Saturday, November 2, 2013

I haven't managed more than a few sentences in this space in the last few months. I guess I got sick of me talking to myself, about myself, thinking about me and what I'm going to do with myself. I think you're probably tired of hearing me sing the same rhyme and you wish I told a different story but I keep coming up with the same plot in different words. Same shit, different day. Same script, different cast. 

So, before I defecate on your lives again, I apologize if shit never turns to manure and lemon never becomes lemonade, although I think it would be unwise to put two and two together, unless you have an urban zesty distaste that smells like funk. I did take a momentary pause, hoping time will fertilize my shit, but if anything, I guess perishable things only get stale. And you know what they say, 'You are a perishable item. Live accordingly'. I suppose it would be wise to move into a refridgerator near you or stay frozen. But wait, don't dead things live in the freezer? What again was my point? Dead, perishable or alive. What's the same.

You don't know change till something different comes along, but different could be too late. You would be on time if you knew the difference. You wouldn't have to be anywhere else but here. 

And I'm here now. But I'm here now. Is there a different place I'd rather be?

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