Vodka monologues: sorry mom

Sorry mom but I jumped off the wagon and attained a master’s degree in mixology. It gets worse; I couldn’t really wait till I got married cause my hormones went insane immediately I hit puberty. But I’ve been completely monogamous in this thing between “she” and me though the newly improved “she” appears to be making me a bit jittery; smoking pot and cigarettes and getting wasted in the club is not really the image that I initially had dough. Sorry mom but your boy is as liberal as it gets; separation of church and state, no political policy in religious debates and absolute freedom for a human to choose between the worship of God, cows or snakes.

I miss you - Wish I could see you tonight; take a short cut out of this life, but I’m still the same old coward that fears that pastor Wale might be right. I’ve walked this tightrope in search of balance and covered up my confusion with silly nonchalance. I’ve become an avid reader; made a killing as a bootleg dealer; embraced my inner rebel and also volunteer as a teacher. My convictions necessitated affiliations with the craft and your boy is truly sorry for breaking bread with the axe.

Your little man has grown up exceptionally quick and quite a few ladies are thrilled by this: There Young miss E who is in love with love, especially naive and wants the pilot seat. Lady M says I’m open and easy to talk to, a is a lot more mature but a lot less dynamic. Pretty ms CY is kind of puzzle to me, a big picture kind of girl with a banging physique. Ms Ks is ironically a mirror of “she” but “she” without a doubt remains the queen of me.

24^th of july passed and I barely remembered, it’s been barely 13 years and now im barely your son. You get a mention from barely to none and I hardly ever reflect on the time I barely was young. Until I take that final bow and my hearing is done forgive my youthful shenanigans and the strays of your son.

Is True

They said the theme of the play was abstract; its message careless and crude. Its ideological inclination was somewhat reckless and rude. A masquerade dancing, panting and chanting in view of a depiction of you. They said the quality of work was mediocre at best and provoked a provocative mood. They said the pride of the pride was undermined by a scheming and marginalized few. And the few had proved to be a prominent nuisance and a truly destabilizing tool.

The policy of Kalashnikovs camouflaged in rose bushes is debated over a meal of poison and beef. The gunboat diplomacy of wayyy before now was not that way before now. But the ways of before and the way that is now are characteristically in sync, how? Probably the benign mind of the brain dead bureaucrat who is speculated to be allergic to the concept of "eureka" and opposed to the suggestion that creativity might birth progress.

They say the play was in bad taste; an opportunity gone to waste; a saturation of vulgarity that should be banned in a haste. In view of the chronic scarcity of free and accepted men, beings that were raised in shackles have made and defined this den; A masquerade dancing, panting and chanting while from this rejected view, that masquerade is rejected; but true.

It was the best of times, it was worst times; time put in perspective revealed a first in time. A tale of two testaments to triumph and trial, it was a mission of madness; an intentional mistake. Fiddle and diddle with the dictates of dickens, marvel at the mischief and momentum of his message.

Happily holding the hand of my flower picking potato, sensing her inner scent while I promise never to let go: A lie!! Reminiscent of that very hot July, when the children of non convention congregated in their pride. Pills, needles and grass juxtaposed with one night stands equaled pimps and complete anarchy so God blessed San Fransisco.

It was the summer of love largely likened to non-other. 200 knighted horsemen clearly screaming bloody murder, 100 ordained priests nearly yelling holy order ... It was a holiday of "peace"; a very fun July, a carnivorous feast; a true but hateful lie.

While I still be

The watchmaker is dead cause time has gone rouge and reckless; that wayward rowdy rascal has become increasingly erratic. The senselessness of a soldier determined to defend the soil, of a soulless geographical entity that has entirely been soiled. The absoluteness of sin has long been strongly disputed, as have the tenets of morality been affirmed to be relative. The fundamentals of society are overwhelmingly utilitarian, but let it burn as the majority and minority are marginalized alike.

And I didnt remember to remember to forget, so I guess I remembered now my memory regrets. Cast in the shadows of dungeons and cast lots, shackled by the panic of a loose and twisted plot. The verdict for a real and virtual vixen raises controversy as to what exactly constitutes a victim. Aspirations saddled on the assurances of criminals, dreams largely contingent on the commandeer of other people’s money. It’s cold, dark and sunny. I am probably the most self enlightened dummy. Images completely informed by the reflections of smoking mirrors, in total spite of the smoking barrel I completely deny that I pulled the trigger.

I am the green man’s apology; a catastrophic controversy; perhaps in the temple I could be all the Buddha hoped to be. Perfection of my perception with the acquisition of the sixth sense, conceivably my rationality will finalize my isolation. Yet I’m burdened with the burdens of the cross and a crescent, reciting biblical scriptures in defense of the glock. Following the fundamentals of the findings of ambiguity, I am a compromised concept. A catch without a 22.