way back then, i think things were better. or different. there were girls and boys who have since changed. grown and dyed hair and put holes in thier faces and everything was destroyed - lives were metamorphosed into a childhood fantasy. i couldn't figure out why it was so distressing. maybe because i'd been through all the consequences of debauchery and meaningless sex and heartbreak before i even hit 10 years old. maybe because i'd already known what it does to people. and it's really not fair, is it? to be so disgusted with the contrived catharsis so early on, before you have had a chance to destroy yourself. because, as i'm led to believe, you aren't even a whole person until you've destroyed yourself and built it back up. but i'm still somewhat halved and full of tension.

or maybe because i felt like the garbage. or old furniture thrown to the curb to make way for something better. like the only reason i was kept around was for half-hearted sentimental reasons. you can burn the couch, but not the memory and guilt.

and it isn't fair of me to be so distressed with other people. for the cynicism to start setting in. it just isn't fair. the world has a right to be what it wants to be. the world has a right to hate me or love me or be so indifferent. or to think that i am not enough. that i just don't reach the bar that was set. when i fall in love, the world is not obligated to love me back. when i am full of loathing, the world is not obligated to understand.

there are times when i want to fdisk the social contexts of history and humanity. it has made it so bitter and sour.

i love the world just as much as i hate it. but i want to be so full of passion. i have a burning want. i wish i were more insane. but i'm toned down and not debaucherous and not cruel and not brilliant and not self assured. the only things i have are my wide eyes and wonder. i'm okay with that, but not okay with the fear that the world isn't okay with it.

baking corn dogs in an oven is the way to go.