Sunday, December 11, 2005
every man’s first time should be with a whore
Love? Guys like me don’t know the meaning of love. Which I guess is good for the rest of you, in the long run. I mean, I may break a few hearts or whatever, but at least I won’t end up ruining anyone’s life. That is completely up to you and your future ill matched partners.
Two things: whatever Lola wants, Lola gets. Other than that, you’re on your own.
I’m breaking. But it doesn’t really matter. I suppose, and then not much.
Embedded in the lies and the amusement and the things said for shock and the things said for no reason at all there is something of myself. The problem is I have forgotten how to find it and how to tell it from all the rest.
Her – You write?
Me – I write.
Her – You’re a horrible person.
Me – I am.
I appeal to the worst in you. But so long as I am the one doing it, you don’t have to feel guilty for enjoying it.
The Greatest Fear: to amount to nothing
The Greatest Challenge: to prove everyone wrong
I may not have known the consequences coming in, but there is no escaping them now. It’s a Death or Glory charge; to go gently into the maelstrom. I was always a sucker for theatrics and embellishment. A hyperbola is a geometric shape.
In the end it’s all the same. And I don’t really mind that. It’s the middle that I want to be different; better, more interesting. It’s all we have left to change. Amusement can be so debasing.
“Why am I sticky and naked? Did I miss something fun?”