HOW I LOVE PLAYING THE DRUNKEN BUFFOON !!
if you occasionally say something smart, you'll achieve status. you'll sit back and smirk. people develop your mystique for you. wild and dark and unapproachable. presumably rogue and totally inappropriate. in the end, is it not simply another voice whispering
let's change the world
we'll all be happy.
but we forgot about dead people somewhere in central and south america that wanted to be too, and yes, we feel guilt in the slight. such notions of happiness are impossible or at least short lived. there be no such thing as a perfect, yet i still recognize the perfection of warm bodies in bed at dawn. cracking sunlight between winter breath, the fucking buildings and small bits of success. such things drive me, i guess.



AND YES I FEEL GUILTY FOR MY OCCUPATION
for some might label it filling a gap, as if i'm striking opportunity in the head. still, i see myself feeding the fatness of the city appeasing them with what they don't really need. my ideal izumis serves potatoes. only potatoes, a business that runs itself to the ground in seconds. how many variations on potato can there be?



AM I MONK OR MAN?
there are distinguishing differences between the great and truly great. the difference is quantifiable in humility, but i might be wrong (joke).

i am greed, i am slob. my home environment is broken and messy. i still considered myself halfway there - some proverbial there that does not exist except in my mind. expectation is imaginary.

yes, i wanted to be a monk. clearly i am not. as if dropping everything were so simple, should i find myself a monk tomorrow consider me lucky. the devil visits me weekly and i oblige with its demands. clever harlots and a weak will to live.



ON LIVING.
i would like to be good at something, at least i could live with that. "yeah, i have all this shit failure, but at least i'm good at this one very important thing." i realize my criteria for good is made up (pomo argument), but it's still a matter of self-fulfillment, however imaginary.

i see success in writing coming with equal levels with self-destruction. the latter comes former, though. sorry for logic.\
an observation: i am closer to deterioration now than i was say a year ago. there is still a long way to go, but i recognize the fact. if you consider it fact, too, of course (joke / pomo argument).