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Holy fucking shit, man.
I have a five inch stack (more or less) of poems/ writing to go through in order to publish a book.
This is goal #1. Publish poetry book.
Reading over very old entries from here (d-land) in 2002, 2003.
Every update was poetry. I had lots of words and they all fit perfectly imperfect and I just let it out.
What this place has become for me. For most of those still here.
Free fucking therapy.
What this world has become for me. For most of those still here.
It's too horrible to even have a word. There is no adjective to describe the level of fucked upness I see everyone going through every single day.
Everyone just trying to scrape through another day. Not drink themselves to death or get some horrible disease or completely lose their mind.
I'm just going to focus on getting my work done.
I have control over nothing. NOTHING.
Except myself.
Which, is all I've ever had, but the illusion is gone.
It's too bad this place can't be full of pretty words and deep meaningful la-di-das anymore.
It's too bad for a lot of things.
2:25 PM - Tuesday, Nov. 20, 2018
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