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Somehow, the worst, most terrifying thing that I do is look at myself all the time. A mirror is all I need. But I see the encroachment, and it has stunned me.
Is that the excuse for my torpor?
Just returned from dave's. how interesting to possibly think that there might be someone I met who is a pleasant surprise. All the best people are hard to get to know; however, the worst ones can sometimes be the ones who last that long.
Although I want to read Bukowski and Nin, I will more likely watch hours of teevee. Although perhaps now that I've said that?
I miss my homeland so much. What a trite sentence.
Wanting to love.
Wanting to be loved.
Wanting to belong.
I've decided that it's interesting how I want to "talk" to the happyrobot audience. I could easily do a blog on some blogger site.
"All you pretty things" by bowie is exquisite.
"I'm not in love" by th's isn't bad either.
Let's end on "hippie johnnie" by jonathan richman.
(remember the lines denote large pauses. In an effort to make this version new and improved.)
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