Current mood:	restless
Current music:	yeah yeah yeahs-maps

bukowski poem and i keep dreaming im on drugs
Melancholia -Bukowski

the history of melancholia
includes all of us.

me, I writhe in dirty sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.

I have gotten so used to melancholia
that
I greet it like an old
friend.

I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.

I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing
is solved.

that's what I get for kicking
religion in the ass.

I should have kicked the redhead
in the ass
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at ...

but, no, I've felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss ...

I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.
there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.
__________________________________________________________

i got my midterm grade report which sucks badly, i should really get my act together damn nyu!! i had a dream i was at a club and i was drunk so i really didnt care and my friends kept trying to hit on guys and like go near them to talk to them and all of a sudden it was like a desert and some older woman came up to us and gave us some kind of drug (shrooms or styx) or something and we took it with me taking most. we went through some kind of tunnel and came out in a rainforest/jungle kind of area with lush vegetation and clear water. Then i floated into different rooms and above doll houses and it was all aristocratic and beautiful, with high ceilings and lacre doilies on the wooden tables.

i've been having the strangest dreams lately, from kissing an artsy director girl who committs suicide by jumping in a lake after i leave her to some guy that im fuking in a club. yet i have no inspiration to write lately.

i just get up at 6pm do nothing, read some for school, writhe in dirty sheets ;)