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More unhonest glass from the maker of cut and paste Wednesdays. Nothing going the way to stoke and thinking of, will never happen. Piles of short stories and notes for and sections of books I'm working on. Seems like not a damn thing is anywhere near being finished and over with. A light in someone's room, someone else's room, as Nabokov put it. From celebratory to derogatory, lately it all makes me a little more sick. Of it or myself what's the difference. Sure, a bit more disparaging of my own world than it all. Watched 'A Compulsive Oral Sex Slave 2' a little earlier, one of my favorite Japanese porn tix, came. Favorites, I am hating that word. This is my favorite cd, book, blah blah. Getting sick of that shit, and even writing, questioning the whole thing. But what else is there; with an absolute propensity for putting others out, how can I escape this paradise of pariah'n? There is not a separate way, or even a floatable milky, which is where I might go if I could enjoy and be enjoyed. Going along like happy ghosts among the blue ardor and white shiny dots. Laughing lightly because it wasn't funny, it was just kind of perfect with everything not being exactly fucked. But here now on this duophonic ball of blue, I'm caught between, I want so much at the same time I seem to get nothing - all at once. My perpetual wanton want for both viviparous vivacit alacrit Japanese women, yes I want to hear a woman I love tell me she's pregnant, and smooth soft but with a hardness and warmth, where is the word for that, creamy boys with loose hair in their late teens totally calm but vivid and absolutely into advanced mathematics but open minded, and who are just starting college; it tears in one leaving my bed half full. So I'm angry at you and your favorite songs too, why? Because your favorite songs can't even begin to express my lateral feel my bitter and expansive parse at this moment, nor can it lull me or comfort as if I was shattered glass only it wanted to touch, with it's well placed bridge and clever phrasings.