I can’t wait until I have a son so that I can text him: “I am sorry but life will never ever get better and you are always going to be tired and sad and you will eventually die. All of this is in inevitable. See you for dinner.”
I saw a drake get smashed by a Grand Am
as its female mate flew off.
I was horrified at the pain the lady bird must feel,
but then realized it was just a duck.
I then cried out in my head,
“Oh my god, you have no idea how sad you should feel.”
Over here is where I fell asleep for the first time.
If you look closely you can see my insides spread out across the linoleum.
I THINK I DECIDED I WANT TO BE A WRITER. I WILL SIT ON THIS HARDWOOD FLOOR WITH A PEN AND A PIECE OF PAPER YOUR MOM GOT ME FOR CHRISTMAS. I WILL NOT BE HEMMINGWAY NOR MCCARTHY. I WILL NOT BE GOOD AT ALL. I WILL NOT BE GOOD BUT I PROMISE I WILL AT LEAST TRY AND WHEN I DIE THERE WILL MAYBE BE AT LEAST ONE PERSON WHO REMEMBERS ME AS SOMETHING OTHER THAN A GHOST.
I JUST REMEMBERED THAT WHEN I WAS TEN I MADE MY MOM CRY BECAUSE I WOULDN’T STOP POUTING AFTER WAL-MART SOLD OUT OF FURBYS AND I HATE MYSELF.
Every Friday I want to think, “I can’t go on any longer. I’m fucked. Why am I so fucked. My life is fucked. Life is so fucked and sad,” and then drink a coconut juice and think, “I feel good. Life is okay.” That should happen every Friday night without any self-consciousness of it happening the previous Friday night. I want to have a melodramatic worldview, so as to not have any self-consciousness on those Friday nights that I’ll come to look forward to and eventually plan my life around. After eight years of this I want an angry coalition of beavers to break down my door at 4 a.m. and beat me to death with their clubbed tails while screaming, “I’m depressed! I’m depressed!” and crying large beaver tears. The beavers will eat my corpse.
I am in the process of ‘revamping’ my website. I added a tab for my published work. Here’s to hoping it starts to grow.
I am also going to try and make my tumblr not as shitty. I feel it’s really shitty.
I am listening to Bloc Party. I feel like I am perpetually stuck in 2006.
I was rejected from Pangur Ban Party for the second time. I reread the story that got rejected and I feel that the rejection was warranted.
I am two pages into my e-book. It seems ok.
I wrote a piece about the Aurora and Milwaukee shootings and submitted it to Thought Catalog. It will get rejected by silence but that’s alright.
Ain’t nothin’ but a thang.
Also, New Wave Vomit opened submissions again. Awesome.