The problem with dressing yourself up.

I would hem all of my garments randomly with purpose. I would lock all of the fasteners down. I would drink up the style that suited me. I would sleep in those clothes until I woke up ready to use them. I would never need to wake up. It would be the perfect ending, to a day, full of hidden meaning and apparent disappointment.



just had the perfect end to an amazing day with an amazing boyfriend and all my best friends. There's a reason i love life. :]

You really have to stop it with this super happy shit.

why's that? i'm actually rather enjoying it.

I'll have to hide you, it makes me ill.

why? cause you can't ever experience joy?


Your happiness depresses me. I hear nothing but fingernails on the chalkboard, an incessant, never-ending saccharine to which my body responds purely in bile. I would turn my head and cough, if my neck had the range of motion or void of pain, and if and only if someone is cupping my balls and commanding it of me in while-labbed coat. This is not the case and therefore the acid just eats away at my esophagus and soul. I do not mean to rain on any parade, or parade like function, I just think 365 days worth of I love my life had a great day updates are tant amount to 365 days of me updating my status with I hate my life updates.

Which I do so all of this is moot. Perhaps we should both limit it to 150 days of I love/hate life status updates.

Burn it all down.

Picture by WILLIAM ARCHIE/Detroit Free Press

Summer is meant for heat.

When the embers rise within the sights of the meek, those huddled together speaking in their own voices about the scary nature of how things always have been. In that the way the possibility of calamity has become apparent, as it burns through the protection of oblivious nature and its inherent deniability. Of course the odds of this occurring are pretty low and even now that it has, and the smoke of fear floats over the masses as it separates from the flames, the voices make statements about how they worry about their safety. The voice drone on how there will be great inconvenience after the water washes it all away. I have yet to hear the words “oh alas poor driver, may God have pity on his soul and comforts find those who loved him and the other fallen.” All the overpasses shall fall. Let us remember that we all drive to the grave. I hope we navigate well.

If it needs to burn, I hope we burn it all down. Let ashes be ashes, and then we can rise from them.