my astrology says go. the weather says go. the green light says go. my ride is about to go.
i dont want to complain on this shit. i dont want to bitch. sometimes its hard not to complain. and i always tell people that they can do whatever they want in their shit but i cant for some reason. im supposed to be someone better. not better better just better different. a curveball when youre expecting a fastball. a fastball when you know its going to be a slowball.
shes hot. theyre all hot. the one that i was at lunch with yesterday the one i was at dinner with today. the one i slept with the other day. hotness in la is like warmness in the weather. its all just varrying degrees. what i should do instead of worrying or in my case thinking about chicks is instead think about the blog. think about lick. do lick. do my page. do my mainpage. blog without editing. think without thinking. just do bitch. just do.
it is the reason that im here. it is the reason im not there. it is the reason for the season and the season is the reason. i dont know why i do the things i do and if there was a reason for blahblahblahdotcom it is first of all to get laid to send out the s-o-s of hereiam hereiam but deeper, the human part of the animal wants more than that so id say the deepr reason behind all this is to discover.
discover what? discover it. to find truth. to find reason. to see how shit works. and who better to experiment on than oneself. who better to judge than you. who better to tweak and experiment with than on someone youve known for the longest.
all i know is i want out. i want to fold on this hand and count my losings. i want two more ameretto sours one to shoot one to sip and i want to tap out and head for the saunas cuz i know i have something better i could be doing with my time and it isnt this. im going to get reamed tomorrow. nobody is going to say you did what you were asked to do, you did it with a smile. nobody is going to say shit was busier than it ever was and not only did you hang in there but you met the challenge with a smile saying bring it on motherfucker. nobody is going to say good job period. theyre going to say okay job BUT… and then nitpick on the little shit till everyone forgets all the good shit that i did for the last 300 days.
i want out. i want out. i want out. i want out. i can say it till im blue but i have to actually do something about it and i think that its days like this when the lakers are on but im at work waiting and waiting that my shit gets pissed and i think that its time to stop thinking and actually do something. but what is there to do. what can be done. where could i go. what could i do. who would have me. what could i do. where. what. theres nothing. my fear says theres nothing but my fear is so out of shape cuz i barely listen to that dumb peice of shit that it probably cant even believe that im inviting it to the party let alone let it have the floor. and as creative as my mind can get i dont see what else there is other than flying around and saving the world.
even though its dumb.
even though im dumb.