dispelling.

the things i read. the people i see. the perceptions i get. the vibes i receive. the precognitions i predict. the revolt in hearts i instill. the sobering of minds i futilely attempt.

the things i think.


the things i DON'T say.

if you only knew.





don't expect me to stick around too much longer. and i mean that in all facades of the statement. the disgust i scorningly look down upon with disdain poisons me in my time of sterile sober ascension. i simply cannot deal with it. i have disgust for everything, and almost everybody. i get very little joy from living in the setting i am forced to deal with and the characters i am forced to watch enact a story i dont even want to see. the only joys i get nowadays are the joy of amusing myself to lack of reasoning and the ignorance of others, and the joy found in my girlfriends birth certificate. everything that i do is meaningless. school doesnt matter when theres a soup line filled with bachelors degrees wrapped around the corner.

i dont know where im going, because right now, its hard to imagine anywhere actually being in GOOD condition. but just know that it wont be anywhere near here. it will be somewhere that even this curse of a city's outstretched arms cant touch. it will transcend and ascend beyond touch. into figmentism. imaginitive. into what does not exist. i will be the disappearing smoke from your exhaust in no time.




No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt.