We put up the Christmas tree and I was sure to the fact after a trip to Wal-Mart to get the manger…
It is funny what we hope for.
Sometimes at night I imagine wings growing out of the knots on my shoulders and by no means am I saying I am an angel of sorts, I am just saying it would feel good to fly, just swoop and swim like the pigeons that hang out by the orthodox Russian church.
Those fuckers just fly and take shits where ever they want. They don’t have messages tied to their legs.
There is no expectation.
You should see them fly, in large groups completely ungoverned and yet painting some sort of crazy canvas of game theory.
I don’t care what theory you put it in, taking a shit where ever you want is still pretty punk to me.
I am going to reach out now and kiss my wife who is far asleep… there is gravity here on this earth but I don’t think it applies to me. She owes me a massage for putting up the tree and when she rubs my back, “watch out and welcome to awsometown”
Because that is just how I move…
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