“my shit is gold I hold the pole of polarity/ I go on and fondle phrases/ ages/ before you ever heard the lion roar/ my minions were preparing for my birth…” – del, ’94 via satellite
goddamn, I know its been like a minute and a half since I wrote last, but shit, its not like a lot of people are reading this…
oh wait, if a lot of people are reading this, send money. right away. lots and lots of money. dough, moolah, cash, clams, shit, I will take pesos too. just like in cancun. I takes what you gots, senor.
but I digress.
I am tired. I could write a lot more about this, but I don’t want to ruffle any feathers. I, in fact, have written more about this, and am still debating whether to post it. fact is, I could write some beautiful ass blurb about my pain and struggles, but will the writing make it any easier? no. why not? because no one wants it to be their fault, no one wants to take the blame for their own actions. and until that happens, nothing will change. not all the cathartic scribbles on the face of the earth will change that. so for my money, fuck that writing shit.
oh, and fuck the san antonio spurs. times two. squared. *.