I'm leaving bread crumbs.
When you leave bread crumbs, you want to be found. Though, halfhearted, because the animals are gonna find those crumbs and eat them...maybe even eat you. There's a good chance you'll never be found. Not good prospects...but it's how I like it.
I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. A vintage brown Italian Hounds tooth wool jacket...a sky blue button-snap shirt...a brown tie with golf floral design and little knights on horses jousting...flared blue jeans...brown leather Italian shoes with square tips...a little greasier...face courser with a shadow growing...the shadow will be a small shrub in a few days. I thought that was cool when I was in seventh grade. Now...hmmmm...I don't know. I've had facial since I was 13. I like it because I stick out, but it also covers me up.
Just like this bread crumb thing called the internet. It must be some crazy character flaw I have. Seen but not known. I try to be as honest as I can writing this verbal defecation. It opens me up, and I know I need to do it. To be open. But open is scary too. It's amazing how fast people draw sides, make decisions on other people. Friend or foe. I automatically have new friends and enemies simply by being seen...to be found.
Am I left wing? Right wing? A meat eater? Do I have a sailors mouth? Is Jesus my savior? Has my cock passed the quota of allowed cunts in a life time? Am I an acoustic artist? Too much distortion? Not enough? Is my wit too...umm? Or do I even have a wit? Do I know how to put together clothes in an interesting and creative way?
All these questions have answers...and these answers will make friends and enemies.
Why do I want to be found? Why the hell do I want to be known? Hence the bread crumbs. Honestly... I admit I do want those things, but I am content if I never get them. I like being lost in my forest, but I don't mind a few visitors from time to time.
When you leave bread crumbs, you want to be found. Though, halfhearted, because the animals are gonna find those crumbs and eat them...maybe even eat you. There's a good chance you'll never be found. Not good prospects...but it's how I like it.
I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. A vintage brown Italian Hounds tooth wool jacket...a sky blue button-snap shirt...a brown tie with golf floral design and little knights on horses jousting...flared blue jeans...brown leather Italian shoes with square tips...a little greasier...face courser with a shadow growing...the shadow will be a small shrub in a few days. I thought that was cool when I was in seventh grade. Now...hmmmm...I don't know. I've had facial since I was 13. I like it because I stick out, but it also covers me up.
Just like this bread crumb thing called the internet. It must be some crazy character flaw I have. Seen but not known. I try to be as honest as I can writing this verbal defecation. It opens me up, and I know I need to do it. To be open. But open is scary too. It's amazing how fast people draw sides, make decisions on other people. Friend or foe. I automatically have new friends and enemies simply by being seen...to be found.
Am I left wing? Right wing? A meat eater? Do I have a sailors mouth? Is Jesus my savior? Has my cock passed the quota of allowed cunts in a life time? Am I an acoustic artist? Too much distortion? Not enough? Is my wit too...umm? Or do I even have a wit? Do I know how to put together clothes in an interesting and creative way?
All these questions have answers...and these answers will make friends and enemies.
Why do I want to be found? Why the hell do I want to be known? Hence the bread crumbs. Honestly... I admit I do want those things, but I am content if I never get them. I like being lost in my forest, but I don't mind a few visitors from time to time.
Sent from the Black Forest...