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| Mr Yuk, get to know his face |
Over the past few weeks, maybe even longer than that have I felt like total shit. Sometimes not so much. Depressed from the knee, depressed from living, depressed from dying. Everything is depressing, and at the same time everything isn't.
I have made it a habit to constantly supply myself with alcohol at least every night whenever possible, with the exception of when I visit my mom. I have yet to drink during the day, but I might started making exceptions. Nothing was supposed to be easy, there wasn't supposed to be right answers for anything anymore. It did and didn't make sense. I can't understand if the blood on the tips of my fingers are symbolic of life or death, or if it was wasted effort. I don't even see blood, maybe it's just a metaphor.
Diet and exercise. Who gives a shit? My knee has been bothering me lately, and I'm sure that the absence of the prior is part of it. When I look inside myself, - even though I've been telling myself not to look for me, not to call for me, nothing at all, and even when I briefly disregard such, - I see it inside, the green Yuk-ish-looking face, then I heard the words [link].
When you see it you'll know quick
Things marked Yuk will make you sick
SICK, SICK, SICK
SICK, SICK, SICK
I'm sick, and although I'm not tired, and I am disappointed. Disappointed when I see how I am on the inside. Somehow I'm reminded briefly of a conversation Grillman and I had earlier today.
Grillman: I mean its new, military, steel core. Top stuff. Just expensive.
Life seems to be more expensive.
Doesn't it?
Death seems to be expensive too.
Yep. It's like a long term plan.
So kind of like a 401(k)?
More or less.
Say goodbye to that!
When I look inside, I wonder what it's like when I ask myself,
"What's it like to be face to face with me?"
When I hear a voice, my voice saying to me,
"Do you feel like I'm supposed to do?"
Only to realize that,
"[p]ictures of my face disappear with time."
When I woke up from being awake, I watched society for-the-umpteenth-time show me how to
"[r]e-arrange thoughts to 'what will be will be'".
I felt sick. I watched the beer on the floor. I watched myself watching the beer. It would have been nice to have a big straw. The beer didn't matter. I was pathetic to believe I could escape.
And I still have hell to look forward to.
Somewhere inside of me, after the rivers of filth and anguish. After the dried-up lake beds of hope and desire, surrounded by the forest of disease, you will see a broken wall, similar to those on the highway. It will have a Yuk sticker. It's how I know I've arrived at home. It's how I know I've come face to face with me. It's just a part, just a part of the world inside. It's not me, it's a part of me. A part of the disease that vaguely makes me human. I don't call my name, so my name doesn't call me.
I can sleep for once, or is it me watching the shadows sleep?
Was there a difference with tomorrow's yesterdays?
Are you sure that's just tobacco?
Pretty sure.
Grillman: I mean its new, military, steel core. Top stuff. Just expensive.
Life seems to be more expensive.
Doesn't it?
Death seems to be expensive too.
Yep. It's like a long term plan.
So kind of like a 401(k)?
More or less.
Say goodbye to that!
When I look inside, I wonder what it's like when I ask myself,
"What's it like to be face to face with me?"
When I hear a voice, my voice saying to me,
"Do you feel like I'm supposed to do?"
Only to realize that,
"[p]ictures of my face disappear with time."
When I woke up from being awake, I watched society for-the-umpteenth-time show me how to
"[r]e-arrange thoughts to 'what will be will be'".
I felt sick. I watched the beer on the floor. I watched myself watching the beer. It would have been nice to have a big straw. The beer didn't matter. I was pathetic to believe I could escape.And I still have hell to look forward to.
Somewhere inside of me, after the rivers of filth and anguish. After the dried-up lake beds of hope and desire, surrounded by the forest of disease, you will see a broken wall, similar to those on the highway. It will have a Yuk sticker. It's how I know I've arrived at home. It's how I know I've come face to face with me. It's just a part, just a part of the world inside. It's not me, it's a part of me. A part of the disease that vaguely makes me human. I don't call my name, so my name doesn't call me.
I can sleep for once, or is it me watching the shadows sleep?
Was there a difference with tomorrow's yesterdays?
Are you sure that's just tobacco?
Pretty sure.
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