People Ask Me About My Jesus

And I hate to tell them I failed to water the last Jesus they tried to pawn off on me, and NOW IT’S DEAD. SO THANKS.

I resent being thought of as a Jesus-killing motherfucker. Even if I deserve it. This is the sound of mud hitting me at high speed, directly in the face.

I have potential and purpose. There is a rhyme to the reason! I tell you!

Look at the last two sentences… my words are becoming more mantra-like as this post goes on. Within reason, please.

So, effectively, I resigned myself that some things just die. And I say verily, I am feeling liberated. Today, moving out of the apartment was hard work, but It was JUST work for once. Not a fuck-secks roller-ass-coaster through pain and suffering. Which is meant only to sound undesirable.

Either way I see this, is that I have a chance to embrace a new attitude, and say GOODBYE CARL!

“Hey, where’s my damn cookie?” Said the tapeworm.


I thought my filter was good before. But have hence been proven wrong. NOW NO ONE IS GETTING ON-BOARD THE ERIC-TRAIN. Not no body not no how now go away!

Which is a good policy, but sad. Because being alone is always kinda sad. SAD I TELLS YA. And facing depression, bipolar style, generally being right unpleasant, is best dealt with in tandem. So to does my written thesis prescribe, but all poop-hell breaks loose from time to time. It seems unreasonable to expect anyone in their right mind to DESIRE to TOLERATE a severely mentally ill person. Which is what it is. TOLERANCE. AND PATIENCE. FORGIVENESS. PITY?


I don’t know where to go run. I could kinda go any way, if I can get this donkey-frigate rocking once more! Into the BREACH!

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