You're Gonna Hear me Roar

I went to some sort of album release party at this 18+ gay night at a club in Hollywood many, many years ago, and she didn't show.

This song is catch and evokes the feels, though. It's hard to get anyone to hear you roar these days, though.

But I feel like roaring. I may regret it, but oh well.

I'm not entirely sure...

Ok, this song... I was lightning before the thunder. They really know how to evoke the feels, don't they?

Goddamnit.

Anyway, I'm going to attempt to make this public again. As some sort of possibly self-destructive art project that may change existence for the better or the worse, depending on the perspective of the observer.

I don't care anymore.

When I figure out what I should roar about, or even if I want to roar at all, especially on this medium which probably is the beast of Revelation, here's some thoughts from my head for the past 18 years. Enjoy if you want.  Just remember ...


Fuck, now I'm thinking making this public is a stupid idea. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Maybe I should only give certain people the link. My mom found my journal once and called the cops on me. They didn't do anything, though.

Ok, I'll send it to a select few and let them tell me what they think.

Nevermind. I don't want to force anyone to read it. I'm just going to post it publicly. Wait no. Ugh moral dilemma. GOD HUMANS FUCKING SUCK. I'M FUCKED UP. YOU"RE FUCKED UP. WE"RE ALL FUCKED UP. fuck it. damnit.

MAYBE I NEED JESUS.

we are all made of greed.

i think maybe i only really usually write in this blog when i'm in a mood where i just don't give a fuck what literally anyone thinks. maybe i should stop caring what people think. then what's the point of making this public?

OH, because this: THIS IS A WARNING.

Nevermind, I got distracted by trying to find a lighter, and then another damn good Imagine Dragons song came on. This is it, the apocalypse.

Anyway, keep reading my blog if you want to know some secrets of the universe or some bullshit or both.

She Punched Out a Star and Got Some Glitter on Her Hand

    I want some goddamn heroin. Or a vagina. Of my own. I mean, in place of my penis. But only if I had perfect teeth. In my mouth, I mean. And hair. On my head. On top of my head. 

This is going nowhere.

It’s strange how my mind is only blank when I actually try to use it. Maybe if I could smoke a cigarette while I type. It always helped while playing pool. I’ll never be able to write a book.