journal.txt

this isn't my first journal entry, its a preface to that. its to provide a mood setting if you will. its a mood enhancer, its an aperitif, like Kir Royale or something. elegant, refreshing, spritzy. something one would drink in a velvety lounge somewhere listening to Bossa Nova or acid jazz.

I wasn't writing for a bit b/c sometimes writers need to recalibrate, rejuvenate, and reintegrate themselves. they can, they ought, and they shall. all creatives need this, this detachment period, this 'finding myself in the wilderness' and having meaningful exchanges with squirrels, deer, rabbits, and local hood rats trying to make bus fare and presenting their meager change. sometimes one can, and does meet + engage with interesting characters. at least for myself, not sure bout you or others. 

I'm not at all interesting much lately nowadays (was I ever? hard to tell). in only that I remain steadfastly uninteresting because (I don't like talking about it much) I'm a super spy; codenamed 'the artist'. kinda like how Prince changed his name to artist known as prince. something to that effect (is confusing isn't it!?). I could also be the gardener, the poet, the knight. whatever generic moniker works. though I do have preference for gardener in respect for that crazy Dutch 80's slow mo kicker Van Dammage (his latest movie). yet, I've been watching, alert, observing, quietly plotting, rethinking, restoring my old vigor, getting my known associates together for a little bit of fun + profit. they approach my messages with suspicion, and exaggerated scorn. the kinda dramatic reaction you would someone you were fond of + wanted to strangle at the same time. friends be like 'what have you done this time?!' their reactions amusing. stop it you silly freaks, I have need of your individual talents. for my secret plans what else? and with old friends there are also old foes. whom, I must admit I sometimes do love more than friends. and that's usually more the case. this intense energy, rivalry, slights, petty revenge, plans within plans. I really do feel like I am the James Bond of all Asian Alphamales. pricesely because I am. look in mirror, yep still irresistible.

I latched onto here b/c well, the net has grown stale, lifeless, dull. like oral sex: dark & lonely. people who were naturally stupid, dull witted, loud, and reactive were busy trying to convince others (themselves) that they were somehow substantive beings. yeah, everyone wants to get real paid. and maybe payday will occur if you gather nuff retards who think you're super special. rupi kaur, a poet that I loath + detest is one such. she looks like a villainous from Star Trek. she can't write worth shit and many Internet people have derided her work + imitated her fake ass non-poetry poetry (why are we even calling it poetry? it's rot, garbage, blah). such is the world today, everybodies a fake charlatan shitheel faking til making. wanting to be discovered just b/c. they neither have talent or style.