how to hate yourself?
i can post from my bed. how stupid! i can fill my head with pigeon droppings, and i can slam a soda. hey, guitar-pickin dude, stop shitting on my pants. you have your own bed for that! tomorrow morning's going to be here before i can open my eyes, before i can scratch my balls. i'll leave on a two-wheeled death machine with muddy eyes and molasses blood. my leg hairs will tingle and some time around noon i'll contemplate all the things i'd like to do but can't, and by one i'll have a headache and my pee will be a sickly yellow. i'll keep hacking up phlegm and feeling a lump of something undigested. then, when the caffeine stupor has me spouting nonsense like the long-haired bum of central square, i'll dive right back into the metal channels and swim home upstream and even right now as i'm prolonging the moment of unconsciousness so that i might make myself yet more miserable in the not-too-distant future, i know for a fact that i'm going to do the same thing tomorrow, and the next day after that. and all the while, while my mouth is saying "fuck you" my head is singing "fuck me."