
corrupted by philosophies and whatever else I sit.
a true story, possibly not true, I'm not really sure
across the field from the back door of our townhouse about 100 or so yards from where my green plastic chair sits, supporting my ass while on fresh air breaks lives a beautiful woman with black hair and good skin. I dont know where she is from, but statistically likely Chinese, and there are so many people from all over the world here. And many if not most of them, at least the females are quite beautiful. Venusian. so though I dont really know what her face looks like at all I can feel the vibe. Weve noticed each other, perhaps my own vibeless imagined vibe, as after several beers a couple of vodka shots last thursday night, I could have sworn the lady was gesturing wildly in the air, and to my buzzed mind she was perhaps signaling me to come hither.
Luckily I realized either way it was not a good idea to appreach her, in case I looked like a drunken horny bumbling idiot that I often am after nightfall. I have mispercieved things many times before hopefully not too much more. she may have been fanning eggroll scented burning oil smoke from her kitchen, if the case, being a gentlemen I would have helped her extinguish the fire. but my buns did not leave that green plastic chair, and there was no fire. Im pretty sure there was a woman there though.
I, like my perpetual innumerable forefathers, find the magic in a woman and her body or a bottle or a shovel or wrench or a gun. you never choose your death or your life. what would be the magic then? I wish I could say. someday will seem like yesterday, blown across a swampy field.
Im really not as crazy as it sounds save the below entries. Actually I am only acknowledgeing what is actually happening as opposed to what one wishes, expects, prays, affirms, believes, hopes, gots to have, snakin, fuck all world ego obscured spirit passing of days. living and dying. pretty and shit sticks to it. ride the bull or get tossed to the side. throw the trishul or be impaled.
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