She had hung on by a thread, but it was an unbreakable one.
A man. A plan.
You don’t want to get up, but somehow you do. You don’t want to be seen, but eventually you are. You don’t want to speak, but unfortunately you do, regretting it immediately.
She was certain she had some form of body dysmorphic disorder, but not of its exact nature. Was she prettier than she feared, or uglier? Fatter, or thinner?
Do gorillas throw shit in the wild?
You just need to rest. A day of healing and rest. Around midnight you find yourself in a Thai karaoke bar down the road from your sister’s house. You vaguely remember Norman Mailer writing that scotch is for people who’ve given up hope, and order one. Midway through your second, watching a stoned girl and her catatonic friend wander listlessly through I’m a Believer, you have your first panic attack.
You’ve always known you’re unremarkable. But now, on your day of healing and rest, curled up on the bathroom floor, you’re spectacular at last.
Life lessons so far:
Glimpsed in a reﬂection, he saw himself as he must look to the world: bewildered, as if expecting a ﬁnal blow to the head.
Old pictures of your family. Who were they? Who were you? No fucking idea.
February in the city, when nobody gives a fuck anymore.
Life gave him poison and he made poison kool aid.
1) artworks you have ruined with personal associations:
I post the memes that make the whole world sing.