gettin wheezy

i've just arrived back from myspace - my abandoned summer home, in disrepair. Grey Gardens. we had some good times, good parties, good stories. old timey. that was 3 years ago -- are we in some kind of chip race of memory compression where small amounts of time yield so many files of fun. is this youth? no ... it's being alive.........(wait for it)
time to get really serious though, gays ... remember each other through our kind voices cause if we don't use em enough, we may find that they become obsolete zip disks: square and blue. and when you can't recall the amazing wonders of each day, then you are dead.

i have been dead for almost one full year now...i have a couple of weeks.

so unwilling to resurrect the grail, i ignored my holy triumphs, tender moments and fuck-ups all the while blaming mississauga, like it had the power to do anything but be awesome. i'm blaming the dog for being so cute and licky with her unconditional love, blaming the boyfriend for being not-so-cute with not being licky with his supposed unconditional love (which i imagined was just love with conditions). i'm incorrect. so i'll be blaming the naming cause that's what got us in trouble in the first place.

i will name me Cunt Crust: a mysterious depression so overgrown with layers of hardened neglect that i just end up picking and picking till it bleeds.

i'm sorry. i don't mean to hurt you so bad when i do.