Category Archives: Uncategorized

The Nap

It is three thirty on a Wednesday afternoon and I am capitol Tired from staying up late with my dad and Claire watchin Westworld and eatin deer. I got nothing much more to do with my afternoon and it is definitely naptime. I set my alarm for one hour’s time, lie down and get a vision.

 

A huge orange serpent with gross purple growths fills my sight, staring me in the eye as it approaches. I feel something biting my heel, a sharp stabbing pain that grows duller as my eyes get heavier and I fall

 

Asleep.

 

Back at my previous house there was a park nearby that I often had to walk through alone in the dark. There was a bridge over a creek, and as I walked across the hairs would stand on the back of my neck. My vision would fill with the face of a giant serpent and I would panic and pray but keep my pace as I crossed, feeling the malice grow small behind me as the park faded to the quiet suburbs surrounding the hospital district.

 

My alarm goes off at 4:30. I lift my face from the pool of dribble, set the alarm for another half hour, swap sides on the pillow and roll over.

 

I am small, maybe half the size of a mouse, wearing a worn blue robe and a brown wizard hat, my sword is on my belt. I am on a large wooden table, exploring with a small sparrow.

 

We come across a large wooden cage on the table. The door is open and we peer inside, the wooden bars as large as the pillars of a cathedral. A giant brown snake, probably regular sized because I am small, lunges out and catches the sparrow in its jaws, twisting it horribly.

 

I draw my sword and strike the serpent, it releases the sparrow and I lose sight of it. It buffets me with its body and knocks me to the side. I strike at it, wreathing my sword in fire, but the serpent draws away. It stares at me with one huge and horrible eye.

 

I feel my sword weaken and start to turn into tinfoil. I hold it together with sheer will and leap towards the serpent. I close my eyes, everything turns black except for the bright silver line of my blade. I spin, speeding up. My sword sounds like a helicopter blade, starts breaking the sound barrier.

 

The blade hits the serpent repeatedly in the face. It draws upwards, towering above me, and knocks my feet out from under me with its tail. I lie on my back, sword pointed up, as the serpent stares down at me with its wild, terrible eyes.

 

It goes to lunge and I know I have to use my last resort. I draw a line of white down from the sky to the ground. My blade extends in both directions, stabbing up through the roof of the serpent’s mouth and down straight through my stomach.

 

The serpent’s giant head slips down my blade and rests on my body. I feel pain and sickness in my stomach, feel life bleeding from my middle. I roll over under the serpent’s head and curl up, feel heaviness fall over my limbs. I want to sleep.

 

I hear Claire’s voice cry from the back of my head, sounding stricken and panicked.

 

“Sam, live!”

 

Electricity shoots through my body from my wound. I convulse and I

 

Wake.

 

I see my arm and the pillow, I’m lying on my other side now. I try to move but my body won’t work. All my limbs feel dead. I close my eyes, try to will myself to move. I lift my head up, put my arms beneath me.

 

I wake, see my arm and the pillow. Try not to panic. I move my other arm slightly. I can’t see it. I pull the pillow out from under me, feel my head drop in slow motion.

 

I wake, start to panic. I close my eyes and start to pray.

 

“Dear God, please wake me up, please let my body work.”

 

I am picked up, thrown across the bed. I wake see my arm and pillow. I close my eyes and pray.

 

Waves crash down on me, roll me over and over on sand. I wake. I close my eyes. I pray. I am thrown across the room and crash into a crowd of shopping trolleys. I wake see my arm and pillow. I can’t move. I pray. I

 

Wake

 

And see my arm and pillow. I move my arm. It feels normal. I lift myself off the bed, lift the sweaty sheet from me, sit on the side of the bed, stark naked. My body feels real but my head is distant, like it is sitting behind me. I put my hand on my forehead, try to make sense of my sight.

 

My phone alarm goes off.

Moped

Well my babies I am three days deep in a sad way for no real reason and that’s the way of things. I been huffin down my meds and forgettin I got the swings for nearly ten years and every now and then it creeps up on me and hangs on to the back of my shirt for a couple of sunups until I got the good sense to turn around.

One good thing I can tell you my bipolar buddies is that the cycle aint so vicious if you look closely and see that the blades on it are just taped on triangles of silver cardboard and if nothin else you got probable cause to really feel the sad songs even if things aint goin wrong.

