Monday, February 13, 2006
A few years ago I went on a date which basically went horribly, and despite what I considered to be numerous sacrifices on my behalf, I got blatantly rejected. I swore to myself after that, that I would never again compromise my dignity for a member of the opposite sex, regardless of the potential rewards. Years have passed and I find myself managing to keep this promise. I am both pleased and frustrated. By the way I hate “the game,” and its players.
She sits upon a stool and stares blindly into the haze before her. Her visage is that of empty feelings, as if a dried husk, a hollow woman, a wasted potential. She does not blink for she requires no blinking. She does not breath for she requires no air. She does not speak for she requires no communication. She does not feel for she requires no contact. She does not live for she requires no passion. But those around her would gape and stare. Many trying to unlock something which is not un-lockable, and those intelligent enough to notice no keyhole attempt to breath life into her, with promises of beautiful things. They throw themselves senselessly against this automaton of vision. But they know not that she serves no other purpose but to distract, for that is all she knows.
“I am not angry you know. I am… disappointed in myself. I thought myself more perceptive than to fall into an old trap. I’ll not compromise my dignity for a girl. I’ve been there and I hate myself when I do it, even if it means something more. It’s ok. I’m not bitter. I swear. Just… disappointed… Ok maybe a little pissed off. Fine angry. What the fuck man! Fuck the Game, and its players. You wanna play this shit with me you play by my rules. I make my own rules. What’s that? You walkin away??? You lose bitch… Fuck…” But he also lost there didn’t he?
“Don’t hate the player man. Hate the game.”
“Damn straight.”
“I hate everything. Because my life sucks”
“Dude, what a tard.”
“Yeah man real winner here.”
“Leave me alone.”
“You think your life sucks? What about that friend with the triple fractured ankle who can’t get a doctor to see her?”
“Touché asshole now get the fuck our of my face.”
Fuck you Valentine.
She sits upon a stool and stares blindly into the haze before her. Her visage is that of empty feelings, as if a dried husk, a hollow woman, a wasted potential. She does not blink for she requires no blinking. She does not breath for she requires no air. She does not speak for she requires no communication. She does not feel for she requires no contact. She does not live for she requires no passion. But those around her would gape and stare. Many trying to unlock something which is not un-lockable, and those intelligent enough to notice no keyhole attempt to breath life into her, with promises of beautiful things. They throw themselves senselessly against this automaton of vision. But they know not that she serves no other purpose but to distract, for that is all she knows.
“I am not angry you know. I am… disappointed in myself. I thought myself more perceptive than to fall into an old trap. I’ll not compromise my dignity for a girl. I’ve been there and I hate myself when I do it, even if it means something more. It’s ok. I’m not bitter. I swear. Just… disappointed… Ok maybe a little pissed off. Fine angry. What the fuck man! Fuck the Game, and its players. You wanna play this shit with me you play by my rules. I make my own rules. What’s that? You walkin away??? You lose bitch… Fuck…” But he also lost there didn’t he?
“Don’t hate the player man. Hate the game.”
“Damn straight.”
“I hate everything. Because my life sucks”
“Dude, what a tard.”
“Yeah man real winner here.”
“Leave me alone.”
“You think your life sucks? What about that friend with the triple fractured ankle who can’t get a doctor to see her?”
“Touché asshole now get the fuck our of my face.”
Fuck you Valentine.
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