we rely on pure, instinctual hums these days. the stars align right before us and motivation to connect the dots enter a routine. a routine that has sat under dust, piles of shit continually layered much like a lemon meringue pie. it's not really pie, just hollow foam that has no place. no foundation if it wasn't for that damn graham cracker crust. this is your routine. it sits alone until someone puts a topping on it. boysenberry, pumpkin, pecans, chicken... to each their own. fork slides down and right into a mouth it goes. some people hate it, others can wait to get there, and few... very few save it for the end.
i love pie. i have had intimate sessions with pie. we connect. we understand. we build experiences. i am a self proclaimed pie connoisseur. therefore, i will assure you that lemon meringue is not pie.
corn does not digest. it's amazing how these kernels provide a false hope that your stomach will appreciate the gesture. i mean, let's face it-- these yellow, soft, miniature sandbags pose little threat. until they venture inside you through that rattled esophagus. toss and turn within your intestines until they have nowhere else to go but out. all in one piece. intact. it is a bit jarring.
parents seem to be aging. not much you can do at this point. it's beyond your scope of control. focus on being the best kid you can and move forward. it seems to me that things are happening as they should.
people watching slowly creeps through an attention span. to feel again. energies dance before eyes. it's rather quite beautiful.
this month's motto is 'first impressions.' you can never truly know how the other party receives you. there are moments when you catch yourself thinking about what they're thinking about on what you had just said two minutes ago when you knew they were blatantly looking at your lips, but you don't want to generalize so you decide to dismiss it all together. at this point, you've totally missed out on what they had said and now there is silence. you search their pupils in light for a clue, perhaps a kink to the brow and you'll know where you stand. nothing.
good friends are hard to find especially when this shit happens on the daily. people think you're crazy. first you're talking about pies, then you're imagining what they look like with a fork pressed on their lips and finally... tada... corn kernels. to make matters worse, the tangent ends with shit. and you're evidently in a lot of shit now because you have skillfully demonstrated a lack of consideration. kernels everywhere.
you'd like to think that the silence is a cue. perhaps they were doing the same fucking thing too. their eyes wander away. you don't blame them. the thought of your parents dying soon captures your focus.
3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510 trillion knots reside within your left shoulder. you need a massage. you don't want to ask anyone for one. you know it will lead to something you know you cannot control. more importantly, a part of yourself you left inside that pie the other day. it is here when you realize that you don't need drugs. these thoughts are organically placed inside your genetic map.
my musical taste is in a constant state of euphoria. i've settled in europe. this is where the good shit is right now.
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