On My Soap Box All Covered In Filth
I do not find this funny. I am suppose to be sitting here in the computer lab with all these other procrastinating ass holes working on my media theory paper. Instead I am typing out this ridiculous rant because if I don’t get these words out of my head and stop them from bouncing around inside my skull, I am not going to make it through this paper..or the rest of the night for that matter. I just can’t fucking focus. At least not on school work. All I keep going back to is……this is not funny.
Ok, you like to play games with people. You like to squeeze inside their brains and move shit around until they’re confused and frustrated and you won your stupid game of wits and are sitting there with a shit-eating grin on your face while toking someone else’s green. Good for fucking you. You beat the system.
I wonder if you know how unappealing it makes you? To be so assured and comfortable with yourself. How the casual way you make a person feel good ends up biting them in the ass. I wonder if you know the lingering sense of drive you leave behind and the intense feeling of violation covering your random choice victim. You’re good at what you do. You know that and now, so do I. Does it feel good to you?
So I ask you, you smug, sarcastic, charismatic prick, has that method ever fucked you over? Has it ever tripped you up on your own sense of vulnerability and made you fall face first into a pile of your own emotional shit? Have you ever had your head squeezed into and messed up? Did they move left when you moved right? Have you ever looked one of your mindfucks right in the eye and knew exactly how they felt?
Maybe thats the kicker. Maybe it happened to you so bad and so hard that all you can do in defense is fuck up everyone else’s day. Maybe something cut you so deep you’ll always just fuck with the minds around you, keeping you clean and clear of that openness and blind gullibility. Maybe you’ve just decided to miss out on everyone who gives a damn. Everyone who could have potentially knocked you on your ass and really made you smile.
…Or maybe you’re just a smug, sarcastic, charismatic prick…and you were doing what you’ve done a thousand times before.
Ok, you like to play games with people. You like to squeeze inside their brains and move shit around until they’re confused and frustrated and you won your stupid game of wits and are sitting there with a shit-eating grin on your face while toking someone else’s green. Good for fucking you. You beat the system.
I wonder if you know how unappealing it makes you? To be so assured and comfortable with yourself. How the casual way you make a person feel good ends up biting them in the ass. I wonder if you know the lingering sense of drive you leave behind and the intense feeling of violation covering your random choice victim. You’re good at what you do. You know that and now, so do I. Does it feel good to you?
So I ask you, you smug, sarcastic, charismatic prick, has that method ever fucked you over? Has it ever tripped you up on your own sense of vulnerability and made you fall face first into a pile of your own emotional shit? Have you ever had your head squeezed into and messed up? Did they move left when you moved right? Have you ever looked one of your mindfucks right in the eye and knew exactly how they felt?
Maybe thats the kicker. Maybe it happened to you so bad and so hard that all you can do in defense is fuck up everyone else’s day. Maybe something cut you so deep you’ll always just fuck with the minds around you, keeping you clean and clear of that openness and blind gullibility. Maybe you’ve just decided to miss out on everyone who gives a damn. Everyone who could have potentially knocked you on your ass and really made you smile.
…Or maybe you’re just a smug, sarcastic, charismatic prick…and you were doing what you’ve done a thousand times before.