| 100 Days |
god it feels like i have out-read, out-listened, out-thought all of my favourite things now.
like i know it all so well that even reading new books by old favourite authors, i just preempt everything. know their style, formula so well that i almost feel i could write that fucking book myself. being so able to picture their process, the making of lists, the bullet point plot lines, the surprise, not so surprise endings i miss being swept away in things, and i miss being able to express it to someone who gives one fucking minutae of a flying fuck about what i'm saying. this is all so fucking heard it before, just paraphrasing the past it is making me want to vomit or hit or worse. i find myself wanting to slit little sections into where ever is hidden just to get some fucking satisfaction - the more i hear myself say the more i know i should stay quiet. i have been drinking and reading for going on eight hours now and i have built up a salty, tangy southern comfort sweat from sitting in the same spot and looking interested. anything that comes out of my mouth is try-try-trying to connect and falling on either deaf ears or empty hearts, even emptier heads (so it seems) watching pets like babies, the 'same old same old' being the answer to every 'how..' question so fucking empty and pointless the lot of it, i keep my head tucked in books and it just keeps getting worse little blood drips through favourite pairs of underwear and no one dares to speak up to me and no one dares to say what they think and i'm sick of being surrounded by people who don't fucking know anything |