fuji

we like to die.

these last few weeks have been pretty shitty. i guess i cant blame anyone but myself and your worthless god. i think life is pretty shitty without hanh in it. she was a fucking gem.

i was engaged in somewhat of an annoying deliberation with a friend of mine tonight before a presentation of the movie"elf." ("you sit on a throne of lies!" hahahHAHAHahAHah!!!1) for the record, i think hes beautiful and am expecting for us to wed. despite these things, i dont think banging him is in the picture. anyway, i feel like he doesnt believe me when i tell him i think hes hot. what he told me is that its not that he feels like im lying, but, i guess he said something like i think hes hot like a person on a page. its not real, its an idle thought. i dont think hes hot like i want to bang him, but i think hes hot like hes good looking,which sort of changes around what hot means a little. does it lose any of its force? i dont think me not wanting to bone him makes it any less a valid feeling. i dont know. he said that its like saying, damn that food tastes really good, but im not hungry, but then also eating a hot dog at the same time. and that sometimes food is really good but youre just hungry for something else. that foods feelings arent gonna get hurt or anything. after typing this all up, i suppose hes right. but doesnt it make the food feel good thats its delicious? i mean, it still is delicious. i suppose deliciousness for its own sake is the worst kind of vanity. whatever. he is hot, damnit. i dont think the boning factor matters much. why i brought this up, im not sure. fuck you for reading it, asshole.

on a different annoying saddy-faced note, i have recently been experiencing a heartache of the most brutal sort. because of reasons all my own, the incidents have and most likely will continue into perpetuity. im having difficulty attempting to describe that feeling of... like...
like...
like...
that heat youre faced with right before your sticky salty juices of distress make their advances down your pork-o cheeks.
that certain clenching,
that gripping of your heart by unrealistic expectations
and then it clenches, and for a second your heart stops, and you sink into your stupid hole, and you cant seem to cry

hopefully soon, however, mr heartache and i can join forces to form a super sonic dynamic duo. a friend rather than a foe. second nature, if you will.
a very comfortable loneliness.
an accustomed anguish.
inseparable gloom.

so dumb. its not even real.