So without further french here is this:

 

Get the Most out of your Bipolar Mope with our 10? Step Plan

 

Step one:

Get home from work resolved to do more than any human can get done in four hours

 

Step two:

Fuckin just refresh social media until you are Both: too angry to think straight And: too sad to do anything useful

 

Step 3:

Nap for just long enough to feel guilty but definitely not long enough to stop feeling tired

 

Step four:

Youtube time! Aim for songs that are either apocalyptically depressing or songs with a quiet energy and ironically depressing lyrics. Throw in some vines from cruel people to really fuck yourself up

 

Number five:

Resolve to write something that is incredibly important and heartfelt and will voice the pain of your generation and help people and bring about world peace and something that will definitely just make you sit at the computer screen staring with your head in your hands for so long that your hair sticks permanently up like you’ve been standing in one of those wind chambers where people desperately try to grab money

 

Six:

Click on an endless stream of Warhammer memes until you come across one of the gross ones of a space elf with grotesquely large boobs. Get angry with nerds. Tab back to empty word document. Repeat

 

Step Seven:

Probably a (fucking) great time to think really hard about your life while lying on a couch with your eyes closed

 

Step Ate:

Make sure you hit that dosage of caffeine where it has the opposite effect on you

 

Step Nine:

Wonder why you feel so terrible when literally everything in your life is going so well (Answer: you should feel bad about yourself)

 

Step Ten:

Remember that you have bipolar and that you are an idiot and none of this process was actually important because you are just tired and hot and probably need a good nights sleep and some chocolate

 

Step Ten:

Make 1(one) joke about it and put it on an internet

Christmas Meat

The dray horse eases the cart along a heavily rutted track surrounded by twisted gums. I walk alongside the front, clearing dried branches to either side while mum sits on top with the reins sitting loosely in her hands. Mum wears a wide-brimmed witch’s hat to keep the blinding sun from her eyes. It shadows most of her face, leaving only her mouth visible, set into a bored expression.

The road splits into two parallel tracks, with a line of twisted lantana between them. Branches cover both sides.

“Ut.” Mum says, pulling on the reins and clicking her tongue.

I step forward and start clearing branches from the left track. I step on a pile of sticks and they crack and fall beneath my feet, revealing a cave that dips down into blackness. I wave at mum to back up and she steers the cart to the right track.

Cool air blows from the cave beneath, inviting in the searing heat of the summer day. I lean my head down and feel the breeze on my hair. I call down into the hole and my voice travels a long way before echoing back.

“Hello.”

“Don’t.” Mum says, “You’ll call Him.”

I step back and lead the cart onwards. The heat has thickened the air like casserole and the forest fills my ears with buzzing and chirping insects. The line of gums finally breaks onto the steep hill covered with sharp grass that leads up to our sheds.

The three sheds are dull grey corrugated iron, one long and squat with several bedrooms for all my siblings, one half open and littered with rusting and cobwebbed farm equipment, and one towering and insulated where we store our perishables.

I move to the back of the cart and push as the dray horse drags it up the slope. We stop repeatedly as I untwist the long grass from the wheels, my thick hide gloves not quite enough to stop the grass from pricking my fingers.

We get the cart to the flat at the top of the hill and my little sister untacks the horse. Mum lowers herself from the cart and starts removing the canvas sheet from the cargo on the back. Several hessian wrapped parcels are neatly packed into the cart’s tray, each labelled with the names of members of my family.

I pile up the parcels and lift them to the living shed, holding the top of the pile in place with my chin.

Inside the shed is dark and cooler, though heat still gathers near the roof and makes my scalp sweat. My family are gathered on disintegrating couches in the living room. Four brothers, two sisters, dad and mum. I bend my knees and let the pile of gifts down next to the plastic Christmas tree, missing half its branches.

My only older brother pulls me aside.

“Come see,” he says, “I’ve ordered the meat for Christmas.”

He grins, revealing one grey tooth sitting amongst the others. He takes me out the back screen door, lifting it off the rails that are encrusted with dirt and bug corpses. It screeches as he pulls it back and forward.

We step out into the heat. Grasshoppers flee us as we make our way through the grass, seeds sticking to our rutted boots. I shade my eyes from the sun and I can feel the top of my hand burning.

He leads me to the storage shed, unlocks the heavily insulated door and it swings open without making a noise, smooth and solid. Inside is dark. White powder dances in the sunlight slipping between our legs. He flicks a switch beside the door.

