Why is it so hard for people to connect the way you expect them to be able to when you are a child?
And why does it make so sad to think that things really aren’t the way I thought they were when I was a child?
Author: admin
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Thursday:
I stand here with my wet dog, shaking my ass at the passing cars. Haha. What a sight they must think of me. Yeah.
And so I take my shaking butt and my wet dog and together I and my dog, we visit the naked woman with the gigantic ears and the even more gigantic breasts and we lay ourselves down in her hairy lap and she lets her ears droop down over us, and the dog, still wet, laps at the hanging lobes.
She loves that so. The dog and the woman both. And boy oh boy, I love anything my dog loves.
I have been feeling the weight of wanting love and loving lately. That old thing. Again. But, many times I have come to the conclusion that there really isn’t anything else worth thinking about. When it comes down to it, there really isn’t anything much else at all.
I guess there is always thinking. And thinking about thinking. And humming. And thinking about humming. And thinking about loving. And humming about thinking about loving. Hummm.
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Tuesday:
Nothing changes.
Nothing changes.
Nothing changes.
Nothing changes.
I do not change.
I want to change.
I wish I could change.
I feel the change,
in my pocket.
And I hold on to it.
lovers and loving
huggers and hugging
singers and thinking
all hand in hand.
sinkers and sinking
droopers and drooping
drippers and sipping
all together at once,
and apart but looking inward.
We, alone but together,
feeling memories dripping down
from the clouds of perspiration
drifting up from our sweaty brows.
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Wednesday:
I went to New York City.
It’s definitely grand. Big.
Also sorta dirty. It feels very much like a big city. I wandered around Manhattan a bit, and saw some art and stuff.
Culture, up my nose!
pounding my head against my fists,
or maybe just thinking about it.
I’m trying to realize what it is that I don’t know, but the obstacle of maybe not really wanting to know keeps creeping in.
Fear. Yep. That’s the word.
Pain, maybe. Who’s to say?
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Sunday:
There was a crazy festival in the streets today. All sorts of African food and clothing, and lots of other random stuff, too.
I’ve heard more foreign languages while I’ve been in Boston than ever before in my life. Crazy place, sometimes.
police, disrupting your flow.
take it you do, and you go.
yes. indeed. what a shame.
intensities crowded and butted out.
terrors torn to know.
So.
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Monday:
I have had another birthday now.
I am an adult, with officiality.
And as painful as this may sound,
I think life just keeps getting better.
Woah.