who's this person al? this will be my second personal to date. a few months after my first one night stand i put one up at an adult personals site, honestly thinking i'd get emails with motel rooms and times. i thought i'd tapped into knowing what kind of women i should pursue, which was really off base since i don't put the moves on anyone ever. the ad stayed up a little longer than this will until i felt silly for having it and no longer understood why i'd put it up there. so i took TimeTravel off the market.
a few years ago i had my phase of mulling everything over and figuring out what was going on and why, and what i should be doing about it, and giving importance to all the normal trivial shit that happened around me. not that i got super affected, but i felt like i needed to be thinking it all out. stopped doing that and now i have this.
there's no proof that there's a purpose, and even if there is, it doesn't really matter if you blow it off and just do whatever you want. if in the end, i've fucked it up the whole time and never gotten it, well shit, how was i supposed to know? i was just tryin to kick it. i had a good time and compiled a long list of things i thought were silly. i don't have any way to know what's really up, what's true and not, or what things mean. i don't know how we got here. i certainly don't wanna have a discussion about it. i don't know why some people are jackasses, and i don't care what anyone does as long as it's not bothering me. some people spend an hour getting ready to look different, while others spend an hour getting ready to look fancy, and this is supposed to be one definition of how folks are just different. figure that one out. looks pretty similar to me. this is what i used to do and don't anymore. spend time and energy thinking about ridiculous, unanswerable questions that have no bearing on me unless i decide that they do. i like way out theories about what the real story is, but i don't put any real belief in very many things. i can't explain anything that goes on and i'm that kid again who doesn't care about anything except enjoying myself and hanging out with people i like. i like lowbrow humor, discussions that aren't a debate about something, and if it's something that can be made fun of, something lame. i don't want to talk about something lame if you're mad about it, or want to discuss why it's so fucked up and wrong. i'm done reacting to the world's antics. i like typing into this window more than i thought i would, and i like reading little insights and moments of people here i know, that i'd miss if i only saw them in person. i like to fuck off. i like getting loaded and not having anything to take care of. i like phrases like "dude, i have been kickin ass all day LONG today" after a day of hanging around and nothing else.
ladies, you're in the if it happens box, but if i had to describe my ideal woman, she'd think it was funny if i said i was going to, but not actually, change my name to The Grammar King for one day and ruthlessly comb journals for mistakes, insisting to each person that it was no typo, they in fact did not know how to spell the word. they were only getting it right this time after misspelling dictionary.com a few times and looking it up. she'd be reading this in the car on a web ready cellphone, then throwing that phone out the window while honking, pulling the trunk release button and swerving wildly to the nearest payphone to call me.
shit, i'm out. typin a novel here and i've got journals i wanna read.
a few years ago i had my phase of mulling everything over and figuring out what was going on and why, and what i should be doing about it, and giving importance to all the normal trivial shit that happened around me. not that i got super affected, but i felt like i needed to be thinking it all out. stopped doing that and now i have this.
there's no proof that there's a purpose, and even if there is, it doesn't really matter if you blow it off and just do whatever you want. if in the end, i've fucked it up the whole time and never gotten it, well shit, how was i supposed to know? i was just tryin to kick it. i had a good time and compiled a long list of things i thought were silly. i don't have any way to know what's really up, what's true and not, or what things mean. i don't know how we got here. i certainly don't wanna have a discussion about it. i don't know why some people are jackasses, and i don't care what anyone does as long as it's not bothering me. some people spend an hour getting ready to look different, while others spend an hour getting ready to look fancy, and this is supposed to be one definition of how folks are just different. figure that one out. looks pretty similar to me. this is what i used to do and don't anymore. spend time and energy thinking about ridiculous, unanswerable questions that have no bearing on me unless i decide that they do. i like way out theories about what the real story is, but i don't put any real belief in very many things. i can't explain anything that goes on and i'm that kid again who doesn't care about anything except enjoying myself and hanging out with people i like. i like lowbrow humor, discussions that aren't a debate about something, and if it's something that can be made fun of, something lame. i don't want to talk about something lame if you're mad about it, or want to discuss why it's so fucked up and wrong. i'm done reacting to the world's antics. i like typing into this window more than i thought i would, and i like reading little insights and moments of people here i know, that i'd miss if i only saw them in person. i like to fuck off. i like getting loaded and not having anything to take care of. i like phrases like "dude, i have been kickin ass all day LONG today" after a day of hanging around and nothing else.
ladies, you're in the if it happens box, but if i had to describe my ideal woman, she'd think it was funny if i said i was going to, but not actually, change my name to The Grammar King for one day and ruthlessly comb journals for mistakes, insisting to each person that it was no typo, they in fact did not know how to spell the word. they were only getting it right this time after misspelling dictionary.com a few times and looking it up. she'd be reading this in the car on a web ready cellphone, then throwing that phone out the window while honking, pulling the trunk release button and swerving wildly to the nearest payphone to call me.
shit, i'm out. typin a novel here and i've got journals i wanna read.
feeling fit,
f
-/