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Sep. 11th, 2019 10:43 pm So the weird - almost hard reality I live in. I playtest my weird story about a haunted mine at my Friend Jeff's house - his wife & mother in-law are impressive hosts & then I hire a car to take me home & talk at length with some weird securities salesman who I pitch my own books at. Did you know I wrote 17 books in 2017? Because I’m embarrassingly bad at shutting up about it. His kid goes to university school and I talk with knowledge without mentioning my old pal the sophisticrat who went there and also shot his parents in an hallucinogenic fugue state.
My friends. I think about this. That I used to be pretty and that I had shit to say. I can’t tell if age is transmuting these qualities or if my weird experiences dating lesbians have spoiled my heart (it’s like having your insurance salesman as a friend). But I remain good at dancing and it occurs to me as I enter middle age that I should lean into the nobler talents and accept that I give good company and conversation and this rest on those laurels cause it ain’t as if people are getting any cooler as they accumulate cash. Suckers.
My friends. I think about this. That I used to be pretty and that I had shit to say. I can’t tell if age is transmuting these qualities or if my weird experiences dating lesbians have spoiled my heart (it’s like having your insurance salesman as a friend). But I remain good at dancing and it occurs to me as I enter middle age that I should lean into the nobler talents and accept that I give good company and conversation and this rest on those laurels cause it ain’t as if people are getting any cooler as they accumulate cash. Suckers.
