Thursday, July 27, 2006
Lost Planet Update
Good Lord this is hard. Words are seriously beefing me. I am getting very little cooperation, regardless of my outgoing and friendly attitude. They are afraid to hop in my love wagon and take off with me to Venus. But I am not shaken! I am no longer afraid of failure, renal or otherwise.Stealth mode has been working beautifully. People don't see me! Even Beardless Garvey couldn't spot me. It's a lifesaver, because those people are not fun - they always ask the wrong questions; they only see what's right in front of them. Luckily, there are always ways around it. Even when another person does spot you, you can just ignore them. Other people are robots, they won't mind. If you're really worried about it, you can write it on your blog later when nobody is looking. Think of it as interpersonal frugality.
That sort of trick keeps morale up in times of change. Shifts have quaked my castle and wrecked some of my favorite chambers. No matter, I am not particularly upset by it. That funky ass castle had it coming, and my next joint should skeet all over it anyway. This is a very highly awaited ejaculation.
MYW at 9:31 PM
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
A Righteous Nocturne
Can't bear my kids if you got a bald daddy,Don't want my son a wig-wearin' laddy
I fell into her like bird shit. Our big legs swayed and tumbled, as always to the radio. I had situated myself between her hither and thither, bedazzled and unaware. A ghastly odor choked the area, smothering all wildlife. My shirt reeked; I took it off. What the fuck was going on? Shit was going nowhere, I was lost. This was a gnarly shuck and jive. The scene ended there.
It was gloomy. The sun had traced a perfunctory arc through the heavens but lost itself amidst a gangle of nimbus. I aligned myself with Venus meanwhile, my veins pumping with what the fuck.
I am exceptionally disappointed. The world is a slice of swiss, but my eyes see only the holes. Every conversation is awkward, every evening miserable, every orgasm cheap. Other people are intolerable. My old clothes do not fit me. My new ones are ugly. My scrapes do not heal. I exist in the wrong dimension. All words escape me.
These are the thoughts that torture me. Unable to sleep, here I lay, attached to the sofa, drinking myself into oblivion. My thoughts turn violent and I curse the Earth and each of my forefathers.
MYW at 11:56 PM