m&ms sound good because i get to binge eat and no one sees how fat i get bc then i just die and also i kind of want to die like maybe 85% of the time so idk this seems good

i fucking hate birds and am terrified of them and i used to get so mad when ppl would repeat things i said as that game or whatever

also i think that sarcasm mostly annoys me or something, not sure how to articulate why or what i even mean really

god fuck birds

m&ms4life or until death, w/e

british people who are way dead

i would like to read and write and get a cool girlfriend who's nice & has sex with me

it is impossible to stop being depressed forever

things that will make me stop being depressed temporarily include:

a hundred messages on okcupid in one day
affirmation from the internet re things i do on the internet
someone who will be monogamous with me
a down comforter
my student loan being paid off at no cost to me or my parents
a peanut butter and banana smoothie
writing something i actually like
living through an apocalypse with a motley crew of survivors
prescription drugs

who are you

email jordancastroisthepresident[at]gmail[dot]com

yes except maybe my legs are more needy because I kick them when I'm mad and have to wrap them around a pillow when I'm sad and I hate my arms, they just hang there and are only good for tattoos and other self-destructive body modifications

39% zen-like acceptance/openness to the world, 35% self-hatred, 13% thought it'd be funny to remain chill, 10% beer, 2% lsd, 1% genetic predisposition to passivity

There’s a book of babies holding orchids and tools, talking about how various colors make them feel. The author never had children and had specified to be left on Assateage island with her baby (the book), so that wild ponies could graze on the lichen that formed on the northern side of her cardboard box. Only one of the pages was torn and kept safe on a lighthouse keepers bookshelf, later to be viewed by his son who stood in a dim lit room, recognizing the triangular freckle formation that was unique to his collar bone. The image shows him sitting on an egret feather mound with a crown of dark lipped flowers, the page was labeled “black.” He was holding a temple cracker and his fat child fingers pressed the back of a vole. It’s hibernation time, so you can’t find them now. They hide in holes, buried under layers of pine needles and dust, escaping from a boy’s fire that will char them into the finest of black pigments.

If you stand in the woods long enough on a snowy evening, on a rock, that's been there longer than the town itself, you start imagining the iceman. Not in a scary way. In more of a summery way, which doesn't make sense now because he's needed for icecream in hot weather and he's just a thing of the past. He's got a chopped up melody from pressing the button too many times (always too close to dinner.) It's really cold out there and his miniature donkies are all smoking, leading him around with no orders to fill. The view back is of the remodeled barn with vinyl siding, which cuts down on dry rot and leaks. This barn doesn't house animals or feed, it's used for backstock of Delftware to sell on ebay and a busted woodgrain volkswagon. There are solar powered lanterns on either side of the sliding doors and the windows are still painted black, even though there's no fear of hay catching on fire from the incoming sun. When you walk up close enough to stare inside, all you can see is a reflection of yourself, staring back.

what constitutes 'a row'

omg/sweet, ok, this is how it's gonna roll: you send me a high resolution .tiff or .png on your naked body, preferably pouting into the camera for POV purposes, let's say a good 4000 pixel width; i'll print your image out on a 'body pillow' similar to those odd japanese lonely/sex pillows. i need to remember to not have the pillow made out of 'down' [i.e. goose feathers] as i am allergic to them. i will proceed to 'bang' this pillow...wait this is not advice, ok, sorry. My advice is try to meet a regular 22-24 yr old bro, just out of college with a physics major [it can be applied to economics and/or computers, where the big $ is]; move to a suburb 33-37 minutes from Boston. Do NOT adopt any children from China/Africa, and start voting Republican. Buy expensive Jam made by local spinsters. On your porch at 6:22pm, while 'he' is attending to his PS3 or Wii, have 3-4 gins for me, with the sad amber slanted sunset pink betwixt the uncoiled weave of your hair, and i will smell each strand as if it were a thin hanging lost melody from Debussy, sung in mind in his, as a boy, when, to his ma, he was simply Claude.

mom?

seems like I am mostly fucking around but I guess I also have an aesthetic mission. I am endlessly interested in 'ownership' over work (photos, text, etc.) and what it means to plagiarize or steal someone's work. so, in some ways I think my mission is to ask who owns this? where did it come from? should that matter? I also hate how seriously people take themselves in workshop or in 'art' classes I've taken. I think that almost everything I 'create' (whatever that means) is in a response to that seriousness. I'm also just always at my computer and so I get bored and I mess around with shit until I think it looks nice. It's kind of therapeutic in a way that writing and submitting to journals all the time isn't. I don't know if I've even answered the question.