I found this today. I wrote it sometime last winter. It proves I'm insane, at least.
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If I told you a story right now would it matter? Would you care? Would it make you smile. My similes of unicorns and tiled bathroom floors. The kind that makes them cold when you walk inside first thing in the morning with no socks on. I hate those days. I wake up too quickly afterwards. Like growing up too fast. Being forced to do things before the time is right. The right time. When is the wright time. The wrist time. I'm just enjoying the feel of wri wri wri wri wire. That's what I am by the way. I'm wired. I'm keyed up and I'm making no sense am I. Who say's I need to make sense. I'm a writer. I can turn anything into something beautiful just because I feel like it. Just because I say that I can. Just like those crappy artists. The ones that paint squares and a circle on a canvas and get to call it art. And then paid for it because people believe that. Doesn't that ever seem unfair? Like, "I could have made that in the 4th grade!" Sad thing is, you didn't. Whats the point if you dont think of something first. Is there anything even left to think of in this world? Someone probably already got the idea. I know. I'll create the wheel. Funny shit. Last night as I was driving home, it was dark and cold and I saw something on the road. On the far right side of the highway, I saw something that looked wet and icy and darker than the asphalt iself was just lining the street. Like someone had leaned outside the trunk of their car with a paint roller and colored the street. In my head I thought, 'it looks a bit like blood. but that cant happen. that line was at least 10 feet.' And then as I drove further up the street, I realized that it was blood. Someone had run over a deer. Probably dragged it for that entire 10 feet. And then I got really sad. Doesn't that make you sad? Something has to die for no reason. Just because it was walking around what used to be its natural habitat before man first said 'ag' and ruined it all.
At this point I don't really know what I'm talking about. I'm starting to type faster and faster and I keep using typos. It's okay, you don't have to see them. I still know where the backspace button is.
Once upon a time there was a man in a bowler hat. Bless his soul. He just gave a homeless man a dollar.
I'm funny aren't I? This is too long. I don't know who I'm going to let see any of this. My high ramblings.
They're beautiful. I'm beautiful.
DEEEEEEEEEEEP.
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If I told you a story right now would it matter? Would you care? Would it make you smile. My similes of unicorns and tiled bathroom floors. The kind that makes them cold when you walk inside first thing in the morning with no socks on. I hate those days. I wake up too quickly afterwards. Like growing up too fast. Being forced to do things before the time is right. The right time. When is the wright time. The wrist time. I'm just enjoying the feel of wri wri wri wri wire. That's what I am by the way. I'm wired. I'm keyed up and I'm making no sense am I. Who say's I need to make sense. I'm a writer. I can turn anything into something beautiful just because I feel like it. Just because I say that I can. Just like those crappy artists. The ones that paint squares and a circle on a canvas and get to call it art. And then paid for it because people believe that. Doesn't that ever seem unfair? Like, "I could have made that in the 4th grade!" Sad thing is, you didn't. Whats the point if you dont think of something first. Is there anything even left to think of in this world? Someone probably already got the idea. I know. I'll create the wheel. Funny shit. Last night as I was driving home, it was dark and cold and I saw something on the road. On the far right side of the highway, I saw something that looked wet and icy and darker than the asphalt iself was just lining the street. Like someone had leaned outside the trunk of their car with a paint roller and colored the street. In my head I thought, 'it looks a bit like blood. but that cant happen. that line was at least 10 feet.' And then as I drove further up the street, I realized that it was blood. Someone had run over a deer. Probably dragged it for that entire 10 feet. And then I got really sad. Doesn't that make you sad? Something has to die for no reason. Just because it was walking around what used to be its natural habitat before man first said 'ag' and ruined it all.
At this point I don't really know what I'm talking about. I'm starting to type faster and faster and I keep using typos. It's okay, you don't have to see them. I still know where the backspace button is.
Once upon a time there was a man in a bowler hat. Bless his soul. He just gave a homeless man a dollar.
I'm funny aren't I? This is too long. I don't know who I'm going to let see any of this. My high ramblings.
They're beautiful. I'm beautiful.
DEEEEEEEEEEEP.
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