these jolly fucking organ-grinders parade out upon the streets. but i mean, i have a hard time acting the bad-luck case. tough to be the wrong-headed case when you've got the best of your times lined up. no matter how much elliot smith you listen do. yeah, sometimes i miss the arid prose of a lonely life, but the real story ends up? i wish i had a million more like her. or not so much like her in detail as catagory. i'll talk a mean game against agape, & i mean, i hate it more than most concepts. but i sure would wish this philos to make the jump to whatever hive is in latin. hynae or something, whatever. i don't mean my tribe. man, fucking tribes. i get so angry. i want it or i don't. not a fucking grey interplay of roles. these webs are older than the game, even, idiots! okay. maybe not that old, or that sacred. i don't know. i'm just killing time here. my lady is a-prickle over a mis-interpreted slight. i guess i will go cash in my chips.