A Black Feather, A poison pen...

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all Id, no lid

Now, onto matters of more pressing unimportance.


pretty much conceded that i should play to my strengths and that the garden-variety amorous pursuits are not among them.


i am uncivilized and should behave accordingly, hence the outbreak of destructive mayhem in the abandoned shed.


considering it's the primordial stew i tried to evolve out of, it shouldn't be too difficult to slither back into it.


It will be a welcome relief to bring an end to what has been a virtually monastic existence. To think of all the time i wasted in self-denial trying tp prove myself to anybody. How many opportunities at what would likely have been great recreational pleasure did i pass up in futile efforts at devotion to those who ultimately proved uninterested?


stupid, stupid, stupid.


So, i've arrived at the conclusion that i am of the type that was never meant to be remembered or thought of in heartfelt terms by that warm radiant sensation that eges its way in little ripples from the center of the chest to the reaches of the fingertips.


i am good for one thing, i serve precisely one purpose, the kind that causes slightly more visceral sensations in someone's memory.


now, the only question left for me as i leave behind these, my little delusions that something like "love" in the sense that others might know it, was ever anything i could aspire to.... is this: where do i start?


It's a big enough city and there are at least five or six in the immediate vicinity who are appropriately unattached


So what if i'm getting a bit old to be playing these games anymore. I should take advantage of my talents while i've still got them.


After all, if i can't be a volume in the encyclopedia of one peron's experiences in life, i should aim to be the most debauched footnote in as many as possible, no?

11:44 a.m. - 2003-03-27

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