i haven't posted in awhile.
i can say that i have been busy.
but that's not really the reason.
i could have posted.
i could have taken the time to sit down, chew the fat with you, the screen in front of me that my brain imagines is someone doing a very similar thing late at night when you should be doing something you're supposed to be doing but instead, you've chosen to blow that shit off right now because this has the potential to hold your interest for at least another paragraph or so.
and then you'll go back to your friends, your pope, your elementals, your priceless antiques you bought online from that creepy guy with one eye that didn't go in synch with the other eye so you kinda felt sorry for him a bit even though you talked to him, you strived to talk to him in the most direct way possible, pretending to completely ignore that one off-eye that you can't help thinking of but also feel kind of shitty for noticing and so you just roll forward, because you're a civilized human being with some form of respect motherfucker.
run-on sentences can be just as exhausting for the writer, let me tell you.
but i'm no William Faulkner.
despite my height.
i don't know.
i guess i am changing.
i guess i am going through some sort of weird thing in which i attempt to figure some shit out about me while at the same time coming to grips with the fact that the more you age, the more you realize you're never really going to figure out all the shit you want to figure out and so you start getting comfortable with that and try to do something that will rock your world.
i am lucky.
i have great...nay...i have amazing fucking people in my life.
they are the reason i exist.
actually, one of the best fucking compliments I've ever received in my miniscule speck of time on this planet came not once but twice within the last three months.
i was told, by two very different people, as well as two different sexes (sorry hermaphrodites, i didn't include you in this anecdote, even though i just now did....so this sentence was worthless, yet somehow credible), the following phrase:
"I'm glad you're here."
not here, as in...the place i happened to be at that time when i was told.
here here.
alive now, in their presence, in the present, in their circle of friends, tossing out my energy willy nilly (and god knows, i never do that, except while awake and on those days when i get that not-so-fresh feeling).
"I'm glad you're here."
that fucking rocks.
rocks!
that is the kind of shit i live for.
really.
when you get right down to the real nitty gritty. and i never do that.
my whole life (i'm sorting of moving on to the next phase now of this heretofore scintillating essay, in case you needed to get a drink, grab a smoke, take a wanking break, create a collage, feel your crack, touch your nose, pull on your nipple ring, or lament about the fact that you still have a prince albert and you're really over it but can't seem to figure out how to take it out), i've been the type that has been excitable, inspiring, motivating, informing, conjuring, engaging, freaking and more (i'm sick of thinking of "-ing" words).
yet...
i don't do enough for me.
i'm a giver.
i know it.
i like it.
it is i.
but....i want to actually accomplish something.
oh sure...i've experienced and done so much in my 98 years on this planet, give or take a few parsecs.
i have been very blessed.
there will be more of this but now i must distract myself with other seemingly inane activities.
come back when you're prepared.
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