"I'll bet I can kick your ass."
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm only interested in writing."
There is no solution to this.
Pretty faces in empty spaces.
Bitter tasting cigarettes.
Stale air, stale room, stale nightshirts.
Monogamous spermatozoa.
Porcelain ballerinas.
Dispersed colors.
Whirling over and over and over and yet over.
There is no solution to this;
There is no way to turn back,
A wall in front
No diversions.
Cornered or spaced?
Investing a thousand hours in the genesis of a name.
Procrastination, sinful thinking and a childhood disease.
The longest way without encountering reality.
"Are you a cynic?"
"I'm unhappy. If I was a cynic it would probably make me feel better."
WHAT THE FUCK IS FLATULATE?