THE PULSE, THE HUM AND SWELL, THE SONG BENEATH THE SKIN, IT CALLS TO ME!
OW, FUCK! RANDY, WHAT THE HELL?
“DRINK!” IT CRIES, “DRINK OF ME AND LIVE FOREVER!”
GET OFF ME! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU LARPING?
DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT?
NO, I’M JUST GOING TO GO HOME AND FILL MY SOCIAL MEDIA OUTLETS WITH DEPRESSING NON-SEQUITIRS AND DISJOINTED QUERIES THAT ARE OBVIOUSLY INTENDED FOR SOMEONE SPECIFIC INSTEAD OF CALLING THAT INDIVIDUAL OR SENDING THEM AN EMAIL, FORCING MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY TO ASK ME WHAT’S WRONG WHILE I JUST GO “NOTHING, I’M FINE” AND CONTINUE TO POST AN ENDLESS STREAM OF SKYLINE PHOTOGRAPHY AND NATURE PANORAMAS WITH SEVENTH GRADE POETRY TEXT ON TOP. OH, AND RAINDROPS ON WINDOWPANES. CAN’T FORGET THAT.
YEAH, BUT I ALREADY KNOW YOU AND KEITH BROKE UP. WE COULD JUST TALK ABOUT IT.
NO. I HAVE TO GET TO TUMBLR.
