| Noose... |
Don't question me if you don't know what the question is.
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And definitely don't ask if you can't accept the answer.
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I miss you.
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Even though you won't ever read that.
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People are starting to drain me. I can't feel anything when I am around too many goddamn people. I just want to be alone, maybe a tight circle of people I am comfortable around. I want to stop being the one everyone comes to cry to. I don't like seeing people cry. I wish everyone would stop fighting. Bygones, you know? Life is cruising down the freeway at 140 miles per hour and I am holding on loosely to a belt strapped around the rear axle trying not to let it all go. I don't want to let go. I just need everything to slow down a little. I wish I was beautiful. I used to be beautiful. Now, I look in the mirror and all I see is hate and ugly and fear and emptiness. Make me full again. I don't want to be empty anymore. And never leave me. I don't like to be left behind. Talk to my family when I am not around. They are good people and they like to talk to my friends. Especially my father. Talk to him as often as possible. He will always make you think.
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Foreigners can be good people too. Marlis Frescheze. Germany, 1920. Good woman. Also a reminder of why I don't like tanning.
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And don't call me Gothic. Gothic is a style of architecture. Do I look like a fucking church to you? Tall, dark and slender. That is gothic. I am not all that tall, I am white as hell, and I have a spare tire that won't go away no matter how hard I try to hide it. Hooray for puberty. And I am not a building. Gothic was probably derived when people started calling the builders and people that used such buildings by the same name. The buildings were always tall and dark, much like the people. Well, I am an old world man, and I try to be proper. So don't call me gothic unless you can prove I am made of carved stone and dark stained glass.
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I know that somewhere deep inside me is a manifesto lurking, waiting to be set free. I want to set it free. Now, however, is not a convenient time. Three cheers for brooding young men. Wee.
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Float on.
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Nelapsi, Jessica, Kitten, Angel... I miss you, little girl. I miss you dearly. Come back to me...
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Rocio, everything I want to say I wish I could say without words. Words are too generic.
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I am left behind. Kicked down in the dirt. Don't try to help me though. I need to be able to get back up on my own. Just be considerate and don't spit at me either. Life for me is hard enough as it is.
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I want to run away.
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I just am not quite ready to leave.
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I don't care who you are, meat tastes good.
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Thank god for beef.
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Not quite sure if you are really in love? Go ask your local 84 year old German woman. She'll let you know what true love is like. She'll let you know what that fuzzy feeling in your tummy is, and why you can't get rid of that embarrassing grin that stretches across your face. She'll let you know why you feel like you are floating on air when you are with that special someone.
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She'll assure you life is worth it.
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I already knew. I am glad. Love is a good thing to be in. Love is a good thing in general. Love often and many. God will thank you in the end. Kiss me...
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And now I dissappear...
When Everything Was Ugly... - And Ugly It Remains...