party people are you with me where you at?

i'm telling you it's always the ones who annoy me, the ones who get under my skin...

challenges--they're the ones i feel like fucking.

(if i feel like fucking anyone)

sex is a game, it's all so tiring

i wish life could be a dirty dream


If I could open your eyes to the truth in the mud

If you would tell me I'm the only one that you fuck

Life could be a dream, sweetheart



on quiet nights like this...

i'd kill for a small sense of certainty

there's an ache in my lower gut that won't go away

maybe i'm dying

it would make sense--

my mind is filled with fantasies...

green smoke and blue fantasies.

i really like theartpepper's use of bold. i'm all about emphasis. when i wrote my thesis on heidegger i ended up using italics to differentiate between different uses of being that i was using in the same sentence. my flemish promoter flipped: whaaaht! he bellowed, you theeink that just by adding some i-talicks here and there like rose i-cing that you can make a valid phil-lew-sophical point? give me a break! i don't theeink i've ever seeeen something so LA-zy.

it's because i'm american, i told him, enjoying the comical effect of his eyes remaining bulged out like that. i helped myself to one of his belgas, lit-up and leaned back.

i'm always looking for the quick way out.

(there was a point to this story--something integral that i wanted to tell you, but it seems to have slipped from the no stick pan and exploded into egg white batter abstract expressionism all over the counter. sorry.)


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