A lesser art form from a lesser life form
January or blueberry? As far as bizarre accidents go, I suppose life can be given some slack as remotely acceptable. But conscious life as about as ridiculously incomprehensible in purpose as anything. So which is it? January? Or blueberry? If you really think about it that you'll eventually become aware of what you're doing and thus potentially negating the true existence of the question itself. So rarely it seems is there the actual feeling in need of being communicated, mainly just a memory of it, trying to conjure it up once again, the longer it has been gone the less clear it seems and the truth of it dissipating. Irony is my favorite curse.
A headache or two blue pills? A text book or a walk in the woods? A commitment or a delusion? Vicariously or vivaciously? Neither or both? Here or there? In your head or out of your mind? Clever or stupid? A bowl of cereal or not right now? This shirt or not this shirt? Quiet or embarassed? Work or play? Money or death? Do or explain? Faith or pity? Me or every me? Waste or art? Health or morals? Ecstacy or mimickry? Expansive or intrusive? Sure someday or that's what we always say?
A headache or two blue pills? A text book or a walk in the woods? A commitment or a delusion? Vicariously or vivaciously? Neither or both? Here or there? In your head or out of your mind? Clever or stupid? A bowl of cereal or not right now? This shirt or not this shirt? Quiet or embarassed? Work or play? Money or death? Do or explain? Faith or pity? Me or every me? Waste or art? Health or morals? Ecstacy or mimickry? Expansive or intrusive? Sure someday or that's what we always say?