I haven't written here lately. I suspect that it is form of avoidance. My brain doesn't want to deal with the different thoughts floating around in it. Even my morning pages that I normally write (in order to avoid writing useless dribble on E2) have been abandonded. I let things pile up and then explode a bunch of stuff on paper all at once because that way I won't have time to deal with everything (thus making it possible to avoid my thoughts and feelings and have an excuse for doing so).

My job is crazy and stresses me out but I actually sort of like it. I am held accountable for my actions. I am responsible for things which no one else is responsible for. I am not directly supervised. My mistakes are mostly discovered further in time after the shit hits the fan about something and they want to know whose fault it is. As I work there longer, the expectations placed upon me increase. If I don't do something that needs to be done, nobody else will just do it for me. If this isn't a real job, then I don't know what is.

It has been nearly 4 months since my ex-boyfriend broke up with me and finally I am dealing with the emotional pain of it. For the first time today I opened up to a friend about how my entire relationship felt like a lie. Last night, I cleaned out his half bathroom and filled it with candles, aqua handtowels and a poster of a fairy. It's a girly bathroom now. I found a few of his posters under the bed, which I have carefully set aside in the pile of things that need to be thrown out. And apparently, I am now supposed to have a threesome with my long-distance friend and his clone. But don't ask about that one, because I am not quite sure what to think of that.

I have very few friends and it's my own fault. I bumped into one of them on the bus today and we updated each other on our lives, seeing as how we haven't spoken in ages. Most of the questions he asked me resulted in me explaining why I had a falling out with this person or that person. It makes me wonder if something is wrong with me, or is there just something about me that attracts crappy people. His ex-girlfriend and I lived together while they were dating. He didn't directly say as such, but it was obvious to me that she had said some bad things about me to him and he didn't really believe any of it. He told me that she had a few personal issues. So perhaps it is not me who is crazy and impossible to get along with other people. It sure seems that way lately though, with the amount of friends and of course my major relationship that fell apart over the past couple of years.

Anyway I am not sure of what else to write. I'm not sure if I am being coherent, even. I am exhausted from a long day at work then a grocery trip where I bought too much food again because I still can't get used to shopping for just one person. My laundry is probably ready to go into the dryer now. There is a sound of crickets chirping through the closed glass windows of my apartment. I should go outside to water my plants. Their tiny green heads are pushing their way through the soil to touch the sunlight. Their roots grow deeper and thicker each day, eventually growing so large that even the toughest pair of scissors cannot cut through the stems and nothing can stop them from blooming.

I am bumpin’ some Ganksta shit cuz that is what I feel like this morning. I feel walking around with a wooden Louie-Ville as cane whilst puffing some hashish to prevent the beast from being unleashed. Is this capisce-ed? At least I still have all the pieces to my puzzle, right, or did I lose my brain last night?


Here’s the thing, I can make my words sting, so tell the bitches to bring it on cuz’ I got thug love for my nation. I gottcha tasting the ghetto, lovin’ the waste of true potential, so let me tell you something, you can never fail if you never try. Don’t lie to yourself, you will never amount a serious wealth enough to fly. You’re just a modern day slave, and nothing but will change this but your grave. So get your slam on, and rave, act naïve, do what you have to do, whatever you do, just be you. Don’t give in to the external pressures to measure up to the rest. It is a test to see if you’re controllable, numb able, to see if you will crumble. So you must not stumble, do not even bumble one word. Avoid the herd; avoid the mess.

Yeah, read on, as bring this shit on, as I storm this castle to find a women a swinging a pair of tassel. Let me show you how I do, WWE shit, bustin’ words and rhymes and shit, busting oak chairs and shit, busting pounds to dimes, busting rocks to lines, busting broads so fine. Making the world mine and shit, yeah that’s how I do it and shit.

So get wit it, and then drop that shit, yeah, like Brad Pitt. Grew up and threw a fit and found solace in a badass bitch with a fine pair of tit.

True grit.

That is what you get.

Pure shit. Like some LSD bought from the laboratory, oh the glory days, the sun waves dancing with the sound waves and the maze of individual epiphanies with a shelf life labeled from here to infinite and beyond shit.

Fond of this blond; fond of every blond. Even if it is not apparent, but it is always adherent in their personality. Their reality is always a little off, like a moth attracted to a bright light at night, although they are burned every time the lesson never is learned. It eventually becomes the death of them, down in a burning blaze of glory.

This concludes the freestyle section of my daylog.

Thanks for sticking in this long; you do not know how much it means to me. I just want to show you the Promised Land. Just follow my lead and if you follow me, I will trick you into believing in yourself by believing in me.

We are going to fly, fly like a super chicken.

Music speaks to me, does it speak to you?

I guess that was a little vague, wasn’t it? Do you want clarity? I suggest mulling it over for a while, while I tell you a couple stories, a couple stories above the ground.

Visuals, messages, Ideas, revelations, reevaluations come, some literal but the rest metaphysical, with the exchange in music.
Friends made, and pathways paved with the exchange of music.
Wars created, enemies generated, and lives destroyed with the exchange in music.
Blood bathes, good laughs, and wizard staffs. Moral, turmoil, and a dream unfolded.
Another fold marked on the palms.
A forked tongue.
A new vision.
For you with the exchanged in music.

On another note, not enough words yet and the date, just another looming number.

Faster, faster Mr. Rastafarian.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.