2. the sun is shining and the world looks real good out there. it is a damn shame white men invent realities and impose them on the real world. MODERAN.
3. somehow, sometimes, when i come to type, i forget to talk about what i was going to talk about, whcih is what a miserable son of a bitch i am and how worthless my life has been and how determined i am to end my life now NOW NOWnow, and instead i start thinking about other things. maybe writing works like that. i wonder how people who can't write process their thoughts. they probably have other ways. no one can or will read this, it doesn't matter, but it's more fun that way, like stirring up leaves with a stick, leaving no real marks, no language, just rooting around, passing through.
4. my body felt the touches and generated the chemicals that told me i am not alone. this was not true. i must avoid these confusions. drugs are such a bummer. my ribs feel hot where the hand touched them. it was days ago. things move slow around here. glacial. i am alone, i am defective, that is how it is. my liver feels hot like a water bottle in my side. it's strange and sad to have ended up here. i don't know how i could have ended up differently. i wonder what will happen next. i hope i kill myself this year. i have delayed already much too long.
5. anyway, bye!