pity party, my ass

what the phuk? iz that all you can possibly think of to say? that's the same thing dana said, before she walked out like a dumb bitch. that's the only thing mom could ever say. ok, so, well, if three "women" think i'm having a "pity party", well, then, i must be having one. i'm sorry, i didn't know, i guess i wazn't invited to my own little party here. doezn't seem to be much of a party. three women, who are all so much smarter than i am (i mean look at how many poemz they've written about consciousness), tell me i'm having a pity party. well, then either i'm having a pity party, or none of y'all can think of anything better to say. that's the one i'm leaning towardz. what the phuk iz that even suppozed to mean? that iz just so phuking stupid. that's pretty phukin pathetik that that's all you can think of to say. i spit out all that shyt about why i'm so depressed and have no motivation, and all you can come back with, iz 'enjoy your pity party'??? well obviously i'm not enjoying it, kiddo! possibly becauze it's neither a pity nor a party, duh! what the phuk? see, if you could actually help me, and touch me, with any sort of human contact, emotion, you might actually be able to lift me out of this shyt, but no, you can't, you won't, cauze all you can think to see it az, iz a phuking pity party. well phuk. no wonder we're not getting anywhere, we're only running on half a brain. aroze the phoenix az she glidez, and i've gone insane. i've seen the light of suicide, and i'm dying. i'll ask again. how lonely, and depressed, and unmotivated, how lifeless do i have to get before someone will hear me. how many timez do i have to shoot myself before someone will hear the gunshot. if you shoot yourself in a forest, will anyone care? let freedom ring with a shotgun blast. you know why he said that? cauze the shotgun blast he'z talking about iz the one to my mutherphukin lifeless head. my empty soulspace. the body i once inhabited. the blood i once spilled for you. there iz nuthing to come back to. give me a gun, and i'll give you a sign. just walking thru life, blinded by a dollar bill. and the only thing you can see iz how to by me. i can't even see anymore, my 3yez have burned themselvez tearless. just turn this whole world black. nuthing ever changez, nuthing ever gets better, nuthing ever will. that's the cozmik joke you're all here for, don't you get it? you're all suppozed to loze. there iz no winner, cauze there iz no race. there iz no track. no rats, no food, no life. just a big blue ball with a virus on it. and you still expect us to be human. you still expect some humanity out of us. we're all just monkeyz throwing shyt at eachother, and we haven't 3volved one thought since then. the last sane moment we ever knew, waz on the plainz of afrika, 15,000 yearz ago. we stepped into this hole, knowing exactly what we were in for. and now you're all looking at me, pointing at me, blinded by dollar billz, and telling me i'm going in the wrong direction. have you gotten lost? let me smack that dollar bill off your face. phuking greedy, coldhearted, bitter phuks. snakes and lizardz. put the head to the machine, and let's see how far you get. understand, you need to be touched phyzikally. i touch you phyzikally az often az possible, to show you that i care. that iz something i am able to do for you. i, on the other hand, need to be touched emotionally. my motivation and inspiration need to be fed, or they starve. they die. motive. motivate. inspire. aspire. so here'z all my hopes and aspirationz. nuthing but puke. god, i'm so lonely. doez no one understand. not one human on this small, boring, syckening, disgusting, slow, retarded planet. no one can touch me. no one can just reach out and offer their hand, offer their emotion. iz that why i'm untouchable? iz it choice? iz choice the fundamental evil that we have yet to phigure out? if so, then voice iz our poizon. our venom. our choice iz the wind of change we ride in on. and our pain iz the art we sell to survive. nuthing will make you smaller than this. no matter how much people can take from you, they can't take your treazure chest of tragedy. i need to get this off my chest, i get to get this out. i need to get out of here, i need to get off this planet. i want to run away, i want to disappear. i want to dive into an ocean of immunity, and drown. let go of all my hopes and fearz, and just let go. just let go. tiny bubblez of life, rizing to the surface. just let go. just let go. just let go.

nuthing painful az the hand in my head, shutting, smashing, crushing all my thoughts. i know i once said, that if you kill the brightest flower in your garden, an even brighter one would grow in it's place, but this iz phuking rediculous. i have no phuking flowerz left. my phuking garden iz dead. dead like the black vortex of death that iz tucson. how phuking helpless and hopeless do we have to get before something comez to life? how much do i have to water my garden in this place for anything to grow again? i'm flooding my garden, and nuthing will grow in this hell. my garden looks like what's left of los angeles. will no one hear me. will no one see me. will no one touch me. i, being an alien, require the emotional equivalent to a backrub, and a day at the spa. there iz nuthing like that on this planet. do you see why my life iz getting smaller and smaller? i'm thriving and existing on less and less. this world iz getting smaller and smaller... either that, or i'm eating up all the psychik energy. we need a spiritual change. we need a charge. our batteriez are running low. we need to invent new batteriez. we are not robots, we cannot exist on robot batteriez. we need human energy, human charge, human electricity. emotion. running wild, and we can't even pheel it. like a hand out the window of a moving car. like the paint peeling off the ceiling. can't anyone understand. but no one will understand. i am the only one. the alien, born to the wrong planet. living in the wrong world. giving blood to the wrong bank. irony clozez in on me, suffocates me, and laffs at the little boy, smothered in pain, mizery, and someone else'z monkey shyt. get the phuk away from me. stop charging me $20 per breath. but you won't let me stop existing. see, i told you, there'z no way to win, when it's not a race. you are still a rat, i'm sorry to say, but you're just not important enuph to be part of the race. just sit on the sidelinez, and enjoy your peanuts. senseless rambling from the snake at your feet. phuk you.