God bless the heavier side of music. Lately, I've wanted to punch everyone in the face, and I can live vicariously through drop tuned guitars punching me in the face with hatehappy instead. See, hatehappy means it hates me, and in turn it makes me happy.
I really wish I knew how to address this, or deal with it, but I just don't see anyway possible. Maybe I preemptively cut beef out of my diet, or something, but whatever it is, I kind of would like this to end.
It's okay, someday soon they'll find me in the john at Sears, collapsed in a heap on the floor with my pants half undone, bleeding from the eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Severe hemorrhage, no way anyone could have caught it.
I'm kind of along with Daniel, where I drop is where I should be allowed to rot. It's not like we rush out to pick up dogs or cats from the middle of the intersection. No, no. The coyotes will take care of that, and the birds will get the rest.
Circle of life, friends. Circle of life. I can hear Elton John playing it out, now, while Simba has his way with my carcass. It's in the Lion King DVD, it's under "Simba Sex and Cuisine."
I should be cleaning right now, but to be honest...I just can't find the motivation. It's not like my room is even messy. It's just those hoops we jump through to impress people with exterior things, because the inside is so rotten and bland. "And this is my book collection, oh and could you please ignore the fact that I don't have a soul? Thanks, that'd be great."
I'm trying to figure out where to put my action figures. See, okay...I'm not big into this at all really, but every once in a while I'll pick up a figurine from...say Star Wars, or Batman...or Captain America...etc.
Well, they've never been an issue since, well...girls don't come over very often. Well, thats all coming to a screeching and crashing halt. Heres the thing, she's seen the figurines (we're talking about Velvet), but...she calls them something else entirely different. And every time she calls them this...I just about lose my entire three strands of sanity I have left. Every time she calls them this, I have an identity crisis, and wind up yelling in my head, "I'm an adult! They aren't...that..."
She calls them, "Little plastic men."
And I swear to God, it kills me just a little bit more every time, mostly because I sense she gets a great big kick out of it.
I've also decided I probably shouldn't drink around people anymore. See, the last three times I have, I've wound up singing this bar from the Menzingers song, Victory Gin, (which can be found on the list of tracks they have for your listening pleasure on the link provided.) The lyric goes, "DADDY I HOPE YOUR PROUD, I GAVE THEM MY SOUL" and I think it's self explanatory why I think drinking alone in the dark is the mature and responsible way to go from now on.
-Until tomorrow.
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2 comments:
I get more joy out of it than you know.
Stop hating the world. See you tomorrow, suckah. :-)
I hear you when it comes to drinking alone. It's impossible for me not to embarrass myself when I'm drunk in public.....
...or I guess punk in drubic, whatever that means.
All those people who become cryogenically frozen are going to be disappointed when they are awakened years from now only to realize that a resurrection, like a clone, will have a different consciousness than the original person. It will be like a brand new person.
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