Where is your real home/where do you come from?

That was the question posed in my class tonight. This is what I wrote:

"I come from the veins of punk rock where I've drilled away at social distortion, pressing the ink that leaks from needles onto my skin, tattooing my heart on my sleeve, bleeding and bleeding but somehow, still beating; my mind embodying the mind of a 21st century emo boy, teary-eyed and all, fist-risen, pumping in anger, foggy and in slow motion from this past summers fling, writing fragments of torture and pain on paper napkins and matchbooks, left in jeans pockets to only blur away in washing machine pollution, down through a drain where I have no idea where it goes or where it ends."

I watched MEAN CREEK again for the 1 millionth time and it's still the best.

In other news: Go fuck yourself