8bit_____

Karmically, I may be stuck in some loophole that excludes the better things I've done for humanity in exchange for those recent deviant acts I've done for myself. The rational being that in a sense I probably deserve what I get -- which always seems to be the doosey. When I finally get the blackeye/beatdown/robbed/fraternal loss/immasculation, etc. it's always the same routine -- get on one leg and think about Descartes thinking about me thinking about 'therefore I am'.

At the end of the day, when my numerous violations against female-kind have been listed in my script notes for the dark romantic new york comedy that may never be, I can get naked and roll around my tile floors claiming dominance over the insects. At least.

The one thing I like about SG besides the articles are lines like this in random young Oregon girls journals, "I am currently writing this entry somewhere not of my own room, wearing nothing but scandalously impractical undergarments, in a monogamous relationship - and wholly confident of that fact - for the first time in ages. I know that I am absolutely happy, exhilirated, and feeling like another long national adventure of unmitigated sluttiness has been put to sleep, a quiet kind of confident taking its place. Fucking rock, no? A consistent mind is the hobgoblin of little indiscretions... and so I am happy and nothing impure has crossed my mind in ages." How fucking solid and well-spoken an intro that would be to my little romantic comedy. My brain spews half-assed chunks of inspiration onto paper but SG provides whole-assed blocks of reality onto the imagination.

What's better than that? (other than living next to lincoln tunnel traffic battling waterbugs with mosque slippers)