what a week — fuck me. barely sober enough to operate my fucking iPhone & yet here we are, just as the night in tokyo is filthy with humidity & the bar has full signal, repeater stations festooned across the ceiling.
i’m not sure what happened today, it’s a matter of presentation maybe, that is, how you present, faking it in the incessant absence that describes/ defines your days (meaning my days), casting no aspersions & yet somehow you’re a complete bastard & somewhere, more or less obscurely, this is not only approved but expected.
doing fine, doing fine, it’s ok, it’s alright, nothing’s wrong. selling everyone out? that’s not exactly, i mean it’s how you choose to look at it, right? walking down to / central reservation / in last night’s red dress.
if today is whatever i want it to be, how come i can’t figure that out?