Wilt
Legacy Name: Wilt

Maybe the key to living is not to live at all. Just wait for it all to come to you. They sure like to fool us into purchasing their shitty products. All I want to do is sleep. Those products never work. They make sense but they don't work.

I have a hand that holds my jewelry. Not like I never wear any of it. People who appreciate it are just being nice. But the hand continues to hold. Day after day. It does the same thing. All I want to do is differ. The probability of me staying awake is dismal. First coincidences... isn't there a better word for that. Coincidences. An incident that happens at the same time as another. Hogwash. That happens every day. Let it be. Let me be. I don't like listening to you preach about your theories. Why do we do so many things in order to please other. They have to listen to us just the same. We always attempt to be so polite but for what cause. The relative happiness of others is exchanged for the relative sadness of ourselves. Does anyone care anymore. Paperback writer. Eating semi-delicious noodles with your dad's ex-girlfriend. Oh, the probability of we.

This isn't turning out how I expected. Nothing does clear the mind. Clear the mind clear the mind. Just empty everything out so there is nothing left to think about. What is you is you. Don't worry about other people. They all die anyway. You'll die anyway. No one gives a damn in 100 years. If you died I would be a flower on your grave. If you died I would sit on a hill and watch the ships in the night. All I want to do is sit on a hill with you and watch my butts. Sit and kiss and share nonexistent secrets. All I want to do is listen to people talking quietly before I drift off into sleep. All I want to do is steep. Like tea.

Wouldn't it bother you not to know what they're saying. Oh, no, oh, as long as I can hear them talking it allows me to know that people are still alive and all is okay before I leave this planet for 8 hours. All I want to do is sleep. I am deteriorating. I am hunger. I don't speak fluidly. I write incoherently. Then edit and edit and deteriorate my thoughts even more. Hogwash. All I want to do is lug a bathtub up to Brokeback mountain, fill it with piping hot water and eat a lime popsicle. All I want to do is drive a blood van. I would drive around and take peoples' blood. Blood van.

I feel like a lot of things are becoming the same. Like everything is falling into a miserable rut that we can't seem to get ourselves out of.

Nous sommes nombreux, silencieux, raboteux, rabotées dans les brouillards de chagrins crus. Passing stranger. You do not know how longingly I look upon you. You must be he I was searching for. Or she I was searching for. It all comes to me in a dream. Litmus test. Positive. Acidic. You are acidic in a basic world. Clear the mind entice the soul. Clear the mind entice the soul. I haven't told her about us clear the mind entice the soul. Clear the mind entice the soul entice entice yes.

With obsessions there's no telling what will and won't even happen. Maybe she'll turn him down. Maybe he'll forget their anniversary. Maybe she'll make a decorating error. Maybe he'll forget to cross his Ts and dot is Is. Maybe she'll forget to capitalize or use punctuation correctly. I wish love notes were easier to unite. I've never united one. Who would I unite it with. It all started with a blood drive. The donated blood would go to a child named Morgan who has some type of bone cancer. Leukemia? Lupus? No, it's never Lupus. My mom is a cancer. My grandfather had cancer my babysitter had cancer. I won't ever see her again. At least she left an impression. At least he lived enough. Sometimes I'm afraid I won't live enough.

All I want to do is live. I might not even be able to do that. I am too delirious to process everything correctly. I feel like what you feel like after you take a bad nap. Eyes puffy. Sound muted. Slight headache. Slight pressure behind the eyes. Movements restricted. No longer appreciated. Lack of motivation. Cancer.

I was scheduled to donate blood at 1h40 at my friend's house. The blood van was parked on the street, taking up an entire, already obstructed lane. The snow was gross. Not the Hollywood kind you find under spiral staircases. I wish I took more photography in France. I think that maybe I missed my bus. So I waited in line with another who was to give up his fluids. He seemed like the kind who answered "yes" to the question "have you ever paid a prostitute for sex." He seemed occupied with his phone, too. I should have brought my phone. Instead all I had to look forward to was the next 3 seconds, when I would squeeze the object they gave us. And the oreos. Oh. I was looking forward to the oreos too. They drained my blood and a nurse and I laughed about people dying from donating too much blood. They unhooked me.

They took me sledding. They won't forget how awful it is to sled in Minnesota. Especially when there's ice and no snow. All work and no play makes Jack Nicholson a dull boy. Fucking dull boy. He make me numb. It probably has something to do with his eyebrows.

I can never sleep because I'm afraid of waking up. I don't like being taken away from my dreams. All my thoughts don't make sense. I like being alone. "What are you going to do about it" vs "are you going to do anything about it" the answer is no. Nothing will be done about it because "it" doesn't exist.

All I can do is remember but what I hate most about memories is that every time you remember sometimes it deteriorates a little. It is altered in a way. I don't like editing. The editing ruins the genuinity of it all. But now there is no such thing so genuinity. It all deteriorated long ago. Like my handwriting. Like our sense of selves. Like the tingly feeling you get in your hands after you write too much.

I am not a good person. I pretend to be, but I'm really rotten. All I want to do is watch the life force leave their bodies, feel the cold sink it. Feel the flat. Feel the calm. Make it happen. It does happen. But no one listens. Why is there so much in our heads? We can't remember it all yet somehow we do. All I want is some chai tea. And sleep. And nothing.