making excuses.

Dude, trying to be sooo literary. I know what I am trying to say, I know how I want it to come out, but the pressure... I understand about writers block. It is really just these surface thoughts that tread the murky waters of your imagination... You start thinking, hey, wouldn't it be great if there was a naked lady... then it stops.. you can't imagine WHAT to do with the naked lady, just that there is one.
Hell, you can get as far as thinking, ok, she is naked cause we went out to dinner, and I was really slick and paid for dinner and everything, she thought she might have a headache or her brother was sick, but dinner went so well and there were stars in her eyes and I took her home and she was all hot and sweaty and wanted to get out of that wool skirt she was wearing then we were both naked... etc.. right, so you think this and you are all like, ok, perfect, it will write itself, and you sit down and your fingers are all limber and ready to make magic and... nothing... the lady is naked and you did something to get her naked and you were slick or she was sick or something, DAMN!!! How did I get here...
How did I get here? I was sitting on the bus, thinking about how much deeper I am than this... how you can scrape off the layers... no, I was thinking, if you remove the non-pareils, take off the Happy Birthday, remove the top layer of icing and there is a lot of cake there... deep down, I am the cake...
Really? Yes.
For example?
Well, for example, I tend to agree with almost everything anyone says, or don't say anything... I find it easier this way than having to defend myself for my views... It is also easier, this way, to keep people from seeing me as insane... really. I have some very hurdy-gurdy thought processes, ranging from making everything legal and permissable, to shooting on sight those that are too radical or seditious (anarchists, really)... I believe in the right to absolute freedom, but being given the freedom, not taking the freedom... does that make sense? It does to me... see...
You want more...
Well, deep down inside, you know who I often am? I am this 19 year old dude, sitting in the balcony of the Harvard exit, drunk as hell, hot and sweaty, crying at the end of Dead Poets Society and thinking that I will never know the love of a woman... Or I am this same 19 year old dude, drunk as hell, hot and sweaty, sitting through a Spike Lee film festival, one of the few white guys in the room, feeling like I understand but secretly hoping that after the movie all these black dudes are not gonna be ALL sorts of pissed and riotous and want to destroy me... and I will never know the love of a woman...
I know the love of a good woman, but I am scared that I will never know the love of a woman... it makes sense to me...
So I sit, and I write stuff, and it is sometimes funny, and people say they appreciate it... but it then I am a special boy, retarded in that I can't get out all this something something...
Oh, and my parents have a skunk in their back yard...
Oh, and I am SO slick I got the beautiful Mrs. to go along with getting a portable DVD player...
OH, and DUDE... I haven't had a smoke in 3 weeks. Have I wanted one, yes and no. Have I come close and had to fight back the demons? No. But check this out... We were walking along yesterday, through the parking lot near Best Buy, and I walked through this cloud of smoke or something... It smelled really good and I swear to your favorite god that I got a contact high off of it... total light head, buzz, the whole nine yards... thinking about it is making me light headed... what a trip...