Dear Father.
So, I got off work today and my back was fucking killing me. I mean I don't wanna bitch about it, but it was very sore. I now realize that I've spent an excessive amount of my life sitting down, lying down, whatever. Six hours of straight standing, walking, lifting.....This is not something my slacker/stoner/writer framework is accustomed to. That's all well, I suppose, because money is an ideal incentive to do just about anything. I'd like to list a few more incentives as to why I subject myself to this fundamentally unecessary wage.
1) Spain
2) Vehicle
3) A girl.
4) Marijuana
5) Being able to sing 'Hard Day's Night' after my shift.
6) Self-discipline
7) Various miscellany
8) Self-esteem
Why is self-esteem number eight? Because marijuana is number four, and if you don't understand- perhaps you never will. Anyway, my zeal and devotion to this remedial herb is not fully sound perhaps, morally or what have you, but the dissolution of muscular pain and earthly woe seems to be a fair pennance paid to the guilty sting of iniquity. Am I faded right now? Yes. Am I ambiguous in that regard? I'd say so. Have I become addled or insipid? I should think it obvious; nay. While I may approach rising situations with a more docile reserve than my typical brand of savagery, my wit is in no way burdened. Perhaps it is sharpened, strayed of course, and of course it forms its own course to which it can adhere with merriment along the way. My tongue may be slurred, but my eyes compensate. And all this is scarcely relevant, as stupidity is not a censurable failing. Stupidity either welcomes pity or, in less extreme cases, assimilation.
Bittersweet reality that is, but the fog of denial always blurs such simple distinctions. People cling to the notion of unattainable purity, religious or not, emulating some robe-sporting, staff-wielding, scripture-raving icon stuffed with fairy tale and unhappy ending. That's in no way to rebuke the precepts of most established religion... but the very nature of man, myself included. We are truly nigger kikes, as the Aryans so pleasantly jibe.
Anyway, woah...I digressed.
So I get off of work at eleven and as I'm doing the last rounds, Kevin appears at the backdoor with news of a rather large quantity of yerba, which he procured for me. Needless to say, after my shift, I was mighty keen on the idea of a bowl and so an exchange was made and the devil was put into my custody. We went back to my place, Katy, Kevin, Dustin, and I. I smoked, Kevin did, Dustin did, Katy didn't but insisted on toying with my baked male head and was rather successful. I can't say I didn't enjoy the attention, but the situation vexes for many reasons- after the fact, of course.
Then I go on Melo and I get a sermon, which was very entertaining. It's not every day that I recieve the luxury of having my insults dissected and regurgitated with captioning brought about by the random fuck I was insulting in the first place. And while I really do sympathize with the weak and simpering, I can't abide by those who come to tarnish my good name! I'm just disappointed that someone might have the audacity to insult me without even realizing that they'd soon after be desiring to earn my stoic amnesty.
So it goes, in the protocol of: Engage, Parry, Tactically Withdraw, Careen, Kneel. And so I smirk at every waking second.
Anyway, I can't believe I wash dishes for a fucking living. Actually, it's appropriate. Now, I need to do something obscene and psychologically stimulating. Then I'll write a memoirs, or tell my story to an aspiring novelist and become one of the greatest metaphors for...something profound since...shit, I don't know, Appocalypse Now. How's that for you? Take it home. Chew on it. It's delicious.
1) Spain
2) Vehicle
3) A girl.
4) Marijuana
5) Being able to sing 'Hard Day's Night' after my shift.
6) Self-discipline
7) Various miscellany
8) Self-esteem
Why is self-esteem number eight? Because marijuana is number four, and if you don't understand- perhaps you never will. Anyway, my zeal and devotion to this remedial herb is not fully sound perhaps, morally or what have you, but the dissolution of muscular pain and earthly woe seems to be a fair pennance paid to the guilty sting of iniquity. Am I faded right now? Yes. Am I ambiguous in that regard? I'd say so. Have I become addled or insipid? I should think it obvious; nay. While I may approach rising situations with a more docile reserve than my typical brand of savagery, my wit is in no way burdened. Perhaps it is sharpened, strayed of course, and of course it forms its own course to which it can adhere with merriment along the way. My tongue may be slurred, but my eyes compensate. And all this is scarcely relevant, as stupidity is not a censurable failing. Stupidity either welcomes pity or, in less extreme cases, assimilation.
Bittersweet reality that is, but the fog of denial always blurs such simple distinctions. People cling to the notion of unattainable purity, religious or not, emulating some robe-sporting, staff-wielding, scripture-raving icon stuffed with fairy tale and unhappy ending. That's in no way to rebuke the precepts of most established religion... but the very nature of man, myself included. We are truly nigger kikes, as the Aryans so pleasantly jibe.
Anyway, woah...I digressed.
So I get off of work at eleven and as I'm doing the last rounds, Kevin appears at the backdoor with news of a rather large quantity of yerba, which he procured for me. Needless to say, after my shift, I was mighty keen on the idea of a bowl and so an exchange was made and the devil was put into my custody. We went back to my place, Katy, Kevin, Dustin, and I. I smoked, Kevin did, Dustin did, Katy didn't but insisted on toying with my baked male head and was rather successful. I can't say I didn't enjoy the attention, but the situation vexes for many reasons- after the fact, of course.
Then I go on Melo and I get a sermon, which was very entertaining. It's not every day that I recieve the luxury of having my insults dissected and regurgitated with captioning brought about by the random fuck I was insulting in the first place. And while I really do sympathize with the weak and simpering, I can't abide by those who come to tarnish my good name! I'm just disappointed that someone might have the audacity to insult me without even realizing that they'd soon after be desiring to earn my stoic amnesty.
So it goes, in the protocol of: Engage, Parry, Tactically Withdraw, Careen, Kneel. And so I smirk at every waking second.
Anyway, I can't believe I wash dishes for a fucking living. Actually, it's appropriate. Now, I need to do something obscene and psychologically stimulating. Then I'll write a memoirs, or tell my story to an aspiring novelist and become one of the greatest metaphors for...something profound since...shit, I don't know, Appocalypse Now. How's that for you? Take it home. Chew on it. It's delicious.