I forgot what I was going to say.

Ska-roo it.

Oh yes. I’d rather write a story than read one. Its because I am unable to concentrate easily. My methodology of reading being subprofoundly dyslexic is an exegesis deluxe “French Press” flirtation process.

    Yes, I do filter my coffee in an easy F.P. and it makes me congenial to the fairer… whatever…

    I’d rather think to myself than watch t.v.- it used to be an item, to have an imaginitive process.

    I like to be in a room full of people with a football game on. The tv makes more sense in community.

    I confess at a point in my life where I was sad and had a onesy for a pad- it was painted Forest Ranger pants green… I would watch TV, a lil show called Lain where the Japanese students kiddos in animé were suicidal. I wasn’t. Funny how absolutely alone I was though.

    That is a place I call “Seventeen minus one” because it was 16th street.
Metaphysically, for my life to be BETTER, I reasoned to aim for seventeen. I wore shorts, shaved and cleaned my thigh, my leg… to tattoo one, two three……. seventeen pegs 0.5″ in diameter and precisely alternating. Like American flag stars.

   I have no memory of planning these tattoos. The Most High God allowed me to type on myself. I am not the Word. The verbal is in me. New generations ARE getting interesting. I’m glad people are into tattoos and I can fit in because if you ask me, I will tell you that I believe I was spiritually guided to tattoo myself to look like a bad bad boy for a very good reason. I am convinced I am a little bit of a thug and a prince, protected from a nightmare that gets my back.

you know i will soft lay here


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