I'll never give up. I'll never buckle under.
Or wave a white flag.
Flags aren't my thing.
But what a ways I have to go.
Times are too fun.




Some say I dance a wicked dance.
They tell me I waltz down
The broad way of immorality
Skipping here and there
Picking all the posies I desire

I can't say I disagree

But this wilted, apetalous plant
Is just right

We carry our own rhythm
Our beats and clangs
Our slaps
Such
Beautiful
Sounds
I could just go deaf

Our music makes my ears bleed
And my heart is pumping out
Irregular signatures

When I figure out how to put pictures on this thing, I am going to try and get a deep cut, and then take a picture of it every twelve hours, to show the healing process. Because I find that to be one of the most interesting things in the world. I have had this cigarette burn on the top of my hand for a few weeks now, and I've gradually watched it heal up; attempting not to pick at it. I did a few times because the scab was so thick, that as the skin was healing around it there was a great pressure on the scab. It seemed necessary. After I picked the scab of, there was this huge crater in my hand. Weird. I hope no one thinks I'm crazy masochistic, just remember, it's for the sake of art. I think, at least. And if you disagree, well, what do you know anyway. I had several cuts on the knuckles of my left hand recently, they've healed, and now there's hardly a scar. My body has healed itself. How beautiful is that?! There is so much that is taken advantage of. Like Aurora Borealis, pouring white cream into black coffee (before it's mixed in), freckles, wrinkles, everything small and wonderful. Except Aurora Borealis. That's huge. But how many people watched it the other night? FUCKING STARS! I've found myself getting really worked up about things that I find beautiful lately. I get really teary, but I think that is splendid. I was punched in the face today, by Lauren, and my jaw really hurts. We have too much fun. Well. Hm. It's cold. And last night I dreamt of Manta Rays.