so what the fuck is this and god cursive is a mess these days when people perfectionists keep doing this going back and i can't think or what is feeling when my heart jitterier than clara's rapping on the table keeps beating like i ever gave it permission to do anything of the sort jesus christ uncapitalised because i'm suddenly more than this, a nihilist now where i'll never be anything else for somehow all my aspirations fade away (goodbye london goodbye buddy goodbye art and everything i thought i could be) and i'm only in the present where i'm again nothing like hey, you thought you could save me? or that i could save myself? equally unlikely but the former just so much more so because you can't save me if i never asked to be saved hell no there's no way leather jackets motorcycles, scooters, hell of shanghai and smoke because don't fucking stop even if the skyscraper completes its cycle and crushes your legs or the cigarette fumes gang up on you and lead you to a different place altogether where ghouls and cannibalism and organs different from your own are built into everyone's breaking and stretched seams like yes. yes, find somewhere different and follow it until you've walked the six miles up out of the atmosphere and onto the moon, and then the solar system's gone but you can't forget where you are because the knot from the zipper in your jacket is digging into your wrist as you write this. holy hell it might just fall off, my wrist and all the bones dried and crackling against the floor.
i'm pretty sure i wrote that in chemistry, the most despicable class on the planet. and what the hell even is it?
