the grey cement pavement slabs of reality

its june. five days in to be precise.
no one told me.

life is just passing me by, without the curtosey of even waving goodbye..

adoration

i like how ugly it is.

failed mission.

fuck the Grammy artists, fuck the Nobel prize winners.
fuck the high standing politicians. fuck the practised philosophers.
fuck the tv presenters. fuck the producers and their directors.
fuck the models. fuck the designers who use them.
fuck the girl on facebook with 166 picture likes.
fuck the guy who's fucking her.

bitter my dear?.. the feeling of inadequacy is a bitch

idyllic/idiotic

fuck it im going to barcelona...
well, if i had the money. of course i dont, so i'll just procrastinate a bit more about the life i wish i could have, whilst slowly destorying my chance of getting it.
oh the fucking irony.

maybe

i just need to return to civilisation and accept the facts.

STOP

ultimate competition

i may be suffering paranoia.

but walking out in public you involve yourself in a stranger cometition. this may sound stupid, or you might know exactly what i mean. which of you is the most successful stranger? it is completely vein, almost entirly based on looks/clothing/possesions/figure, but then that extra something im still struggling to work out, it lies somewhere between confidence and uncaring, if the stranger holds this, they win, instantly.