I'm a fiend. And its my birthday.

Why are we all so disgusting? Why are we all so greased up and sweaty and fucking so furiously on this barren rock that's hurtling towards the sun at a million miles an hour?
Why do we do this? Why do we care what happens? Why don't we use pure premium butter instead of low fat 1/2 cost margarine to grease ourselves up?
What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with everyone? What the fuck?

I'm so sweaty. I'm dripping sweat. I'm covered in a thick sticky layer of it. Its drips off of me like molasses. I can't feel my toes. My left eye is lazy. None of my clothes fit me anymore. I might be dead before I wake up. I worry that anyone I wake up beside is out to get me. Someone is always following me. Who is following me? And why me for fucks sake? I always try to be nice........ except when I feel the demons come out. I feel them more regularly now. I feel them take the reigns and steer me towards the most fucking vile thoughts I can imagine. And I get off on it. I trip. Tros trippant. I take it as a challenge of my power. And I accept. And I hurt people. And it doesn't feel good. And I somewhere in there the devils chuckle and put another notch on the inside of my stomach.
Its nice to write it out. It doesn't seem so weird when I write it down.
What am I doing. Why am I writing this on the internet. This will probably be used against me... soon.

Naked desperate landscape.
I am liberated.

Àaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

Fuck everything I fucking hate everything fuck it all aaàaaaaaaaaaaaah fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Feedback feedback noise glitch feedback.
Something real.
Something tangible.
An honest and broken sound.

Autopoet

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God sanmb I love auto correct.
Jigs boyfriend biotech jihad NBC
Turns gibberish into literary gold. Burroughs would be proud

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I'm on the bus.  Its cold out, damp. I've been so stressed out these last couple days I can hardly think.
Everything is moving very slowly. I need more time in each day. I have to buy a roll of tracing paper. I have to drop off these forms. I have to send an email. I have to start feeling better. I have to write more.

I've been thinking about writing melodies a lot more lately. I just get so bored with the ones I write. I wish it would come to me a little easier.. but then it wouldn't feel as good when it worked.  This bus driver is too slow. I'm too busy. Am I doing ok? Am I screwing it all up?
Who cares. Time to get off the bus.