NETTLED
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He loves her like a coupla words during a dance with a chance. He is not you and I am not her nor do I want to cut in. Why do I have endless curiosity like a cop on the beat for a thief? Why must I sniff everyone’s drawers like a fucking detective? Why must I hone in on everyone else’s ambitions and scoff? When I see myself in others it makes me feel banal.
My friend tells me the concept of slippery slope is a logical fallacy… this seems reassuring. Me, I like talking behind the safety of abstract doors, but I jingle words like keys. Wanna know something mightily specific? When I’m doing things that require high concentration with both hands (not such as masturbating, but such as, let’s say, knitting or typing) a fly or mosquito manifests and bites my fingers, more furiously if I am more intent on task. It’s a malevolent prank when Reality spontaneously generates these flies. Note to authorities: the following video is entirely metaphorical. |
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