Haha just kidding I KNOW that nobody visits this website YOU DID

How am I gonna herald my triumphant return to this blog? GOOD QUESTION

Let’s talk about how people thinking they want to die is bad


We treat them with empathy cause we don’t want em opening their wrists up all over us, I get it, I get it


But you CAN just “get over” depression


Everyone’s gonna tell you “oh no you can’t just think your way out of depression that’s bullshit”


You can’t like just THINK and BAM all of a sudden your depression is gone



You can use your noggin to develop techniques to help you FUCK DEPRESSION UP MY MAN

ok look quick disclamer

there’s 2 kindsa depression, fukn fake depression which is what most people have and actual clinical “Major Depression” which u’ll need a good amount of pills for


Use your noggin to say “if i get depressed i will fuck up my depression”

That’s a good thought, instead what people think is

“I can’t get over my depression it is an unassailable force guess i”ll just ride it out and eat FUKN ICE CREAM ALL DAY” SHIT THAT SOUNDS PRETTY GOOD LET ME DEPRESSED PLEASE

that is a joke i am please help me


So look.


Look, it’s 3 am, look.

When someone tells a depressed person “snap out of it” our societal instinct is to LAUGH AT THE STUPID MOFO SAYN “SNAP OUT OF IT”

Because we think you cant’ snap out of depression

I don’t fucking know if you can or not actually stop reading this blog post. I just tagged it as every category on my website, including Uncategorized, what are you gonna do about it? Huh? That’s what I thought.

I’m 5/8ths peppercorn chip and banana DNA. What about you, huh? Did you think this would be coherent? You want me to make an argument? Fuck you I don’t owe you anything.

I want to be a rock. You know, rocks dont really feel much do they? They can get trampled on all day and fuck shit this is depressing again

My swearing probably isn’t endearing. In the futuer I’m going to asterisks out all my f*cking swearing okay? I’m sorry.

*Fuckign10/10* listen

I saw a thing. It was fucki*g dumb.

It was “this is what depression feels like” and it was like a

Like, it was a woman sitting in a bathtub she pulled the plug and all the water drained around her or something and it was like “this is depression”



but nobody really knows how to describe depression, all i’m saying is you know take a dead fish and rub it against your face, THAT’S depression

the point is you shouldn’t call yourself depressed because then your brain latches onto the feeling and instead you get sad and tired and depressed more easily instead deny your feelings and repress them

That’s a great lead-up into my next piece called “Suck It Up”

I Am Bored Of Writing You A Hundred Poems


Here’s one unrelated to you

I am insulting you

In the only way

A storyteller can

I am not going to let you be

A sympathetic character

In my story

You are not going to be a person

You are going to a person-


An antagonist

No, not an antagonist

I am turning you into

An anecdote

In memory, you will not have taken up thought

Even if in the present you take up

More than

I would like to admit

I Am Going To Write You A Hundred Poems (10-20)


it is not that

I thought

I was too good for you


You were too good for me


We were too good for each other



You wanted effort

I wanted lessness

That doesn’t mean

I loved you less(ness)




But I did.




And it wasn’t your fault.




I am apologetic not in conclusion

But in execution

I caused confusion

With interior collusion

And for that I am sorry

But do not worry

You times I

Was an interesting fusion

You * i


Can’t wait until robots take over the world

It will start with Apple making the iYou

Literally just a robotic replica that—


This is about you

But I did say

These poems were for me



Talking with people

Has a funny way of depersonalizing me

Because I no longer become solitary

Instead I become one half of a conversation

The same goes for talking with a group of people

If I have no voice in a group of ten

Then I disappear

Maybe that is why

I prefer the individual

And the sound of my own voice



(In case it wasn’t clear

How the above poem related:

I would rather be full me

Than half of someone else)



((In case it wasn’t clear

How the above poem related:

I do hate myself (most of the time

Though some days (like today) I

Am better than others and some

Days (like tomorrow) I will be only

Okay and some days (like the day

After that) I will not be.)

But I enjoy dwelling in dislike)

Not sharing it)



Introducing: Apple’s New and Improved iYou!

It’s literally just a relationship! In robot form!

Spend time with your mate! Love her through

Thick and thin! Be afraid of dying alone!

Settle for a good relationship!

Don’t go for the great one!

Order now!



You wanted me to put more effort in

I wanted the effort you put in

To put less effort in

I lied.

That means I loved you less.

I Am Going To Write You A Hundred Poems


As it was my failure

To adequately explain

Why it was that we were no longer


I will instead attempt

To explain to you



Why we were




These poems are for you.

I know you have said that my explanations were for my own piece of mind.

They are not.

I have taken a piece of you

and mistreated it.

Here is a piece of me;

do with it what you will.



I do not know.

If you want the/the/sis statement there it is.

