Vodka Induced Stream Of Consciousness, Minus Spell Check, Because You Don't Spell Check Drunk
But, then where do you find the pure girl. No, I don't mean virgin. I mean pure. In this brave new world where she can sleep with as many men as I can sleep with girls and it's still all alright. Is she just an endangered species. Our super accelerated media culture has hunted her to near extinction. I have made mistakes with first and last names. Does she have to have made as many. Does that even the odds. It starts so pretty, then turns so dirty. Someone always loses. Someone always hurts. There are no mutual agreements. Someone always compromises all the compromises. Someone always loses all that can be lost. Even when hurt her, I bleed from her wound. I hurt her pain. The empathetic are pathetic. Wher are the pure. Their not drunk in strobed lit clubs. Their not reading in the places of the read. Their not walking on the streets tread by those you know. Their hiding in those places I haven't searched. I'm an urban explorer. No artifacts. No credit. No tenure. No degree. I have only an associates in associating. I'm losing the battle of the sex. A wounded soldier constantly searching for bandages, I keep ripping out the sutures. Her Unknown. Where do I find Her Unknown. She is always unknown to me. When I find a her, she becomes known. Then I don't want to know her anymore. I am always trying to de-mystify the mystery. When it's all plain and simple it just isn't interesting anymore. Paradoxical ventrical. How can something so tangible be so endless? Where does love stop? Why does it stop? Where is the stop sign? I need glasses. I need bifocals, I need to see what's in front of me and distant. Why can't I be as sure about any girl as Loyd Dobbler was about one? He just knew. I never know. If I just filmed my life then it could have a happy ending. No picket fences, just a no seat belt sign. A flight from prosecution, a flight to freedom. Aortal freedom. As I write this call, the crickets are calling. I live in a place where the dominant nighttime sound is a cricket. There is something wrong with that. Where I am right now, the only animal or human saying what I am saying is a bug. The vodka is gone. Loyd Dobbler, I am assuming, never became a kickboxing champion (it wasn't, apparently, the sport of the future). As well as, I am not a champion of love. I do not champion it because it always beats me. And the simple fact is, when someone constantly beats you at something, you stop playing against them. Women are just better at this than I am. Maybe they deserve to be the ones that can leave and come back at will. I guess I just have too much will for that then. If the women want all the power they are going to have to use it. It's their turn to approach the men. I am tired of it. I have been doing that for enough years already (really only a few). It's her job at this point. All the hers. Her Unknown, a self fulfilling impossibility. Maybe Loyd Dobbler was right. He fell in love with such a shallow character. Say Anyhting. Seriously, say anything.
posted by Ash @ 2:30 AM
Comments: 5