Fluorescent lights flicker far above and catch, revealing a landscape of meat piled high above us. Red, dry muscle rises almost to the ceiling in rolling peaks, shot through with veins of white sinew. White powder clouds around the lights. The smell of talcum invades my nostrils.

My stomach undulates as my eyes trace the crests of the mountains. I see things moving up there. Serrated bone raised in crooked claws. Sinews tensing and relaxing.

I turn to my older brother.

“This is fucked.” I say.

He looks hurt but I feel too sick to care.

“We gotta get rid of this. This is really bad.”

I push him outside and close the door behind us, trying to be quiet.

“Look,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder, “We’ll go back inside and enjoy Christmas. I’ll find a place in the bush to dump the meat. We can’t leave it sitting around. He’ll come. Don’t worry I won’t tell the others.”

My brother nods but looks deflated. My mind reels with the task of getting rid of the meat. I want to burn the shed down and run.

We get back inside and I jiggle the screen door back into place. My family is sitting on the floor around the pile of presents, drinking bitter moonshine with the last of our ice cubes.

I head for the hallway to get the shovel from the trunk under my bed. Dad sees me and rushes to his feet, spilling moonshine on the tacky carpet. He catches my eye and I stop as he approaches. He turns his back toward the rest of the family and I do the same.

“I already know what your mum got me.” He says, keeping his voice low. “I can tell from the shape of the package.”

I nod and force a grin, my eyes darting between the hallway and the screen door.

“It’s a new reloading kit.” Dad struggles to keep his voice down. “I’ve needed one since the vapours got into the barn. It’ll mean I can finally restock the 45-70.”

He raises his eyebrows. I nod.

“Yeah.” I say.

“That means proper game. I mean roos are alright but they haven’t got enough on them. This means I can clear those pigs from the dam, filter the water and get us back running proper again.”

“That’s good.” I say, “Look dad I…”

“I’ll get us some deer, do some venison roasts. Maybe I can sneak down to the creek and get us a buffalo. That’ll feed us for weeks. There’s plenty of room in the shed.”

I try to keep my legs from moving but they are starting to ache. Heat pours in from the ceiling. I can hear flies buzzing outside.

“I’ll bring your brother down. You can come too, do some spotting for us. I know you don’t like to shoot but it might be fun to come along.”

“Yeah sounds good dad. Look I gotta do something outside, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Dad raises his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong son?”

“Nothing. I’ll be back.”

I rush down the hall, feeling the weight of dad’s stare behind me. I open the makeshift mdf door to my older brother’s and my room, giving it a shove with my shoulder. It scrapes over the dried corpse of a gecko.

I can hear buzzing outside the small screen window, loud and machine-like. I drag my grey steel trunk from under the bed and it screeches on the concrete floor. I undo the latch, pull out my shovel and tartan bandana.

I hurry back down the hall. Dad has bailed my older brother in the corner, still talking about guns. My brother shoots me a sympathetic glance. I jiggle the screen door open, swear as I try to get it back into place.

The sun is setting outside, red light shining directly into my eyes. I juggle the shovel between my hands as I tie the bandana over my mouth.

I stop short as I see the door to the storage shed, vibrating and bleeding green light from around the doorframe.

I try to take a deep breath but I can’t seem to get air into my lungs. I hold my shovel close to my chest and approach the door. The heat coming off the grey steel walls is unbearable. Humming splits my temples like an axe bit, throbs in waves.

I take on hand off the shovel and twist the grimy steel door handle. I feel the lock uncatch and I push.

The door slides over neat grey carpet, tinged green with the light. Clean walls with a high roof stretch on for way too far. Potted ferns line the walls in perfect symmetry.

At the end of the room is a window, open and flooding green light that is almost solid. Before the window is a wooden desk with a small cactus sitting to one side. There is a figure sitting at the desk, I only catch a glimpse of Him.

A small, twisted body in a grey suit. A giant brown head with greasy black hair.

Something shoots out from under the desk, crosses the room in a second, rolling and bouncing. It cackles.

I drop my shovel and try to slam the door. The handle of the shovel catches between the door and frame. The little creature wrenches the door back, stronger than our dray horse. I kick the shovel away and pull the door back into place. The door crushes the little creature, it squeaks and folds like rubber.

