just a ghost.
sometimes tact trumps honesty. it is all part of the posturing game. it is tempting to revolt... i have beautiful little moments away from external stimuli in which i image the nihilist/existentialist self that i might be if it were not for the allure of vagina (specifically) and social interaction (more generally). i am unable to entertain myself enough to desire isolation, which i enjoy occasionally, as a way of life. i am just like the rest of the pussy douchebags. and what a fool i must be to be the author of this nonsense.
it seems that intellect fails in this arena of sensation and desire.
my style teeters... it is not as entertaining when the sarcasm is absent. so i will revise a statement that i made earlier.
tact should trump honesty. formulations must be tactful more so than they must be honest. honesty is not the right goal... existence is not cuddly enough for that.
tricks get turned out.
dicks get burned.
scrubs like me write.
but scrubs don't learn.
hard headed and moderately wack.
poetry and nut sacks.
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