Looking into the Sun
I've been able to focus fiercely on my t.v. viewing and video game skills recently in a pure, precise way I've never been able to before. Always these hobbies have been heavily polluted with a sense of self destruction or procrastination. The fact that we're developing my dream project (slowly/surely) on the side of these past times allows me to disregard any feelings of wastefulness while I spend stacked hours of bliss improving my strategy at WarCraft III or in the clutches of "I love the 80s" and "The Restaurant". Still in the midst of all this euphoric passiveness I've mustered the energy:
to sit beside rail thin guys with cave man hair who are wearing only underoos and a leash held by their stripper girlfriends who have muscular arthritis and suffer pain when touched (though you'd never guess by watching her),
to ride in vans through autumn colored country sides where shattered barns sprout grey vines through their gapping holes the way hair grows from old man ears,
to accompany Bay to metal garage shows where everyone wears prosthetic injuries and where the band requires a scolding from my friend for their nazi leanings,
to make two trips to the ER (once for persistant vomiting and once for stepping on a nail) where I had to endure the pratteling of angry young men with wired shut jaws,
to drink chocolate martinis with Naoko and friends and then dance unenthusiastically in the cages of Tradewinds
It is a wonderful life when I have only to worry about telepathic monkeys and whether the Pixies reunion will suck.
to sit beside rail thin guys with cave man hair who are wearing only underoos and a leash held by their stripper girlfriends who have muscular arthritis and suffer pain when touched (though you'd never guess by watching her),
to ride in vans through autumn colored country sides where shattered barns sprout grey vines through their gapping holes the way hair grows from old man ears,
to accompany Bay to metal garage shows where everyone wears prosthetic injuries and where the band requires a scolding from my friend for their nazi leanings,
to make two trips to the ER (once for persistant vomiting and once for stepping on a nail) where I had to endure the pratteling of angry young men with wired shut jaws,
to drink chocolate martinis with Naoko and friends and then dance unenthusiastically in the cages of Tradewinds
It is a wonderful life when I have only to worry about telepathic monkeys and whether the Pixies reunion will suck.