• RAZE

Simulation of Reality

You learn a lot about yourself in isolation. You learn a lot about other people too.

I could walk up to someone and shoot them in the face and watch them bleed out on the pavement and take pleasure in watching their eyes go gray while listening to that last gasp for air while a pool of red scented iron flows around them like paint on a canvas.

Every single person that I come into contact with is like a character in a play.

People are like pawns on a chess board and can easily be moved around. Easily baited like rabbits with some sort of carrot and stick routine.

I do not believe one word that comes out of anybody's mouth.

Wrapped in a cage of your own drama, on a set that you call home. Nowhere to go and everywhere you want to be all defined by your perspective.

When people are mean, I am confused, or at least, I used to be.

When people are nice I am suspicious, because the world has been unkind.

Your perception of reality is unconscionably boring to me. The ludicrous nature of your behavior, with your forced mechanisms of delight while delivering a severely boring presentation.

The artist formerly known as 'Prince' knew this. All he wanted was your extra time and your kiss.

"Don't have to be rich to be my girl. Don't have to be cool to rule my world. I just want your extra time and your kiss."

I love dirty talk. Women don't know how to do it though. Most of them are stupid.

You don't have to watch Dynasty to have an attitude.

Shut up, bend over and go home. What kind of person would say such things?

A pragmatist. This is what it sounds like when doves cry. Rats with wings. I saw a 'pidgeon' get run over by a cab in Chicago once and the thing just got up and flew away. That is a pidgeon in a city with rats as big as cats and other creatures that are impervious to this simulation of reality.

I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain.

Laughing or crying or dancing or smiling?

I think dumbfounded is the look of love. Expressionless and all about the hormones.

When the two of you go expressionless and dance to the sound of the rhythm of your beating hearts.

No words, silence or appropriate music from a car passing by even in the coffee shop while I see you looking at me but I know you have purple hair and therefore are either a tattoo artist or some douche-bag product of the millennial generation.

I can't tell how old they are anymore with all of the various levels of plastic surgery. Whatever happened to just growing old gracefully like an aged whale before the author even wrote Moby Dick?

I flip through the online profiles of life and find no one impressive.

It is distressing to realize when you are not financially capable of reaching the level of the partner that matches your worth.

Ugly rich bitches will fuck me and so will the super hot poor whores.

That is only because I am generally charming and devastatingly handsome.

Still, I am conflicted. It is not wise to be conflicted at my age. Especially when you are on the downslide. This is when bad circumstances collide.

On the upward trajectory, good circumstances collide.

This is the problem with the Republican party.

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