pixel-stained wretch-hood

wretch is such a delightful word, good for spitting out in disdainful vicious glee. and for other, kinder things, but that's not the mood i'm in right now.

i am particularly worthless tonight. the problem with allowing yourself to be emotionally five is that, for all the unrestrained glee and happiness that you can experience, the horrid pouty memememe of it all is an ugly other coinside.

i want everything for nothing
to be adored for existing
to be venerated for breathing
to be admired for my beating heart
the world should be mine
served on a silver platter
no, on platinum, encrusted with diamonds
mined by the bloody hands of african toddlers
just because i want it so

a symptom of my privilege,
or of the broken promises
lies dripping from the mouths
of every adult i ever knew
spinning tall tales of a world that never existed
that i will never inherit
dooming me to a life of
dashed expectations
disappointment
disillusionment
broken dreams

thanks a lot for nothing, fuckers.


i am in both hate and love with the idea of pouring out my soul in bits and bytes, pixels and electrons and meaningless emotionless void-of-everything that constitutes the internets. both comforting bosom of all those i hold dear though we have scattered to the ends of the earth (pulled by those ever-demonized forces known as ambition, curiosity, dissatisfaction) and cold void of uncaring unknowing world populated only by facades of people that don't really exist. it contains multitudes, and for that i will love it for exactly as long as i hate it.