So very much :(

Hi. I want to start afresh. Shave everything off and peel the layers into the trash. Lose my i.d and forget my pin number. Miss the bus and skip class. Visit Lacuna and become nobody. Forget my name and my postal address. Empty my pockets and brain into the gutter. Empty my lungs into a gutter. Stop caring and learn how to feel again. Erase the records and file for a divorce with my past-self. Fuck the settlement, and fuck custody. I don't want anything. I want a blank slate, an empty head and an unsowed field. Tell the farmer to come back later, and plz leave the window open when you feed the birds before work. I wont jump out, I promise. I just want to throw everything that I regret out onto the sidewalk, so that others can learn from them instead. Cos I'm done with it all. I just want the reset button. Kthnkx.

probz should have made these smaller but....
( the picz )

Caitlin once said; what the fuck has happened in the world, to end up here?
Mim once said; cant we just disappear and take our chances??
It souned good.
Haha, someone once said that they'd find me....
you'll never find me where I'm about to go.
When you turn your back, I'll be out the door;
"I don't love you anymore, goodbye."

i love emily staff ^-^
and drugs in vegas.

pic cred: her.

more on this (and giant printers/palm trees) later, when i get my photos developed ^_-

why is it that when something happens to us, we always feel the need to tell somebody or something? no matter how lame, or stupid, or annoying, or just plain boring the story is; we continue to pass them on. other people's narratives have always interested me, but i still don't understand why i feel the need to keep telling my own.

( one photo )edit(19/03)-
quality: human contact. kisses on the forehead/cheek from my friends. jane screaming and bursting out crying because her boyfriend drove round a roundabout three times.
gay: the party. my house being locked. sleeping on the ground. being attacked by a possum. waking up my mother to let me inside then sleeping on the armchair because dad had stolen my bed.

"His philosophy explains that children are perfect (presumably because they are free of moral bounds and conflict) and that adulthood taints their affinity with nature - religion is evil as it blinkers people's outlooks and free will."

It seemed he had no theory with which to explain a moment like this, nor did l. Our only response was to keep on going and fuck everything.
Pile misery upon misery. Heap it up on a spoon and dissolve it with a drop of bile.
Then squirt it into a stinking, purulent vein and do it all over again.
Keep on going, getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people over.
Propelling ourselves with longing towards the day it would all go wrong.