In The Sepulchral City

'I found myself resenting the sight of people hurrying though the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly dreams.  They trespassed upon my thoughts,  They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretence, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew.  Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend.  I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance.'

My behavior as of late seems inexcusable.  I am not well.  Often filled to the brim with such intense hate.  So intense.  It's not my strength that requires nursing but my imagination that searches for soothing.  One hundred and thirteen years later and I feel the way Conrad did.  Would he still get these sparks of 'intensity'? The sparks affecting me seem to last longer...longer.  I feel a loss of control over my faculties...a loss of control over my control.  Being comfortable with my situation, sickens me.  Being bored is a fate worse than death.

What an Asshole

I said nothing.  Not a single word.  I'm sure the look on my face was...strained.  She ditched her popcorn by  a cars wheel and hunted down her keys-first real sign.  Then upon finding them amongst the tampons, dog hair and kid paraphenalia...(yah, she took it out of her ass once, thus creating life), lobbed her most gigantic of pops through the parking lot claiming, 'Don't wanna risk it.' And sat in the car.  Wave after wave of horribleness came out of this chicks mouth.

Uno momento por favor....

I am writing at my writing desk my grandma gave me.  I know that seems silly to write but to me it's poignant.  I recall a time where I would write terrible nonsense, totally different from now i know, on her typewriter at her very own 'writing desk'.  I've used this desk for a great many thing.  This is my first realization of my whereabouts...and its.

Anyhoo...I sat in silence which is the climax of this story.  It was my friends, friend and I allowed ridiculousness out of courtesy.  Courtesy?  Jesus Christ.  It would have been no skin off my back to rip her apart from ear to ear....but I chose to concede.  Would my hypothesized interjections have made a dent in this twat?  Am i just doing exactly what she did, now?  Is my judgement of her behavior just a reflection of my own  faults?  Am I the asshole as well as and in addition to?  Or?  Did this uneducated(in the moral realm and her brainy parts), MOTHER deserve a little checking.  It could have been delivered in such a manner that she would be taken off guard, not quite insulted cuz she doesn't really get what i just said and shut the fuck up.  Smooth but with after bite.  Who knows?  Not I.  For i chose to maintain civility.  What should I have done?  Which would be better for the world and not just a reactionary jerk of the articulatio genus?  I wanna be thoughtful for fucks sake...

I was in an understanding mood this evening.  Felt good.  I like good.  Good is....good and nothing quite compares.

Ode to Good

You are so fucking good, good.

I dig your crazy vibe

I wish I could spend more time with you

And all that imbibe with God on their side.

I've been thinking about this

And pining in wait

You can join me anytime

Good, and we'll bust open this hate gate.