"kill your darlings" is a phrase i hate hate hate.
i hate the cliches and platitudes and analogies and ad hominems and homilies and all the shit that writers say that don't mean shit but they say it anway cos, like genet sez, "By stretching language we'll distort it sufficiently to wrap ourselves in it and hide..." but these writers aren't stretching shit cept their own abilities to accept cliche as wisdom.
and fuck, i am feeling like a hater.
& fuck, today is international peace day & i am feeling like it's opposite day...
& i do not understand why my blog's surrounded by christs and bougy families. don't they know my blog's a baby snatcher? a baby stealer? a baby eater? my blog likes to lure babies up into trees and hide them there. my blog started early with the lindbergh baby. my bloggy's a bad bloggy. & christ, i don't fucking care how cute your kids are or how many babies you've plopped out or what you do all day to get through it with those egos on legs runningrunning saying mamamamamamama cos i know you ain't telling the whole truth and there's a noon o'clock boxowine break and a one o'clock siesta where you lock junior in the pantry.
that's when my bloggy comes trolling.
my bloggy whispers things from creamed corn and campbell's; my bloggy doesn't cut up the hot dogs. my bloggy says live it up now cos we all gots to die some time...
the creamed corn counts out yr mortality, son.
i dreamt about a fauxboyfriend last night. yes i did. i'm not lying. we were gonna have an afterbar, just him and another guy and me and then i was at their house for the afterbar and he was doing laundry and he was in his underwear and i was having trouble with a contact lens and it kept ripping into smaller and smaller pieces and there was no fucking or even heavy petting even tho in real life this fauxboyfriend jpegged my cell with his pretty cock and when i woke up i knew this fauxboyfriend no longer thought of me. so we are breaking up.
i'm gonna go listen to portishead cos i gots to dump at least three other fauxboyfriends to make myself cry.
yours in peace,
ryder
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