So boycott love. Detox just to retox. And I'd promise you anything for another shot at life. Imperfect boys with their perfect lives - nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy...
Yesterday was Big Bro's birthday. He turned 24. It was a quiet day, no presents other than an awesome cake from a friend and two small gifts from our parents. He enjoys a quiet day rather than a large, gaudy celebration. We are very much alike. Here's to 24 years more, and then some. I love you, brother.
Pickled-onion-brain. Multitudes of miles, simply trying to get by. Financial hardship and bills to pay. We live in the margins while you live in the text on the page. We are red-pen mistakes; you are black-ink perfection. Nod your head and begin again - oh yeah, you win again.
Provided I can handle it, I think I'll try a walk along the muddy paths of commonality again. I'm not ready to commit for real, but it can't hurt to test the waters. I will never be so cavalier with hearts as I once was. I'm grown now. My old associates are now weighed down with University qualifications. The caps are thrown to the sky as I dig myself out of the dirt. Best of luck to you, drones. I hope your lives are worth the paper that your life insurance details are printed on.
Tempest in a tea-cup. Get unique. I'm getting crushed on by school girls. I'm winning hearts and influencing people without the wish or energy to do so. I am a standing joke in my own head. Maybe it's time I left the stage and took a seat. Open mic night is over, kid. It's time for the pro's. Maybe next week, next month, next year, next decade, next century, next millennium. It's a sign - what if you peaked early?
Word from Freckle. She is running. I am chasing her in less than obvious ways. I have sent thoughts and feelings, energy and anti-demons to her on the wind. I have eyes keeping watch on her. I have hearts connected to her well-being. Mine principally. I am yours in any and all ways necessary, my dear friend. This struggle is a fine ennui. So fuck the French! You and I have everything we need here. This is our back yard. We are territorial.
Let's pretend we're scar-less.
It's all fine and dandy. Toffee apples and cotton-candy. Lulling again. Need to hit the streets, find my motivation. Need to be on the up-and-up. It is attainable. I can hunt without weapons. My brains, my brawn, my stupidity - mean I am armed to the teeth already. Gun licensing laws be damned. I'm coming to get ya, world. I can see it all clearly now, even though my eyes are closed and the light is off. I guess I've been eating my carrots.
Why do celebrities call their children such stupid names?
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