Journal App

I’m using the journal app on my phone for, maybe writing for myself. I don’t know. I still plan to upload the non sequitur evil thoughts of you here, but I think writing for my own peace of mind, will go there. Something I won’t share with the world too readily, but also, won’t keep a lock on if someone gets my phone. My first piece, written today, has already mentioned all of this, and you, so I’ll share it:

“This picture brings me peace, it reminds me that through the troubles there is still beauty in life. I love the pastel, cotton candy sky, as I suffer on through this psychosis, about a woman I may never know again.

I didn’t want to write about her. I don’t know how to deal with her, so I don’t want to deal with her anymore, even vicariously through my own catharsis, this almost pointless self-expression that gets me nowhere and seems to only reinforce how “crazy” I am to the rest of mankind.

What to do what to do…

Still, I have friends, a life worth living, a family that loves me, a job that pays dividends. Life, regardless of how low she can bring me, is good.”

That’s all, for now.

Drug Cocktail: Hope

I don’t know why I hold hope for us reuniting.

I remember years ago, right before I went to Norway I did a magic spell with the condition

“She can come into my life when she’s ready.”

Be careful what you wish for, right?

All I know is that I would’ve tried my damndest to make it work.

“Weather the storm” as they say.

And maybe I still feel that way, even with the onslaught of voices telling me how you’re all of this that and the other.

Everything that I don’t want, and perhaps, what’s wrong with the world…

This is the absolute limit of love.

It feels pathetic.

I feel pathetic.

And as I trudge on and try to shed the weight of it, there are still nights where I could curl up into a ball wishing for what could have been.

Maybe in the next life.

Maybe I end my life tonight.

Who’s to say?

It’s all “up in the air” and as a double entendre that’s to say

“It’s all within me.”

I’m capable of great things, I know that,

but “you can lead a horse to water but can’t make it drink.”

All these sayings from my mother.

And when in my mind, the thing that’s “too good to be true” finally happens,

if it’ll ever happen,

how do I face it?

With blind acceptance?

With rejection?

In all my dreams and pondering I’m uncertain about this future.

Or am I.

I know who I am.

I just feel like such a fucking fool.

Second Album

Title: “Psychic Horrors”

Tracklist:

  1. D.I.L.F.

  2. Mile High Club

  3. Mother Fucker

  4. How Dry do you Want It?

  5. I’m a Lesbian

  6. The Other M

  7. Tribute to Boston

Band Name:

The Howard’s

Howard’s Revenge

edit:

Maybe it’s more the length of an EP… 🤷🏾‍♂️

Hostel Sex

Voices are saying you went out with a guy at the hostel in Boston. Had Sex with him 10 times the voices say.

I’m tired.

Edit: But I was the only one that tried to “date” you, whatever that means.

Pulled a Gun on Me

There are only so many times this could have happened but I assume it was at the Hostel in New York with your parents. Either when I was following Odin going to their room, or when I was facing Howard ready to exit the room.

Whatever.

Maybe you should’ve shot me. Voices say they would have gotten “Everything they want” if you did.

I’m just some fucking fodder on the side of the road huh?

Fuck you.

In a bad way.

Welcome

Voices say you’re in Boston, again.

I’ve been doing snus, too much tobacco in my system, or maybe I’m just having an off day from jerking off so often, idk. I can get it up but it’s taking a while to bust.

I want to go to sleep, try again tomorrow.

I’ll give it one more go.

If you are in Boston, avoiding me while you contemplate your life’s choices, fine, I won’t try to find you, I won’t stalk anyone that looks remotely like you or anyone I’ve seen you in pictures with, cause the voices say they’ve been here as well, just ya’know, do your thing, whatever it is you have your heart set on.

Being alone, for me, is a bit of a comfort zone.

As the voices detail my every waking moment, and perhaps even things I could never know, I just yearn for the peace and quiet I had before all of this.

It feels impossible, with or without you in my future.

I don’t know what to say and yet, I co time writing.

Like that’s the only constant.

Also, I looked up if you had a “nekrologer.”

You did not, so that confirms you’re still alive, somewhere…

edit:

I came 😌

Welcome

Voices say you’re in Boston, again.

I’ve been doing snus, too much tobacco in my system, or maybe I’m just having an off day from jerking off so often, idk. I can get it up but it’s taking a while to bust.

I want to go to sleep, try again tomorrow.

I’ll give it one more go.

If you are in Boston, avoiding me while you contemplate your life’s choices, fine, I won’t try to find you, I won’t stalk anyone that looks remotely like you or anyone I’ve seen you in pictures with, cause the voices say they’ve been here as well, just ya’know, do your thing, whatever it is you have your heart set on.

Being alone, for me, is a bit of a comfort zone.

As the voices detail my every waking moment, and perhaps even things I could never know, I just yearn for the peace and quiet I had before all of this.

It feels impossible, with or without you in my future.

I don’t know what to say and yet, I co time writing.

Like that’s the only constant.

Also, I looked up if you had a “nekrologer.”

You did not, so that confirms you’re still alive, somewhere…