The environment around us creates the environment within, so let’s tear it down and sell it for what its worth. And later we will see where we are, for what its worth. We will look into a mirror and see what we have done.
As Dan and I discussed, the other day; boxers make it almost impossible to lie about shitting your pants. You are standing in a pile of your own shit, therefore you are wearing boxers. Had you been wearing briefs this situation would have been most likely averted. I rest my case. It is only dirty logic. If only this nation wasn’t wearing briefs…
*The night before Bubba Paul, as Morpheus, offers you a package of Molly. 1, you can take the white powdery substance and go to the Matrix, or 2, you can not take the powdery substance, where everyone and everything is the same. This scenario lead me, effectively, to where I sit or stand today. Mostly open-minded, and with a hangover, buzz of what should not have been put into our bodies.
And doing dishes in Ecstasy…
Like Anonymous (the above), like everyone that is king or in a monarchy looks like the guy from Being John Malkovich. Just like The Libertine too, exactly like that. I write this now as a bystander, the protagonist is someone I witnessed, not I; however, for the purpose of this story I will express vicariously though his expressions, feelings, actions, and ultimately his demise. Here goes…
Lifestyle # 1:
Here I am pumping the breaks. Fucking car. Is my life over? I’ll be fine; a few bucks later, a few stickers, and repairs later, in some time. It will be better. I promise.
“To grow to be with a woman.” Whatever.
-ROW, that is a fucking joke. Try growing into an adult.
Car leaks into the water supply. Whatever.
Girl attempts to make you feel bad but loves to fuck you all the same. Whatever.
No one makes you feel anything, you do. Whatever.
I could disparage; however, most of the time the ladies I discuss within these writings enjoy the attention. Whatever.
Its anti-suicide liability for everyone, or whoever. Whatever.
Edit, call, edit, threat, delete. Whatever. -Bambi
Telling me I wouldn’t have talked to you again if not for the writing. Whatever.
Like it matters.
Does it motivate, does it stimulate, does it make you perspire? The words? If not, it doesn’t work. If so look past it and keep walking. Look beyond. Beyond labels and conclusions. Keep thinking. Think like God is and go beyond that. Like you aren’t from South, or north, or east, or west. Walk into the beautiful surrounding forest, alone, and contented. Walk to find peace to find yourself, to find God, to find bliss. To find happiness to find yourself and walk with it. Find a cliff with a beautiful over look (like the bluffs in the Mississippi River Valley) and fly away.
One could write forever on expanding horizons, but I will make not conclusions about it.
I am sort of sick of the attention of writing, of attempting something, as others read and judge. They tell me they will critically critique me, yet I don’t write for that. I write for the purpose of inspiring, of wanting others to find freedom in writing, in written word, possibly an escape. I want people to read more and find beauty in themselves. If I have done anything other than that for you as a reader then I am not fulfilling my goal.
Although, that may be my goal, I don’t write to impress. I write because I love to write. When I see people pushing shit out that is mediocre or not of artistic value to anyone I hang my head. I notice, we notice. I ask them would they read it? I ask that because if they wouldn’t they shouldn’t put it out.
Funny story in relation to above, you know who my favorite writer is? You want to know who I read daily? I read my own writing, daily. I do it because the variety inspires me, I hope it inspires you. A venue that is basically at my liberty to do whatever with, so here goes:
Why are people so deceitful towards their loved ones?
Why do people drive cars when they could easily walk or bike to their destination?
Why do people buy at big box stores, while knowing the external cost on the environment, when their are local farmers markets and coops in their areal?
Why do people put processed foods in their bodies?
Why do people drink themselves retarded daily?
Why is our government so fucked?
Why do I pay taxes which go indirectly, if not directly, to fund wars in other countries?
Why are their poor people starving in our backyards?
Why do we have to do things?
Why do people smoke cigarettes?
Why do we work at jobs we hate?
Why do people not watch Fight Club?
Why don’t people read more?
Why are people afraid to express themselves when it comes down to passion?
Why do people fear things?
The answer is Apathy, tell me why I am wrong, I am crying right now.
A boy works on a boat, he has been touched by the sun from a hard days work. He has a love in mind. He has not left his familiar birthplace. Eyes gleaming with hope and ambition and dim bulbs which hang as orbs over the riverfront park terrace. He looks north to a populous. Books abound, laying scattered on the patches of dirty deck. He has made some dents in them, earmarks. The night has just begun and he lights a cigarette. His manager rolls up in a read Chevy S-10 and asks if he realizes he is smoking on a barrel of crude oil, the boy says no and slumps off of the barrel in a hurry. His night has just begun and he already is on his bosses bad side. By midnight he learned how to lasso a tie on a dock pillar. After his boss leaves he talks on the phone to his soon to be lover, he puts a message in a bottle and tosses it out as lightening strikes and rain starts coming down into the water.
He remains here for all time.
Apparently change fear into love… As Bill Hicks said.
I was afraid earlier. What I don’t understand is how rich people don’t get it when I tell them that the dog I am watching is aggressive. They almost seem surprised, a French Bulldog that is almost dragging its handler around is aggressive, hm… That is some interesting stuff. I had a guy following me around earlier with his dog. I am now looking over my should as I am watching this highly aggressive dog. What this guy doesn’t get is that Willy, the Frenchy, is basically trying to look cute to get your dog close enough so he can rip your dogs face off. I guess the subtle hints of my suggestion were not obvious. The dogs meet and Willy ultimately starts a dog fight. Good thing the guy is rich, cause my money is on Willy. And that is how I got arrested for facilitating a dog fight, by trying to avoid other dog owners and their dogs.
I sit in jail counting money in my head.
Plus if say, you are…
Passing gas in the elevator is the most worrisome thing I deal with now-a-days. People are dying, catching disease, suing, abusing, lying, and cheating. And what do I have to worry about? Passing gas in the elevator at the condo. It kind of plays off of why I wear briefs and how I am concerned about losing it before, in the middle, or after I am in the elevator. This kind of stuff never stops.
As much as I need someone to help me push a couch through a door,