(no subject)
I can now unabashedly say that I have ventured into the darkest corners of my already somewhat disturbed little mind. I'm not talking about that sad little place you go when the big kids take away your lolly; I'm referring to the unpleasant little cerbral alley where all the knives in the house start to look mighty friendly and T.S. Elliot starts to make sense (and truthfully, I don't know which is worse. Probably the latter). So perhaps I'm being a bit hyperbolic, but you get the point. T'was a long night indeed. After forcefully -and none to gracefully- expunging my head from my ass this morning, I set about my business.
I don't know if it was just an unexpected burst of stoicism or the chemical recoil of the previous 12 hours, but I found myself in an almost disturbingly pleasant mood. After having gorged myself on people-watching, I headed to my dad's house and whipped up the most violent, corrosive, mucous-membrane-incerating, esophogous-punishing, gastro-intestinal hellfire I could concoct without the use of a level 5 biohazard suit. The digestive process was the usual (if not somewhat exaggerated) dichotomy: pleasant going in..... and, well.... not so pleasant beyond that. When I got back to my dingy-ass apartment, I could faintly smell patchouli, compassion, and ass on the evening breeze. That can mean only one thing: anti-war protesters. IE: entertainment money can't buy. Now, don't misunderstand me, I advocate free speech the right of assembly as much as the next guy, but this town seems to draw an exceptionally amusing brand of utilikilt-wearing, ponytailed, consciencous objectors. Just don't be too quick to judge my cynicsm; these fine individuals could turn Al Franken into a flag-waving Neocon.
And I was almost sexually assaulted by the gayest human being I have ever met on the way home.
What the flying fuck is the world coming to.
I don't know if it was just an unexpected burst of stoicism or the chemical recoil of the previous 12 hours, but I found myself in an almost disturbingly pleasant mood. After having gorged myself on people-watching, I headed to my dad's house and whipped up the most violent, corrosive, mucous-membrane-incerating, esophogous-punishing, gastro-intestinal hellfire I could concoct without the use of a level 5 biohazard suit. The digestive process was the usual (if not somewhat exaggerated) dichotomy: pleasant going in..... and, well.... not so pleasant beyond that. When I got back to my dingy-ass apartment, I could faintly smell patchouli, compassion, and ass on the evening breeze. That can mean only one thing: anti-war protesters. IE: entertainment money can't buy. Now, don't misunderstand me, I advocate free speech the right of assembly as much as the next guy, but this town seems to draw an exceptionally amusing brand of utilikilt-wearing, ponytailed, consciencous objectors. Just don't be too quick to judge my cynicsm; these fine individuals could turn Al Franken into a flag-waving Neocon.
And I was almost sexually assaulted by the gayest human being I have ever met on the way home.
What the flying fuck is the world coming to.