I try to get the lock to catch but the creature is caught under the door. It cackles and squeaks with each pull. I hear the screen door jiggle behind me. Hear my dad talking to my brother as he walks outside.

Tears sting my eyes. I pull and the creature pulls back. Dad makes it around the corner.

“Shit.” He says, comes running.

“Dad…” I say, my arms wrench forward and back. I feel my muscles tear.

“He’s come.

You have to

Run.”

Dad runs up to grab the door handle. I push him away with my foot.

“Even though

I can’t do this

Myself.”

The door starts to twist.

“Please…

Get inside.

Lock the doors.”

Dad backs away, eyes wide. He turns for the back door.

“Tell everyone

I said…”

The creature cackles and squeaks. The light flickers from green to deep red. The creature pulls the door off its hinges. I grab the shovel.

“… Merry Christmas.”

Dream Eater

A little while ago I had the best dream I’ve ever had. In it Claire and I lived in a house in the middle of my primary school oval. We spent our days wandering through paddocks getting chased by angry cows and we had a big black dog named Horse that hated me. We sat together in a field reading through a book with every story I ever wrote in it with cool moving pictures of horrible monsters. Then Claire got grumpy with me because I had been sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to go play need for speed 2 on the shitty desktop computer in the spooky ice cave in our basement and I woke up happier then I ever had after a dream because as far as I can remember they have always been bad.

I used to get sleep paralysis real bad. I would seem to wake and not be able to move or I would get half out of bed and collapse then wake up in bed again but still asleep. I would be attacked by the most fucked things and lie in bed screaming at the top of my lungs but it would never seem to break the surface of reality. It’s happened once since I was married and just as shit was about to get hectic Claire put her arm around me and I woke up instantly.

Anyways I had this nightmare recently and it felt like it took forever but when I woke up Claire was right next to me and nothing bad had happened. It made Claire real sad when she was reading it but it made me real sad having it and what I am really trying to say is that sometimes someone is a superhero for just bein right next to you.

 

Wife 1

 

2.

I kill my second wife accidentally. She is one of those terminally happy people, bounces along floors and tries to lessen every blow with good news. I like her but her warmth never hits me too hard.

We live in a giant greenhouse with several stories and flowered vines wrapped around swings hanging from the roof. Wife 2 sings to the flowers as she walks by them. It makes them grow better. The floor is mainly taken up by a shallow pool with fountains and a bright mosaic of blue tiles lining the bottom. Rent is pretty cheap.

Wife 2 is swinging from the middle of the roof and I am smoking. I am smoking because my first wife isn’t alive anymore and I know it. I try to hide it even though wife 2 is too happy to care about my cigarettes.

Wife 2 sings and her voice is ok but I am thinking about wife 1’s singing and I feel guilty for it. Wife 2 hits a bad note and I cough violently and the only fire alarm in our weird house goes off. I drop my cigarette and wife 2 is startled and slips on the swing, only holding on by one hand.

I want to make it to her and save her but I take too long because I can’t figure out how to get across on the swings and besides I’ve always hated swings since I was in preschool because I get terrible motion sickness and wife 2 falls into the pool at the bottom which is way too shallow.

All I can see is my cigarette butt floating next to her and I know it is my fault but it doesn’t hit me too hard

 

3.

I am in a bar and the lighting is slightly brighter and less warm than the bar that I met wife 1 in and the music is almost metal and I know this is where I meet wife 3. I light a cigarette inside even though it is not allowed.

Wife 3 walks up to me and asks if she can have some of my cigarette and I look around for the bouncers but there are no bouncers in the bar only a series of weird ledges like a shuffled up inside amphitheatre. Wife 3 is shorter than wife 1 and the black horizontal stripes on her shirt are thicker than the ones on the shirt wife 1 wore.

We smoke and I decide to Lay on the Charm which I don’t know how to do and I’m not sure if what I’m doing is actually charming so I stop thinking about it and just talk and smoke half a cigarette.

And I know I’ve stopped caring but I don’t think about caring and I know that she will leave me two weeks after getting married on paper because she wants to try and quit smoking and it is not possible for her to quit because I have stopped caring about quitting.

I know that we should never get married, we are only doing it because we are sharing a cigarette but I stop thinking and I pass her the cigarette anyway

4.

