When the Going Gets Tough

The crazy gets going.

Weeks of being uncomplicatedly alright and then things get a little tangled up. I’m not convinced of borderline personalities, they seem like something they stick you with when there isn’t something wrong enough with you for them to want to figure you out. I just react badly to stressful situations.

Not So Standard Disclaimer: Let me explain something about myself. In the Real World I am a puppy; overly enthusiastic, eager to please, annoyingly cheerful and about as subtle as a pile of bricks. Blogging is many things, a catharsis, a place to interact with others without the pressure to be well adjusted, a place to expose the inner working of my mind. Here I can let my cynic out to play. That said, I would love to go for coffee Krispy, if only because your brain, and by extension you, roxxorz like a rocking thing.

Now, on to the crazy.


Hellfire merrily flickering away, flames licking at my toes. Layers of my soul crack and blacken and peel away. Is new skin revealed? Pure and unblemished and oh so sensitive to the nuances of morality? Quickly marked up with the dirty finger prints of my mind? Again and Again buried under the gray, there is no real cleansing to be had. Only false hope, itchiness, and a slight burning sensation… Do they sell antibiotics for that? Other that those wrapped in little metal jackets? Leaf after new leaf turned only to be sullied with the chicken scratch of my life. Vitriol; it bubbles up and bubbles over, corrosive and where it doesn’t eat away it stains everything with a murky hue. I scrub and scrub but the residue wont disappear so I paint over it to leave everything sparkling new and if only I could keep my Hands Off the white wouldn’t wear away to reveal the dirt beneath. Facades are all good and well for shooting the biopic but they’re a bitch to live in, especial'ly when things aren’t highly fictionalized.

Torn, worn, used and faded, my dysfunctions may no longer be in vogue, but they are my own. Scout’s honor and since I never sold the cookies let alone took the oath, that doesn’t necessarily have to be true. Preparation is for pussies any way. Dry baby, take it like a man until you’re raw and bleeding out the eyes. Isn’t that a symptom of reading something with this little talent? Talent can go eat my shoe anyway, I’d be happy with cohesiveness, or even a sense of coherence for heaven’s sake. Although it may be blasphemous to invoke it while you’re dipping you’re toes in hellfire before you take the plunge. Plunge.