[ ...can't get the stink out / it's been hanging around for days... ]

Our Scene: a casual portrait of the liberal-arts-debauchery-amidst-natural-splendor of Haverfest, as exemplified by the crowd in front of Lloyd 10s.

Myself: twenty feet down the path, murmuring brokenly along to "Mother" (played at the actual maximum volume of my MP3 player: 40) through Yet Another Fucking Cigarette, trying not to be too visibly pathetic.

...but why bother, really, if it's actually the case?

Exhibit A: this very same self-serving, emotionally-indulgent entry. With this public display of overblown wretchedness, I officially forfeit my right to turn up my nose and scoff at the LiveJournaling masses and their histrionic poetry, their woefully-predictable taste in music, and their degenerating excuse for written English: in spite of my phenomenal taste in music, implacable self-restraint with regards to poetry (and indeed, self-expression in most potentially-attacked forms...ah, the cowardice of the critic), and borderline-pretentious writing (at best, really), I, in this archived moment, bereft of perspective, am not a shred better than they are, not an iota more worthwhile a human being.

Amanda: "How does it feel to be better than everyone else at almost everything?"
Myself: "...worthless. Absolutely worthless."

********

These five empty cigarette boxes are, well, recent. I can't date them all, but it's a safe guess to say that they're all from within 3-4 weeks of now. Given that the unopened sixth is already more than half-done, it's reasonable to estimate the number of cigarettes I've smoked in the past month at over 100, in spite of how many I've gladly given away. Monetarily, that amounts to $38.76 spent "committing honorable suicide," as it were (as always, reference points up for grabs). That would have easily covered a trip to New York City, a non-trivial irony, given the Relationship Circumstances amidst these packs, these hundred-odd self-mutilative prayers for Change and Self-Improvement.

Here's where I break a rule and talk about more than just the pictures in and of themselves: the hollow Haverfest, the days of desperate, unnecessary sleep and nights of procrastinatory solitude, the literal scores of missed classes, the chain-smoking, the uncountable sticks of sugarless gum and cough drops, the hyper-organized music collection, and the blaring headphones exemplify (among other things) my Avoidance, my chief flaw, my route of flight to some washed-out Elsewhere. Barring today's work on my thesis and a few negligible spots of work, I haven't touched my life in weeks, a cycle most vicious indeed. I struggle to return to the worst mess I've ever faced, to break habits scratched deep into an exhausted psyche, to stay above water, to Finish and walk away relieved, if nothing else...

...to Just Keep Fucking Breathing.

I'm Sorry.

Music: David Bowie - Conversation Piece.

"...and my essays lying scattered on the floor / fulfill their needs just by being there / and my hands shake, my head hurts, my voice sticks inside my throat / I am invisible and dumb, and no-one will recall me / and I can't see the water through the tears in my eyes..."

...naturally, I'm not crying. You know The Story.