pig. August 17, 2008

im sitting here on my soiled matress, uncovered and muddy lying on the floor. ate tuna, and drank lots of water. nothing else to do, but think about mundane facts of my existence and how i always will remain wishing for more. the windows are all broken, and the cheap blinds rattle in the wind. the ducts carrying cool air are rustling, and their screws have come off. the room smells of boxes and old paper, and i can see a patch of brown in all of my vicinity. the fridge has stale vegetables and rotting chicken. small drops of frozen blood from the uncooked steak paint its interior. the carpets need cleaning. it has a stain for every story that was made here. but i’m fine. i like these smells and the pungent odors, and i have a feeling i’m going to miss all the shit i’ve loved eating all this while. see you second home. can’t wait to get started with my third. grunt. oink.