I've been good lately. Hell, I've practically been a saint. My body doesn't like this. If I can guess I would say that my Hypothalamus has been upregulating my testosterone and has pretty much quit regulating oxytocin altogether (ladies look up oxytocin, you'll wish it came in pill form). Who knows, maybe I'm perpetuating the problem to revel in the bittersweet satisfaction of it all. The masochist in me wants to wallow in the misery in order to marrinate my metaphors in it. We've all got that masochistic side that we know and love. Maybe, just maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel. And maybe, just maybe, that light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming freight train. I've come to realize that fuitily it trying to predict and control your future. Controlling the present is hard enough. The future will be the death of me...
She's a pretty pretty girl. I would most certainly let her pollinate me. I wonder if that will happen. Who knows? I could probably make it happen but I don't know if it's in the cards.
Flashes of her are maturing into staged masterpieces in my eyes. I watched the ocean envelop the sky. The sun burnt my flesh and set fire to the the salt. The creatures left the water to begin evolving again and the cylce continues as it has since it began. In other words, failure isn't straight, it's a circular shape composed of every fucking mistake. All the mental masterbation in the world couldn't bring you close to answering that question, but I think that's the beauty of it. Maybe that's just me. I don't think you understand. I don't think I quite understand. I'll just continue to play and fret at the same time. Never really accomplishing anything but secretly wishing for everything.
I'm cutting this one close. I thought I had done much better. I guess hubris will be my downfall. Hubris or a lack of adderol. Anyways, I have so much more to do and only so much time to do it.