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.)