who am i?

a particular strain of medicinal herb has left me jumping between realities that i have already experienced in far away points of spacetime.

perhaps there is a quantum connection there still lingering.  maybe one day someone will be able to capture it so i can relive it on the holodeck.  in some reality, i'm sitting there telling deanna troi every woe i've had and tribulation i've lived through until she attempts to seduce me (but instead beverely crusher's son, whose face my twelve year old self made out with on the tv screen, gets in the way).  unfortunately, i don't have the attention or energy for sci-fi fan fiction erotica.  i haven't had my addderall in two days at least.  woe is me.

i just pretended to eat the wrapper off a pop-tart with my roommate's cat.  i don't know where mine is.  he's probably outside.  i worry about him sometimes because he's completely deaf and blind.  but he was a homebum for a while, so i guess he's used to it.  he has an amazing sense of smell, and everyone in the complex is nice to him.  they leave food at all of their doorsteps and underneath the mailbox overhang.  spoiled kitty.  but he sleeps with me.

i made $50 for showing my flaccid penis to a bloke in australia.  not bad.

i wonder what my life would've been like if i had been like all the other weho slutbunnies when i was eighteen and had the chance.  what if i went and sucked up to gus or bryan or that dude with the red glasses?  i could've been a fucking movie star and gotten veneers and plugs.  even with that billionaire paper dude and the weho condo magnate and all those lonely, lonely rich dudes.  but i didn't.  because i was a prude or something.  there's always some excuse.  where does this come from?  morality?  what is morality?  is it universal?  is it just what obviously happens when existence works the way it does, and we're given a particular set of rules?

i just talked to a friend about a situation which occurred in which i was wrongly accused of stealing something.  it sucks to be accused of something you didn't do, even if you were an involuntary cover.

i just want to get off this planet sometimes.  out of this reality.  i don't know if i'll ever find another one as good as the ones i've had.  not even with special molecules.

who am i?  what's left of the little boy who shared my dna?  sitting on my grandma's lap while watching the golden girls in a reality which seems more alien from one moment to the next.