I am a professional football player which is something that I never thought would happen and I can’t quite remember how I got here and to me it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

The football field is empty but I am definitely playing because there is a big crowd and they are cheering and it must be for me because I have the ball in my hands and there are no other players on the field.

I run along the field and my legs seem too short and it takes a long time. The lights are blinding me but I hear everyone cheer louder so I know I must have crossed the try line. I dive to the ground and skid on my front but it doesn’t hurt.

I stand up as the crowd is cheering real hard and I look for wife 4 in the crowd but the lights are blinding me and I can’t see the stands and besides I know she isn’t there because she hates football. You can’t smoke in the stands and the game is boring because it only has one player

 

5.

I am sitting in a large dark room littered with ashtrays watching a shitty old television while crouching because there is no chair. I am smoking three cigarettes at once and the smoke keeps getting in my eyes.

There is a cult on tv saying a lot of blasphemies and laughing. A big yellow furry monster with antennae comes down from the sky and gets really angry with them, shouting and waving its sesame street arms. Then the camera pulls back into the sky and all the lights go out in that part of the city. There is a short and quiet woosh and a bunch of giant black hairy monsters with bird skeleton faces rush in like a rapid gust of wind. They tower over the city all bunched up around the place with no lights on and I turn away because I get scared.

I put my cigarettes out one by one and go to tell wife 5 what is happening even though I don’t know if it is the news or a tv show. I walk through the hallway which goes up beside the big dark room and way further on. There is a door in the side that leads to my room and has a rectangular glass window at the top.

I stand on my toes to look through the window and wife 5 is in there with one of her friends and they are sitting on the bed naked and her friend’s hairy fat body makes my stomach sick. I open the door and yell at them and they both say sorry a lot and leave.

I look around the empty room for wife 1 even though I know she has been gone for a long time and I am alone and there is no-one else to tell

 

1.

I am standing outside in the city on a clear night having a cigarette. The streets are empty and there are no lights in the buildings. The sky is a sea of stars and the pavement seems to glow from their reflection.

Wife 1 is there in front of me. She is wearing the shirt of mine that she really likes. I want to reach out and hold her, but I know that she is a ghost. That she has been gone for a long time.

I sit down on the pavement and the cold from the concrete fills my body.

I tell her that I want my first wife back.

Tears sting my eyes.

I tell her that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t figure out how to love someone else.

She nods because she knows.

She tells me that I am still smoking.

I tell her that I couldn’t do that either, not without her.

I stub out my cigarette and cross my legs.

I ask her if I killed her. She crouches in front of me and says yes. I feel like I’ve been stabbed.

My medication poisoned her when I kissed her even though that doesn’t make sense.

I look into her face and she seems sad but not so sad that she is crying. I tell her that I want to go back. That it has been night for a long time. That she is far away even though she is right next to me.

I tell her that I know this is a dream but I have been dreaming for way too long now and I can’t remember what it was like anymore, I can’t tell if any of it was

real

Summer of Love

I was about 21 when a group of my male friends started playing a game they called Summer of Love. I’d been in one intimate relationship and had sex a total of twice in my life.

 

The game was as follows: you get points for having sex with a member of the opposite sex over the summer, extra points for blowjobs, threesomes and different partners. It was negative 100 points for starting a relationship in that time.

 

I remember finding the whole thing repulsive. It reduced women to points to be scored, encouraged and perpetuated predatory behaviour. I came in at dead last with -100 points when I stopped counting.

 

I did the wrong thing.

 

I didn’t call out anyone involved, didn’t challenge this awful behaviour. I refused to take part, but sitting back and watching is still being complicit. I was a coward.

 

I don’t like the word hate. I believe hate only festers, only gets in the way of progress and understanding.

 

Regardless

 

I hate my world’s culture of toxic masculinity.

 

I hate that the actions of males have turned people I respect angry and bitter.

 

I hate that my wife has to dress a specific way to feel comfortable just walking down the fucking street.

 

I hate that writers I know who are way more talented, thoughtful and dedicated than me don’t enjoy the same freedom to create without abuse or criticism, solely for the reason that they are women.

 

I hate that people I love, my mother, my sister, my wife and every single woman I know have been degraded, assaulted and intimidated by the disgusting behaviour of men.

 

Most of all I hate that my cowardice has been a part of that.

 

Women have always been braver than men. They’ve had to be. Men can hide behind a system they’ve created, a world where the supposed natural order of things makes it a living nightmare for half the population.

