February 2011
turning inside out.
i don’t want to feel like i do, but i do. i don’t want to care, but i do. i like to pretend there is someone there, somewhere just around the corner. it seems like there are things to put inside that hollow space, but it isn’t in this phase of reality, so its not real, those things don’t help, they just take up space, and you know its just dust, and dirt, and garbage and...
unripe.
I love art. i love beautiful things. but sometimes i get frustrated that everyone else and everything else gets to be beautiful and the objects of art. i want to be the beautiful face, the beautiful breasts, the beautiful anything in anyone’s vision of art. i have never felt like a particularly beautiful person. the only time anyone finds me beautiful is when they are so drunk they can...
