We'll leave you kicking and screaming so you can thank us in the end

Sometimes I wish I could just listen to music normally, instead of like this, like every piece was so goddam important, like if I listen to it wrong it'll screw up the experience of it, or mess me up in some way. Of course, the danger is more that it won't mess me up - the CFOB Mixtape screwed me up to the point that I still can't listen to it like a "normal" album. One day I'll get to the point where I can listen to it when I'm not in the dark, lying on the floor as the music lights up every single one of my synapses like a goddam Christmastree. But not yet. I'm almost afraid to try.

If music didn't get all-the-way into my bloodstream I feel like I might be halfway to normal.

I spent the day with a mane again; the fluffiness almost suffocating me as I tried to move my head. I feel like it should be a fashion statement; really, it's just me being unable to brush out the tangles and giving up halfway through. (I'd turn this into a metaphor about my life, but I'm not quite that cliché.)

Reading an email with different fonts messed with my head today, remembering suddenly that the real difference between an uppercase 'I' with top-and-bottom perpendicular lines and an 'I' without is about forty years and facial hair. Then couldn't see anything else as I looked at the email and had to send it quickly before closing my eyes and trying not to look at any letters for a few minutes while my head cleared. It's more of a problem than it used to be because I know I'm overthinking it; where once I subliminated (because otherwise it drives you crazy) now I see them like crowds in front of me. Overthinking has always been one of my less enviable qualities.

Give me detached existentialist ennui.
Flash.

You're more than in my head, you're more

Sometimes saying what you mean is the scariest thing in the world, when people can be so unpredictable. It's easier to hide out in the lie, or just say nothing at all ("if you can't say something nice..."). But there are some things that need to be said, because otherwise things might just get worse. Festering in your brain until they burst out in a flurry of harsh words and harsher meanings.

Passive aggressive is not a lifestyle choice.

My friend's handwriting makes the lowercase letters feel like urchins, running around in rags with dirty faces, hollering at each other across dusty streets, skinning their knees when they fall.

Sometimes I miss being that young, but then I remember what it was really like. Rose coloured spectacles give a pleasant fantasy, but sometimes it's best to remember things the way they really were so that we can appreciate the present more fully.


'Bastian Balthazar Bux,' he grumbled. 'If I'm not mistaken, you will show many others the way to Fantastica, and they will bring us the Water of Life.'