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rebelling against two thousand years of breeding is punk rock and you know it. all of our nineteenth century slaves sign their names in "x" and mean only the best tell the truth for the most part we love the for it can count on them for it. this way i hope it goes blinding down the front of the page and rolls our eyes back heavy and laden with dreams that bring us closer to our own lives and remind us of everything we wanted to happen all we wanted to be all we hoped for. now, all our hopes are fading all dripping dry in the washing machines dry cleaners of life we are waiting for a sign for a word from somewhere someone is going to be the better for having known us. these things we doubt: that the earth might at last turn out to be flat. that the sun will shine forever. that ciagrettes are good for one's health. that coffee will fail to wake us up at dawn when it is brought hot steamy to our beadsides. these things we have faith in: falling in love, the worthlessness of beggers, the horridness of politicians, and that one day we might actually be caught up on our bills. thes things are not worth worrtying about: the shape of the earth, the shining of the sun, the health bennifits of cigarettes, the wakeful attributes of coffee, romantic love, the worthiness of beggers, politicians, bills. we have faith and fear in all the wrong places. we lock love lines in closets of our souls and tell ourselves we needn't worry about them, now we ahve a new cherry BMW to play with, let the rest lie, let the tried and true be cast aside (it's so low class, now you won't be alone) and walk heedlessly away ermerse4 ourselves in drought srama burgeoning plans with extravagant lovers who seem to fit the bill of prince charming climbing castle walls. [there's truth in those tales. women expect men to climb walls and slay the beasts of life for them] then the color fades from their cheeks the nervousness goes and all becomes a trip to the bathroom five am you find him sitting on the can reading maxim humming "take me out to the ballgame" and want to rectify the situation. he leaves for work, you call in, when he gets home you're gone tell him "you need some time" and hit the door runnning back running backwards always backwards tthe ones that always take you back. and they do. they always will. and you will always shit on them. you will always sign contracts to sell their souls for the chance that you might not be alone anymore. you never were alone but you weren't "with" someone, weren't getting laid steady, and that's what alone means right? but they hold you tight let your nose run on their shoulder as you cry into their shoulders and they try their best to pretend you won't be out the door on them again first chance you get. i guess it's even steven jake with me they would do it to you. after all, that's your job isn't it? to find someone to save all your smiles for all your happy times hold them in a tiny box to expereicne with them and drop the line whenever someone who really loves you cares about you beyond the soft wet spots betweent your legs and your aid to their lonliness plight. but what's wrong with that? what isn't? wake up! stop defecating on the ones that matter you can buy sex, you needn't fuck over the ones who really care. so i sit here, thinking about all the poepl i've done this to. who were there time and again and i never paid close look attention to them to what was always there. i see it everyday in the world but i can only know it because i've done it. there were ones who waited long and hard for me, some who still come back but most have lost the will. they have weaker constituions than to deal with my unending desire to ditch them. i hope i'm smart enough for all that now. somewhere in me, i think i might not be. strong enough to weather the long drought storm that goes along with what you're bred to do what you're told at birth is right. it's hard to go against two thousand years of breeding.
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