i wish i could talk to birds and they would listen

it's another one of those days where you waited till the end of the week to really get anything done because you were too busy eating and drinking and smoking to do much of anything but eat, drink, and smoke and now it's like a fuckin habit and, even though the real life shit you're taking care of only use about a tenth of your commendable brain, you'd really rather just focus all of it on which emoticon would be appropriate for the last text you got or, better yet, who's phone number that is and why she's so pissed off right now.

So, because trying to figure out what to do with your brain gets frustrating after a while and that leads to being annoyed at your brain for getting frustrated at itself and in the middle of all that, you're wondering when you began to refer to your brain in third person and if that means anything, like, maybe, you're fuckin crazy or some shit, but then you remember that grandma always said that crazy people don't think they're crazy and grandma was as crazy as a loon, so that's just another fuckin thing to use a tenth of your brain, although it is more interesting than philosophies of education, so you might double that to a fifth (are fractions the only thing you can double and the number goes down?), you say to yourself, "self, fuck it... we're gonna put a birdbath on our balcany".

and that would be a brilliant idea because birdbaths are baddass because all the little birds come flocking to YOUR balcony, like, they chose YOU ([even though it's actually more likely that they're programmed to respond to certain stimuli and you just happen to know what it is] don't get too excited just because you figured out that cute, tiny, little feathered things like to take baths)or some shit and they get all wet and make pretty noises and sometimes they'll even eat out of your hand which is really cool (because it is), but you're not stupid and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt exactly what's gonna happen: yeah, they're gonna shit all over your stuff and scratch up your things and wake you up early in the morning screeching "feed me~! feed me!" in their cute little bird language that nobody fucking understands and you're gonna end up sitting at your desk one day trying to write a fuckin essay and not really wanting to, letting your mind wander about whatthefuckever and you're gonna look out your window and think to yourself... "fuckin birds".

peace.