Saturday, November 9, 2013


These ideas shared shall be brief in interest of my timely arrival at work. I'm also so sure that my grammar is terrible at this intellectually stagnant time in my life.
Am I satisfied with this?
No. Good.
Will I do anything about this?
Very little. Not so good, but better than nothing.

Thoughts during the Deer Tick show the other night. Everyone fucking looks like you. All the beginnings of receding hairlines. The slightly receding hairlines, and slightly weathered faces. We've done stuff; we've lived. Even the females...ladies, fear not. Fuck them. I'll still put line-reducing serum on my face every night and look in the mirror at every angle every morning to see if it's gotten WORSE, but we're all human.

Even the fugly ones look like you.

The single, young girls with no weathering dance scantily-clad for the band. They hope and smile whimsically tossing their long messy hair around with the prayer the light will catch it as it swings and capture one of their attentions.

When it does not, they look around. He could be cute. Why not? They're all too old for us, Madison...text that guy who you gave your phone number to; you know, the one who couldn't stop staring at me.


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