Wednesday, June 26, 2013


I’ve been obsessed with the simbiosis of campaigning and self-loathing lately. The decay parlayed into something to sell, to show, to shroud. I’m drinking last night’s glass of wine and just noticed the tv’s been on mute for so long the same show’s back on. Oh, I’ve sat through so many loops. 
By campaigning I don’t mean political in nature, although campaigning of every other sort can be political in course. Look it’s me. Look how great I can be. Look at me. 
People confuse adoration with love. Be my fan. Love me. Little monkeys doing tricks for coins that line the pockets of people who couldn’t care less. Still they’re out there campaigning; selling themselves, selling themselves short. 
I don’t know. I just can’t give it a rest. Everyone’s always begging for approval. And then the party’s over and you’re face is in the toilet and the cum in your sheets isn’t even your own. But at least you won the race, right?

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