This is not a journal.

IF I could live however I wan-ted, I think I'd stop giving presents altogether, and stop responding to all these emails, and stop hanging out with all these people, and just do what I wanted (notice the capital "i"), and I'd take a moped and I'd travel all around the country, and I'd spend money on a whim, buying the coolest and most useless stuff for the laughs, and I'd perform with Holy Band of God at all sorts of clubs and revel in the attention, the spotlight, my own genius, and I'd do whatever I wanted at the moment, screw all these social customs, and I'd do the wildest things, pick my nose, eat stuff off the floor, have crazy sex, do drugs, hurt people (yeah, the thought's nice, but maybe not), and nobody would care, nobody!, and nobody would really care even what the hell I did, because I'm me, and they're them, and you know how I'd spend my time?, I'd play visual novels and hentai games and MMOs and I'd have a million musical instruments to mess around with and a new great movie every day to watch and books and manga and pretty much every other form of entertainment media and I'd immerse myself, and then I'd come out to break into places and sharpie stuff and travel, travel, travel some more, and it'd be all about what I felt like doing, and oh, presents?, well, if I happened to WANT to give a present, I'd just give it, none of this berthdae-chrissmass-boulshitte!, and really, I swear, it's stressing me out, all these rules and customs and schedules and tasks and friends and presents and moms and dads and sisters and sisters and schoolwork and homework and God and Satan and Radiohead, and my long nails, and how short to cut them, and all the other, the !s, the things, the stuff, the plans, the, and Waking up is a chore. Clipping my nails is a chore. Writing my blog is a chore, homework, everything. Life is a chore. and I WISH I could just be a New York ghost with a backpack and some 500 bucks (for food and gas and souvenirs), and headed towards Cali forever. All my friends and girlfriends, I'd meet them on the way, and I'd leave them as I pleased, and the music and the art, I'd draw them on the spot, on the street, on the walls, and when the cops came, I'd be like "I'm invisible, motherfuckers!" and then I'd turn invisible, and I'd run!, run!, run!, and the whole world and every one of my current friends would laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh at it all, and I'd laugh!, and that's how I'd live!, forever!,
Me!,
Myself!,
I!


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