The Lewd Angel

I've got cubic zirconia on the soles of my shoes

I am writing a book about how to feel sorry for yourself.

Innit I am gonna tell you how you have to lay in bed and mental moan to yourself about your sore back and your sore arm. Then you start thinking maybe the sore arm thing is a heart attack or something so you imagine dying lying in your bed and you think about dying while listening to john coltrane in bed and you accept it but then you think about how by the time someone gets home and realizes you are dead, itunes will probably be on michael jackson and the whole affair of your death will be completely undignified. Then you can sort of contemplate if they could calculate your time of death, and if they could would anyone actually go back and figure out what you listening to? Then you can decide no the world is content to believe you were happy to die listening to "beat it" and you feel sort of sorry for yourself that nobody would want to investigate the circumstances of your death to find some scrap of dignity in it. Then you can take a few picture of yourself with the camera by your bed and then you can look at them and think what the fuck how am i so ugly?

ugh.

whatever then you can write this stupid thing about a book you are writing that you are not writing and then you can think hey beat it is a pretty good song and you listen to it and maybe in a minute or two I will even go pee. I should go the gym. I am starting to turn insane re: body image. I feel awful about myself. I do not want to be a girl anymore because I just keep thinking about how many thin girls there are in the world. How I cannot ever compete? against them. It is fucking retarded to feel this way, I have been making myself feel ill with anxiety about it last couple of days. Fuck, so retarded.

I do not want to live alone ever again I don't think. My bad thoughts seem to fill the whole place and bounce around back and forth in my head so much it makes me go koo-koo. Weird how another person around helps get rid of things like that, leftover nightmares and monsters under the bed.

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Tuesday, December 11, 2007