A Collection of Spectacles


I’ve probably posted more this month than I have in years. Procrastinating from homework right now. Did coke at 11 this morning and smoked a blunt. My epileptic music critic client has told me enough stories about using binges to finish work that I feel like this is ok.

I’m tired of sighing. I should have shut up and pitched myself as more demure. That’s where I always fuck up. I’m mean and come off as too slutty. Not like it even matters, but I have so much less sex than people think mainly because I hate how people treat me. It’s also really hard for me to be interested in people even though I’ll tolerate an admirer as a friend.  I mean, that overlap is impossible to avoid (I am naked on the Internet a lot) but I actually  experience romantic feelings rarely. I guess that’s everyone, though. I’m everyone, pretty much. Tired of begging for humanity.

I only think about fucking and dicking around after, laughing and feeling the spot where I got fucked after, I swear. I want to fuck all day then walk around talking about stupid shit so bad that I’m peppering vulgarity in every post as of late to where I’ll probably look back on these with embarrassment. I’m just fearful and avoidant. Excitement is frightening.

I’m so bad at making the ones I care about feel unique and special. If I look back on every serious romantic interest or partner (a small but unfortunate club) I realize I’ve ended up saying, “how could you think I never loved you? I’ve never done [x,y,z] for anyone else” at some point. I’m a terrible comic as well, making jokes about shit that makes the people special to me feel like they don’t matter, even when they’re all I think about.

How does someone learn to be tender?

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