wrote it.
if i capitalize "i" it will exacerbate the apparent.
i drank too much coffee, and i broke the rules. i offended someone, perhaps irreparably. it's good that i didn't know the person previously, then it would be a loss. currently it's only a reputation, and who gets those anymore. prostitutes, that's who. They say, "I know a good prostitute," or "I heard she has The Clap." and then you know. because the reputation of a prostitute is unfalteringly valid.
i learned that cigarettes are not like skittles.
and who buys things that can obviously murder you?
perhaps certain persons, myself included, are simply rushing toward wholeness. existence is pointed, and there is an end. guess. that isn't the point. existence is irrelevant. it occurs. essence- is where it is. wholeness, perhaps. the culmination of events, the average of the extremes, why does that always matter the most?
maybe i am pretentious. it's my inner being. it's a manifestation of my masculinity, right?
that's me- right.
