Now fuck off and die, you fucked up slag
The ringing of my doorbell woke me up from a deep sleep. Various faces began swimming through my brain for a moment. Who the hell would dare wake my ass up on a day off at the crack of noon? I groggily maneuvered the door open. There stood a massive black man, my meat manager, Preston Freeman. Apparently, one of the meat cutters woke up to sharp stomach pains only to go straight to the hospital. Being the weenie of a man that I am, I allowed him to whisk me away to the wonderful world of work.
It’s been quite a week so far. I was shaking booty at gay bar and trespassed onto a construction site of an eight story building. I’ve been feeling really happy lately, the type of happiness that can only lead to crippling embarrassment and utter self-destruction. I keep trying to brace myself for yet another pitfall. Sometimes I can be so smothering and I know what it’ll all just lead to.
But the lows are so extreme
That the good seems fucking cheap
And it teases you for weeks in its absence
It’s a strong opinion of mine that good and bad is the same thing People like to separate the two for some reason: good and evil, yin and yang, the force and the dark side, the Yankees and the Red Sox. There’s always some dichotomy juxtaposed to show some sort of relationship between two supposedly unlike things. People choose to perceive these things as separate entities, even though they’re not. They’re actually one in the same. Memories of great happiness only develop into maddening sorrow. Peaks give way to valleys. There are no actual boundaries, but there is that feeling of separation. I guess that’s why I have such a hard time enjoying myself. I’m only going to end up hating myself later.
Where am I going with this? I’m just playing it by ear at this point.
Lately, thoughts of a certain someone from high school keep coming back to me. Christ, how I fucked things up.
Everyone wants an anchor to their ship, yet I feel the need for a white squall that’ll send my body for a turnabout and muss up my hair a bit. A wave of mutilation needs to sweep away with my lonely heart. I crave an excitement that’ll break up the monotony of life.
It’s been quite a week so far. I was shaking booty at gay bar and trespassed onto a construction site of an eight story building. I’ve been feeling really happy lately, the type of happiness that can only lead to crippling embarrassment and utter self-destruction. I keep trying to brace myself for yet another pitfall. Sometimes I can be so smothering and I know what it’ll all just lead to.
But the lows are so extreme
That the good seems fucking cheap
And it teases you for weeks in its absence
It’s a strong opinion of mine that good and bad is the same thing People like to separate the two for some reason: good and evil, yin and yang, the force and the dark side, the Yankees and the Red Sox. There’s always some dichotomy juxtaposed to show some sort of relationship between two supposedly unlike things. People choose to perceive these things as separate entities, even though they’re not. They’re actually one in the same. Memories of great happiness only develop into maddening sorrow. Peaks give way to valleys. There are no actual boundaries, but there is that feeling of separation. I guess that’s why I have such a hard time enjoying myself. I’m only going to end up hating myself later.
Where am I going with this? I’m just playing it by ear at this point.
Lately, thoughts of a certain someone from high school keep coming back to me. Christ, how I fucked things up.
Everyone wants an anchor to their ship, yet I feel the need for a white squall that’ll send my body for a turnabout and muss up my hair a bit. A wave of mutilation needs to sweep away with my lonely heart. I crave an excitement that’ll break up the monotony of life.