Sammy stopped off here earlier eating half a banana. I asked him where the other half was, and he told me that I didn't want to know. This kind of thing always annoys me, because I wouldn't have asked otherwise. Fucking people annoy me so much. I feel like Harry Dean Stanton half the time. Travis Bickle of the north. It's funny how all the great outcasts of cinema have been men. I can't think of one movie about a female loner. It's a real shame - although I'm guessing that it's just assumed that all woman can get company when they want by tipping someone a fly wink and flashing their cleavage. It's sad, but true. All we have to do is act like whores if we're lonely. It's different for men. I think there's a general assumption that it's the MEN that have to impress the WOMEN, and hardly ever the other way round. This is definitely my experience of it, as well. 

I dunno, I just cringe when I hear about guys having no "self-confidence" around women. What the hell does that even mean? It's so arrogant. It's like they ASSUME that fucking is in the air whenever they talk to a girl. It's such a load of crap I can't believe it. Hardly any men know how to talk to women properly. This is what's wrong with the world today; all this online-ness is turning us all into social retards. If someone knocked on my door right now, I wouldn't know what to do. I've almost forgotten how to speak. I can't even remember what my voice sounds like. Whenever I have a conversation, I have to wiggle my fingers in front of me so it feels as if I'm typing. I blame the parents.

Ah, I don't know what else to write. I'll just shoot from the hip.

I saw a girl looking out of the window back-facing a cold geriatric with a cold, blank stare.A Green Lizard boy with a slow idiot smile posed on the bank of a stagnant stream under a railway bridge, hissing sparks at me like I'd done something sick and depraved. This was like a fraying descent into hell. Nascent adjectives swirled around me in a whispered frenzy, plumbing the cold depths of my soul with prying, blunted fingers.

Touch faith torture pastwood. Dreamboats lie in greener pastures, guy - jump on and head off. Kick a baby square in the face and watch it recoil. gazes in mortal satisfaction. Likened to a fly-by-night shoegazer.

Saddened by coiled loss, he drapes soiled plumage around a charred flaming corpse's upper ruby. Gun ridge fucked hard by obseqious daggets. Fittened in by gutted spinsters he cries out for a better age, a better gain, a better hunger and dusted wasters perchin listlessly on a hapless dollar bill. "Take it!" he cries, with dry bluster, "take it and leave!".

It's all but a shut door - liken it to decrepit plumage of scarecrowed fags. That shit-mawed harbinger brings shallow forthwithness to any who ask. And many do, many do, fucked by the talent-jumper of fortune jaded by the misery of others. 

 

I need to get out more.