i could write something interesting and articulate.
i could tell you that i’m sitting here with speakers plugged into the sound jack of my laptop, with earbuds plugged into them, with the volume so loud it almost hurts, because i want my fucking eardrums to explode, because i can’t listen to idiotic people above me at work insult my intellect anymore.
You know why people like him aren’t authors? People like him aren’t authors because they don’t care about the words. They care about the appearance of depth, about making yourself look cool with a talent not many people have. The difference between him, and you, or I, or the next schmuck with a keyboard or a pen, is that he wants people to look at him and think how cool he is. We just want them to look at us.
Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often. The Great Spirit will listen, if you only speak. ~ Be tolerant of those who are lost on their path. Ignorance, conceit, anger, jealousy and greed stem from a lost soul….
I used to collect womens thongs, boyshorts, bikini underwear, and all other sorts of sexy womens underthings, from the women I had been with as a trophy. I would look at them and snicker at each one, each juvienille conquest replaying in my mind.
Now, I only have one pair. The simple white ones she wore last time we slept together, exchanged out every time we make love. I don’t look at them and want a high five. I clutch them in a ball to my chest, feeling the smooth silk and the intricate lace. There isn’t sexual hunger, just a general longing for her.