#222

Yes! The two hundred and twenty-second post! I fucking love numbers like this. 

Looked at my twitter today, really dove in. Even tweeted.

Man, what the fuck is up with twitter. What the fuck is up with people when they tweet. That website has screwed us over a fucking barrel, and I don't give a shit anymore. Twitter proves that we deserve the worst apocalypse we can imagine for ourselves.

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Related: I have instagram now. I put selfies on it and everything. 

Unrelated, mostly: maybe I'll start a crappy punk band. As I say, I gave up giving a shit. Maybe being in a band will be fun again if it's just absolutely no work for me at all.

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Never really taken lots of selfies before. Feels like unclenching my asshole, the asshole of my self-conception. Kinda cool. I've begun to feel that the aloofness (based in fear rather than arrogance, usually) that has kept me separate from the essence of my own life and the lives of people around me is something to overcome.

Terrifying notion. Gotta face it, though.

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Why we should be afraid to be who we are is a profound mystery. The terror is real, however, and insidiously stealthy.

Ok, also, people might kill you, depending on what you let on about yourself. That's just the world we live in. Certain camouflage must be adopted. Certain patterns and compromises are unavoidable. Even still. To be as much yourself as possible and harmonize with the world as much as possible--that seems like a dope riddle to try and solve. 

Or just be a clenched asshole.

Bigger and bigger mysteries, all the way up, all the way down!

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Signed a lease on an apartment today. It is the upper floor of a small house, a space in which I will live alone. I am very excited to finally live alone; I have lived with twenty different people over the course of my twenties and have fucking earned this. Loved most of those people, but cohabitation breeds unique and venomous hatreds, too.  

Roommates and housemates can be good people and those good people can behave in ways that make you want to gleefully murder them, butcher them, and cook them in the kitchen, whistling the whole time. Instead you make nice and try to be the bigger person. And they are tolerating your bullshit right back. Results vary wildly.

That was fun and all, but it's time to move into a stage in life where someone else's shit isn't strewn all over the fucking place and you can get into the goddamn bathroom. 

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2 2 2 

two hundred and twenty-two posts, motherfuckers

sit on a dildo and scissorkick your way to heaven


--JL