hey, "FUCK LOVE", i want my $50 back.

They say the addict’s brains are  different than everybody else’s.

They say that once a brain tastes addiction, it is forever changed.

That’s the kind of bullshit junkies feed each other so they don’t feel so bad about being losers.  Because really, when does the brain taste any sort of experience that doesn’t leave it just a little bit different?

When I met Imogene, I was another person entirely…

I had a family.  I had a job.  I had a house and a life and a political stance, the whole shebang.  But I’ve tasted now… I’ve tasted love.  And not the kind of love you blind morons think you have, staging the same scenes with each other at Applebee’s, at Friday’s, in your stupidly decorated kitchens.  Over your poorly cooked meals.  Tucked into your lackluster beds.  No, you don’t know love.  It’s not until you’ve sold your heart and soul down the river, not until you’ve given every material and immaterial thing that was or was not yours to give, that you’ll know what I know.  People like you with your boundaries and your limits, people like you with your lines you won’t cross and depths you won’t sink to, people like you live their whole lives really believing that love like ours is made up and strictly in the movies.  Well, tough beat motherfucker because while you were busy placating yourselves with 2/$20 deals at Ruby Tuesday’s and movies that were made for the RottenTomatoes list, I went and had real love.

 Anybody who says love is patient or kind clearly doesn’t know diddlysquat.  Real love does not wait to be together and real love does not allow for past relationships or present circumstances or life to stand in the way of being completely and totally whole. Even if it means being what some might consider “unkind”.  That old saying, “Love is never jealous” is bullshit because real love will not tolerate being silent while someone takes up any part of its rightful attention and affection, real love does not play second fiddle and will not stand for sharing any sort of limelight from its intended. 

Oh no, real love is an animal. A beast.  An insipid soul-stealing harpy who would rather suck the marrow out of your bones and slit her wrists with the jagged broken edge than share you with anything or anybody.  And because she has your soul (the cruel bitch),  she is thoroughly and eternally irresistible. 

Love isn’t about sharing and helping each other grow, in fostering our individual natures.  Love is about becoming the same person, love is about tearing this weak prickling skin off and melting down into one beautiful shot.  Love is about giving everything you have over to someone else so wholly it was always theirs to begin with. 

Love isn’t about forgiving, it’s forgetting.

Love isn’t about the heart, it’s about the mind.  It’s a balanced rush of µd3 receptors flooding the whole damn thing.

Love is what put me here.  Love is what brought me to where I am today.  Love is what almost killed me.  But love is also what keeps this body going, heals these broken parts. 

And love, fickle bitch, is going to have a lot of fucking questions to answer when I get out of this shithole.