Behind closed doors.

well the look of the cake
it ain't always the taste
my ex girl she had such a
such a beautiful face

I wanted love
But not for myself
But for the girl so she could
she could love herself

- The Black Keys

I'm sitting in the library looking cool for a girl who may or may not have just looked my way. What more is there to say? Awesome though it may be, it's about time my flailing logic failed me. I sit down and my mind falls straight into the rigor mortis of form style rhythm and beat. Let it go. Let it flow. Let the swarm grind out their coffee bean existence. My eyes dart to the most mathematically perfect features and my soul remains at large.

I do not know what I want. I want women. Of a certain kind. In the midst of love I might just, might just lose my mind. Damn my beard is sexy, in all its patchy ginger glory. My eyes are magnetic and my smile has the gravity of a neutron star. That man I want to be is not too far. If I let him be he may just start to orbit Mars. Delirium. Bitter sweet insanity. Searching for the right words in a hurricane of white light and black ink. Don't forget the kitchen sink.

Definitely fuckable. Don't forget to blink. Green eyes and black hair. Skin all warm and welcoming, like home. But the pain...The abject strain of walking over, talking and playing the god damn game. Or is that the wrong frame? You are lazy. You're all tar and liquor, and getting where you're going quicker. Whatever happened to the enjoying the ride, you wretched old soldier. There are only 17 kinds of people in the world. Those who do and those who don't. Those who will and those who won't. Those who want and those who get. Those who sit in dark corners stealing glimpses of an imagined sensual paradise they will never, ever have, and those who have the capacity in their scrotum to walk over and work for what they want. And there are others, unworthy of mention, rotting away in their self constructed cells of pornography and illusion. And their numbers are growing. It's painful knowing where our race is going, slowing, and throwing to the gutters everything once held sacred. Courage, pride and all inside soon to be upgraded to a 64 bit processor with a chrome finish and an intimate, almost real understanding of what a woman and a horse will do for the right amount of money. Not funny. We're idling on the highway, as the scenery hurtles past our gentle dimming eyes with absolutely no regard for whether we want it to or not. And we do not notice. To live or to rot. That is the question. Consider it very, very seriously.