this is disguised, it's a writing disguised as this story about a pigeon, a chance to check the brakes, there were two in the road, and the one flew at the very last moment, and a 2 and then a 1, and that's such an interesting number.
this is more interesting and not at all what this is about, just something to remember, first this:
please dont judge me
this will show up in something later.
this is what this is about, and not about anything or anyone at all.
this dream, i'm stoned and walking thru gavin's apartment, or hotel suite, somewhere in the pacific northwest maybe, we're traveling and i'm stoned, and i'm looking in the mirror and this is all so cinematic, and i'm suddenly worried because i want to be more high and i am leading myself back to get more high even though i know i should not be high at all because of what happens and wanting to die eventually and i'm wondering if this is going to be a problem but maybe it's about my back, my back hurts and i could say it was for that and i know that won't read true to anyone who knows me, this is complicated because on one hand i have to consider what i'm going to tell people and on the other i have to be more high, on the first hand there are options and on the second hand there are not options, i have to be high and there are no more hands, and suddenly i am waking up and i wonder why i'm waking up and realizing that ok this helps to sort things out, because it was a dream, so i don't have to worry about how to talk about this, but i do have to be higher because it feels so cinematic and i am worrying about that, but then i remember that this should not be a problem because i don't like being high and i am relieved. at this moment my phone beeps, someone someone something something on facebook something, i open my computer because it's something to see for sure, with a dream like that waking me up and someone something commented on something i something and it's a minute before midnight so i was only asleep for an hour, and got so high in that hour, and now it's a minute before the day i'm writing this and it all seems very significant.
because pigeons are allergic to pot, they don't bloat or explode like seagulls with alka seltzer, but they get very paranoid, and throw themselves at motorcycles to get the voices in their heads to stop, poor poor things, the day won't get stranger it can't just try to get stranger i fucking dare you
and i am 14.
x
c
this is more interesting and not at all what this is about, just something to remember, first this:
please dont judge me
this will show up in something later.
this is what this is about, and not about anything or anyone at all.
this dream, i'm stoned and walking thru gavin's apartment, or hotel suite, somewhere in the pacific northwest maybe, we're traveling and i'm stoned, and i'm looking in the mirror and this is all so cinematic, and i'm suddenly worried because i want to be more high and i am leading myself back to get more high even though i know i should not be high at all because of what happens and wanting to die eventually and i'm wondering if this is going to be a problem but maybe it's about my back, my back hurts and i could say it was for that and i know that won't read true to anyone who knows me, this is complicated because on one hand i have to consider what i'm going to tell people and on the other i have to be more high, on the first hand there are options and on the second hand there are not options, i have to be high and there are no more hands, and suddenly i am waking up and i wonder why i'm waking up and realizing that ok this helps to sort things out, because it was a dream, so i don't have to worry about how to talk about this, but i do have to be higher because it feels so cinematic and i am worrying about that, but then i remember that this should not be a problem because i don't like being high and i am relieved. at this moment my phone beeps, someone someone something something on facebook something, i open my computer because it's something to see for sure, with a dream like that waking me up and someone something commented on something i something and it's a minute before midnight so i was only asleep for an hour, and got so high in that hour, and now it's a minute before the day i'm writing this and it all seems very significant.
because pigeons are allergic to pot, they don't bloat or explode like seagulls with alka seltzer, but they get very paranoid, and throw themselves at motorcycles to get the voices in their heads to stop, poor poor things, the day won't get stranger it can't just try to get stranger i fucking dare you
and i am 14.
x
c
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