; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Thursday, 3 February 2011

hurtled disquiet

these pictures could be two things. they could be hideous, as i imagine is typical of my badly taken self portraits. and then they could be gratuitous, like every other miserable product of my existence. what could be worse than that? being unnecessary? i could hardly think of anything.

i've been exercising nightly, save nights when i'm back too late to blast uptempo music to move to. i don't know what i'm doing it for, or why. sometimes it feels enriching and the closest thing i have to religious experience. but most times it feels, again, unnecessary. the solitude is completely excruciating and i wonder with all sincerity how much longer i am supposed to buy that this is as good as it can get.

pictures, weight loss. friends and family and diets and lifestyle changes. they're all fucking distractions for how ugly i am, how ugly my life is.

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