.
an object to keeps you entertained.
occupied and engaged.
what a good twist of fate... that we know our selves... and we recognize the things we do.

just keep me busy slut. and let's enjoy it.
let's be useless together. happily.
i wonder what's in it for you... ha!

you wouldn't be honest even if you wanted to be.

absent pleasures.
-vixens-

Find something else to do.

you absolutely should not sit around here all day thinking about ejaculating.

but...
if you found the right seventeen year old girl, with the perfect face, i imagine you would lounge in her parents' house all day... alternating between reading her diary and fucking her on camera. ...which seems fine.

"you think I'm a fuck up don't ya."

your friends know...

and if there were a revolution you wouldn't be in the streets. you would be in a cave masturbating to transsexuals getting fucked by dogs.

so have a look at yourself.

you will kill you.

a time-slice captured can more accurately represent the impression that is made upon an individual than a precise recollection of the reality (the temporal sequence of events as brute physical fact) of what occurred in a given instance. Or in the case of a human being represented and not an event... the captured moment may mislead or accentuate in ways that reality would not... but there are certain angles and certain lights that make way for the perfect explanation of why it is that I recall an individual, why I remember them, as a whole, in the way that I do.

A painting fell off my wall.
I put it up with tape.
no nail.
Only adhesive…
so the fall came as no surprise.
It was a beautiful print.
So not truly a painting at all.
But a print of a painting.
My copy that I was free to hang with tape.

The tape was good tape.
It held for months.
But now.
With time.
The print is lying face down.
The artist's idea... face down on the ground.

I have not chosen to make amends.
I am passively enjoying the wall.
The absence of color.
The absence of everything..

I try to remember the print.
But my memory fails.

Without true choice.
That print fell.
The print of a painting.
The print that was mine.
The print that gave me pleasure taped to my wall.

I wish it hadn’t fallen like that.
I wish I had chosen to take it down.
So I leave it on the floor.
As things made it be.

where's your girl?

you might have to suffer tonight...
go to sleep unfulfilled, a little something unresolved, it makes you fight the drive for closure.

and you will lose... so your pithy bullshit leads you to the phone. leads you to the internet.
lord, you're a voracious consumer... trampling the planet on a crusade... with no focus, no array of belief, no backdrops, and no god damn passion.

Just a flash, the figures move from one position to another, and then the flash again...

moment to moment a scene unfolds, like a flip book.

from experience to recollection. seamless and elusive... you don't have a choice... it's the immediate and the actual... so you can count on losing everything... try whatever you want; control your behavior, outline your goals, look ahead. but the future's a bag of trash.

the pressure of the present crushed your plans.
..

you and all your friends.

in short: you're outta control.

just observe the elegance of figure. the shape is enough. and the rest... you fill it in.