British Summer Time

I don't know who the fuck i am. I can't find peace. I'm erratic, chaotic. Trying to find balance. /. Trying to make the outside match the inside. But there's just too much of it. It's too much to be. Every day there is more of it. More and more and more of it. It would be okay if it was turning into art, but it's just waste and injury. Destroying my body, my mind, my image. I go out and search and search and search. But what i am looking for is not out there. It is the stillness. That cannot be found.

Eating tacos and crying in the blistering hot sun helped a lot, at least.

Maybe I need a holiday. Maybe I need to renounce Satan and all his pomps. Maybe I need to sit and cry in the hot, hot sun. My entire right leg has been numb all day. I wonder if that's a matter for concern. There's no art coming from it because I only know how to make art by making sounds out of my feelings and what I feel does not sound good. Maybe I should write some words. Maybe I should join the church. Why do I feel the need to work these things out in a public forum? In a public place, or on a public page? Maybe I want absolution from strangers, from these many tiny gods. Maybe these are acts of reverence, contrition, writhing for all the ojitos de mis dioses, perdóname por todos mis pecaditos pero con la ayuda de tu gracia ya no pecaré mas santa maria madre de dios ruego por mi en la hora de mi muerte. yo soy muy cursi jajaja. I'm trying to find a list of Satan's pomps so i can renounce them. Maybe it's meant to be a blanket renouncement of his pomps, which i'm fine with, but i don't know if i'd even know it if i was looking at a pomp.

no se quien chingados soy.