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not completely grasping intelligence. my sentences are incoherent most of the time.
really, maybe weed merely boosts my faith in my own words.
although many times i've often faltered upon my own thoughts under the influence.
this hardly means i'm over the influence.
i influence my own damn self, irregardless of the consequences.
it's the way of mankind.
i'm only a spawn of an engineer. i bet he loves his work. he's always going at it.
perhaps that's not what it's about. just working all the time, i mean. he's probably just innit for the money. for bills and taxes and a precious home and a functioning (perhaps stylish) automobile. plus the second wife he's probably supporting. of course, he's more than just an engineer. he's also a carpenter, and he does electrical work in houses. and he's some sort of public notary. yes, he's got an unknown number of licenses and certificates behind that worn leather belt he surely wears.
i can hardly remember my age/ i remind myself only when i refer my age to others. i've begun to take much more notice that i'm twenty two and life skims by.
i'm prepared to leave, but it would be nice to stick around for a crazy roller coaster of an existence.
i'm fairly certain this is everybody's concern, though. leading a crazy roller coaster of a happy existence. i'm more of the somber type, though i smile much more than perhaps a Charles Bukowski or a Hubert Selby Jr. (depending on which coast you--

i'm done with this. this prose. i'm only wondering what i what i want to listen to next on grooveshark.
i've been thinking about food not bombs. this twenty two year old ought to give Andrew a call.