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4.2.01 - 11:15

(the french are beautiful while bored, whereas we are simply bored)

too much in my head and my sense of time is all mixed up and backwards. i believe it is monday. i believe it is 11:19 am. but only because things tell me this is the truth. thursday felt like friday. saturday felt like sunday. sunday felt like thursday. i don't know. it feels gray now. i know that.

it hurts. all over. everywhere. everything. is it better that i don't cry about it so much anymore? or really at all, even? or is it worse? if i stop thinking about it so much maybe it will all just fade away. we can tell ourselves anyway.

empty. things are empty. it seems it shouldn't be so difficult to create a different reality, a lovelier one than this.

i want
to slip into a coma
with you
and share dreams
that are more
real than

really (?)

i can't write songs, well, good ones that haven't already been written. i can't draw or paint. these are things i cannot do. the one thing. the two things. the three things. i can't do ballet. i can't play any wind instruments. i am not a fan of the brass section, but there are some woodwinds i wouldn't mind learning. oboe. the sound is rich and deep like chocolate, or the viola. i have never been fishing. i don't want to either. or hunting. it just doesn't seem like fun. i can't fly a plane. maybe i'd like to learn some day. i don't know how to work a loom. i don't know how to change spark plugs. you see what i mean? when you get right down to it, we're all inept in our own way. you can't ever really be anything else.

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