what the fuck do we want in life? do we wanna make more than enough money to look sweet and fuckable, to impress the people who don't really matter, the people who haven't exist in our circle. do we wanna find whatever joy we think is coming in the future, the near future. an unexpected joy, not a pleasure we'd be able to find, but a joy that we'd surprised with. do we wanna experience tolstoy stlye family happiness? get me a fucking daughter, sit me on the couch with her, share my life experience with the kid, peck and tuck her into bed. do we wanna sit by a lake and watch the fucking ripples tingle an inner piece of the soul or mind in a way only fucking nature can do. do we wanna receive guru nanak or bloody siddarth revelations that'll change the world, that'll make us wannabe-social workers, feed an old parkinson's struck man his century egg porridge. do we wanna be popular fucking bloggers sharing with the world what the fuck we did in our free time, bloody downing 16 jagger bombs on a saturday night, fucking 8 college hoes in 7 days, "i hung out with whoever the fuck!", daddy bought me a porsche; do we wanna be fucking famous?
what the fuck do we want in life? what the fuck is fucking life fucking about?
hello
- double scoop, yes?
- rolec digs lit, sound, film, love/sex, 'shit' art, fine art, religion, coffee shop politik, and dizzy perceptions on no particular 'genre' at a whenever-he-wants or feels-like basis. he is not formally educated in some of the above (cept sound) but his love for knowledge keeps it good. he is now in one of many phases, and is currently experiencing the severely underrated joy of the low-life.
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