five in the morning.

always out of my grasp. always.
i'm always falling short.
i can never do enough.
it's never good enough.
i'll never have what i want.
but i'm tired of settling.

i'm making another stupid and meaningless mix that i plan on destroying upon finishing. why? because it has a right to exist, but i, as it's creator, have a right to destroy it and plan on doing so.

i think you're really neat, and i'd like to get to know you better.

'hamlet 2' is hilarious.

'it's for you.'

'pizza.'

i feel the way about easton as robert de niro feels about new york in 'taxi driver'. someone ought to flush it down the fucking toilet.

there's a tang of spring in the air that makes me yearn for days gone by. it always makes me yearn to wreck the good things other people have and commit great acts of spite and malice.

'someday a real rain's gonna come and wash all this scum off the street.'

god willing, i live to see that day.


i'm getting sick. i can fucking feel it.

my head is pounding. dammit.


her eyes are yours. they are hungry, wanting, and without innocence. and they say, it could have been yours if you tried. and i guess they're right.


i don't care who it is. i want physical comfort.