Tired
Megadeth Risk track 1
Drop class
Shower twice
Bathe once
Teeth rot
Pen art.

I’m dogmatic?
Evidence?
“Ad hominen”
Irrational I see.
I can play along.
I’ll beat your teeth in
You fucking coward.

Nap four hours
Jews were right.
Hello love,
Marry me.
Naked
Alone
Lock the door.
Just want a home.

2

Aaaaaaaa?!

I’m spinning! Wooooo
Woahhh

:3

Come here
[Redacted]

Tell me a story that you cherish (v1).

A Romantic: A person with beliefs or attitudes of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life. ‘This is a beautiful record for hopeless romantics and dreamers – don’t let the cynics tell you otherwise.’

This summer, my romantic self, the self that stayed up late on school nights watching love-themed anime (Kyouran Kazoku Nikki, 俺たちに翼はない, ect), and read ironic fantasies and speculative science fiction, was reawakened by a young woman. He is raw and unfocused, passionate and transcendental.

We talked a lot, oh so much, at one point nearly every night by message. The more I learned about her, the more in love I was. I just want to help her with all of her—for her the romantic “I” would conquer the earth. I learned exactly what all those studies meant when they stated that married men work 30% harder or more. They actually give a shit about something more than themselves. My work becomes more and more an offering to you. My creative juices flowed, she was my muse, she was the reason for thousands of lines.

And now she’s gone, I feel left behind. Where is my love? Where is my little cat? She is young and weak, she has to think and feel. Here you are my love, take your time. She told me to move on two or three times. She said goodbye three or four but then came back again; each time ’till the last.

September cut my knees, like Jacob I walk with a limp, sprained as a kid. My time is running out. The Romantic within me just laughs. “Haha! So she is weak! Make her strong! Make her a man!” (He means, of course, as a warrior. He likes Jung, and believes that each person has a conscious ego that matches their sex, and an unconscious anima/animus that is the opposite gender.)

But real me? I just see tragedy. When things are too perfect, something vital is always missing. The chain pops off the bike. The lines rust out of my brakes. September cut my knees and then I crashed.

So here I am now. She promised she would come back, but she is oh so cryptic. I pushed my luck. I have hope. Oh my love, come back to me!

The Romantic is sizing up all the other potential mates in my life. He wants to get married IMMEDIATELY. I say, people don’t do that anymore. He does not care. He says “people? Oh you mean ‘they’? They are all weak, worthless. Do not follow what ‘they’ believe. Look at her! Whew, dark hair blue eyes! And look, that one looks like your dream girl! The wavy blonde, well endowed!” I have to blush.

The Romantic is paying attention to all the other potentials in my life. I see with virgin eyes, everyone is beautiful to me, even the John Cenas of the world. But the Romantic? So judgemental. “I guarantee our lover had an IQ of at least 125. All these dumb girls, I want her, I want a woman!” They are very pretty though, I say, adding, you don’t even know them that well. “Hah! But tell me, which is more beautiful than the girl I love?” I scan the room, I scan my memory. No one. Maybe one. And, maybe she’s also just as smart. But again, between her and I, as between my love and I, there is a barrier, so for now…

I cherish my memory of her.

I hope she comes back, but I am not as certain as my romantic side. How certain is he? “For her, I would Blackmail the UNIVERSE!” But as for me…perhaps…she was never meant to be.

“But if she was!” …would she come back to me?