You know what?
Be me.
I wake up to enjoy my morning coffee and look longingly out across the hills in an old direction I used to go as a child and figure, you know... it's my day off, fuck it. I'll stroll on up to those old places I used to go.
Well come to find out, the whole time, I notice that it was all a damned chicken coop. A run down shanty of a chicken coop, covered in ten year old chicken shit and discarded corn cobs, rotten to black sticks that contrast with all the dick blasted semen stain patterned chicken shit that I'm seeing on all the dilapidated walls. It looks like god damned modern art.
I used to thrive here, in this coop. Fuck me, was I a chicken once? Maybe a fox in a hen house? At any rate, the place is now devoid of anything meaningful and the memories already make me tired and irritable. All the peacock walks didn't amount to much or maybe the romantic in me has taken leave. I feel like that god damned run down door that hangs on one hinge just barely. But it's only exacerbated if I intend to persist in trying to keep the memory of this place or even reviving the place to its so called former glory. That's what this place is now. It just persists on a tired and run down frame. One good trend and this whole thing would blow over like some flimsy pile of ash that managed to keep its original shape after the fire.
I think I take a moment to reflect that the place is even still here to begin with. That's telling that at one point, doesn't that mean that the place was built with some substance? I'm mildly amused at the prospect that this used to be a thing that was real or that in some complex philosophical way, the dreams around it made it even more real or perhaps gives idea that thought can be a material thing.
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"Women hold up half the sky" -Mao
"God always picks the strangest things to get angry about. Get an abortion or gay married and he'll aim a tornado right at you.
Rip off a million poor people and Wall street has no problems. " -Rebecca B
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