yeah dude
TEARS IN RAIN
TO THE WORLD, I SAY THIS:
this may come as a surprise to you, but i listen to everything you say and i remember all of it
i remember the little things in your room and in your car and i remember the little things you do with your hair and your lips and your hands and shit like that
i remember the little things you mentioned in stories and in letters! i remember what you were wearing on certain days
the little things stay inside my brain long after the person who put them there has gone. my brain is a haunted house of little tiny baby remembered things!!
maybe it is killing me! to remember all these things! my brain has begun to look like the treasure room in xanadu from ‘citizen kane’:
where do i put my things? why don’t my things matter to me??? maybe i have appraised them as worthless (they are)
welp!!
(footnote: you, in this instance = second person pronoun. ex-girlfriend(s): relax! i’m talking to everyone!!)
can we all agree that the worst part about instagram is when someone you’re following goes on vacation
of all the possible realities / universes / dimensions / planes of existence that we could have ended up in, why is this the one
it’s the only one we know of, anyway
maybe the rest of them are far away or invisible to us
maybe they were destroyed
this place is a godawful hell, man
and i’m stuck here until i die
it’s not as though i can get on a spaceship and fly to a planet where the people (or whatever) there don’t kill each other all the time
maybe they would even have a pill or a vaccine or a hypnosis machine that could fix my head lol
HALLOWEEN
Tracey made soup:
I put on A COOL ALBUM:
Laura and I walked Dante in the dark:
. . . and then we watched ‘THE THING’ (1982). It ruled. Duh.
OK byE~
