Rejects: Old Notebooks 2

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Last week was just too busy for me so I skipped this ritual. But I’m back, baby!

I think I wrote the following in seventh grade. I’m dreading its awfulness as I gear up to transcribe it here. Don’t judge me by my past atrocities. Laugh with me, instead.  ❤ ❤ ❤

As I aforementioned two weeks ago, these are hand-picked teen archives…I find them to be the most unique looking pieces in terms of physical composition/execution. Admittedly, the prose is a bit insufferable and just plain bad, but I still enjoy the way I wrote these, aesthetically. I don’t know when or why I stopped writing in experimental patterns and shapes, but maybe it’s time to bring it back.


 

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Suddenly, I feel this urge for some kind of tasteful fear. My eyes are stinging with blood. & of course that tacky liking of constant flattery. No descriptions. Just fascination. The blood now trickling slowly down my already moist cheeks. I lick the sadness away with a laughing like smile. Just another caress. One more outstanding lack of intellect. Calm, sweet, whispering obscenities flowing through my mind. & she struck him in the back with hate & frustration. No responses. No cry for some kind of resistance. No remorse. I do admire the skies for having such beauty that is nearly unspeakable. I sigh & begin to rush back to my cigarette. Smoke now mixing with the blood. & I almost became immune to the constant, brutal stinging, which has now intensified with fault of my own action. Habits. There’s a nice dollar in that. Nothing is ever complete. Just reprocessed & recreated in a similar form to fool the mindless majority. & you are a fool to think I could even possibly be one of them. One of your own. I know of no property. Experiment. Delightful lies & recommendations. Undressed children pissing and playing in a field. That’s freedom. That’s undefined beauty, if you ask me. I suppose by now I’ve turned this painful stinging into some kind of pleasure, or else I could have washed it away long ago. Sickening flashes of bright light coming through the cracks of the walls. Such things could cause one to drive himself insane, so I’ve heard.

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