Nothing is more old-school than baking your own damn staff of life! A dude who can walk into any kitchen in the world and make bread is COMPLETELY RAW!
Squeeze her, don’t tease her, never LEAVE her! YOu Gotta! You gotta, hold her! Try a little tenderness!
You gotta, love her! Gotta, gotta…
Holy shit, move your feet.
Just MOVE YOUR FEET. I know this feeling, I know this feeling. Shit, you gotta, you gotta, hear the music.
Priorities
We are the aimless youth. Despite the calling of our mothers, we’ve got no plans. Goals I think there are, but they’ve been diluted by the stress and fear of the future. Because of this we’ve been pulled two ways, where one is enjoying the comfort of the present (content is the word I guess), and the longing to know what the future holds.
You’d think that living in the moment, where times are peaceful and the fact that you know where you are is good, but it’s slowly killing you. In the nighttime, you are restless, irritable, and you know something is wrong, but you don’t know what.
But I can’t look towards the future, because it reminds me too much of the calling of our mothers, who wish for us to be something and someone out there. And I’m still a stupid child, and I’ll have none of that. I wish to be myself. But I’m a child. I may know what I am, but I do not know what I will be, or maybe want to be.
This may just be the musings of a stupid child, but the future is creeping. It’s not depression that sets upon me, but the fear of what is inevitably coming. I have chosen not to prepare for it. I have chosen to wait and let it come to me.
Oh dear god, time is the worst of all. It does not heal, but just waits for change, be it for better or worse.
Calculus project of destiny and awesome.
