...I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you

There are some things we don't talk about: the most fun we had together, our best positions. No one needs to know, and we were the only ones there, so lets let it die. I used to think I missed it. I don't. I miss the conversation, maybe. I miss the taboo secrets we don't share, but not the rest. I can do without all the rest. Right right, what are we talking about. Certainly not sex, or lust, or a grotesque display of passion in the form of long red tears in my back and numbness in your toes, no. That's not what we're talking about. I've got this page, and I've got some songs. I've got small boxes in corners that remind me just how efficient these computers really are. I've got other stuff that I packed away in that box I mentioned a while back. "What more do I need?" doesn't fly around here. I know I don't need anyone to tell me what more I do need. Ha, where's the crowd. Come on crowd, stone me already. Just remember, this isn't what we're talking about...

Pornography and intellect.

"Wow, she's getting rocked!"

"You know, it all starts to look the same after a while. I mean they run out of...wait, is that is thumb? Okay, you see my point? Its like 'hey, my dick's that way.'"

"Yea I don't get why she's sucking his thumb..."

"She's still going at it!"

"...and this other girl is getting no love."

"Wait for it, wait, ha. Okay and cut scene because mister 23-inch-dick just blew his load."

"Yea he didn't make it very long did he."

"That one girl is fucking slammin' though. Like, I can't hold it against him.

"Whatever man, they do this every day so he shouldn't have an excuse."

"Alright man enough of this, I'm trying to get my story done sometime this century."

"Yea I gotta read a bit too. Same time next week."

"Sure thing, enjoy."

~Friends don't let friends watch porn...alone. They make an evening out of it.

Odd Fungus

I put my weird in a box and I seal it with wax, because that's an odd thing to do. If I had a box filled with odd things I'd stick it out in the rain. I'd let it rot and grow roots through the concrete because nature always finds a way. I keep pictures of a girl in a box filled with weird things. The same box. We had a song we liked; it's in the box too. "Once you knew a girl and you named her lover." I wrote that on the box. The roots grew around my arms and broke through the concrete. I'm stuck, with a box full of weird, and a bunch of old records. 

I heard some scary stuff today, and for all that don't know, what I just did there is called alliteration. It's not the first time I've heard it, but bad news always has such a pleasant ring to it. You can always tell if it's bad...

Racial Tension

I don't know what it is about white letters on a black backdrop, but I enjoy the shit out of it. Maybe it's the simplicity, or the complete lack of structure. I'm no artist so I'll stop. You should stop too, right where you are, because I'm done here. There's nothing more to see.