The Awkwardest of Monkeys

That would be me. What do I even refer to her as? The girl I referred to myself as such to? I'm sure that would go well. I don't know, and it's making my throat tangle in a dumb knot. She's great, fantastic; and she was an utter fuckin blindside, but men find treasure in the strangest of places. But what have I found here? What have I done? What do I affix to her name? Not friend; that's too cruel, especially now to revert to such simple terms after making her care. I've started this, now I see it through. The monkey fears much, fleeing to treetop hideaways often; but I'm not a fuckin monkey. Like it or not, I'm man, and if I want to prove that, I will stand my ground and give a fuck, and take what happens next.

Ha

Last night my starsign came through for me for the first time

morally mostly

but fuck it

victories is victories as they say

on a side note, the traditional characteristics of some other people's zodiac signs are eerily accurate

Questions to the Psyche, Punches to the Face

Who am I to say that a dream can come true? Who the fuck is anybody to say that? When Thomas was telling me today how he wanted to be like Warren Buffet, I felt mad like telling him, NO, NO YOU CANNOT BE WARREN BUFFET SIR,
but
no
no, you miserable asshole, no
just no
that breed of thought is venomous, a complete and utter fuckin pestilence
If he wants to be Warren Buffet, then I'm going o watch as he turns into Warren Buffet. He's been given a road walk down, I've been given mine, and if he want to go down his road a different way than I lazily stumble down mine, So let it be motherfuckin written, so let it be goddamn told. Dreams are fragile, they break in an instant, it's up to ourselves to protect them if ever we still want to live a life we really want to live. If I ever really want to have the guts to call him friend ever, I'd better well fuckin know that I will let his dreams go unhindered through this world. All of my friend's dreams and hopes matter
That's how it works
The problem is these days, no one really knows what their dreams for a happy life really are anymore

A Less Entombed thought

Well

I still havent written that book. I started that godamned thing what, 3 months ago? And so far I've only got maybe a fifth of it, more reasonably a sixth, done. With every progressive second that I'm not writing it, I get more and more filled with a persistent and tough sense of dread t.hat just loves nothing more than to kick the ever loving shit right out of my ideas and thoughts. I think I should write it bust mostly I get he thought asking "who the hell do you think you are?" It questions why I think my writing's good enough to be displayed, or why I think I can write. Self-doubt is a severe pain in the ass. But without it, I'm pretty sure I'd be an asshole. Conundrums, the other pain in the ass

Heroes

The world always loves them, they always need them and they always make them. They get nice little nooks crafted in their honour in the imaginations and hearts of the general populace whose lives they leave mark on. But history doesn't use the same paint as the human imagination, it doesn't like the same colours for it's portraits. When we look at heroes in true fact, their flaws are endless, their collective dark sides, monstrous. It could be said that most heroes simply become heroes not by action, but by circumstance and the talent of the story teller. Or, how eventually mos of society doesn't care to listen to he whole tale, simply getting the bare essential opinion or image from a synopsis of the story. History books are written by the winners, as the saying goes, but victorious parties aren't the only ones who can write. Eventually, another culture will evaluate and detail the lives of an other's cultural folk heroes and forefathers. Da Vinci turns out to be a homosexual, Washington was an alcoholic, Kennedy was a womanizer, King Richard was a rapist and mass murderer. It seems that there can never really be an absolute hero any more, as there is always a perceived or absolute flaw in the pristine image applied. In the other end however, in many examples of the classical villains of history, we find a strange sense or trait of good intention that mildly persuades us or dilutes the hate or disdain in our imagination associated with them. Hitler was a vegetarian and a devout catholic, Genghis Khan made his men follow a strict code of honour to never kill children, and King Herod built a new temple of worship in Jerusalem. The black half of the typical hero/villain spectrum also becomes diluted with a strange dosage of heroism or honour that relieves their spiteful cowls. At any rate, all things being equal the world always needs heroes, not just for the counteraction of villainy, but sometimes simply to stand upon our vistas and show us that there is something in this world that we can smile about, or be proud of, relate to, or just infantaly gaze upwards to, as all of us walk along in our day.

Habitat

I would like to build a tower one day, one day when the money is piling up
I dont know where I'm going to build this tower, or how it's going to get built, but one day I want to build it. It will be massive beyond imagination (or perhaps barely outside the center of it for some). If I can I will build this tower into the outskirts of Earth's atmosphere, where the sky stops and the void begins. There I will see th curve of the planet Earth, the swirling clouds as they wander aimlessly from sea to continent, then continent to sea. It is there that I will live, it will be my habitat, as the world turns. I will live here until I am old, my face is deeply creased, and my legs have moved on from the idea of walking. I will live there in a massive rotating viewing plaform at the very top, as it turns slowly I will watch the stationary hemisphere where my sullen tower was constucted. The people below will look upon the base, and gaze towards the sky as it stretches forever. To be honest I dont want a ton of people seeing this tower, so perhaps I'll build it on an island in the forgetful Pacific where the sea and all of its creatures wont even look up to see it. I hope I can live up there with a wife someday, our children too, but I want them to meet other children so maybe I will come down from that sanctuary for a time. It's funny how love can change even the most statuesque of plans we lay.

Time

It might be said alot, but time is strange. Strange mainly in the way it moves. It's almost like time doesnt constantly flow, it doesnt really flow at all. Time moves stealthily through our lives, moving when it isnt being watched, becoming as a statue when it is. God I hate how time sneaks by when your not looking, because then it ends up being 5:30 in the morning whileyou look the other way