go to school, get a degree, work a job, pop out a couple of kids, maybe have a few barbecues. that can't be IT, can it? it's supposed to add up to something more, i know it has to, i can feel it.
a society that becomes focused on the superficial is more or less on it's way out. we're already toast, and we don't even know it yet. 5 percent of US citizens believe the sun revolves around the earth, and the rest pick their government based on what celebrity endorses what candidate. this can be it, there's just no way.
the sun shines and the sky is blue, but out there, beyond the random collection of gas molecules that we are continually molesting, the stars still burn. we just can't see them. you drive, and bitch at the fucker in front of you for making a wrong turn, but is there any way for it to have been right? they had to slow down, and that pisses you off. all the while, while you bitch and text, nearly seven billion others are doing something else, and thinking that they are the most important of all. no one is doing nothing, except me. shit, i'm even typing this in a blog, how fucking hypocritical is that?
i could be writing this in my paper journal, the only one that really matters to me, but even that is only filled with shallow, meaningless, pedestrian thoughts. i want you to read this, i want you to pay attention to me. we're fucked. i'm fucked.
most days im stuck in a dim backroom folding or hanging clothes, i'm a cog in the driving force of capital commercialism. marketing work, and even the salespeople have bought into their own lies.
this will make you pretty, this will make you sexy, beach body in 90 days, bigger dick in a week. it's all in this little pill. the pharmaceutical companies will find the answer, then sell it to you, and make a profit so they can buy their own drugs.
this can't be it. this petty chasing down of the status quo, the cute litte house with a garden to tend in the front yard. the marriage. the planning. it never happens, eventually.
life is just around the corner, and i'm just another person bitching about it. i'm american, and a product of my society. we've been sedated in so many ways that we can't remember what drugged feels like anymore. born to die, stuck in a harvey pekar sort of tiny universe.
fitzgerald was wrong, kerouac settled down, dali lived the rest of his life seclusion, bobby fisher is dead, and somewhere salinger laughs.... hefner is god... fuckificare... the only trouble is, i do.
the real world is right there, even the characters in my head refuse to talk to me...
my skin itches.. plug in, log on, cop out.
a society that becomes focused on the superficial is more or less on it's way out. we're already toast, and we don't even know it yet. 5 percent of US citizens believe the sun revolves around the earth, and the rest pick their government based on what celebrity endorses what candidate. this can be it, there's just no way.
the sun shines and the sky is blue, but out there, beyond the random collection of gas molecules that we are continually molesting, the stars still burn. we just can't see them. you drive, and bitch at the fucker in front of you for making a wrong turn, but is there any way for it to have been right? they had to slow down, and that pisses you off. all the while, while you bitch and text, nearly seven billion others are doing something else, and thinking that they are the most important of all. no one is doing nothing, except me. shit, i'm even typing this in a blog, how fucking hypocritical is that?
i could be writing this in my paper journal, the only one that really matters to me, but even that is only filled with shallow, meaningless, pedestrian thoughts. i want you to read this, i want you to pay attention to me. we're fucked. i'm fucked.
most days im stuck in a dim backroom folding or hanging clothes, i'm a cog in the driving force of capital commercialism. marketing work, and even the salespeople have bought into their own lies.
this will make you pretty, this will make you sexy, beach body in 90 days, bigger dick in a week. it's all in this little pill. the pharmaceutical companies will find the answer, then sell it to you, and make a profit so they can buy their own drugs.
this can't be it. this petty chasing down of the status quo, the cute litte house with a garden to tend in the front yard. the marriage. the planning. it never happens, eventually.
life is just around the corner, and i'm just another person bitching about it. i'm american, and a product of my society. we've been sedated in so many ways that we can't remember what drugged feels like anymore. born to die, stuck in a harvey pekar sort of tiny universe.
fitzgerald was wrong, kerouac settled down, dali lived the rest of his life seclusion, bobby fisher is dead, and somewhere salinger laughs.... hefner is god... fuckificare... the only trouble is, i do.
the real world is right there, even the characters in my head refuse to talk to me...
my skin itches.. plug in, log on, cop out.
vidalia:
I heart your blurb.