tyler
Voyage is the kind of word that is always in the distance, the kind of word you chew on and dream about but never approach. Even when you're on an adventure (another one) you just think, "this is ordinary life, not a voyage--that is yet to come." It is always yet to come.
Seriously LONGING for this word to switch to a differnt one. Doesn't this thing change once a day? maybs not. ANyway. Proud of myself for writing. Don't matter what it says. Just gotta keep typatity tapping.
Oy. Longing. What about shortening? Hey hey!
My longing is cumbersome. It would be better to be middling or averaging. I just want to enjoy writing. I guess I have to learn how to want writing differently. Motivation.
Sex. That's what I have to start with and I'm not too happy with it because, ooo, people having sex, tightly gripping on red silk sheets BORING
even having that sex would be boring. What a performance. Amazing sex is boring. Boo! Next! I'm a bit of a critic lately I guess. Well, FUCK EM.
We see puppies not for puppies but for the symbol of our own strange perverted wild instincts. The word tastes like strawberry ice cream (not real strawberries perhaps)--silly, pink, a little bit soft.
We make up Occupancy Rules because otherwise we are just living and there isn't anything to keep our minds distracted, and we die when we are not distracted enough. So we tell our children, children, don't walk on this grass, children be quiet after 10, and then our children go to college to discuss academically how and why and what the rules are and they get jobs so they can pay for their children to go to college and we all stay sufficiently busy
I'm just playing hero. The game starts now, and it ends with my heroic death, tangled up in a blanket cloak, and a cohort of people around me, some of whom I have tried to save. If only I could have saved myself.
Stolen! I yelled, running through the streets, screeching, looking at every stranger suspiciously, trying to name the big missing hole in my heart, and hoping that there used to be something there, it was there, I was whole, who is it that has left me in this state of fragmentation....
We call each other savages, and all of us are offended, though none of us knows what it means. No one is a savage at all really, all that is left is a bad taste in our mouths and a sense that sometime there was something unsavory to be, a long lost ancestor who embarrasses us, a corner of ourselves that we must never accept.
We're all a little bit afraid of being secluded, but the irony is, we're usually the ones imposing it on ourselves. Preemptive damage, if you will. It's okay to be alone, we learn eventually, after all this pain, we learn it's okay to be alone...
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