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28.3.07
loose/
i just dont have the drive for this anymore.
i dont have the energy the life the pull the push the up the down the sideways to enjoy what i always enjoyed.
everything keeps ruining the things i like, the things i love and turns them into some fucking ball of nothing like blank cloth and empty box dustsheets just, fuck all. really.
photography is something i just dont enjoy now. deadlines kill it, other people kill it it just feels like flogging so many dead horses where i know i wont progress because i cant anymore.
art is the same yknow it just. is a constant pull. a constant competition with some people who just continually shove it in my face how much they know and how much i dont about the workings, the process, the education, the business daaaahling.
i couldnt give a fuck. im just packed up to the motherfucking hilt with stuff im not really sure i care about anymore.
i dont know fuck it. maybe i just feel like im lviving under the umbrella of too many things and i need my own
whispered by killa b at 8:41 PM |
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14.3.07
thankyou ian.
my phlegm used to taste like fucking shit and now ive seen so much of it it tastes like nothing to me. ugh my whole head just feels full of bitumen of glucose of solids suspended in liquids that when i wince, i wince hard packaged compresses wrapped in gauze either side of my head through my ears. the canals in my head are full of that expanding foam you use to fill up holes in walls but with less air, full of pva glue pva glue or oilslick.
im pretty sure thats a thin an almost microscopically thin layer of body tissue from inside my head somewhere inside my face by bones by tubes my brain. blood-red and full of lines on my perfectly folded white tissue. i wince hard packages with softer edges when i bend down the same hard packages swell in my head boom boom boom like the beat of a sickening drum that worries water in cups as they jolt across the table.
we sing hallelujah. hallelujah for the common cold, the flu virus, the MRSA and c-dif virus. we praise on high for you my tiny tiny generals. cull, cull the weak the young the old the normal, cull those weak enough to fall pray to your vicious teeth. cull those business men eating lemon-flavoured sherbet, the young women eating astringent lozenges filled with glorious amber or crimson liquids. for one day we all know you will take over the earth. and what happens then? fuck all you breeding idiots, whose tissues will you live in now? whose absence records will you boost? nobody's.
anyway.
i like that headache pills are made from willow trees. it all sounds so wonderfully melancholic to me.
i am going to build a huge tower a tower piled up above the heads of lesser men a tower all about me and oh. oh if i tumble to the ground. if i fall, i will crush you all.
whispered by killa b at 3:29 PM |
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