Summery days. Finals over. Craving books for pleasure and time to write.
now it’s time to load le bong.
i should be used to this feeling. this feeling of absolute emptiness.
i should be accustomed to being left behind, as another female clouds the vision of the individuals i refuse to name.
i should be prepared to be alone.
i should have run away screaming, as my intuition told me.
i should not accept my heart being stomped upon as my hand is slapped.
this punishment, this fruitless endeavor, is pointless.
i, of all people, should be used to lacking emotion.
Kinsey: ask and you shall receive (referring to cheese)
Robbie: that’s a big proposal
Maggie: can’t be that big… because it’s you
Robbie: meaning it’s easy, kind of like you
Teresa and I: “he doesn’t look a thing like he-sus”
Kinsey: “I knew if I made a move it would happen, I felt it”
Kinsey da meninski White
Kins: I’m just too fat it pops out…. I don’t even know what I’m riding right now
Hannnah: he’s in Vegas; California….Vegas is in california, right?
Mick: I haven’t had friends for 2 months. You know I’ve picked up a lot of hobbies. Like wittling. I also make a lot of music. I’m part of the meet squad. My second album is coming out soon, its called “the butchershop cuts”, no pun intended
Guy in safeway: what are you going to, the mac and chees festival? Biggie smalls, huh…. What’s his middle name – medium?
Stupidly transmitted sexual diseases
My little pony live action later – rise of buttercup sprinkles
About my car: Teresa: its not a beetle or a bug, Kinsey: its not a beagle or a bud
What is it
Bronco no shower, bronco build stairs.
Sitting bull, beyonce, pootard funsucker, chuck Norris
the moment in which i personally decide to uptake blogging once again…. i think it has finally reached me. rereading past work, reliving said pain, releasing the past. it feels absolutely amazing, but terrifying at the same time. my name is kinsey. i am 19 days away from being 19 years old. i do not believe in education, most political theory, or organ transplantation. i started anew merely three months ago, but feel so completely whole it is shocking. an upturn was necessary, and now everything makes me content.
i’m picking up an ink pen, in an attempt to write clearly.
all i do is sleep
or should i say, fall into a depressive state
i can’t sleep because i’m moving away today.
i’m so fucking lost
i thought it was something about a disclaimer, but its possible something about danger
and something about how different people came to pronounce different words
phrases, syllables and whatever lies between
i wish i could recall my stream of thoughts backdated three minutes; but i fail to do so
staring into shagged carpet, eye roving for the daily docket
a fucking rhyme
and to think i said…
no tattoo, no alcohol, no piercings, no outlandishness, no weed, no betrayal, no gauges
how’s that working out?
washed clean since dusk, their bodies contort into angelic magnets
their muted mouths take pride in silence, discovered not too long ago
the sun breaks over the western hill and tumbles immediately towards the east
she thrusts her head under water, dirtied by his internal riot
“take heed Tobias”
tell-tale signs of death on my doorstep, camouflaged as a patient child
blanketed in thick darkness, lifted its gruesome face, rejected abnormalities
“if you hear them whispering later” … shoot them quiet glances with unfurled ears
bumbling and struggling through days end, they have come thus far
and now the two follow Ray’s lead and throw themselves into the war-torn winds
wrapped up in a mangy blanket, they seal their addiction as one
“dear God, someone save these children.”
the cough has warned me…
it’s time to cool it
fired in both senses of the world heat nips upon their heels impatiently
together they tear through underbrush, crash across highways, and flail themselves into the police woman’s path
sober living - day four: he’s tumbling and trying to grab what’s closest to him in the darkness; hand resting upon an upturned crevice
flying once again as one, over the tree tops, landing softly next to a 2 pound, 2 ounce being. they lock eyes, they gasp as it grabs at their fingers
she wants her first choice, but child has taken root between the two
turning back to nothingness, to the abyss of religion and the depth of existence, neither will ever be able to decipher their past actions
under the influence - day one hundred and four: they’re desire transforms into lust-filled rage, sickeningly sweet with shed blood
the baby, is no more
the drug, forever galore
flying so high i can’t feel the fact that i’m trying to pierce myself…
with uncleanly needles and splayed veins
You were a short-lived phase
I am an enternity
You are a wind in the willows
I am forever
beads falling down, interlacing bones, melting into depressions so tight
marsh green, goldenrod yellow, volitale purple and tarnished white
they’re furling souls and turning them inside out, towards the motion of flight
inside this constructed home they rest so pale and trite
they found themselves searching amongst nature and landing along the brights
if they told him her musings, their thoughts or their sleights
he’d flee and look back, a shrouded figure blocking his sight
it’s forboading and eroding into a dense pile of spite
now its transforming and engorging into feeling alright