here's the kickoff

okay. OKAY. It's my turn to talk now.

hi. I'm Cloyd Clemons. 

                                                                           am I the real Cloyd Clemons? no. 

see him?

He doesn't see you, sorry. That's Cloyd Clemons. He's just a faceless name on a list. This is a WW2 casualty list. All I know is that he was killed in action. He could have had a pet snail named ugly. Maybe he loved the smell of wood shavings. Maybe he's a self taught bagpipe player. I don't know.

Thing is he's exactly like you. And me. 

Roughly 407, 316 men died in the war, give or take a few. So many men gave their lives for a cause, and what did they get? A few got purple hearts, a lot got PTSD, and many got matching gravestones.

There are roughly 7 billion people living on the earth today. We live, we die, we forget. Me? I'm just one person. One. Just a Cloyd Clemons. I'm just a nameless face in a crowd. Another human title in small font. You skim over me in the yearbook. I think my name appeared in there once last year. Like you noticed. 

Turns out I have feelings. And peculiar thoughts. I have insecurites and wonderments and moments of euphoria. I also have violent spontaneous urges like to delete this post and drop the class. I won't though. 

 

I just want to apologize to all the doors I've slammed
I sound like expired alphabet soup

I procrastinate procrastination
I submitted this intro at 11.57 pm

I hate how naturally lying comes to me

I know nothing about quantum physics
I will splash in puddles and I will do it near you

I miss you 

I wonder if california remembers I was born there

I don't own nice things

I'm sure I have some rare undiscovered syndrome

I still leave the light on

I sonder about cloyd clemons

I sleep instead

If there wasn't music, I wouldn't see the point

I am too sensitive

I can hear my heart beat, but it could just be an echo

I've never really belonged anywhere

It looks better when the paint is chipping off
I miss when I was just a wee chubby thing

In another world, I would be a sloth

I have anxiety

I don't like spending time with myself

I feel like disappointment is the middle name I never had

I think the well is full of my ungranted wishes

I've never tossed love around

I hate myself most of the time but I don't want to be you

I love to sing but don't even ask

I swear I'm just shy

I flirt with death a lot

I am scared to look you in the eye
I am a little numb but

I am alive.

This blog isn't very promising. But that's good because nobody keeps their promises. 

ps. this intro really sucks. Sorry. I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here.

pps. ha if you got that you're the cats pajamas.