 

Men need to be brave. It is not our nature to act like this. Human nature is to rise above ourselves, to tear down evil constructs and replace them with what is right and good.

 

We can be better. It is not an impossible task to make this world a safe and equal place for the women in our lives. It is not too hard to change a thought, and once we lose the part of ourselves that raises us by dragging women down we will be ten times better for it.

The Thick of It

If ya’ll been watching the internet lately you’ll know that it has turned into entirely piece of shit politics. Trump is doin like at least 4 different awfuls per day, people are writing yells at gay people for no damn reason and then someone’s gotta go and dress as an opposite ghost in parliament just to distract from the fact that their party is a swirling toilet bowl and also racism.

We are not standing on the brink of a war, we are in the middle of it. This war could never be fought with guns and bombs, we all have to use words. Guns only kill people, burning things down will only make this last longer.

Use. Your. Words. Don’t throw them around. A single sentence can kill and a thousand swear words can go unnoticed.

The one advantage we can have over the Trumps and Hansons and all the other mad idiots in dangerous positions is

thinking

before we speak.

 

Speech

 

Do not take this lightly

 

Kids were mowed down by machine guns in thousands for your freedom of speech

 

Kids drowned crawling in mud to stop blameless people rotting in prison camps

 

Kids were forced to watch cities melt in fire to stop industry overtaking reason

 

Kids slit other kids throats, drove over them with tanks, strangled and bit for gay people, for black people, for jews and muslims to have a place next to ours

 

Kids were forced to kill millions for you to speak today

 

So speak wisely

 

Because these kids did not kill for a country

 

They didn’t kill for a flag, or a culture, or for the names of their ancestors

 

They killed and died in droves for a world not to be ruled by fear or hate or evil men

 

To use our freedom to fuel the fires of hate is repugnant

 

To pull away our hands in reckless, selfish fear is to lose a long fought war

 

Be the people kids were slaughtered for

Up the Date

Well hi my big babies I know I ain’t been at it on this here website in a bit but that is because I got some Projects goin and I thought I’d get back onto skyblagadang and talk about them cos I miss youuuuuu here’s:

 

THE NUSE

 

Distant Lights

Well I know it’s got a different name now but the novella that I put on this very shithole of a blog is currently being turned into a book through my dawgs at Tiny Owl Workshop. I dang took it offa here because now you gotta pay someone else to read it but that is the way of things.

Elevator pitch: Memoir about mental illness and my adventures as a real damn wizard tryin to fight all my problems with fireballs and such. My Grandparents read it and said it was weird but one of my best friends read it and cried like a baby so I guess I hope your reaction is somewhere around the middle(?)

 

Brambles

I been working on a very complicated project with a group of the coolest people that I could find and they are all smarter than me one of them is my WIFE. The explanation is a real mouthful but basically I get three artists to play a game of my own homebrew dungeons and dragons (Dnd if you are hip and/or fly) system run by certified genius Harry Vening and I sit and frantically write by hand everything that happens and turn it into a book illustrated by the actual characters in the story! My brain aint ever gonna stop hurting!

We are randomly generating the plot using actual magic and some real cool crazy shit is happening. It is pretty much the funnest and coolest project I could hope to work on and whats more is I done made this job up myself.

 

Mawwaige

Hey also I done got married what’s good. Now I know all you ladies are glad to see me out of the dating pool where I was just muddying up the waters and swimming around making shark noises and grabbing peoples ankles but this also means a lot of big deals to me too.

Deal 1: I am no longer a Sad Guy who smokes cancer sticks

Deal 2: I actually do stuff like cook meals other than mayonnaise sandwiches and wash dishes more than just blowin on them real hard

Deal 3: I swear I had more of these

wait Deal 4: I straight up got the best lady fkers suck it woooo

So now I am all respectable and shit and I got a ring that I paid exactly zero dollarydoos for and I work like all the time and things are going gr8. If you been reading my stuff (Y?) you’ll know I been stacked up with crazy and rough goings for a while and I guess what I wanna say is

shit gets better.

I don’t know there’s been a lot of times when I needed to hear that so I’m sayin it now.

One day

All the fucked up shit you’ve seen

Will become hilarious

And all the sadness you feel

Will make your joy sweeter

All the time you spend lost

Is setting up for the day

You are found.