Vox Imports



I'm fucking depressed today. I have nothing to do. I doubt I can leave before 9.30 or 10. Who is it you keep talking to? It's way too cold here, even with a sweatshirt on. I'd play pool if someone came upstairs with me but not really don't want to see their faces. I'd play guitar but I think they'll ask why I'm not writing lines and I don't want to write lines and I don't want anything else to do either. I think I should go home now but they won't let me or maybe I'd go to college. That meeting I'm missing- might have turned out to be a nice day if I'd gone to college instead. I wish you'd lie to me sometimes. My hands are freezing a bit. I think my luck will change when the ink in this pen runs out. It lasted through all my papers and two months more and I think my luck will get worse when it runs out but how much worse can it get? I wish I could post sensibly if nothing else but I think I'm brain-dead today. My phone almost never rings anymore and when it does its nobody I'd rather not hang up on. But I've seen the scraps and I'm not even dreaming anymore. You're a fucking bastard sometimes. There's going to be loads of place in the train today, cos I'm not leaving early anyhow. Yesterday was fun. I wish you'd written me atleast one.

Imagine being schizo.


ps- is that what stream of consciousness is?

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