If you want to dodge the question, read on.


Let me be clear when I define a relationship.

A relationship is not a sum of two parts.

Rather, it is the product of them.

Sometimes, one part is negative.

This turns the whole equation negative.

I think I was the negative one.


Let me be clear when I say

That my choice was not a criticism of you


My choice was a criticism of you times me

Just because I like 2

And 3

Does not mean


Floats my boat


Marriage is a mutual delusion

Yet it is the best we have.

I had chosen long ago

Not to marry unless

Something otherworldly hit me

And stuck with me

As I would always prefer my own company

To the company of another.

Then again,

I am not even twenty.



Is a good age

To lose it.



My first girlfriend

Attends my first parts


My first real kiss


My first fake kiss


I do not believe in relationships


I do not believe in relationships








I said

I hope

You hated


I still do.

Not for me

But for you


I lied

These poems

were for me



Hello, (I fear,
I can’t relate to you
I wish that I could
Let me poison my blood.
That’s better I see
A little less clearly
Pass me some whisky
So we can speak truthfully.
There are thoughts in my head
That are holding me back)
Maybe give me more wine
(Keep my mind
On track.)
Oh yes! Haha, yes, I like that too–
Sorry, one minute, let me get some more booze
Uh huh. Uh HUH. UH UH. No way!
Am I shluring my wordsh?
Thatsh how you know I’m okay,
(I’m okay, I’m okay, this is okay)
This is (normal, this is) fine, I’m (fine,)


i am sick and sad and tired of this drip-feed fame
i am sick and sad and tired and sad and sick and tired and sad and tired and sick and sad and tired and sad and sick and sad and tired and okay and tired and sleeping and tired and sick and better and trying and smiling and healthy and better and happy and smiling and laughing and for the moment okay



I want to feel something.


I’m sick of these lonely bus rides

Eyes searching for someone with discomfort on their face

Instead of that same old glassy stare.


I want to feel something.


I’m tired of speaking to the same people

About the same things, forgetting

That the world is burning in favour

Of focusing on the falling snow.


I want to feel something


Anything, anything at all

That could bring me some amount of being happy again


I want to

I want to

I want, too

I want to feel something

Some poems


They tell me

“Write something with heart”

They don’t get my irony, my comedy

The way my mouth twitches at the end of a punchline


They don’t get my contradictions,

The way I say one thing and mean another

They don’t get that my heart contradicts itself in the same way


They tell me write something with heart

They overlook the part

Of my heart

Laced with contradictions


They tell me that they don’t get my comedy

Well I don’t get my comedy either, I don’t get most humor that’s why I’m trying to give it to you

They tell me

“Write something with heart

Something people *get* you know?

Stop saying one thing

And meaning another”

I ask them how am I supposed to write something

Broad enough to appeal to people

That still comes from the heart

You don’t get my comedy?

I don’t get my comedy either

That’s why

I’m trying

To give it to you

They tell me write something with heart

I tell them look harder






Give Up

The world has told me to give up

Too many times to count

And it’s true

That I am not a fighter

Or very emotionally powerful

Or good at being with people

Or doing anything, really

Actually, you know what,

I am kind of tired

Yeah forget it

So You Want To Change The World

Get in line, join the bucket of dreamers and innovators too busy looking at the stars to ignore the train rushing towards them we

Are the disillusioned sort, an optimist writing tragedy, an idealist ruined by pragmatism we

Are told at every junction that we’re not good enough, or sometimes that we are good enough, but there are roadblocks that clog and choke

Us, worming their way into our throats, biting and gnashing, drawing blood, we

Cough and sputter our dreams out of our mouths, brain fluid mixing with prismatic ideals mixing with tears mixing with a scream the

Dream is still there living inside of us, it holds an axe and screams a battlecry over the dark clouds the suffocating depression the fear is chased away with a raw cry I

Can’t remember my dream, I lost it when I woke up



this is why i don’t let myself feel things you know

you can’t get stabbed in the heart if you don’t have one.

i wish you inspired me to write more

when we were at peace

but as warring nations the tale is so much juicier;

this is a waste of time, perhaps

have i learned anything, but coping methods?

no ability to stop the knife from entering my rib cage,

just a keener ability to slow the bleeding.

better than nothing.

i want to be above this,

to be singularly devoted

to a thing i know won’t hurt me

to a thing i know i can’t hurt,

i want to marry my work;

i don’t think it could hurt me,

i don’t think i would hurt it.

i wouldn’t have to read its mind

or guess what it was thinking

i wouldn’t want to dance the dance it wanted me to dance

or bend me knee to its wishes,

i wouldn’t have to,



this is all a waste of time

i need to eat some, some motherfucking asparagus,

go for a run,

finish a book,

work out,

no more emo poetry for me,

leave that shit to tumblr