tonite i wrote in live journal and i read it over and over again and i read it in all of my friend's "friend's" pages--- all of the different fonts and colors--- with different music- with different kinds of lip products on my mouth.

i re-read it until i couldn't think for myself any more.

i re-read it until there was no possible solution to anything, ever again in my life.

slowly, the song began to feel familiar. i wondered if it was de-ja-vu and decided it must have been.

then i looked at the clock. i looked at the screen. same song. time moving, same song.

and here i am writing the same crap.

there he is smirking the same smile. there i am with the sorrowful sinking heart rate. here i am writing about it. here i am reading about it.

precious. don't they all act this way? have i read too much bukowski? i can't become anything solid, because these influences of mine keep rotting my memory. always declining the superlatives and inviting the unwanted relatives over.

well ain't that human.