tattoo tales of joy

Sipping on a white Russian reminiscing on days past, fixating on the crazed fact that the progression of time is becoming more reminiscent of a hazed mash. Flashes of walking fishes confirm my fears and loathing in Las Vegas. Reflecting on the thoughts and non-thoughts of my preferred personal policy, seeking sanctuary among the pariahs and the partakers in the sorcery of logic.

The logic of the illogical serves to justify many oxymora, such as the rationale behind the irrational destruction of an ideology. Last night a magic midget mocked me merrily, seemed somewhat amused at my suggestion that I seek clarity. With my middle fingers crossed I attempt to say a prayer, but am hindered by graphic pictures of a people that pay for progress. Standing on wobbly stilts I make a sad attempt at sarcasm, middle finger pointed up as I stick it to the man. The entirety of my actions can best be described as laughable, or a measly misadventure fervently lacking in any depth.

Last night a magic midget had a mega time mocking me, seemed amused at my suggestion that it was all finally clear to me. The irrational and the illogical are birthed from rational and logical conclusions, hence the rationality of my non-conclusions is but the continuation of a vicious but virtuous circle. I cross my middle finger as I attempt to say a prayer, but I am hindered by the possibility of the discovery of perfection. The theoretical assertion that perhaps an absolute end exists will put an end to my current existence so let’s just play pretend.