Hmmmmm. Mewah Too practical.
The nemesis of idealistic ideology. So very intriguing; the sly maneuvers, the tentacles wrapping themselves around it's victim- unaware, unabashed, in complete belief that it is safe, moreso, it is not wrong in the place that it stands. It is a hero. A loyalist to loyalty. I'll call it flagrant deceit. Self-betrayal. A vendetta against one's own continuity in happiness and integrity, but i'll keep that to myself. Miscellany, whatever. How long will it allow; etc, repeat the past and then defend and justify with the argument of paths being extended or unresolved or innocent, the reasons ever so...blind to wisdom. Content. Stagnant. Stubborn to change. With herpes in the head. Addicted to the fulfillment of winding circles that go nowhere and land it in the place of seeking resolution with memories too deceiving in pleasure and neccesatity to ever convince a true dismissal. I've been out drinking. And smoking. And visiting a cold loft with wicked blue suede furniture in the ghetto. The puppy is sound asleep and in seven hours i'll have to be up-no alarm, just two little helicans waiting for breakfast and for their lunches to be made and to scold the youngest when he forgets to flip up the toilet seat and ends up pissing all over it, and to remind them to put their homework in their back pack with their lunches and oh wait, "did I sign the paper that ensures they did their homework?", then in the car, to be asked why I still don't have a job and if I feel weird that I never have any money and i'm, "like a small adult". This must be how people turn into ragging alcoholics and princess pill poppers. Funny I never resented one friggin moment with Max. He was the perfect kid and i'm afraid lightening only strikes once.
Oh to be on Sugar Mountain.
Check out the Thermals and pay homage to Nick Drake.