kangaroos and narcissism,

the millions questions hang around my head like maturing guts of dust in a dark wall of an old library. libraries. they always look clean outside but inside, they always smell of mold and must and old beliefs and forgotten thruth. it's something abt how browning,decaying paper assails your nostrils. it makes you wanna go back. delve. and forget.

forgetting. there is an escape in forgetting. you jump around like an kangaroo hopping from one deliruium to another pretending to be busy with something else, all the while thinking of nothing else but to make people think and that you're not to busy thinking abt yourself.

a library and a kangaroo: you won't buy it.

well it sounds oxymoron to me

n., pl. -mo·ra (-môr'ə, -mōr'ə) or -rons.

A rhetorical figure in which incongruous or contradictory terms are combined, as in a deafening silence and a mournful optimist.

i'm a kangaroo on a library. a sad, selfish little turd seeking escape on what she finds true. it cud hurt sometimes. inconvenient just like the musty smells. but we always find sense on reality which we sometimes find too fungal we become allergic to it. that sometimes we feel like jumping only to land on the same ground where we took off a minute ago. and it always happen on a split second.

man. sometimes we're not even smarter than a kangaroo.