Thought.is

I started talking to myself in coffee shops, in restaurants, and that’s how I figured out what that is. What being crazy really means.

By the time I was done, my fingers were bleeding. Because that’s how many hairs you have on your head. So many that it makes your fingers bleed to pull them all out.

“When Gotham is ashes, you have my permission to cough mumble blurgh.”

Only a few of us take matters into our own hands in this way. Actually tearing your own hair out of your head. …The shame of trying to look better, and then the shame of making yourself look worse via your own actions, of giving yourself bald spots, of making yourself go bald. Shame upon shame upon shame. So much shame. Some people die from it.

“This song gave me cancer.”

Even though you have been raised as a human being, you are not one of them.

Cats, cats; everywhere cats — here a cat, there a cat, everywhere a cat cat.