i don't know how long

if you're going to go out, at least lose in a perfected geometric shape.

that's the saying i like to live by.

but if you ask me to repeat this, it may be slurred. not because i'm under the influence of some substance widely regarded as distructive in this day and age (and country), but because you may just believe i need to undergo some sort of speech therapy.

that's right. i admit it. i am a mumbler.

and fuck you for assuming that i was one before i actively admited to the fact.

because the only person allowed to accuse me of this speech impediment is, of course, myself. who else has the right that lets people administer disorders to other human beings? nobody. that's right. nobody. only i can see a horrifically disfigured homo sapien and think, fuck, they should have been terminated during preganancy.

technically, i should stop here.

a great loss will be felt on the home front if i continue to verbalize the thoughts that frequently pass through the many cells that make up my central nervous system.






but, then again, so much is learned through loss.

how else would i know that fucking the neighbor isn't always satisfactory? how else would i know that skipping class to go to the shittiest of santa barbara beaches (yet) could result in a lesser grade? how else would i know that playing backgammon while *un*sober will only result in the worsening of my overall record?






yeah.
i don't know where i am. but yeah.







fuckin a, man. fuckin a.