I want not to fuck up. But I always do. I want to sleep on ice and freeze my sweat away. But only my heart is frozen.
I want to go to London. To New York, Sydney, Vienna, Bangkok, Paris, Moscow, Seoul, Tokyo, Melbourne, Scotland, Milan, Amsterdam. To outer space. But I can’t find my way.
I want to take photographs. To write. To talk. To read. About. And of myself.
I want to fly. High. Higher. I want to stand out. To win. To be adulated. But my pedestal is imaginary.
I want mango caramel sundae. Chocolate ice cream. Strawberry. Avocado. Mango. Double Dutch. Halo-halo. Langka. Durian. But I only have pictures of them.
I want to swim. Swim in a spring of money. I wanna fart and laugh at the same time. I wanna kill and be free. I wanna be brilliant. I wanna be what I always not want to be. I wanna pee and defecate at the same time. But I am not sane.
I wanna love. I wanna let go. I wanna say goodbye. I wanna forget. I wanna be. Spice Girls. I’ve gotta be. Des’ree. I’ll be. Edwin McCain. I. 6 Cycle Mind.
Alright. So this is a repost.