If the weather is cold enough i would grab my jacket and take a walk to the park.
someone with a harmonica would be nice.
it would be nicer if i could play the harmonica.

i wonder what do people think of most of the time.
strange thoughts, sad thoughts, happy thoughts, sex thoughts.
i dont know.

ive concluded i dont really think. i just pretend to think.
if ive thought as much as claimed i wudnt be so immature.

there are horde of ants crawling around my desk, and the beetle has been bothering me since last night. i sometimes like to look at their little tiny bodies move, and at times when i hold them down with the tip of my pen, i watch them struggle and try to break free.
seriously, what makes them want to live?

will i cry and beg for mercy if someone was to point a shotgun at me.
yea, maybe.

my room's a refuge to these tiny creatures. is the world outside such a cruel place.
but im not any nicer, i will kill them all, do they even bother?

im painting again, im seeing if it helps to make me forget.
people are being nice to me, i dont deserve it. this haunts me.

i hate the sight of my table, and the thought of myself.
its getting strange, but im not getting sad.
shopping tomorrow, sleepover on friday, wii @ yinxue's on saturday, concert and the birthday boy on sunday. are those all going to help?

yesterday i had a weird dream, about the skies turning a beautiful surreal green, trees growing out of the cement ground. stout, strong trees. climbable, reliable trees.
and there was noone. if i was there in person, im probably alone.
but no, i cant be wearing that. and those feet, arent my feet.
those arms, you should have seen those arms.