Wiseman

Write that shit down
its all good as gold,
every word is God-sent,
hes a living sacrament

He says "The world is screwy,
you are called to fix it,
use those shiny notes
that I've convinced you to gold-coat"

They say "Yes sir, ok sir
we'll do whatever you say,
you must be right,
because you're old, wise, and grey"

I say "Fuck off old man
the times have changed,
you can't slap kids with rulers,
you can't slander the gays,
Now back up to the wall
that you have vandalized
and erase that shit,
You've got to the count of Ready, Aim, Fire!"

I met a man, I understand
how long his beard and callused hands
have graced the earth, felt its dirt,
been milked of all his worth

Hes been cursed until it hurts,
battered with bitter words,
hes given up, its just too much,
For his last days he has parted ways

Though his body wanders these dirty streets
his mind is on the snowy peaks,
his heart lays at his lovers feet,
while his soul tries to make ends meet

Oh my

Why the hell did I start a blog? I'm never going to right anything of meaning on it. I can't do that. I can't express myself. What was I thinking starting this shit.

Who will even read this? As long as I don't make any blogfriends I don't have to worry about people reading my most intimate thoughts.

I am such a hypocrite. I claim to want privacy but I turn on myself and go whoring my thoughts for everyone to see.

So contradictory. How can I whore my thoughts if nobody reads this. Ha! I'm safe now. I'm only talking to the internet. There are so many conversations going on in there hopefully mine won't be stumbled upon. I'm just gonna write quietly and not attract attention. Thats settled. I have nothing to worry about. It's just you and me from here on out lil' internet. We'll be just fine and secluded and I'll tell you all about my life and how I avoid it.