Q'ed UP, FED UP, AND THE WORLD IS DEAD TO ME
Ooooh... I guess I better change that before someone takes it as a threat. Jesus. Have we really become so soft? What happened to the 80's mentality of me-me-me and screw the rest?
But seriously. I caught whatever everyone else down here on the Good Ole Wang of USA has been spreading, like some weird symbolic STD. Some 14 year old kid died of Bacterial Meningitus (did I even spell that right? I can't see straight, forgive spelling errors). So here I am, hopped up on Funky NQ and Quilling. Q'ed up. Praying with the Other Green Fairy. Hanging with Ogre in a headphone.
Tybalt and Dante are jamming in the background, and I can hear the groove like background to the songs in my earphones. My throat wants to shout. My heart wants to shout. I stare at a screen blankly. I wait for the morphing words to tell me what to write. My short moments of sanity spreading into sentences of eavesdropped thoughts.
Scary when I don't even know what's coming out of my own head, and my left brain doesn't know what the right brain is doing. Should they be paranoid? I think so. My thoughts have become a string of obsessed babble, working a message across a hazy medium, until what comes out of me looks almost like an impressionist painting.
Picking daisies, with a mantra of 'she loves me, she loves me not.'
So late, too late, wondering just when the world stuck its head up its own ass, and just how far it did before I realized it had done that. Not some of my better works, but hell, the night is young and I'm not tired.
Send me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning for something better to read than the filth they plague us with in everyday life. Demand more for your almighty dollar.