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[...fixed?]

-in the offball sense.

Ever think you'd get to the point where if you ate chocolate every day... you'd hate chocolate?

... and I'll stop you right there if you already hate chocolate,
the chocolate is a metaphor for something you thought you'd love every day.
.......shit where'd I put my paycheck?

Found it.
Jesus christ I hate being a space cadet.

anyway, we were talking about the important things right?

Like whacking it and feeling nothing? Still finding that you hate 80% of your music collection, finding yourself willing to sacrifice god and country for a particularly wild looking piece of tail.




























Let's back up a smidge.

There's a girl

and if I were to say that I HAVE a type
she'd be it.

If you've experienced this
gravitation
you'd know what I'm talking about.

I've met hundreds of people by now that I felt I needed to.
this is just
like falling off a fucking bridge
If I were to pin this girl on the floor and start taking her in with bites and fingertips
it'd lead to sex and parting.

It's not even an emotion, a passion, a lust
its gravity. Nature, instinct.
I want to fuck her the same way I eat when I'm hungry.
For the fucking sake of eating.

Granted, I can now cook, rather well I might add
but I don't eat for flavor, I don't eat to pass time or build mass
I eat because I eat.

I'm attracted to her because I'm attracted to her.

There's no bullshit, no quota, no fickle drama
save one massive kink in the plan

A six foot something scraggly hood rat.

Now I'm not saying this from a place of racism
but have you ever looked at someone and just said "fuck dude- go take a shower and buy some clothes you didn't find in a trashbag by the side of the road?"

This is that guy.
I only know he's a hood rat because I know the men in this town
they're shitkickers, ex mil, corp sellouts, perpetual highschoolers (the frat boy dipshits at WU fit in this category), thugs, wanksters, dealers, hoodrats,  or wannabes of any of the aforementioned groups.

There are no decent fucking people here...
okay there are, but there's like 5 for every 1200.

I dunno how to waltze into that domain and declare myself the son of God.
How do you say "hey, I thought maybe you'd be interested in a new moon when you've got the full."

I'm not saying I'm better than this guy
because I honestly don't know that about him

I'm sure he's rugged, a good lay, possibly considerate, fun, appealing, dark, mysterious, strong, dreamy and sinewy.

I'm... arty, smarty, and farty.
*shrugs*
I guess I'm having a bit of an identity crisis
in that I kinda like who I am, and have no idea who I would attract.
Kind of a no confidence thing, kind of a lack of experience thing.

























She's pretty
in a completely haughty, mundane, I fucking leave tendrils of fire in the wake of my aura
kinda pretty.
Wrathful, spiteful, and not to be fucked with
even about coffee creamer or tic tac toe.

whereas I am the death of emotion.
Things withering and crumbling on dry trees
I'm that forced smile, as the world ends around me.
A weak chuckle after a true joke.

A fire and a void.

There's no air in a vaccuum, there is no fire... and yet there is heat and light.

I always found it puzzling to watch so many Hydrogen explosions in zero gravity going off seemingly simultaneous in super slow motion.

But they say that ... when one of those stars dies...
a vaccum within a vaccum, a greater darkness than light is born

Am I that darkness? Or the one before?

The spiral in the empty...

They say you can't create or destroy energy
but when you light a match, and burn its fuel, the cinders don't magically spark and burn again.

Conservation of energy is bollocks.

We're all just dieing slowly, there will be no grand cosmic collapse and rebirth
some matter has already reached escape velocity
some mass is going beyond a science we can understand
we applied rules of balance and containment in a system that said to hell with man's rules.

We thought ourselves prophets, we found ourselves blind fools playing darts.















Ah... I love words, they grant us the capacity for unintentional reflection and abstraction.
No doubt that will be a poem in the course of a couple days.

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