20 & Boring
This temporary, unpredicted life excursion to Christmas, FL is lookin strange. I am pent up with some kind of exasperating energy that forces me to expend it. There’s no real other option, no way out of it, almost every afternoon. Have I ODed on politics? Is that possible? Will I find out through rational thought? Probably not.
At a gay bar with Steph, Sammy, and Ben. Ben’s got on the tightest black chords from Urban Outfitters ever; cocks bulging from the crotch and everything. Damn boy, nice ass! How can I not grap onto some part of that?
So where is my life going? In the beginning I imagined reading intensely and creating vast curriculum. And here I am at a gay bar, jamming through a fuzz pedal and telecaster, riding around downtown on a cruiser, contemplating androgyny as always and just generally reverting to usual practices.
This dream I can’t access right now…..
This heart that spills out onto the amplifier and I am not wholly in control. Of it.
Every night, new friends pass by and it conditions the mood. The porch tiles soak in the light we never use. There’s a strange haunting vibe in btw spaces of speech, and spaces of air that sizzle btw our eardrums. We tend to forget these things don’t actually exist. Rather, they only exist in terms of temporary, impermanent purpose. Competing absolutes condition our sense(s). We dream of better.
At a gay bar with Steph, Sammy, and Ben. Ben’s got on the tightest black chords from Urban Outfitters ever; cocks bulging from the crotch and everything. Damn boy, nice ass! How can I not grap onto some part of that?
So where is my life going? In the beginning I imagined reading intensely and creating vast curriculum. And here I am at a gay bar, jamming through a fuzz pedal and telecaster, riding around downtown on a cruiser, contemplating androgyny as always and just generally reverting to usual practices.
This dream I can’t access right now…..
This heart that spills out onto the amplifier and I am not wholly in control. Of it.
Every night, new friends pass by and it conditions the mood. The porch tiles soak in the light we never use. There’s a strange haunting vibe in btw spaces of speech, and spaces of air that sizzle btw our eardrums. We tend to forget these things don’t actually exist. Rather, they only exist in terms of temporary, impermanent purpose. Competing absolutes condition our sense(s). We dream of better.