Sacrifice

I hate these brainless fart fucks who randomly write their thoughts down on pocketbook computer, half drunk, half dressed and full of their fucking glory days and events planned by the seaside. I hate him because he writes better than me, his collages, circ de soleil scenarios, without even using capital letters and bad spelling...he pisses me off, this fuck head who can write better than me....effortlessly....which seems like a long word to spell if you are not careless, like him...and yes, I probably have to spell check that... not like dweeb of whom I've been reading his blog secretly...who has no idea he can write.

He types typos all the time......shit, even his bad grammar reads better than the sloth I attempt. I stink compared to his drivel. Yet his madness is so compelling, that each word soaks into my eagerness to be better, be better than that...that brilliance.

I hate how I write. Maybe I should learn to concentrate less on punctuation, and conjunction function what's your junction...oh, geez, no wonder brilliance is wasted in a diary of minds of commas and pauses, don't forget to pause. Fuck head writes randomly, with no pre-thought....and probably this is my problem in my own telling of tales. I think too much about them to forget.

Maybe I should become the moment, take time to study and learn how to stretch and not use the Caps Lock on my keyboard. I hate it when I see i...when it should be I. But, then again, i grew up in an age that expected either a wrong anwser or a right one. In these days of computers, either one can be the solution or the solution. It was only decided upon the colour of your eyes.

0r if you took Yoga Classes.

Breanna's mom is parked in my driveway and she is intelligent enough to park at the edge, to not spoil by engraved, stained, expensive driveway with oil stains from her old beat up Mazda.

She's probably younger than me, but has a face that looks like it's been squished in a vice....a weird sad look of a communist republic, with the outlook of potatoes not good today for market.

At this moment I am wondering if I am becoming a better person at aging, or sacrificing goods.

I still shave my legs.....up to the knees only, have them faux tanned, still shave my arm pits, have the occasional swing moods of fury "don't fuck with me or I will tear your head off"

I sacrifice myself every day.