getting me by

licorice root
spearmint leaf
chamomile flower
skullcap leaf
cardamom seed
cinnamon bark
st. john's wort leaf
and flower
rose hip
orange peel
raspberry leaf
valerian root
english lavender flower
stevia leaf
passion flower
let steep

unreal reality composed of uselessness and frivolity

i want to talk about pain and confusion and heartache, you know the kind where it sinks and even hurts in your stomach, and i want to talk about dropping bombs and all these songs that keep my boots on. (the heavy kind of boots) i want to talk about icky thump and neutral milk, rediscovery, warped vinyls like bowls, useless bowls. i want to talk about how any strength of feeling was stolen from me, and i want to create without fear. i want to let go i want a picnic and i want to day dream about listening to music while laying and wasting summer days to come and the subsequent nights that will burn my brain with memories and thoughts like my tattered quilt.

i want to, but i don't
i want to but it's all too surreal
all too unreal, all too much apart of a brutal reality...
i want to but-- it would just be white noise

soup

sinus medicine

but my heart is actually beating like a metronome
and if this is my body agreeing with this song,
i want it to be a fleeting counterfeit imitation
is this my heart literally telling me that this is what it wants for once... and it chooses this.
i feel defeated....
trivial and trite
a confusion of colors that bleed through my skin like
i think i can see it squeezing through my forearm right now,
i'm watching
so is he
he is of no consequence because he's on paper
and doesn't know he's watching
red felt tip pen i'd imagine.
maybe it's just the fact that i can't breathe
maybe it's the contents of my stomach burning my throat, making a tempest of my insides
or maybe i really am just slowly going crazy
that's what they keep telling me
that i'm going crazy, one struggled breath at a time
or maybe it's just the fact that i can't breathe
i think i said that one twice... yup, i did. i'm going crazy i t h i n k i ' v e l o s t i t

this is stupid, i wouldn't bother

i can't help but think of how pithy i can be.
pithy and absent-minded and selfish, it's disgusting.
all i can figure out now is that i don't know anything at all.
really, nothing.
except for maybe basic arithmetic,
and even then i question. 2 plus 2... who even invented the word "plus?" simply a silly sound that we assign meaning to.
these words may as well be nonsense you see, because just because they mean something to me, does not mean anything more than that; and if they happen to mean something to someone else, it's probably not what they mean to me because their experiences and past with these things being said and also the things not influence how they hear and receive whatever this message in question is. so what's the point in even trying? you know. if what we say isn't what is heard and if it's not what is heard, why do we keep trying?

up to the brim

ribbons--

yes ribbons, that's what it looked like

blue ribbons.

ephemeral ribbons

lying on my back in the itchy grass, with four others watching the ribbons drift up from the burning end.

you know when the sun is setting (or rising i guess that would work too it's just that its setting right now you know) just at the right spot on the horizon, it looks like ribbons.

it makes me think of-- um-- high school. that's what it is... high school...

that's a treacherous thought.

peace reminding me of carnage is what it feels like. it almost makes me laugh.

but i don't because i think everyone would be confused if i tried to explain it.

standard, for me at least.

you know you're stories are bad when you have to tell people that they are over.

i don't know why i'm rambling on, this futile piece of information. i don't know at all.

so cigarettes

high school

carnage

and aimless narrating

essentially

well

never mind.

lame

i fear my own more recently discovered disillusioned thoughts have unclouded my skewed thought processes. i fear that these new thoughts bemuse me when my intentions have been blindly guided seemingly improperly thus far, and i discover now that they are all but unequivocally imprecise. the vacuity is embarrassing.