Saturday, May 9, 2009

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I've been good lately. Hell, I've practically been a saint. My body doesn't like this. If I can guess I would say that my Hypothalamus has been upregulating my testosterone and has pretty much quit regulating oxytocin altogether (ladies look up oxytocin, you'll wish it came in pill form). Who knows, maybe I'm perpetuating the problem to revel in the bittersweet satisfaction of it all. The masochist in me wants to wallow in the misery in order to marrinate my metaphors in it. We've all got that masochistic side that we know and love. Maybe, just maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel. And maybe, just maybe, that light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming freight train. I've come to realize that fuitily it trying to predict and control your future. Controlling the present is hard enough. The future will be the death of me...

She's a pretty pretty girl. I would most certainly let her pollinate me. I wonder if that will happen. Who knows? I could probably make it happen but I don't know if it's in the cards.
Flashes of her are maturing into staged masterpieces in my eyes. I watched the ocean envelop the sky. The sun burnt my flesh and set fire to the the salt. The creatures left the water to begin evolving again and the cylce continues as it has since it began. In other words, failure isn't straight, it's a circular shape composed of every fucking mistake. All the mental masterbation in the world couldn't bring you close to answering that question, but I think that's the beauty of it. Maybe that's just me. I don't think you understand. I don't think I quite understand. I'll just continue to play and fret at the same time. Never really accomplishing anything but secretly wishing for everything.

I'm cutting this one close. I thought I had done much better. I guess hubris will be my downfall. Hubris or a lack of adderol. Anyways, I have so much more to do and only so much time to do it.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Patience

I used to think I was patient but this semester has really tested that. If I seem impatient or on edge these days there's a good reason: I AM TIRED OF FUCKING WAITING AND BEING PATIENT!!!

I seriously don't want to put up with this anymore. Fuck you, Fuck this, Fuck waiting, Fuck patience, Fuck life, Fuck Death, Fuck Coldplay, Fuck relationships, Fuck Women, Fuck Girls, Fuck Dogs, Fuck Pirates, Fuck SARS, Fuck Rasicsm, Fuck Sociology, Fuck Group projects, Fuck my intermittent insomnia, Fuck homophobia, Fuck hunger, Fuck Human Body, Fuck Sociology again just for the fuck or it, Fuck Beauty, Fuck Rape, Fuck profanity, Fuck Feminists, Fuck virgins, Fuck Geese, Fuck you gallbladder, Fuck bitches, Fuck Asses, Fuck Plans, Fuck the future, Fuck improper nouns, Fuck ambiguity, Fuck giving a fuck, Fuck everything with a big rusty pole.

ps you're fucking stupid. go fuckyourself in the ass with a telephone pole.

Love,
Donnie

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Procrastinating

I want to show you kiddies what it really means to rock and roll...

I have an ocean of testosterone circulating through my body. Who knows what will happen. Sometimes we just have to let go and give it everything. Did anyone ever really dream of being mediocre? We dream of being the best. I'm not stopping until you get it. Too bad no one cares! They seriously don't care about your "problems" because we are all fighting our own battles. Nice try, game over, game over man.

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

I still have 10 pages to write and 2 tests to study for. Shit
I'm proud of myself though...

Walk around the room with a glaze in your stare.
In your tuxedo suit.
I will give it a name.
Lower your defenses.
Lower your casket.
Open the door and open your grave.
Murder.
Now you're doing the waltz with your murderer.
Mediocrity is the killer.
You find yourself helpless.
Christ is not a fashoin, fleeting away.
He laid emeralds in her eyes,
but I'd already tried a bracelet made of gold
and a scarlet thread around her wrist.
Everything was wrong so we sang sentimental songs.
Oh how seldom we belong but how elegant our kiss.
We painted crooked lines,
but danced in perfect time to a love so much refined,
we know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour into a grief know before
but never quite like this.
All I know now is regret,
it follows like a silhouette along the cobblestone behind us,
but has nothing to say except to innocently ask,
its voice delicate as glass,
Do you see me when we pass?
but I continue on my way.