Brain fog, limp dick, half ate chicken breast in front of me. Today is dreary. I barely feel alive. Can’t finish the rest of my chicken breast. Gave away two loads of swimmers that could have been saved to shoot into someone else’s hot wife. The emptiness and dullness of today is enough for self-mutilation. Fortunately, tomorrow will save me from today. There will be no half ate chicken breast in front of me. My dick will be vigorous, and I won’t touch it. I’ll have a clear head so I can do the things I like.
Waiting for today to be over. The day of the pathetic boy with a drained ball sack and half ate chicken breast will soon fade out of existence. This is a quality of life that I like: everyday eventually ends and fades into nothing. Every experience gone with change; this is why monogamous relationships don’t work. Love is transient and ceases to exist. If today were given a name, it would be a grotesque one. Something like Gertrude.
Oh Gertrude how you dull me, sadden me; giving me the perception that life is something unbearable, because today is unbearable. Oh Gertrude I see past your sham with my conscious monkey brain. I see that yesterday was different than today and that tomorrow will be different than yesterday and today. Tomorrow I will not drain my cock of the zeal which will carry me to somewhere other than laying in bed all day lethargic, desperate, and hopeless.
But Gertrude, I may be able to murder you before today. Murder you with a cold shower- invigorate myself. Invigorate myself to study the Western countries of Africa near Senegal. Invigorate myself to read. Invigorate myself to learn Elliot Smith on guitar. Gertrude you’re more precarious than you think. All that holds you together is a half ate chicken breast and drained cock. What holds me together is much more.
Sublimation for My Turmoil 