_germans are more fun than something
least i forget, i must remain myself how it feels to be on the other side of the spanking stick. from the other side looking at another’s desire and turning away from the possiblity. i bring to my own attention my own attachment torwards form. form in music, poety, shapes and skin. i am such the elitist when it comes to these matters but they are nothing more than advance states of subtle illusions. lies that i tell myself that it’s better because it’s higher to like this kind of form over the other kind of form because the other form is so crass. where does hiearchy of taste play in these big ideas? i am glad i have these weak moments where i remain myself how lame i am. really, it should be someone else kicking my ass because the drunken sailor does a terrible job at it.
but it all comes back to the reckoning. it must happen because i can’t continue live with her stuff in my cloest. it’s a pathetic symbolism of my stagant being. there’s a possilbity it’s not. i can’t continue these lines of thought.