breaks.

duders,
what's up?
did you miss me these last two days?
oh.
you didn't notice i wasn't here.
that figures;
but i missed you.
...kinda.
or at least, i wanted to.
and that counts almost as much, i think.
i mean,
actually doing something is practically the same as if you're gonna do something.
i think that's real.
it seems to be the standard operational mode for everybody else, y'know?
then again,
i don't really think that you and i fit into the moldy mold of mouldering, mincey,
minky, mealymouthed weak-sauce waterbaby concepts like that.
everybody else isn't ever invited to our party, now are they?
only worthy warriors, lightning-striking vikings, berserkers, barbarians, battle-beasts,
woodsly goodfellows, Folk Life libertarians, and savage stormswept gypsies
are receiving invitations to attend a december to remember.
that's word.
because you know the tagline,
that roundhouse backhanded jawbreaker hardline punchline:
just be dope, or F* right off.
and with that being the case-
active participation trumps projected future prospects every single time.
still and all-
i really wanted to miss you guys.
but instead i soaked up an ocean of self-absorption!
haha.
(i found it temporarily prudent to F* right off)
neighbors,
it's the truth.
when is it difficult to see past the pores of your own oily soiled skin?
somewhere around two a.m., usually.
that's when the nighttime is the right time for insomniac attacks,
and that's when i'm usually wide awake and worrying about weird sh!t.
blogging about real life takes a back seat to rotgut gutwrenching wrench-choosing.
not sleeping is my second least favorite kind.
awwwwwww.
so what has this forty eight hour introspective inspection accomplished?
nothin'.
c'mon. don't be dumb.
today is the day, again, and always,
because every day is the worst day,
especially today.
i'm back in the business of real-life documentarianism.
sorry;
never quiet, never soft.....7x41+1