whoosha lil updater?
Buckhead is strange. I spend copious amounts of time in this "nice" area of Atlanta hustling law documents which are priced according to urgency and everyone who receives them act is if they had no idea it was on the way. You see all this yuppie hypocrisy in action while in buckhead. The Target has an ambiance comparable to Tiffany's. Everyone takes escalators and elevators; and everyone opens their garage with a button and starts their cars from ten feet away...then they go to the gym to burn off the fat that is accrued from purchasing a motion-free lifestyle, In a thousand years we'll stop having legs. We'll wiggle along on our asses, or roll around like tumbleweeds.
It is only fitting that yuppies evolve into tumbleweeds with keyless entry chirp things. Buckhead is a wasteland. How can there be so much in an area and it all be so desolate? It is a depressing area. It is the failed product of a social experiment. Everyone was out to make money off of people with money and create a money-town and something went horribly wrong. Or perhaps the whole idea is just bad in the first place.
I have been in a numb state. The same sense of apathy that hinders me from seeking work drives me to work hard when i am employed. I do anything for my boss because I don't have anything better to do. I don't care what I am doing at anytime of day really. I have been working ten hour days at a minimum and it is no different than sitting around the house. I am off in my mind most of my waking hours anyway. The Andy that has idle conversation in elevators is some kind of autopilot mechanism. Some part of me can be chummy with lawyers and they want to be friends with the guy who wears slippers to work and sees no problem with it. I guess they are so socially restricted that my slipper wearing is construed as out right rebellion. Maybe I look into it too much. I guess it is kind of quirky.
But we can't examine ourselves too closely or we'll stop living...stop doing everything. Like the wise men who just sit on a rock and don't move. I don't know if that is so wise. You could go mad pondering the rationality of everything you do. You start to think of yourself in terms of flies fucking...nature sets it up and they do what they're told. The wise men sitting on a rock discards the obvious, but something makes them discard it. In a sense, they are one-fly-fucking. There's no escape, action or inaction. We just have to write ourselves off as a loss. Any move on the board leads to checkmate.
And this is quite paradoxical: going on about how we can't over-examine ourselves. I don't mean to sound depressing; it just comes out that way. I'm not sure what i am talking about anymore, but I do it with such authority that it sounds like it means something.
It is only fitting that yuppies evolve into tumbleweeds with keyless entry chirp things. Buckhead is a wasteland. How can there be so much in an area and it all be so desolate? It is a depressing area. It is the failed product of a social experiment. Everyone was out to make money off of people with money and create a money-town and something went horribly wrong. Or perhaps the whole idea is just bad in the first place.
I have been in a numb state. The same sense of apathy that hinders me from seeking work drives me to work hard when i am employed. I do anything for my boss because I don't have anything better to do. I don't care what I am doing at anytime of day really. I have been working ten hour days at a minimum and it is no different than sitting around the house. I am off in my mind most of my waking hours anyway. The Andy that has idle conversation in elevators is some kind of autopilot mechanism. Some part of me can be chummy with lawyers and they want to be friends with the guy who wears slippers to work and sees no problem with it. I guess they are so socially restricted that my slipper wearing is construed as out right rebellion. Maybe I look into it too much. I guess it is kind of quirky.
But we can't examine ourselves too closely or we'll stop living...stop doing everything. Like the wise men who just sit on a rock and don't move. I don't know if that is so wise. You could go mad pondering the rationality of everything you do. You start to think of yourself in terms of flies fucking...nature sets it up and they do what they're told. The wise men sitting on a rock discards the obvious, but something makes them discard it. In a sense, they are one-fly-fucking. There's no escape, action or inaction. We just have to write ourselves off as a loss. Any move on the board leads to checkmate.
And this is quite paradoxical: going on about how we can't over-examine ourselves. I don't mean to sound depressing; it just comes out that way. I'm not sure what i am talking about anymore, but I do it with such authority that it sounds like it means something.