Turns Out You Were Only Hungry

Who are you to judge my block, with your google news muse and yahoo chat consolation? The bicameral mind in the multi-faceted world, and only a 1600 square foot pot to piss in, between us. And he won't read this unless I leave it up and when he does, he won't say anything, because there is nothing to say, because it does not speak to him, like a few hexed ghosts used to, and they will use other words, but I will use common ones, because I am comm...conventional. Lies and flattery are the flies and lottery of the human condition: the platinum cards that get us in everywhere. Except we go no where, because of the traffic, because of the distance, and because of the cost. I am being literal because I am going somewhere, because I'm a hustler, because I'm a scrapper, because I_do_not_have_a_choice. Which is categorically untrue because I do have a choice, because Dad always said that if you thought you didn't have one its because you weren't using your imagination, but its just that all of the other options are not tenable. So long, SAHM. So where do I see myself in five years? On an incentive trip in Niagara Falls. And then there's this wholesale rape of a few sacred things and a hundred inadequacies and a thousand fears, my constant erection. But...the timbre is wrong, all wrong, and I'm just writing myself into oblivion, and he writes in tag lines. And all of my designs are parodies of themselves, like most crimes. But I have no reservations, like the show. So how are things on the East Coast? Because its not so lonely when the bad dreams catapult a warm body into my bed and I hardly understand what it means to regret something. Like I said, I've wanted to die plenty of times, but I don't regret anything because ... because I don't like the mystery.