The man with the mustache is seated in front of the woman with the oversized handbag. There's something on the walls. Melted chocolate maybe, and then the stentch of bananas. My mind is jello. There's nothing to say between its recent inability to deal with loss and inconsistancy of thought due to melodic guitar strummings. So thanks. Thanks for the flowers and happy puppies that now occupy that once near-desolate, meloncholy place. But still letters seem to fall together coherently enough to form strings I, and maybe a few talented others, might be able to comprehend. Everything sounds better with adjectives like incondesent and nice. Those were better times. Well, not better, never better, just different. Blissfully full of bliss. Bliss, blass, glass. Orange juice. Ice. I'm forever mine. Insanity. Not insanity, never insanity, just different. Maybe I could get somewhere if I ever actually formed something understandable enough. Then again, maybe not. Welcome to the inner workings of my twisted mind.


heh sorry, youre not supposed to understand that really. its one of my true journal entries. word for word. stuff might not be spelled right. it really is just every single thought that came to mind right then...