it doesnt matter
sometimes i want to knock paris hilton on her ass. this is the kind of the thing that happens when you're brown baggin' it at 4 am marching like a lunatic from west to east, away to home. near, far. you know, grover and everything. she was coming out of james urbaniaks apartment building in a red carpet dress that usually one would need sunglasses to look at, and behind her were about five complete tools, all in tuxes, all hoping they get to be in the next sex video. god bless em. hope it works out fellas. anyhow, i nearly crashed full on into her. good thing i didnt, i think about four of her dads lawyers were padding her bra.
i was praying, before, after. i need a word. i just want a word and then i heard. sloss and the gang, namely dana, my pal, my old buddy friend finally called. were about fifty fifty. three more people have to watch the film.
oh whats the meaning of the mundane... whats the point of the hours, days rather that roll by with idle thoughts and nothing done.
nathan bond is a bad ass. his music breaks my heart. and once jono lays down some old fashioned banjo i can retire. just hang up my cares and retire with my brown bag to a box on the corner, with a stereo and a future.
you're all goddam lovely. i started this journal for a girl.
you goddam girls. i hardly care, but i care way too much. my sisters beat em all, but i cant marry the bunch. though i think my roomate nate needs to marry one of the ladies. what a swell guy. you're all swell, sure.
is everyone trying to figure out the meaning of life?
is everyone lonely?
what is it all for. the glory. the righteous. but why at all in the first place.
im writing again. thats good.
have you no convictions?
its ok. ben beckonawesome is here and everythings fine.
one day we'll all be sitting at the same table, trying to get a word in, asking for the butter, crying cause our one true love never showed.
i was praying, before, after. i need a word. i just want a word and then i heard. sloss and the gang, namely dana, my pal, my old buddy friend finally called. were about fifty fifty. three more people have to watch the film.
oh whats the meaning of the mundane... whats the point of the hours, days rather that roll by with idle thoughts and nothing done.
nathan bond is a bad ass. his music breaks my heart. and once jono lays down some old fashioned banjo i can retire. just hang up my cares and retire with my brown bag to a box on the corner, with a stereo and a future.
you're all goddam lovely. i started this journal for a girl.
you goddam girls. i hardly care, but i care way too much. my sisters beat em all, but i cant marry the bunch. though i think my roomate nate needs to marry one of the ladies. what a swell guy. you're all swell, sure.
is everyone trying to figure out the meaning of life?
is everyone lonely?
what is it all for. the glory. the righteous. but why at all in the first place.
im writing again. thats good.
have you no convictions?
its ok. ben beckonawesome is here and everythings fine.
one day we'll all be sitting at the same table, trying to get a word in, asking for the butter, crying cause our one true love never showed.