good god
This weekend was a dedication to sprialing chaos. I was strung out from friday afternoon to saturday night. After the dust has cleared, the only true and settled fact is that it is not a good thing to party with juniors, or smoke out people you don't like, with a strong emphasis on the primary. It definetely an Eliott Smith morning as I sit here with closed curtains. Its amazing when you don't know why things around you are happening. What the fuck happened with Ashley and Colin, if some one could please explain to me what the fuck that was, I would be much obliged. This weekend consisted of a gentle mixture of a little bit of fear and a lot of loathing. This shit is too potent for me to control, I was rheeling at the thrift shop. I was completely off my face while I was folding clothes. I spent like an hour categorizing eight bookshelves, It almost became like a ritual. I had no idea where I was but for some reason my hands moved in delicate and interesting ways. I think working at a thrift shop is interesting, because I think of the great philosophers influences in life like Marx when he was investigating the status of workers in factories. What if my great influence that shaped my beliefs was working in some dingey thirft shop. It is a true proliterian interaction, is it not? I've made four categories of people who go into a thrift shop. The endangered women who really need the clothing. I am inspired by the love of their children and their amazing will to survive. I guess my perspective is skewed comming from such wealth in life, but faced with their situation I would just give up. I'd be lke fuck I've got 14 dollars to my name and three kids to feed. Cash yer chips in and get the fuck out.
The second group of people would be the senior citizens. I sit at the counter staring at them, wondering what they were like a children. They remind me of faded picasso drawings, an ultimate testiment to decay. All walking to their own beat, and rummaging to maintain an image that faded several decades ago in the bathroom mirror. I am scared as to what it will be like when aspirations no longer motivate because my prime is done with. What happens when you get to 70 and realize what the fuck did I do. I worked 40 hours a week for 40 years, just to be handed a check which I later handed back to america. Some of the old people though have a vindicated sense of wisdom about them which I respect. They have this unwielding attitude which you would never want to fuck with.
The other two groups I have forgotten about but does it matter? I wonder why it always ends here.
The second group of people would be the senior citizens. I sit at the counter staring at them, wondering what they were like a children. They remind me of faded picasso drawings, an ultimate testiment to decay. All walking to their own beat, and rummaging to maintain an image that faded several decades ago in the bathroom mirror. I am scared as to what it will be like when aspirations no longer motivate because my prime is done with. What happens when you get to 70 and realize what the fuck did I do. I worked 40 hours a week for 40 years, just to be handed a check which I later handed back to america. Some of the old people though have a vindicated sense of wisdom about them which I respect. They have this unwielding attitude which you would never want to fuck with.
The other two groups I have forgotten about but does it matter? I wonder why it always ends here.