Man I don't want to write. I hate when I get like this. I'm forced to compose in an effort to release some of this shit. I couldn't even think of a title, at least not a "flowery" one. I always knew that my writing would not be about flowers, trees, birds, bees, and all the stuff in between the lies that we are made to believe. I wonder what it would be like to write about the "feel good" shit. Personally, I think they (the righters, authors, composers, creators and plain ole manipulators) are Lieing, lieing, and lieing some more. So, this is my introduction to... a resistance to write. Yeah... I'm not ready. but my skin is oozin some shit. Fo sho - just pourin out my pores. Coatin my fingers wit persuasion. Cells lost through this process tryin to be rejuvinated through the sentences that text wrap this page. Just another process of going round and round. Everything comin to an end and startin from the beginning again. It's like a Hangover... it can only go so far. You return to your understanding of "normal" and then do it all again, maybe even falling over from doin it to big this time. I wonder what its like being the eldest child. I would assume that one would have lots of chances/opportunities to get shit right. I mean, you are the first to exit the fleshy courtroom. Already sentenced... sometimes to death. I just don't want tonight to be a late one... not to late. I wish it was earlier and I could go to the gym. Work some of this shit out. Tired of bending folks ears. Makes you feel crazy after awhile. Oh yeah, I think I'm a check into that whole idea about inclusion. It should probably be all about me. Isn't that how folks make it big? get famous? take care of themselves? I dunno... I just know that I'm done with this writing shit for now.
peace
peace
