23/11

And it's the thinking man that has to carry the weight of the world on his brow. Always, always, always, life is staving off the evil thoughts, the bad thoughts, the depression, the Big. Black. Dog. On your shoulders, on your forehead. I watched bees play among flowers in a sunlit glade, I watched the skinny limbs of small children as they bounced balls and laughed, my eyes followed the legs of some girl in short shorts up, up, up. Death comes, oh yes, and what is life in the meantime? Life is harsh, life is mean time. The sun shines and the bees collect pollen regardless, flying as if on puppet strings, hovering forever in frozen moments. My brain hurts, my heart yearns, my dick aches. Every girl is the same and everyone is special. I laugh, often, at my own pathetic nature, my typical mammalian behaviour and thought patterns. It only ends once, I suppose. In the meantime, there are books, and video games and music and all that good jazz. Life! How bizzarre and strange. I have said this before and I'll say it again. Life!