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Everything in me must weel up before it explodes. Whatever i make (and I've talked about that) must come from an infinite reservwaoir of something higher than me, all the influences I've stored up, all the peices of my soul I have left over at the end of the day (every bitch sucks me dry). I cannot do anything until I'm ready, I cannot force life. I can't ever find it. XD edit: I am a simpleton, half a simpleton; just a thing. Just a goddamn thing that wants to be eaten and slurped and nuzzled; until I'm all simpleton. My emotional dam has only burst three times. Twice over girls, thats boring. Once over nothing I could place, just an ambeance. Some gift fucking with me: edit: (to be perfect, to have everything, to have a full stomach:) I just wish I lived in a movie, that I could roller skate (or ice skate) (or just skate) (and I would have a super cuuute whore/skater/avant-garde beside me (and she would understand me)). XD I cannot cry, my eyes can't do it, and it makes it so much harder. I must curl into a ball, block out my goddamn family. I don't fucking know. take a guess.

And when I'm done I'm done. And I wish I didn't deny myself when i finnally cared, and that i could loose forever; and always in time with my concious drum, rather than the unconcious heartbeat that spits, and not often enough.

1. I love shapes, colour, new, blonde hair, round faces, green eyes, old streets, breaking the rules of my peers, pretending, nostalga, the round of a thigh, pillows, myself, finding myself, loosing myself, slim yet unmuscly male torsos. rain, cold.  A cute girl's smile. edit: An American berserk, a Parisian Mr Fucking Wanker, an Austrailian calling this faggy bullshit. History. Audrey Hepburn. Things I've found (and by unconcious association, anything thats mine; so..) Dirty Rooms, Jesus. Paris, Europe, Kaliedica. Home. My mind (after cleaning up the mess others make in it) edit: Today I was in westfeild mall, wandering around, and some girl came up the escalator; her back turned to me and I thought it was someone special. And then I realised it wasn't a bit, but i still wanted it to be. I was phsyced myself up for ages as she came up that escalator, I told my self that she was ugly as shit and i souldn't even look at her. And the she turned around and she was fucking sick I'm gonna kill that bitch. She was so ugly.

I don't.. I t feels wrong to share my extasy with you because you... arent it. I know that i will not be this alive for at least another year; I am empty and eaten up. I am all right, and now my eyes are filmy. Not quite enough but I can imagine my first tears.

edit: all the chliche's are true, and innovation, my love, is worthless.

edit: This all seems predictable now, but please don't laugh at me for empathising, sympathising and comforting.

edit: I love Lolita. Lo-le-ta!

edit: An innovative, pullitzer prize winning writer read my expression and ridiculed it. He said it 'Rode on a sea of cliches so worthless they made an already dull work unbearable.' I was retarded and his critique drove me back into the cave Mrs Darcy has devoted so many years to geting me out of. A girl there (who had very sympatheticly had sex with me the night before) admired his harshness and beat my honest expression as well... Later that evening she met him at a coffe house.. They went to his apartment and after telling himeslf 'you are a beast' he told her to strip. 'Say nigger fuck me hard'... ... ... 'No'... 'Say nigger'... ... ... 'Nigger'... ... 'Say nigger fuck me hard'...

...

...

'Nigger fuck me hard'

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A small selection of the first passages of my faveroute books:

Alice in wonderland:

'Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, `Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of his waistcoat pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before see a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. '

Lolita:

'Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palette to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.'

... that is pretty much the most enchanting opening in the enlish langauge, right there on my blog.

You've read a lot, so Thank you.