What is up with the fucking moodiness all over everything. Look here, this computer is covered in moodiness. You can�t just wipe this shit off either. It clings and grows and spreads like sickness like goo like me like you.

I want to be some violent punk, all horrible and mean. Me and J-bird and sfitz on the roof in Williamsburg in the new winter, 1999: we ripped each other up and it was such a heavy load off of our shoulders. We knew we could do that and then leave it up there in the winter night. It is because we could do that, it is because we could say shit about J-bird�s pathological need to be in charge of everybody and to be the most popular and to have all the girls love him and sftiz�s general dickhead nature to all the girls who really do like him (present company most definitely INCLUDED) and his rather retarded social skills and his ugly toes, it�s because I could say what right and utter bastards they were to me when we lived together, I can punch them in the heads and laugh and then they can say how pathetic and annoying my depression was. That�s why I love those two boys so goddamned much. Blythe was there too but miserable. She went to sit alone on one corner of the roof while we three sat nearly on top of one another saying the cruelest funniest things we could think of. I need that right now. I need sentiment burned off and I need to be left with nothing but pure white clean bone: mean and true. Do you even know what I�m talking about here? Do you even know how little I want or need or enjoy kindness? It�s weird, yes, and I will never know how to explain this. Being kind makes me want to throw up. I swear to god. I like it better to say, I�m going to kick you. And we both know that means hey there I like you.

I just can�t stand, cannot stand, LOVE TALK. It makes me feel like barfing. I am not lying. I can�t stand feelings and romance and holding hands and being all moony goony. I�d rather fight, really, with fists and hair pulling and summersaults, than cuddle. Cuddling is death to Molu.

I guess I�m feeling rather fierce over here. It�s like most days, I just want to laugh and to run around and to sit and to read. I don�t want to spend another day, not another minute sitting on my couch or anywhere in my house saying, what do you want to do no what do YOU want to do. Every second I�m doing that is a second I�m thinking how much I�d like to throw some punches. I don�t know why. But I know it�s true. It�s those seconds that suffocate. It�s sentiment that suffocates. I want to burn and break everything then.

I want to burn and break everything now. What the hell. I can�t possibly see him this weekend and I don�t know why. I know I about lost the will to breathe when I thought he�d come anyway. This is not how it�s supposed to be, not how it�s supposed to feel. I say, give me some time, I�m a bit growly now, time time time, I need just a bit of space. All this bullshit because I don�t know what else to say. I don�t know if this horrible claustrophobia and this horrible cruelty I feel deep deep down will leave me. Will it leave me? Will I feel goodness and love soon? Will I ever?

Here�s what I�m saying. I�ll give it one year. That way if it�s bullshit, the reasons I feel like taking a dive right now, than I�ll get over it and yippee. But if it�s not bullshit, I�ll know for sure and I�ll know I gave this love a real chance for once. And if it�s not bullshit, I�m hiding myself away for a long long time. Because this love this love maybe baby it just ain�t for me. Maybe I am going to be just fine living all by myself forever and the rest of it all. Maybe I�ll adopt some kids and we�ll keep each other company and we�ll drive down to Florida a few times a year to see the most excellent Molu clan (who, really now, I�m not kidding, they are kick ass) and maybe we�ll drive sometimes out to Colorado and sometimes to Washington, D.C. Now THAT sounds fun. Love, on the other hand, yeah, love makes me want to barf.

Ugh a gugh gugh. I'm a rotten apple jerk head to the core. It's true. I like me, but I get why you wouldn't like me. I am not nice, not even close to it. I'm loyal and I try to tell to the truth but I am not kind. I don't aspire to kindness, either.

I think kindness has gotten mixed up with love and truth and it's really not necessarily with those at all. Like the angels in the bible, they are always frightening. I think they are feirce and truthful and the fierce truth is a hard thing to look on. I know. I am struggling. I am wrestling with the angels. And the devils.