there's no point to any of this. it's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. so I take pleasure in the details. you know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle... and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt..troy dyer in reality bites.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
i wanna be bob dylan, someone a little more funky
when everybody loves me, just about as happy as i can be.
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