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raincheck, maybe before/after So, anyway. Tapping on the 3/4 keyboard. Bluetooth keyboard. iPad. Baseball on the radio. Writing on this filthy little bitch is like fucking the socially awkward. It just won't end up well. Que snarky comment about 'that guy that I fucked once a decade ago was socially awkward, and the events of that evening have grown so magnified in my mind due to a serious lack of cock into the most incredible sex of my entire life." Yeah, whatever. Save that shit. Sometimes you know about a person, you know? Sometimes you just *know* they're going to be a good fuck. No fear, no real fear anyway. That look in the eye that is just like catnip or crack to a young man. That look that says, 'I want you to do whatever you want with me.' I like to think I give a similar vibe back, but in the aggressive, 'I want to tear into you like an animal.' Wait, what? This is not what I came here to *write*. (and why did andrew never install a simple txt editor with the submission box? I mean, goddamn, I could just sit in this bullshit cube and write all night. Butt no fuckin' *italics*. Maybe I need to break my italic-dependance, but I digress...) I came to write...truth. Truth through perception. Metaphors seen and unseen. Knowing that perception is both everything and nothing. When you accept that, then you know you're fucking set. Everything to the shy short-term. Nothing in the long-term run of life. At some point you gotta; realize that what you see is just that. Maybe I'll update tomorrow about the shy short term.
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