Fleekin Floygn

Ripping myself off from an earlier post. Let's see how my priorities have changed, shall we?:


One day I will get up and sing in front develop a perfection healthy crush on of my peers a boy and not suck.

One day I will open my mouth and out will come exactly what I expected all along, exactly what happened in the practice room in my mental preenactment of the scene mere moments before. My throat will not feel like it has little throat-gnomes creeping out of its walls lost the ability to make functional sounds, constricting my air flow awesomeness, adding little scratchy noises baseless paranoia, which, I swear, were not there before was pretty much always there. One day, my knees confidence in my awesomeness will not shake nor my balance wildly pessimistic thought process test me. F#s Semen Charm will flow out of me like semen. Wait, that's gross the point. Like blood in a Disney movie. Actually, not a ton better rarely does semen flow in a Disney movie. Is there any single substance romantic situation that emanates from our bodies my mind that is not disgusting fucked in some matter? I'm gonna go with no holy hell, I hope not. Where was I? Oh yes, the awful, baby-crying F#s sweaty-palmed rejection fantasies. Yeah, those will be awesome stop. One day I will not have to float above myself in real time thinking "Oh Christ on a bike, not again!" and I'll actually be able to do a character nonchalantly call someone up and ask him to coffee rather than some shallowly emoting caricatured writing annoying blog entries about it. One day I will not finish a performance conversation with a friend and want to go up to every single person in the room on the bus and say "I'm sorry! I over-sung in the practice room over-think every single moment of my life and I can do it better, really I can am so sorry you had to hear about it! I swear, I have made progress in the last four eight years!

One day all this will happen.

Today, however, is not that day.