Does the title count as a metaphor? Or is it just a Katy Perry song fitting for lonely boy Dan Humphrey? Or some other person I've yet to meet? Or someone I know? Hahaha. What's so wrong about a Hemingway-reading gay/guy/person? NOTHING. ZERO. NADA. When I'm close to euphoria, my mind goes tralalala to the back alley of sense. What for is the human brain if you're happy anyway? That is the question, right? Seriously. That's why Lindsay Lohan has sagging armpits. Or has botolinum toxin penetrated that junction? You know, if you're with me IRL, there's a sad possibility you would laugh insultingly at how I can't enunciate some of my words right. I have a temporary lisp right now so it's TYPE > TALK. But I don't talk. Right, classmates? Hello? LOL. What else, what else... I'm actually speed-writing because it's been three days since I've last posted and it's actually working for me, though it probably shows that this post doesn't belong... Did you know that Mr. Flipping-Gorgeous-Adonis-With-No-Flaws-Whatsoever Edward Cullen was turned into a vampire to avoid contraction of Spanish Flu ninety-one years ago? Yes, yes you do know that because you have read the entire series. I don't need to be a psychic to see the epidemic. RHYME! Speaking of vampirism, would you rather be a vampire than have the pig flu attacking your organs? I wouldn't want to be a supergorgeous glimmering porcelain walking-talking thing. Someone bored and unemployed might write a horrendous book and thesaurusize a way to let the cash in. But a movie adaptation and a soundtrack with two Paramore songs on it should compensate. No? Of course not. Okay, I don't know which transition word I should use here... One of my friends from my summer classes said the word moronic a lot. Did I mention she prefers blue ink over black? That's uncanny. But jah, her word applies to this very post. I'm changing my Twitter name too and I've got guilt all over me, but I hate double G's in the middle of the name so I might revert it back to what it started out as. I can't even tsk, tsk, tsk myself with my lisp. To Gehenna with this post. This is the most disorganized one ever. And I hate word walls.
Weird is what I think of this side of me. But I like it. Oddly, I feel like I'm pretending to be someone else. I do not know why.
[This next paragraph's mostly for the benefit of Seeing Gray and for what it's worth, I will type seriously.]
The actual meaning of my last post is far too grim and dangerous to be stated in this blog, or anywhere else. With the help of some self-renounced fascist, I came up with symbolisms, through punctuation marks. Symbolisms for what, I can't exactly state, but it's somewhat related to asphyxia/suffocation. That's as far as I could go without giving away the soul of the poem, or what made me write it.
Weird is what I think of this side of me. But I like it. Oddly, I feel like I'm pretending to be someone else. I do not know why.
[This next paragraph's mostly for the benefit of Seeing Gray and for what it's worth, I will type seriously.]
The actual meaning of my last post is far too grim and dangerous to be stated in this blog, or anywhere else. With the help of some self-renounced fascist, I came up with symbolisms, through punctuation marks. Symbolisms for what, I can't exactly state, but it's somewhat related to asphyxia/suffocation. That's as far as I could go without giving away the soul of the poem, or what made me write it.
