I hate this... fucking distractions.  You know, you all think I'm out of whack, but I'll have you know, that I'm just a whale.  A whale of a distraction.  Put me aside, see if I care - but you'll see, that words are happier when they're warm, and my Bunsen burner has burst with the effortless ease of an elephant sitting atop a two story house.  My mind can't crack any more, my brain isn't what it used to be, but fucking hell, Frosting tastes great with peanut butter and I wish I had some fucking graham crackers to go along with the easy pain of self retribution.  My crush?  Not camel crushes, you tard muffin.  I hate that shit - fuck you, and eat your dog while you're at it.  I could use some fucking Santeria around here.  Raise the dead?  Or Proselytize?  My mind isn't spun yet, but damn it, I will have some fucking munchies too soon... twenty dollars down the drain of my monster mind mash.  Fuck you, let me drool, I enjoy the capacity to not think occasionally.  To just bumble around and feel dumb, but when I mumble too much, listen closely - that's when the real shit happens.

Nobody to blame but me, eh?  Let me dry my own well because syphilis is tasty when you make me yours.  Put me aside... Put your mind to the drain, and I'll just wait until my mind turns black and my brain isn't afraid anymore.  Put me aside.  Put me aside.  Put me aside, Put me aside. 

Now.

Please.

It isn't easy.  This dance of degradation.  My brain isn't silly, My mother was right.
She always said...

You look like a whore.

I love you too, mom.

Really, I do.

So let me take this pill and shove it down your throat, because I know you love me too.
Backpacks and poison oak.  Cooking utensils and wooden spoons.  Kitchen counters in my hips and handprints on my thighs.  My face is bruised and my ego is slashed.  You say you love me... you say you're sorry... tell that to the bananna peel in the upstairs bathroom, or my privacy that never went unabated.  Do I know what that means?  Does it matter? I hate you.

Look it up, I say.  Look it up.

Terrible distractions.  Let me go.  Hold me up.  Tell me to go away.  I hate you all.  I hate you all.  I hate you all.

Put it away.  The knife, I mean.  It's sharp, yes I know.  The spoon?  Go make something to eat.  Seriously... you deserve it.

But no,,,  I'll stay.

I miss you.

I do.  I miss somebody that isn't there, so I'll just sit pretty and make sure I don't complain.  I hate the way I rant and rave, blather and sit quietly when all I need is a little affection.. perhaps I"m too busy worrying.  Perhaps I'm too busy wanting to know what it is I can't take care of, when I blast my figure skating mind with rice and vegetables.  Hatred didn't taste this good last time.

I'll keep going damn it.  I need this.  Pistacios anyone?  I forgot about you, I know.  I should buy gifts for people, but I can only think of myself.  I'm left alone, but that's no worry... I'll continue ranting and raving until somebody notices.  I hate this.

Whales are large by and by, but my mother grows watermelons, and I hate them every time.  Spit them out, hate me now, because my mother hated you more than ever.

Fuck this.  Fuck you.  I'm never done, so I'll just keep going.  Keep going.  Keep going.

I hate you.

All of you.  I decided I'll just be myself from now on, and that sucks.  Proselytize and begun to be a begonia, I'll just keep going and see where it takes me. 

And the beginning starts.

Burst - a light from wherever, I refuse to accept it.  I said no once, I'll say no again.  You heard me.

NO.

What, should I listen?  Yes... I hear you. 

Easy?  Easy for what?  You distract me.  But what else is there?  Waiting?  Wanting?  Forever pissing out ants and tools to cut around the dots, making my image into cardboard, stars and all.  My vision blurs, and my wanton distractions pace around the room like deranged counterfit dollar bills, making me a mushroom and you a cigarette.  Let's put the two together and see where it goes. 

Jonas was a whale, but I'm no better.  Put my brain in a sandwich and make me tell you otherwise.

Make me real, or make me Jesus.  Either way - you'll get a mushroom cloud.

Put me away please, before I do anything else.  I hate this.  I hate this.  I hate this.  I hate this.

Dog chains never tasted so good.

I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this.

Never stop, butterfly effect.  I'll proselytize until my mountain collapses and I have no severity to prevent.