I’m not a workaholic. Nor a fag for sure, but my intellection cap often goes through this phase of being a brain-fag. I often end up fagging my arse off, at the end of the day – again I feel so much brain-fagged. Well, that is how existence is. Competition. Vision. Dream. Chase. We homos treat ourselves like a tailpipe. Work. Pressure. Hard work. Too much pressure. No more work. No more pressure. BAM BOOM BANG! That’s the sound of a breakdown and we mistake it as the sound of a brain-fart and we read it as brain-art. Yes again, I’m making you feel so discombobulated but this globe is all so filled with filth that causes too much of disarray and a muddiness. That muddiness is where we find the puddles from childhood and jump high, seeking pleasure. It is no pleasure of freedom but the pleasure of achievement and the pleasure of victory. Of course, the bonus is probably the pleasure of defeating a competitor.
Surrounded in the cloud of smoke rings and the Old Monk. We try being different and so, we do not sell of our Ferrari but buy another Ferrari. “I ain’t that same old monk who sold his Ferrari. I need a new Lamborghini to enjoy my Old Monk.” We say to ourselves and think ‘I am unique because I am different.’ I swear at the priest and the professor, and I call myself ‘smart ass’. In reality, it does no good but makes me an ass too. I swank my ass-ness by wearing a tee that says – Kiss my ass. ‘Kickass’ is the vowel of my vocabulary. Blowing is not a ballon and licking is not an ice-cream. Balls are not a game. Chicks are not mere chicken kids for me and bitch is not simply the female dog. Doggy is not merely my style of calling a dog and spoon is not simply a tool to have my soup. Weed is not a waste plant and white is not a color. Hole is not a pit. Porn is not just a spell err of born, cock is not just a bird and redhead is not a North American duck. Bloody is not gory, 6 and 9 are not only numbers. Horny does not have horns and turned on is not the engine of that Ferrari.
Amidst all this, I suit up every morning. Success is what I have tasted and nothing stops me. Innocence is what remains in my childhood snaps. Yes, that smell, I so want to savor but Bob Marley influences me so much. God smokes cannabis while Bob is my God. I fake my accent to ostentate my Harvard degree and I earn bucks for the same. I cuddle up in the darkness because tears I can not roll with friends but roll joints. Daft and void I feel deep within but that ain’t stopping me because I still keep climbing the ladder of success. It all seems so smooth and happening but at the end of it all, I still sit at sea. Flummoxed and baffled. Messed up is not just hair because so disoriented I' m!
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