I don't know how many times I've thought about jamming a knife into my gut. just to end this slow moving pain. and thinking about it now makes it almost real somehow. Just to end it you know. there's no glory in it. it's nothing honourable about it. fame means nothing as long as people are idiots.
and we'll never run out of idiots.
but I don't know. I never really thought about stabbing myself. except for now. and now I feel like I really should... but I won't.
just a crazy dream. I'm expecting to wake up from it you see... and...
I keep coming up with excuses like this... to see this one through to the end. that's all. there's nothing to it. you just keep eating it up. and it just keeps laughing at it.
and I keep pretending. sometimes I'm Durianrider and sometimes someone else. like now I'm Bukowski. is there even a real me? I have my doubts. but I keep putting on these shows for my own amusement. because something real keep coming out with it...
and that's why I do it...
it should have been called 'why I do it' now when I think about it. but hey, its okay either way. I really don't care that much.
If I like it I print it.