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Everything's backwards, but do you see me bitching? No, I don't quite think it's my place. I cannot help but bounce in this chair, in front of this computer screen, typing and re-typing as I make my mistakes. I think that's why I think I write best on a computer, because I can simply erase something, just like that. So simple, unlike many other things... like making actual life mistakes. But hey hey... this is nae a rant about the shortcomings or mistakes in life, no no. This is about the good stuff. About searching and searching, and then actually finding acceptance for who you are. About finding something a little more. Out of the norm, something that both should but shouldn't happen(because of our strange societal setting), but does upon occasion anyhow, saying "Piss on this!" and just being. Just happening because... hell, because it wants to. Feelings and fears, doubts and dreams. Nice alliteration, eh? And do you know what? It's all good. If there weren't down periods, then the truly sweet moments wouldn't be caught, captured and savoured in the misty backs of our minds. We wouldn't have anything if we had only good things. Now, don't get me wrong, I think dentists are just plain wrong in an era of modern science such as the one we live in, but stuff like stepping in dog shit, or slicing your finger on the car door on your way to work, or having to eat broccoli are pretty much necessary, if you think about it. If they weren't around, then when you saw a puppy wag his tail at you, or got clothes fresh out of the dryer, would you really appreciate it? I know some people don't appreciate those things now, but truly, truly it is the little things that make life good for those such as me. I just need the time to notice them, I guess. Ackh, so good, so good. But then when something big, something that you really deserve walks up to you and punches you in your ugly mug... hooo boy. That is The Bomb. I mean, The Bomb. The end all, that's it, life's a steak and you finally found your best butcher knife lodged in between hope and justice in the kitchen drawer... right where you left it, dammit! How could you be so stupid! Steak knife in the kitchen drawer!!? As a short fatherly Portuguese friend of mine might say at a loss of words such as mine... Escumagalt! Kakamora! Oh, for sure. I'm on that fucking cloud 17, BITCH! And I appreciate it. I appreciate the honking crap out of it, and I'm not going to stop until I screw things up either. And then... well, okay, I won't lie... that's gonna be a hell of a bitch to me. Like when you're doing coke, and you're flyin', you're slapping your buddy's ass, biting the heads off of trout, having a gay old time... and you wake up the next morning choking on greasy fish brains and your buddy's next to you naked in bed and he wakes up choking on a used condom, filled to the brim with your payola. That's when you just go, "Son of a bitch, this just aint cool anymore." That's what I'm talkin about here. Burning out. Fizzling right up like pop rocks when you're sleepin over at a friends and you pour them and a warm pepsi down his pants. Y'see, it hurts like that. It hurt like fizz on your nuts, yeah. So what I'm saying is I don't want this to end, but it will... and when it does, naturally I'll be in the dumps. I just hope there's someone to remind me that there's other things, little things that make life worth it. That's all, really.
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