why do silly cliches sum up my life of late? i cringe my way through forced sentimentality in order to feel like i am a necessary member of my "peer group" and it always ends up leaving a horrible void in my mind like some sort of meat-hook subconscious sodomy. i cull chunks of what is closest to me and serve them up when the conversation shifts to focus on memories in which i have played a minor or at times major role, even after i have told myself that that time is best left a unique and special entity. why must reality incessantly infiltrate my mental landscape? is it that i am weak and need the approval of said peer group, or is it that i am so vain that i simply must share in these useless canonnades? or better yet, do i even have control over these memories or are they the mutual property of all those involved? if the latter is true, then never mind, this entire discourse is a moot point.

i shall now retreat to read old yellowed notebook paper and listen to hissing fluttering mixtapes on the floor in my bedroom like i did ten or more years ago.

the flood of memories shared does not remotely equal those begotten by the sharing.

when it rains it pours.