Okay, Lingzi, let’s see where your Great Evil Dragon takes us.

If doctors were in the least bit equipped for thinking laterally, they’d ask old folks about the histories of their progeny. Were this the case, my father’s doctor would learn that he’d endowed me with his ADHD, while my mother’s would find out she’d dressed me in her dysthymia. Leaving dysthymia untreated must blow.

When you dropped four pounds in under an hour a couple of days ago.

When you catch your back patio nestled inside the nether end of the floor fan in your den.

Noman isan island and I am noman

How could anyone possibly read the emotion of someone upon whom their expected reaction has already been projected?

I don’t need anyone to recognize the blue glow as Shibuya

Stop acting like you had people. You never had people.

When you wonder if your loneliness quotient modifies the total head count for ligneous visage sightings.

Stop anthropomorphising the people going through the motions of your life.

We only see what we understand and we only understand what we look at.

If we tore our paper rather than cut it, we wouldn’t bleed nearly as much.

When you tilt the machine, that 💩 has to level out before any gets to play again.

When your poetic fart is a No Doubt parody

Don’t speak
They won’t get what you’re sayin’
Don’t bother with explainin’
‘Cause all they’ll hear are words

Life is what happens when your amphetamine salt level just bottomed out.

The Martyr in My Mind

Still fathoming five years actively allowing my insides to spill out into darkness like tentacles feeling their way through foreign soil to tactilely trace the unknown, with all the curiosity of a sheltered child being welcomed into Disney World, without anything reaching out to touch me back.

When the thought of creating makes you sad.

Not sure how to write anymore since one invariably writes for an audience. Seems art is the same way. It is already in my head.