Another Mile

My sister has always got on my case about referring to perfume, as perfume. She tells me it’s vulgar.

Get her!

Apparently, ladies who have been raised correctly call it scent. She knows I wasn’t raised correctly, she was there after all. I was dragged up by the lapels of my Woolworths strait jacket, and so was she.

I'd like more choices. Two aren't enough.

When I choose not to decide no one listens.

He had the road maps on his ass. I just didn't care to follow it. Now I don't know where I am, except that no one else is here. I shunned those little conformitys. And now I've been shunned by the bigger ones.

I think God sells lemonade on the side of the road, in wooden stands. Out of plastic pitchers like any child would. Broke and naive to the conditions of humanity. I think God is the big bad wolf in all those faerie tales where children get eaten. Let's cut his belly open - save them!

Save everyone!

From the paranoia - The hysteria of those that would try to control us.

I think love isn't that different. Serving best only those that would abuse it. Taking advantage of the rest.

I think I'm thirsty and I'll gladly buy any one's lemonade. Including Gods- if it could cure my thirst.

But I'm just silly like that, I need results.