you know, usually people don't reveal themselves much in real life, and then pour their heart out to the online world.

friends and strangers linked by wires all have pieces of your heart, some have a lot some have a few. together, sometimes they can perfectly piece together your self.


many have it like that. their outside self is a shell and their inside they glow like fireflies. caged fireflies, but fireflies all the same...




and I'm like, well well well! noi'mnotlikethat.


i find, online, my GOD but I am so caged...except for this blog. and judging by how...public...it...is...


let's say, perhaps one person has half my heart in their collection.

see how many people know me? see how few people know me?

so how i'm so caged?

I fear favoriting things on YT, even. it's gone to that absurd point. the fuck,...





i'm afraid for even strangers to see what i think. (maybe that's because behind a transluscent, shining facade that is the monitor, you can hurl countless insults and not fear retribution).




...but in real life...





it's as if real walking flesh means less to me, has less impact on me, than sitting imaginary friends and dustbunnies from, oh, outer space? from god knows where?


It's as if the real world, real people, mean less to me than the strangers and family online.

on the line.


maybe, that's to be expected somewhat...seeing how far i've come in this facade realm, how devoted i am to escapism, it's to be expected that the hands i can touch mean less to me than the ones i can't.



but when the blonde throws an insult my way, i just grin back. to me, at least, it seems like he's open doors and windows. he's twelve, he's shorter than me, he's got beautiful blue eyes. and he just called me something degatory.

how charming.


it's a different matter online, you know.
with what experience i have, even the pathetic epik phail online could very well be a 17 year old with a P.HD... how the hell would i know anything?

my god, but it's just so.

the worst of bullying bounces of me like skinny fullbacks in real life. in real life, I am a bitchy stuck up brat because, if you aren't going to be a bitchy stuck up brat in your childhood, then when?


in real life I am a lot more unglam than i am here.


in real life, I am myself. I decided not to hold back secrets and fuck, it's not as if I'm going to see my classmates years down the road anyway (although i fervently wishiwill), and besides. it's so comforting to be myself and watch the incredulous glares switch their crosshairs to my way.

it's just so fucking comforting.



you see, I actually shine externally. my shell glows. like a husk without a heart, this firefly is deformed. it kind of has a firefly-Down's-Syndrome. It works inside out. Outside it's a glowing star, inside it's hollow and dark. Maybe there is a heart inside all that darkness, however, the light switch just hasn't been found. or maybe it was born without a heart, for someone to help find it or for me to find myself, or for someone to give a portion of their heart to me.


but i digress.










so point is, I just am like this.









...Oh well. Just another time I fall off the bandwagon I never wanted to be on in the first place. good.
















imagine the scene. you've suddenly been too ambitious with your cup-swinging, and some leftover tea is spilled from yer cup...

so that's what happened and shite i was left with a brown splattering of circles on the floor.

now, the father was sitting in front of me, on a chair, using the computer, back turned to moi, oblivious.

and i was lyk, SHITE NEED TO CLEAN UP QUICK SHITE SHITE.

at the far wall, was a huge art block. after a bit of fumbling, i hit the inevitable genius conclusion and grabbed the drawing paper (SILENTLY, of course), and placed it over the smattered stains. covered it all.



i know, i know, i'm such a fucking genius. no autographs, please.